This wasn’t a tourist pub. This was the locals’ local. Farmers pulled up on tractors and occasionally slept in the cab by morning. Kids rode ponies into the village for crisps. Teenagers bought cigarettes for their parents without question — unless their mam didn’t smoke, in which case the barkeep would bellow across the room: “Jaysus Albert, git outta here before I call your mam!” It was rural Ireland in its purest form.