Jock Hunter
Jun 8th, 2007 | By Bock | Category: Favourites, PeopleThe black sheep of a Scottish family, Jock turned up in Limerick ten years ago, searching for an old colleague from the Northern Rhodesia police. He was an extraordinary creature with the gift of instantly becoming beloved by all who met him. He settled here, he won a huge circle of friends here, and when he died he was one of the most mourned men I have ever known. When he became ill, he moved for a while to Castleconnell, a village outside Limerick, and he was astounded by the discovery of Paddy Guerin’s pub. I have found Heaven, he announced. A pub and a fishing-tackle shop all in one! Jock’s doctor promised him he’d see the Mayfly season and he was true to his word.
Shortly before he left us, I managed to persuade him to record a couple of stories in Eamonn’s studio, which he did, and when we left the tape running we even got a couple of jokes from him. But his health was failing and he never did manage to record all the fairytales.
He was a gentleman. The day before he died, he phoned me, and he said I’m terribly sorry, but I really feel I won’t be able to finish reading those stories. Please accept my apologies.
When he died, we held a huge wake for him. There were no priests or ministers or other witch-doctors. We laid him out in Johnny Thompson’s funeral home, in his beloved Munster rugby shirt, and people brought fiddles, whiskey, saxophones. Tom Murphy acted as Master of Ceremonies. People stood up beside the coffin, took the microphone, told stories, sang songs, told jokes and reminisced about their times with Jock. QJS threw back half of a naggin of whiskey and laid the remainder beside Jock. Somebody else donated a copy of the Times of London, open to the crossword, and a pen. Nicky Woulfe put in a rugby ball. Some kind person left smokes.
Jock had all he needed for the afterworld.
Johnny Thompson said it was the best funeral he ever saw, and that was how he wanted to go himself, which was a hell of a thing for an undertaker to say, but he wasn’t just bullshitting. I’ve met him at dozens of funerals since and he always takes me by the elbow. Jesus, that was a great funeral, he winks.
Jock’s Block
Jock was cremated. Most of his ashes were scattered on Thomond Park and with the remainder we constructed a white concrete block – Jock’s Block – which rests outside the White House pub. We set up the wet concrete on the back of a trailer and in the middle we placed his urn which contains, inter alia, a bookie slip, a pen, a pouch of tobacco, a pack of Rizla, a bunch of photographs and a sheaf of farewell notes from his friends. Everybody gathered to stir the concrete and the block is still there. You can see it any time you pass that establishment.
It has a simple plaque that says
Jock Hunter.
A proud Munster Man.
Born Duirinish, Scotland
6th February 1940
Died Limerick 12th July 2004
Made for him by his friends.
Heineken Cup Final 2006
In a final twist, Jimmy Griseto broke off a piece of the block and took it to Cardiff for the final of the European Rugby Cup last year. When we won, Jimmy had a word with the security people and explained the importance of the situation. They understood, and so Jimmy got to scatter the crushed stone on the field of the Millennium Stadium. We were all in Cardiff to see our team take home the European Cup at long last, and so was Jock. And so he remains.
It seemed only fair to give Jock the last word at his wake, and so we wired the room for sound.
This is what Jock said at his own wake.
Beautiful……..just beautiful.
His sounds like a life well-lived, and he, himself like a right character.
Black sheep are the very best sort.
It’s a pity people don’t get to see their own funerals though sometimes – Jock might have had good old chuckle at his own.
Derfen: He was indeed.
Sam: Good. I’m glad you caught that one.
that was priceless, sugar! pcb is absolutely correct…what a great guy he must have been..and you for sharing this!
I’d love a funeral like that myself.
What a man and what a tribute to his life. We are lucky if we can count more than 1 true friend in a lifetime, it looks as though Jock had many. Thanks for sharing Bock
Very splendid. Friends are very important. I’m sure Jock had a great time and was there in some way and probably still is now and again.
You had me worried there for a minute, Bock. Thought I was being led up the garden path to a devasting pun/chline, delivered aurally. The world, if not Limerick, seems to have less room for people like him now.
Wouldn’t we all want to have the last laugh at our funeral?
What a loving farewell.
i loved this.
Like the divine shaggy dog story.
Sin no more!
I’ve been away from the computer all weekend, just switched it on and came online. This was the first thing I read, and it’s put me in an excellent mood for the afternoon. Cheers!
I thought I might be able to say something but I can’t. Later
Can you organise my funeral ? That surely is the way to go out.
Nice one.
At a party on the Ennis Road a few years back, I had the distinct pleasure of being asked by Mr Hunter “Margaret………are there any more like you at home……a sister perhaps”
I took that as one of the great compliments of my life. I remember listening to his marvelous Jazz collection back at Tom Murphy’s aunt’s place. John M and I had driven him home. We enjoyed the music and the scotch he shared so freely with us. Jock’s carefully culled collection was superb………just like himself.
[...] tonight I want to celebrate the passing of our dear friend, Jock, who died this day three years ago. He was a Scottish Presbyterian, and dying on the Twelfth was [...]
Powerful stuff – We ‘witch-doctors’ could learn a lot
John Thompson the undertaker is one of the soundest men I have ever met – During my time in Limerick I always enjoyed working with him and his late father, Frank. I remember one particularly tragic funeral of a 1 year old girl through meningitis and John’s care and consideration was second to none. A good death may not be granted to us all but we can at least do the next bit right and with John Thompson you are in safe hands.
[...] Block the Robber was my next port of call on the recommendation of Mr. Lottie. Again, I’m overwhelmed by the commitment and passion involved and I must look for something a little less taxing to steal inspiration from. [...]
I knew Jock well when we served in the Northern Rhodesia Police. One dark evening, he bet an RAF officer a fiver that he couldn’t take off and land in the dark. The flier bet Jock a fiver he daren’t go with him. It only took a short time for them to get airborne but a long time to land as the pilot couln’t see the runway. Absolutely typical!!
Ian — Thanks for the information. If you’d like to make contact with me by email, Jock’s friends in Limerick would be delighted to hear from you.
Sure Bock. Give me some idea of what you would like. Ian
I have wonderful memories of “The Honourable” Jock Hunter from my Africa Years – Lusaka/Ndola in Northern Rhodesia/Zambia. He was certainly a “one-off”. We last met up in a pub in Berwick Street, Soho in about 1981
and he said then that he just couldn’t settle in London. He would of course be drawn to Ireland because his free spirit would have the right to roam there. Like so many of us ex Northern Rhodesia Police types, Jock would have Africa engraved on his heart.
Heartfelt thanks to Jock’s pals in Limerick for putting in place such a fine memorial.
It is quite possible that one or two of his old pals from Africa will call in to The White House pub to raise a glass in Jock’s memory.
Dear Jock – all the memories of our childhood, you the closest friend of my brother, your sister and I inseparable friends. All the fun we had in Edinburgh and in Acharacle. It is wonderful to hear you reciting the Two Scottish Sinners – you sound exactly like your father, and have his laugh of course as always – how he would have enjoyed your recitation, especially the lilt on “and upon the third day”. You and he were the only people to call me Elpie.