An Interview with St Patrick

‘I just wanted to banish snakes, obliterate stupid, old paganism, and baptise a bunch of people,’ I can hear St Patrick tell police, head in his hands, while being forced to watch CCTV footage of a group dressed as leprechauns outside O’Donnell’s.

Two are throwing punches after one pulled the other’s fake orange beard down and let it go so it snapped up and smacked him in the eye on purpose. A green-faced girl dressed up as a four-leaf clover is shouting at them to stop, two guys are attempting to Irish jig while another yells the lyrics to B*witched’s ‘C’est La Vie’, and one is sat on the floor inhaling chips, cheese, and gravy next to his mate who’s throwing up the 15 Guinness he’s just been dared to drink in under 45 minutes into his giant green hat.

‘…I just wanted to banish snakes.’ St Patrick sighs, pinching his eyes.

Today, St Patrick’s Day is an excuse to get p*ssed on an unparalleled level and speak in an offensively bad Irish accent, but its origins are far more sober. And the Isle of Man has its small part to play in that origin story.

‘So, Pat. If that is your real name. I thought you were Irish but looking at your records it turns out you’re actually Welsh. Care to explain yourself?’

‘It’s Patrick. And, yes, I’m Welsh. When I was 16, I was kidnapped by Irish raiders.’

‘THE NFL TEAM?!’

‘N-…no. Just a bunch of random Irish guys. They took me to Ireland. I started working as a shepherd and was homesick after being kidnapped and shipped abroad so, I turned to Christianity for comfort.’

‘Right. If, you could just skip to the part where you end up in the Isle of Man that’d be more interesting. Sorry. Relevant.’

‘Wow, okay, rude. After six years in captivity, I heard a voice telling me to leave Ireland. I believe that voice was God. So, I left and escaped to Britain.’

‘Via the Isle of Man, I assume, otherwise, again, this interview is pointless.’

‘Again, rude. My association with the Isle of Man is… disputed. Some don’t believe me when I say I came here because I lied one time about banishing snakes in Ireland when really, by snakes, I was being symbolic and meant paganism. But anyway, I stopped by the Isle of Man on my way to taking Christianity to Liverpool. AND I had 30 followers with me so you can corroborate my story with any of them. Except Desmond. He’s a compulsive liar.’

‘Okay, so on your way to bring Christianity to Liverpool after being instructed to “by God”…you called by the Isle of Man. And how was your visit?’

‘Well, that whole scenario was pretty mental. So, it was AD 444, I decided to ride my horse here over the sea. Your guy Manannan was intimidated by me, understandably, so threw down his stupid misty cloak thing AND set a sea-beast on me. It wasn’t the most welcoming of welcomes. But it didn’t matter, I jumped onto Peel Hill to get away. The sea beast chasing me was turned into rock as soon as my horse’s hooves hit the Earth, which I wasn’t expecting but was cool. Apparently, you can still see the big curving ridge of its back off Peel Hill. It lies in the sea below Chibbyr Pherick (Patrick’s Well, aka my well).’

‘Yeah, that area’s called St Patrick’s Isle now. I’ve heard different versions of this story though, some say you first landed in the Isle of Man in Jurby, others say you didn’t ride a horse but got a curlew to fly you over to The Sound where your footprints have been preserved in rock.’

‘Have they?! Hahaha no way, I didn’t even know that.’

‘Yeah, in 1939 a concrete box was put around them and people were charged to look at them.’

‘People were charged? Bloody capitalism…Surely, I’m owed money for that.’

‘Either way, there are different stories telling of how you came to the Isle of Man. Which is the truth?’

‘Man, it was in AD 444, I don’t remember. Anyway, DESPITE my inhospitable welcome, as a blessing from me to the Manx people I banished a load of venomous beasts, devils, and a whole load of magicians and brought Christianity to the Isle of Man. Bless me, you’re welcome. I also banished Manannan. Sorry. He stormed off in a mood, literally rolled away in the form of three legs and sank into the sea.’

‘That must be why the sea is always so rough. Do you have any idea how much carnage you’ve caused to ferry crossings?’

‘Sorry about that. Hey, is my curse still working?’

‘Oh, the one you made after you pricked your ankle on a thorn when you were walking in a field in Marown, got annoyed, then cursed the field to never grow crops? Yeah. Nothing has ever grown there.’

‘Damn. That was an overreaction. I was having a bad day. I shouldn’t have done that. I did punish myself for it though. I slept on a rock and used a stone as a pillow. Worst night sleep of my life.’

‘Oh yeah, that rock’s still there. We’ve called it St Patrick’s Bed or ‘Lhiabbee Pherick’. It was etched into it 100 or so years ago.’

‘Oh wow, with the parish church in Jurby, and the 18 keeills and 13 holy wells, as well as load of other sites you guys have named loads after me. It’s a lot. Some might say too much.. like a crazy, stalker amount.’

‘Back to these p*ss heads wearing shamrocks and throwing up in your name though.’

‘Right, the shamrocks I’ll take accountability for. I used a shamrock to explain the Christian doctrine of the Trinity then people started wearing it to commemorate my day (St Patrick’s Day) which evolved into just wearing green BUT the alcohol side of things is not my fault. It’s because I died on March 17, which falls in line with Lent. Apparently, in celebration of the life of their patron Saint, moi, Irish Christians removed the restrictions associated with Lent on this day and threw parties to commemorate my death. In a nice way. But I didn’t tell them to do that and if you say that’s my fault, it is victim blaming 101.’

‘Right, well I’d like to say that was an interesting story but then I’d be lying. Regardless, someone has to take accountability for these Guinness-induced Manxies puking in the streets in your name every single year.’

‘Hey. Jesus died for people’s sins not me.’

‘Can I just get you on record saying you love the Isle of Man and telling people to drink responsibly.’

‘Isn’t that police coercion?’

‘Just do it, then you can leave.’

‘Fine. Good day squires about town. I’m St. Patrick. I loved my visit to the Isle of Man. #downwithpaganism #upchristianity. Happy my Day to you. Please, drink responsibly and stop singing ‘C’est La Vie’. Pick a different B*Witched song, they’ve got loads. Cheers. Pat.’

‘Police interview with St Patrick end at precisely fourteen hundred hours.’

‘Excellent. Pint of Guinness?’

‘It’d be rude not to.’

‘Bet you can’t drink 20 in an hour.’