Walking the Long Miles Home

The last 19A bus of the night leaves Dublin's City Centre, north towards Glasnevin.

Oh, the last bus has gone
Or maybe I'm wrong
It just doesn't exist
And the words that flew
Between me and you
I must be crossed off your list
So I'm walking the long miles home
I don't mind losing you
In fact I feel better each step of the way
In the dark I rehearse all the right things to say
I'll be home, I'll be sober by break of day
Walking the long miles home 

- The opening lyrics of Richard Thompson's song Walking the Long Miles Home

In the Fall of 1986, I lived with an Irish family and studied for a semester at the National Institute for Higher Education (now known as Dublin City University) in Glasnevin, a suburb just 5 kilometres north of Dublin's City Centre (downtown).   

The cost of car ownership was prohibitively expensive in Dublin 25 years ago; I didn't know a single student at my college who owned or drove a car.  A gallon (3.8 liters) of petrol  alone would set you back 3 quid (Irish slang for their "pound," which was then equivalent to approx. $1.35 U.S.) or $4 U.S.  The cars the Irish drove were tiny by American standards, and even those rarely had automatic transmissions.

Fortunately, Dublin had an excellent public transportation system.  All of us at the college had a student bus pass, and I used mine frequently to get back and forth between my house and Dublin's City Centre (An Lar in Irish).  The shock for an American accustomed to late night, or even all night, public transportation was that the last bus of the night left Dublin's City Centre at 11:30 p.m, even on Saturday nights.  Not very late for young people having a night on the town.

I attended several concerts that drifted past 11:00 p.m., and you could sense the audience getting restless, apprehensive about missing the last bus home.  A stagehand would sheepishly walk out to the performer about 11:05 p.m., whisper in their ear, and then the performer would say to the crowd, "I understand you all need to catch the last bus of the night, so this will be the final song of the evening."

Taxi service did exist in Dublin, although they tended to cluster around large hotels that served Americans and business people, rather than just cruising around the streets, like in New York.  They were prohibitively expensive.  A short 2-3 mile ride from the City Centre out to a house in the suburbs could easily cost $15-20 U.S.  Quite dear for college students on a budget.  I believe I only got in a taxi 2-3 times during my entire four months in Dublin.

So if you were out on the town with your mates, coming out of a movie, concert or a play, let's say, and you wanted to extend the evening by heading to a pub for a pint, and then over to Beshoff's chipper for some steaming, hot chips; around 11:15 p.m. you would have to make a decision: were you going to catch the last bus home or stay in town and walk home?  Was the craic - Irish for fun and good conversation - with your evening's companions in the the next two or three hours worth the 45 minute walk home in the dark at the end of the evening?  That was the question.

Dissolve to thirteen years later.  Richard Thompson, one of my favorite singer-songwriters, released a terrific album, entitled Mock Tudor, that included several great songs about what it was like to grow up in the suburbs of the United Kingdom.  During the 1950's for him, but it hadn't changed much since then.  Imagine my surprise to hear one of the songs entitled Walking the Long Miles Home.  It was about the experience I just described above.  Was your date or your companions worth missing the last bus and being forced to walk home?  It described an experience that any youngster growing up in the suburbs of Dublin or the U.K. had experienced.  I loved the song, of course, but I appreciated it so much more than the average American because I had lived it during my time in Dublin.

I did stay in Dublin past the last bus with my friends, or with a date, on several occasions, and then walked the long miles back home.  I must have possessed good judgement because I remember those walks home as some of the best and most revelatory times of my stay in Ireland.  I really got to know so many of my friends from college during those jaunts.  Dublin was so elegant and peaceful during those early morning rambles.  Sure, it occasionally rained.  But it was usually a "soft" rain, as the Irish would say, a mere light mist; and if that bothered you, well, then you were just in the wrong country.

Every time I hear the song Walking the Long Miles Home on the radio, or it comes up on my iPod, I am immediately conveyed back in time to those late nights and early mornings in Dublin, walking home with my friends.  And knowing there's a song out there that can transport you back to such a memorable moment and place can be a magical thing.  That's what great songwriters do.  Don't ever question Richard Thompson's credentials as a musical magician.

I'd love to order another pint and stay around and chat, but it's 11:20.  Gotta' run for my bus.  Ah, but the craic was grand.

If you are unfamiliar with the work of the brilliant singer-songwriter Richard Thompson, you may want to listen to a few of his songs below.

His version of the traditional folk song, Oops!...I Did It Again:

The sing-a-long audience favorite Tear-Stained Letter:

And if you've made it this far, here's one of my favorites, Vincent Black Lightning 1952, a chilling ballad that he has sung every time I have seen him live - and which never fails to silence the audience and send a shiver down your spine.  Also, his only song which contains my name in the title.