762 He was born in Co Carlow in 1934
Dicky loved to hear the music, playing the jews harp and the whistle
The family moved to Mallow, Cork, when he was just 13
They flew their model aircraft through fields and farms and hay
He built his own canoe, on slats across the bath
He finished his apprenticeship and moved to city, Cork
He found a flat with Colm, up high on Patricks Hill
Charles Lynch he came and played with them, a man who was no toff
Dick’s music brought him countrywide, on clarinet with the “Modern Airs”
He married Phil O Driscoll in 1964
Five young kiddies later, they upped and moved from Cork
Dick had a lovely garden, the kids did dig and weed
Then Philly took her leave from us and headed off to God
And all the while his music, he kept it going well
He travels to the churches, to play the Sunday service
He bakes a mean old apple tart, and cookies – very nice
His house is full of instruments!, of records, tapes & song
A sparky man by training, he loves to twiddle wires
He loves us all so dearly, we really are so blessed
An inspirational person, our Dixie really is
ake a good look at Dick Kerrigan’s happy mugshot here.
Sure, the man has everyone in Greystones, Kilcoole, Delgany, Killincarrig and beyond fooled into believin’ that he’s just a sweet old man who would do anything for anyone, anytime, anywhere.
Well, anywhere except Bray, of course.
But, we know better. We here at GG HQ know the dark truth.
Richard Ignatius Horatio Bartholomew Candy Kerrigan is from The People’s Republic of Cork.
Say. No. More.
Worse, he grew up in Cork after a stint in Carlow and Thurles. A lethal culchie combination.
It means the man is merely a ticking timebomb, cocked and ready to kick off all sorts of shillelagh shenanigans at the drop of a trilby.
For the past 39 years, since Dick made the move to Greystones, he’s been on his best behaviour, of course, working diligently for his community, and his church, whilst bringing up seven strapping children with his now dearly departed wife, Philomena, but the man’s just biding his time.
Ready. Waiting. To unleash hell.
So, for now, we’re willing to play along and pretend Dick is just a sweet old, fun-lovin’, pint-suppin’, organ-playing diamond geezer. We too are biding our time. Ready. Waiting. To lock horns with – gulp! – a Corkonian.
And to push the pretence that all is rosy in the Dickus Mickus garden, we’ve decided to print here, in full, a special family ballad – they’re a musical bunch, those Kerrigans – composed just a few years back to celebrate the man’s 80th birthday…
Just remember, Kerrigan. We’re watching you.