More from Peggy's Secret, Streets of Birdsong and Buteo buteo.

Twenty years or so after I moved to Dublin, I was down home for a funeral. It was a bitterly cold wind-chilling, sleet shower throwing, winter day and I went for a warmer.

In the pub beside a big glowing turf fire a brown over-coated figure crouched to catch the heat, his worn, wide brimmed, battered hat, steaming-off the dampness. The barman brought a pint of Smithwicks. Johnny took a Suicre Bag from a pocket and spooned sugar into the glass.

I went over and tried to talk to him. He ignored me as if I wasn’t there, continued stirring his sugaring beer and didn’t look up.

“We used to live near you. I was two or three. We lived in Maloney's house. Dad and yourself were friends. I think you used bounce me on your knee.”

He looked up into my face with eyes as red as the turf coals and the swirling beer.

“You had fair hair, almost white. Pull up a chair and tell me how you are.”

I told him how I was. He told me stories of rabbits snared, Christmas Turkeys Mam raised and sold, Whist games, Twenty Five and Tricks Trumped, House Dances, Card Tricks and Fools Jokes. All the time he sipped beer sweetened for his old taste.

I asked if he still did the Card Tricks. He didn’t he explained: his hands like his taste were old and faltering. But, he said, he was having a good day and he would show me a trick It would remind us of the old knee-bouncing days.

From the deep coat pocket he took a well worn deck of playing cards held captive by rubber bands. He released the bands and passed the deck into my hands. “Box them!” He instructed. I shuffled the deck and proffered them back. “Do it again,” he said, “‘till you’re satisfied.” I boxed them again and then once more.

The normal buzz of conversation had faded as drinkers gathered around. “Johnny is doing a trick,” was the rallying call.

I offered the cards again. He shook his head.

Softly head deeply bowed, concentrating, he instructed “You hold them and turn over the top card. It’s a ten of spades.”

I placed the ten of spades on the table between us.

“It’s a fine trick!” I ventured. “How did you do it?”

He looked up slightly. “I’m not finished yet!” He tapped the side of his nose with a skinny shaky finger and then this unique human being: who went to school ‘Til the sixth book only, without hesitation without looking up at me or at the cards in my hand, named all remaining cards before I turned them over and placed them on the table.

I asked again how the trick was done. He only smiled and sipped his beer.