The first cameleers arrived in Ireland in March 1630 when two men arrived into Dublin with a shipment of opium and 3 camels. The cameleers immediately acclimatised and went on a bender. By the time the two cameleers had drank all the opium profits the camels had decided to wander off. The three camels headed into the West, disappearing into the vast expanse of the mighty Bog of Allen. They continued their journey Westward until, eventually, entering the Ballyeffin Boglands on a cold and gloomy December morning.
When they appeared out of the mist on that morning of the 25th it fairly-well shocked the shite out of old Father Fechin Finnerty, and Rector Randy Rodgers. The two jousting shepherds were having their regular card game at the Ballyeffin Inn. After the coming of the camels, which had him a bit rattled, Rector Randy nearly gave the game away. But he must have had an ethereal helping hand because he steadied himself and shafted Father Fechin with a final spade.
Father Fechin cursed as he raised his eyes toward the heavens, located right above the great radiator where the head of the Sabre toothed tiger does hang. The two of them both then stood and stared, out through the filthy window of the Ballyeffin Inn, as the three camels wandered past. Glory be to….All hopes were later dashed when not a single wise man was located in Ballyeffin Village, Ballyeffin Bog, or anywhere. Even after an extensive search, a special mass, and whatever else the other one does, wisdom was found to be absent in the entirety of Greater-Ballyeffin.
Before the building of the Grand Canal, the railways, and the widespread adoption of motor vehicles, camels were the only means, apart from big Connemara men, of bulk transport across the vast expanses of bogland surrounding Ballyeffin. Horses couldn’t hack it as they had been, and still are, pampered the hell out of in Ireland. And, especially, pampered in Ballyeffin Stud.
Cattle couldn’t be used either as they were needed for export to feed the effin English. After other yokes were invented, like cars and lorries and other modern shite, the camels were abandoned to the Boglands of Ballyeffin where they roamed about like Ghost-Ships, copulating and proliferating until there were so bloody many of the shaggin things that the stress of it all drove people to take up that shite Wally Raleigh introduced. Tobacco.
One extra-stressful afternoon in April, 1890, with a massive cloud of tobacco smoke hanging over Ballyeffin Village, a particularly large flock of camels strolled down Bog Street heading straight towards Bog Quay, shiting themselves constantly, so leaving as much shite as what Dáil Éireann could produce in an hour. Suddenly, Sean O’Tumaltaigh, the direct descendant of the Great Paddy O’Tumultaigh (Long Dead), had an effin great idea. Within 2 weeks Sean had received his first payment from England for his Ballyeffin Bog-Beef. It was a hit.
All packaged up just like any old beef, the Ballyeffin Bog-Beef nearly made Mr O’Tumaltaigh a millionaire. Sean O’Tumultaigh was creaming it until some prick went and spoiled it all by discovering a ring in a pack of Premium Ballyeffin Bog-Beef Burgers. After further analysis it was revealed that the ring was not just any old ring. It was a special ring. A ring that was, commonly, implanted into a camel’s rump by its cameleer. This ring implantation was to signify a special relationship. Their mutual love. And their commitment to one another. There was uproar over the water.
The contagion of fear spread quickly and the Ballyeffin Beef Growers, Movers and Shakers became embroiled in the scandal too. The Ballyeffin Beef Growers, a powerful lobby group, attempted a major cover-up. But nothing worked. They even attempted to pull a few strings at the Ballyeffin Beaver-Hunting Club, that bastion of privacy, to see if they would release any sketches of past dalliances by English Lords at the plush hunting stands.
Nothing worked. Ballyeffin Bog-Beef was now doomed. It was tainted well beyond the acceptable standard usually regarded as sure, It’ll be Grand. It all ended up in the specially enacted Ballyeffin Bog-Beef intervention scheme. Taxpayer funded, par the course. Sean O’Tumultaigh became the town pariah. His life was unbearable. Much later, much, much later, he would get his shot at redemption. So, as we often say, and quite often, actually, that is another story.