Pat Smyth, a civil servant with the National Assistance Board in West Tyrone from the 1930's to the 1950's, recalls his memories, experiences and the larger than life personalities he encountered on the way.
   
Omagh had a very zealous senior police officer. Rumour had it that he had been moved to Omagh because he had raided leading licensed premises elsewhere after hours and had got egg on his face when he had caught a District Inspector!
   
Eventually, he left the Omagh District Inspector with egg on his face as well over a breach of the Black-out-Regulations at the Assistance Board Area Office by a person unknown. Reportedly, he had a constable on the beat that spotted the lights blazing and the curtains undrawn long after sunset one evening.

They were unable to gain access and the senior man sent the constable to Sam Maquire's place at John Street for a key. Sam was the cleaner.
   
While the constable was away, the senior officer's attention was distracted by a fracas on Market Street, just around the corner. Some itinerants had engaged in a stand-up fight. Quite fortuitously, Norman Hutchinson, who was a key holder, happened to pass by on his way from McIvor's to the Picture House. He smartly nipped into the office and switched off the lights, unaware of the police presence.

When the constable came back with Sam Maguire in tow and the senior officer found the office in darkness, he blew his top. Sam reported that in the pitch darkness he had had difficulty in finding the key and the key hole, although the police told us afterwards that he had stepped back, and urged them to go ahead: 'It's a Government door and you are Government men. Go ahead, it's not my business'.

That cooled them a bit, at least until the door was opened when the senior officer went in like a bull with torch in hand. He searched every nook and corner of the three-storied office, but of course, it was fruitless.
   
Next morning I had a constable in my office with a complaint when I arrived for work. I investigated on the spot, in his presence, and it emerged that two clerks, Anne and Anna, had been last out on the evening before and had failed to switch off the lights. In the presence of the constable and without rehearsal they convinced me that they genuinely did not know which of them had actually closed the door.

'We both left together,' they asserted. Knowing the regulations, I admonished each of them not to accept responsibility, since it was impossible to say who was guilty, and I asked the constable to report accordingly.
   
Nothing happened for a while until the girls met the constable one day on the street and asked what the police had decided. He told them, 'We are going to summon the Manager'. On checking the legal position with George Murnaghan, a leading local solicitor, I was able to confirm that only the individual responsible, or failing that the occupier of the premises, could be half responsible.

I was not the occupier. The Board of Works (Ministry of Finance) leased government offices and was the tenant (in a sense) but the Crown was the occupier!
   
In due course, I got a court summons and when the hearing was imminent, I rang the district Inspector to check that I was to appear. I warned him that he could be embarrassed if he proceeded in court since he would in effect have to proceed against the occupier and that the occupier was the Crown.

He wasn't too pleased, but he conceded that I need not attend, as he would be asking for an adjournment. On my way to lunch on the day of the court I met George Murnaghan, who laughingly chided me for not answering my name in court.

He had been holding an informal watching-brief for me. Month by month George reported that District Inspector Small had again asked for an adjournment. This went on for at least three months. Then he told me 'You're off the hook. Small got permission today to withdraw the summons'

Thus I escaped the clutches of the law. I could of course have rescued the District Inspector by accepting responsibility but, with half-a-dozen other key holders, that would have been foolish.

Pat Smyth and Pat Higgins, Dolphin Bar, 1944.

Paddy Bogues and Pat Higgins, Dolphin Bar 1944.

Pat Smyth, 2001