I THOUGHT HE'D LIVE FOREVER

Pat Ingoldsby 1942 ~ 2025

I can only write my own truth about him, his work, and it's affecting brilliance . Everyone else has their own truth.

My phone started buzzing mid afternoon yesterday whilst at a family function so I essentially ignored it until drifting off into yesterday evening I opened up messages to tell me of his passing. So many people had associated me with him, simply because I've always been so vocal of his lifes works.

As kids, he gave us all the permission to be weird. His Pats Hat show on RTE was groundbreaking in its mayhem, it had a chaotic charm to it and he was the central puppeteer of the chaos . A master.

The Dublin of the 80's was a different Dublin. The Benzeni brothers, The Diceman , the Grafton Street hub of creativity and sitting in the middle of it selling his books with his unique cardboard signs was Pat Ingoldsby. Every transaction was an opportunity for conversation and connection with him . Always inquisitive, always attentive. A wonderful warm engaging presence.

But he was always watching, his inward eye and heart of inclusivity led the pen to the pages and for decades he watched the characters of the streets and in turn wrote about them . The kindness in the writing fills the volumes of his work that rest on my bookshelves.

I'd often buy from him down through the years , have the chats , we shared a same first name ,something he always remembered which I loved .

In August 2019 I went looking for a particular volume of one of the collections, with him no longer selling on the streets the only place to buy them was in Nolans Hardware shop in Clontarf, 5 minutes walk from his house . He would stock up the shop with signed copies on his shopping trips . I found and bought what I was looking and leaving the shop I bumped into him in the car park . I waved , he waved back and I went across to say hello . A nearby coffee shop gifted us an open table and we chatted for 3 hours over coffee and chicken goujans and chips . I will never forget his generosity that afternoon. We parted , he wrote my phone number on his asthma inhaler box , it was all he had . He rang me that night “ Is that you Patrick, I just wanted to check it was you ? “

One of the greatest joys I had across Covid was the setting up of a Twitter account, just sharing one of his poems at 9am every morning . When we closed it down there was more than 4500 followers of it . Sharing the work was the only aim . It was a joy .

You were more inclusive of the margins of society than any politician I've known,more engaged with the roots of a city , its people its problems. You had an eye of compassion that we need so much more of these days .

I love you Pat Ingoldsby, I thought you'd live forever . In many ways you will .

~ TIS SO ~

If everybody in the world who is feeling frightened
says so
and everybody who hears the words
knows what it feels like
and says so,
it would be a much easier place.

From , Hitting Cows With A Banjo

Pat Ingoldsby ©️