Sean Beecher was a friend and a good writer. He was a folklorist, a lover of the Irish language, a great GAA man and a local historian of some note. He was a quietspoken man with a terrific Cork lilt. He was proud of everything he did - his connections, his Cork roots.
Sean passed away just after Christmas and was buried on Inis Mor, one of his beloved Aran islands. If you wanted to know something of old Cork, Sean was the source. A St Finbarr's man to his fingertips, he had the insider's view on where Cork hurling was going. He was laid to rest on the Inis but, first and last, he was a son of Cork.
The historical treasure trove in Cork fascinated him. He had a keen interest in the city's roots, its development and its distinctive language. When he published The Dictionary of Cork Slang, we met for a drink. He gave me the paperback and I used it for an Irishman's Diary.
It caused some bemusement. A feature written in Cork slang might not be everyone's cup of tea but it certainly provoked interest. For weeks later, I spent a lot of time referring people who were taken by the unusual lingo to the compiler of the archive.
His interests did not make Sean a wealthy man - he was never in it for the money. He did what he did because of his love for the subject matter. He was the type of historian whose day could be put out of kilter due to a chance encounter on the street. He loved talking to people, debating his theories with them. Talking about his next project. Defending his stance.
A former local authority man, Sean blossomed when he left the service and found time to do what he loved best. People called on his experience and his knowledge. The radio stations and newspapers wanted him, as his amazing depth of historical insights was something to be tapped. He spoke about these things in the street in the same fashion as he did on radio.
His dictionary, with words like "cowluck"; "crackawly"; "levit"; "ladder"; "mauser"; "tisoveriteye"; "tilly"; "wammon"; "wan"; and hundreds more, was well received. Almost 400 words were explained, with over 1,000 derivations given and 21 illustrations by Cork artist William Harrington.
More than a decade ago, I was asked by a publican friend to assemble a team of writers for a guide to the pubs of Cork city and county. It goes without saying that I asked Sean to be part of the team. In the end, he contributed three pieces: not surprisingly, one on Cork patois; one on whiskey and its local history; and one on an armoured car.
But this armoured car had nothing to do with military purposes. It was the story of an extraordinary draghound, alias the Armoured Car, owned by a famous Blackpool draghunter, Connie Doyle. Mark the name well for it has passed into legend in Cork.
The song celebrating the triumphs of the Armoured Car - actual name, Ringwood - is still sung with gusto in the sporting pubs of Cork. And what a hound he must have been. According to Sean's article and the words of the song, written by Sean Callaghan, of Fairhill, from which he borrowed, the ballad was no stranger to hyperbole: "Tis to you I'll disclose he had a check-proof nose, and he never yet lost a hunt . . . He had cast iron jaws and steel padded paws - every nail was like an iron bar."
By the time of his death, Sean had also written The Story of Cork; Day by Day - a miscellany of Cork History; and An Gaeilge in Cork City. He will be missed.