John-the-roofer and his mate were on the roof perhaps forty feet above me while I was skimming the cracked lower steps with new cement. This was several years ago when we had our big works done to the house and the new roof was going on, and we hadn’t tiled the old steps yet. I didn’t know the roofer’s surname; Mr Murphy, the building contractor, had introduced the roofer only as “John from Torquay” and the young roofer apprentice wasn’t introduced at all.

If, like me, you expect a roofer to be built like a grasshopper or, at most, like a tall jockey, you’d have quite the wrong mental image of John-the-roofer, who was a big burly man with little or no hair and a big booming voice to match his frame. Strangely, the booming voice was incomprehensible to our ears as it sounded like it was coming through fifty feet of drainpipe.

It was summer and sunny, which was why the roof was going on during that week and why, on that particular day, I chose to work outside. Every so often, while I was occupied with my trowel on the wet cement, I heard above me the loud and incoherent sound of John the roofer’s drainpipe voice giving orders to his twenty-year-old apprentice. At around midday I was mixing up some new cement when I heard the younger man ask:

“What are you having for lunch Shag Nasty?”

“Did I hear right?” I thought to myself, a bit shocked, and I waited for a response.

To my even greater surprise, John-the-roofer replied in his normal unintelligible tones, no louder or with any sound of irritation.

I decided that my hearing was playing tricks on me.

A few minutes passed and the apprentice piped up again:

“Think I’ll have a nice steak tonight. What about you Shag Nasty?” he couldn’t contain a little laugh.

This time I was convinced. For a moment or two I felt upset for poor John-the-roofer from Torquay, then I was indignant on his behalf, and finally, when I got to thinking about how a man could come to be dubbed with such a horrible nickname (there was nothing much else to consider whilst mixing concrete), I wanted to laugh aloud. I went inside and did so. I came back outside, got the giggles, and went indoors again to have a good laugh without incensing or hurting the feelings of John (alias Shag Nasty).

At length, after several more “Shag Nasty” comments (all said apparently quite casually, without malice or sarcasm) and corresponding bouts of giggles from me, I managed to finish my work and went to look for Chris.

“The young roofer kept calling John-the-roofer ‘Mr Shag Nasty’ or just ‘Shag Nasty’,” I whispered to Chris, “Did you hear them?”.

“No! And no.”

“Yes!” I said, “and he didn’t seem upset – not that I could understand because to me he always sounds like he’s talking through a fifty foot drainpipe. What can it mean?”

“They could probably see you working on the steps and were having a bit of fun trying to shock you and see your response,” suggested Chris.

I agreed that might have been the case but then I saw an additional possibility…

“I wonder if John’s surname is Shaughnessy?”

~~~~~~~

While I’m on the subject of the name Shaughnessy I’d like to tell you about two others of the Shaughnessy clan.

Patrick Shaughnessy was a member of the highly successful Texan contingent who made their vast millions from cattle and oil. When at last Patrick felt wealthy and secure enough to leave his holdings in the hands of others for six months, he decided to take a well-earned holiday and travel the world to meet up with his cousins around the globe. He ended up on the cattle station owned by his cousin Paddy out at Winton, far West Queensland.

After an hour or two the novelty of entertaining the American cousin had worn off for Paddy. He had tired of the fact that anything he mentioned was bettered and outdone by the Texan. If he said he owned one helicopter, Patrick had two – plus a private jet. His 15,000 square kilometres could apparently fit in the Texan’s “back yard – and then some!” Patrick boasted of pocketing $5,000,000 each year (after tax) while Paddy admitted to earning a paltry $500,000.

The cousins were enjoying a couple of gallons of beer out on the verandah when a red kangaroo jumped over one wall of the front enclosure, hopped past the swimming pool and the AstroTurf lawn, then jumped over the opposite wall and was gone. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that the American cousin wondered what it was.

“Say cous’, what in the heck was that?” asked Patrick.

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” began Paddy, “Don’t you get grasshoppers in Texas?”