Ayres, Joe
May 21, 2010The transient and fragile nature of our lifespan was reiterated for me recently with the sad and untimely death of Joe Ayres. It is almost incomprehensible that Joe is no longer with us. As we, his contemporaries, visibly aged, it seemed that he was forever a resident of Tír na nÓg. Was there, we wondered, a portrait of him in the attic that was haggard and worn?
But, having fought the good fight, Joe Ayres slipped away from us quietly, appropriately enough, on the weekend that the local hurling championships commenced. For though he dabbled with squash and golf and pronounced himself to be an excellent exponent of rugby, my sporting memory of him is as a hurler. He was an exceptionally talented and stylish wielder of the camán.
He was renowned as an artist of the highest order. Indeed, over half a century after his Minor exploits his performances still evoke visions of flowing excellence. Even today, knowledgeable hurling people still maintain that Joe Ayres and Paddy Johnson were the two foremost Minor hurlers to represent the county.
It is to Joe's credit that he didn't casually accept this sweeping hyperbole. "How", he would enquire plaintively, "could people put Paddy Johnson on such a pedestal?" Then he would shrug his shoulders, give a rueful grin and, with feigned shock, join in the communal laughter.
He deeply appreciated the honour of representing the county and treasured the All-Ireland success that came his way. But what gave him the greatest sporting pleasure was the oft' recounted fact that both his father and his son also wore the Black & Amber in an All-Ireland Minor hurling final.
During the halcyon days of The Arch Tavern, when Tom and Eileen Stephenson were at its epicentre, Joe Ayres and I became friends.
Together we travelled the length and breadth of the country. Various sporting occasions saw us visit Crinkle and Ballymore Eustace, Thurles and Croke Park, Thomond Park and Landsdowne Road.
For these trips, Joe invariably drove and I quickly learned not to deride the vehicle (which was his pride and joy) or his ability as a driver (which he rated very highly). We also travelled extensively around the county, usually to watch his son Bill hurling. As we ventured to these games Joe would spend the time extolling Bill's virtues as a hurler.
This left one friend to remark if perhaps we were going to see Eddie Keher play and not Bill. To which Joe replied: "I'll tell ye the truth, lads - Keher wouldn't keep it pucked out to him." He was only half joking. And now as I recall the occasion maybe he wasn't joking at all.
For many years, with The Arch Tavern as his base, Joe organised group trips to Cardiff Arms Park, Twickenham and Murray-field. As a 'tour operator' he planned meticulously and this work ensured that the trips were always successful.
My abiding memory of these occasions is that they were times of fun, of laughter and of enormous joy. Joe took it as a personal challenge to see that all who joined him on these trips enjoyed themselves. To bring happiness and contentment to such a disparate group was not an easy task but Joe performed it with consummate ease.
As is so often the case, after almost two decades of close friendship, other concerns started to occupy our minds and we began to see less of each other. So it was that latterly we only met by chance or sadly at the funeral of friends.
Thankfully, the compensation was that these happenstance meetings generated hours of chat and fond reminiscences. As we parted we always promised we would meet more frequently, but alas, we never did. How utterly foolish we mortals can be! Yet I'm glad to say that for a few fleeting moments in the golden summer of our lives our minds and spirits met in joyful celebration.
You couldn't ask for better company than Joe Ayres. He was an ebullient and an effervescent companion. He was a marvellous and an expressive storyteller. He trailed sunshine in his wake and made dreary days bright. I will remember him fondly as a decent man with a good heart and a deep and generous nature.
Goodbye old friend….May the soil of Foulkstown lie lightly upon you and may you be rewarded with eternal peace and happiness.
Tá leaba i measc na naomh tuilte go maith aige.
Courtesy of Kilkenny People
21st May, 2001 Tweet
