Here's the first e-mail I received from Irish Jack after having run into my cousins in Ireland. One of them is Tim Buckley who worked with Rory Gallagher for years and then went on to become road manager for U2 somewhere around "Live Aid". His younger brother is Brendan and their mom is my Aunt Bunty (who has since passed away, God Bless her).

Godfrey,

Be'jasus, how are you, you old mule kicker? I met your cousin Brendan last night after a removal. He speaks well of you. What is the world coming to, eh? Is this your private bed-roomed e-mail address? I wanted to send you a bit of a surprise. God in heaven, I remember you well from the Ox's memorial service in St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Let me know that you've received this so's I can send you another e mail.

                                   The blessings of Turners Cross on you,

                                                          Adh mor  =  Much luck

                                                                           Irish Jack 

2nd row, left to right...

Brendan, me and Timmy

Ireland, 1966

Here's the actual letter Irish Jack asked me to put up on my site 

after reading my "Memories Of John" page...

GODFREY,

               You old devil, bless you. You're definitely 'the man' and your auntie Bunty in Turners Cross, the lady. What a friggin hook up man, what a connection. It's typical of the only band that ever mattered (in my book, please forgive) that there will always be some kind of sublime connection through the Who. Now at last I can pin point you. I have a very special photo from the China Club and I always wondered who that guy on stage was with the guitar...and it's you Godfrey. I was there that night with Johnny Boy and Lisa. Jeezus, this is so weird. I left my overcoat (a belted trenchcoat..very hip!) in Roger's dressing room before he went on stage at Carnegie Hall, as I recall there was two clubs backstagers could go to for free. One was Le Bar Bat and the other was the China Club. I went to Le Bar Bat with Alice Cooper and had a few drinks with the Spin Doctors then I met some possee who told me Johnny Boy was playing with "JEB" over at the China Club. The guys running the Le Bar Bat were very cool and one told me that the club used to be a church and prior to that it was the location for Media Sounds where the Woodstock Festival was initially organized from. Anyway, I'm listening to history with a glass in my hand and I don't think any of them actually knew I was a mailman from Cork city. I was trying to get out of Le Bar Bat but there was a huge commotion at the door. They had the entrance ringed with red cord (y'know), walkie talkies crackling into the night air (that sounds poetic, sorry) and next thing this guy starts creeping into the club on all fours with his hood up over his head and he's wearing  "Raybans" and I'm standing there hungry for action and drink and someone says it's Eddie Vedder come straight from Carnegie and he doesn't want to be recognized and this mailman from Cork (me!) is thinking...'You know what?  Cool as this is, if our beloved Keith was still alive and here at this club he would make a mockery of this performance because he would borrow a similar coat and put the hood over his head and ask someone for sun glasses and Keith (God love him) would go down and all fours and creep OUT of the club passing Eddie Vedder on the way IN. I told some guy this who I never met in my life and the guy (who ever he was) shook my hand and insisted he buy me a drink on the spot. I had a few in me so I left the guy who bought me the drink and I walked into the side office and said, "I'm Irish Jack from the Who and I want to get over to the China Club."  I was really only asking them if they would call a cab. The guy got up off the chair he was about 6-four and weighed a considerable amount (even by Isaac Newton standards) and he spoke into a walkie talkie. "I need a car for Irish Jack for the China Club !"  I thought he was telling someone to call a cab (as we would here in Ireland, especially if you're a mailman like me) he turned to me and said, "Your car's outside, sir."  I walked out of the club (Vedder had disappeared) and there's a long queue of people waiting to get in and this guy whips away the red cord and says in front of everyone, "...a car for Irish Jack." and there's a chauffeur driven car waiting to take me over to the China Club. Jesus Christ, in three days time I'll be cycling down a boreen with a handful of mail. So I go to the China Club and there he is on stage, the boy I worked across the street from in Acton High Street in 1964, the boy I met when I was nineteen and he seventeen, and there's JEB behind the drums and now Godfrey I realize there's you, my man. I was so excited, I just couldn't get drunk. I remember just talking to anyone who cared to listen. Afterwards I got a cab back to John's hotel, I have all the info written down in my loft but it's 2am and I don't want to wake the wife up in the next room (we sleep different rooms cos she has to have an orthopaedic mattress and I can't sleep on one so, separate rooms). I think Roger was staying at the same hotel with Heather and Nobby. Nobby had to get the doctor because he had very bad stomach pains that night. Anyway, my coat's upstairs in Roger's room brought back to the hotel by him and Heather and he's obviously asleep. Right, only one thing for it. "Hello, John, it's Jack. What are you doing?"  (Usual deep voice, you have to strain every muscle in your ear lobe to catch every word) "Well, I was about to go to sleep. Lisa's out of it so....."  "Well I'm down in reception on my own and the night is young (it was about 3am)."  "See you in a bit."  And down he came. That lovable man you spoke of so fondly in that amazing tribute of yours. Could anyone imagine it. The Ox, about to hit the sack and there's a mailman downstairs telling him the night is young. And he gets dressed and there you have it. I can't think of very many people who would do that. I've never played in a band. Worse luck. I respect everything you had to say about him Godfrey because everything you said was right. John had a special way about him. Sometimes it didn't matter who you were what mattered to John was that you were yourself. I could think of a thousand so-called 'rock stars' who would've told me to get lost at 3am in the morning but not John Alec Entwistle. He must have been a very dear friend of yours. He gave Lisa a hard time sometimes but I've been with both of them when she could be a handful. If you and I ever meet up again Godfrey we'll sit down and have a cup of Irish tea and we'll toast our amazing friend who we'll never forget. And who can forget Cy. He put me to bed more than once after Who nights of madness. Another warrior!

                                                                                                    Rock on you cat

                                                                                                       Irish Jack

Godfrey, would you consider this for inclusion on your web site in the Ox tribute?

Something along the lines of  'A letter from Irish Jack' ?      

For more info about the "legendary" Irish Jack, go to his very own web page...

http://www.thewho.net/irishjack/