Christopher Thompson and friend in Stephen’s Green
Lois Kapila meets cider-sipping Christopher Thompson, ‘The Swan Man of Stephen’s Green’.
He has a way with the birds.
Lois writes:
In the north-east corner of St Stephen’s Green, near the entrance with the bronze famine statue and rough stone pillars, the man strides the dirt path along the lake edge to his appointment. He brushes by two guys cross-legged on the grass, playing with their phones, slowly getting blazed. It’s a Tuesday in early September, and the late-summer sky is clear blue.
“The swans were waiting for you here all day, saying, ‘Where’s your man with the hat?’” yells one of them after him, a rollie in his hand and a can of Devils Bit cider in front of him. His friend grins. They’re used to seeing the man here each day, to his showing up faithful and regular at around 1pm. They watch as the man sets a drawstring backpack on the ground, reaches in and pulls out a slice of squashed bread. Around him, the swans begin to stir.
He crouches down so their necks, curved like the handles of china teapots, are level with his shoulders. He tears off one corner of bread, and holds it out between his thumb and third finger towards the two swans that are first to approach. The swans stick their black beaks forward, and tilt their heads back to swallow, then stick their beaks out for more.
The man, calm and wordless, lets the swans come to him, a slight smile as they take from his upturned hand. The man’s skin is browned and creased, his nose is large. A braided fedora, a gift from his sister’s holiday to Spain, shades his features. The thinness of his face, the legacy of a past cider habit, amplifies his stark blue eyes.
Soon there are four cygnets and one daddy swan stood in a circle around him, beaks thrust forward expectantly, as the man doles out the bread like a soldier rationing sweets to street children. They stand on their flat, webbed feet and obediently wait their turn. The young cygnets chirp at him, and the man chirps back. Four short whistles, and one longer one. Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheeeeeep.
Over the next few hours, tens of park-goers will be drawn towards Christopher “Charlie the Swan Man” Thompson, the grandaddy of St Stephen’s Green’s swans. Over the last five years, thousands have. Many gawp from a distance, then cautiously approach for a photo. Some think him an oddity, others as important a fixture as the statues and sculptures that dot the park. For those who ask why he does it, Charlie has a simple explanation: he gets restless.Continue reading →