"Just when you thought it was safe to show your face in the foyer"

– an excursion to Oliver Reed’s Grave, 1^st May, 2000. Written by Trevor Hallows.

On the 2^nd of May 1999, Oliver Reed died, during last year’s IMAG. Of course, he wasn’t actually there – he was far too busy drinking in a bar on Malta for that - but his spirit was present in the form of Tom Corley who, on hearing the news, immediately proposed a toast to the man’s constitution, and was enthusiastically seconded.

Exactly 365 days later, we had a trip planned for those foolish enough to allow themselves to be booked on a trip starting at 9 am the day after the dinner. It was a trip to round off the Bacchanalian excess of the weekend, for the hardiest of drinkers to the last resting place of the hardiest of drinkers, a relaxing drive through the North Cork countryside, to share a dram with a local hero.

The group was small but a surprisingly bright. Everyone turned up, and turned up on time, and it was nice that the members of the organising committee present weren’t so comprehensively outnumbered as they had been during the rest of the weekend. It was a time to relax and enjoy the banter among a dozen or so friends and kindred spirits.

In the finest tradition of navigation through rural Ireland, the directions were sketchy and the signposts were non-existent. We knew that we had to head for Buttevant, after which our best hope was to find a knowledgeable local.

We needn’t have worried. The first person we asked narrowed it down to the tiny village of Churchtown, the second gave us precise directions to the graveyard. Finding the exact grave was not difficult, the whole cemetery was hardly three-quarters of an acre in size, and Ollie’s grave, though simple, was about a quarter of the far wall in length.

We filled our glasses – well, plastic cups, but it’s the contents and not the container that counts – with Jameson’s finest and we said a few words, but there was little we could say that would improve on the inscription on his headstone: "He made the air move".

The return journey seemed shorter. Whether it was because we knew where we were going, or because we were deep in whiskey-induced conversation I don’t know, but we seemed to be back at the Imperial in no time. It was a short trip, but a memorable one.

Thanks to Tom Corley for the inspiration, to Tom Brown for the idea, and to Ollie for another great reason to drink whiskey. TH