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.

Michael Smith was a colourful and very popular figure and a very happy man. He had a flourishing business as a wholesale confectioner and even the wartime rationing of sweets did not seem to take a feather out of him.

He was well heeled and some said he was a millionaire - a rare breed in West Tyrone in the nineteen-forties. He spent freely, and periodically he vanished from the local scene.
   
We didn't have much in common and I seldom met him socially but I recall finding myself paired with him once at a funeral procession, it may have been Gerry O'Neill's. The Omagh tradition of mourners processing in two's threw us together at the church gate.

En route to Dublin Road cemetery, Mick gave me a hell of a grilling about my work and my background. Then out of the blue, at the railway bridge he offered me a directorship in his company just off the top of his head! And he was serious.

Naturally, I declined the offer. I was in a more secure post, and in no way interested in the whims of a man of Mick's habits and temperament.

I met him once at a relatively formal debate organised by some of the highbrow local societies. I wasn't Mick's scene and after fidgeting on his seat for a while he bounced to his feet to follow a speech made by Gerry Murnaghan.

The Chairman and all hands courteously waited for Mick's contribution. The subject was 'Civilisation'. 'A-ach A-ach' Mick began, 'these townies, these townies. They think if you feed a cow on snow she'll give you ice cream. A-ach, Aye. They don't know a bull from a heifer - A-ach a-ach!'
   
At which point, someone behind Mick kindly grabbed his coattails and yanked him down. Mercifully he stayed down and remained silent, grinning broadly! He was happy. Everyone could see that he was happy, and they gave him an ovation.
   
Pat Smyth, 2001