A Lesson on Loyalty.

Trying to come to grips with colloquial language is a challenge for everyone but I do think that in Ireland we have an extraordinary range of dialects and expressions which only appear apparent when there's a stranger in the company

My Uncle Liam is a great man for stories which he tells with confidence and great humour.  A lot of the following observations came from his time working in Dublin.  He was born and reared in Connaught and had no experience of living in a town so when he was catapulted into the city community of Dublin he had to learn on the hoof.  Liam was a Garda and his secondment to leafy Dublin 4 was sedate and civilised.  His area encompassed the Embassy Belt and the hoi polloi  of Dublin.  This area was populated with professionals, ambassadors, convents, hotels all set in a village type setting.  Those appointed to this area were the cream of the crop,  Tall, upright and a credit to their organisation and the community they served.

One rather upset lady approached Liam  with a difficulty.  She was most apologetic to be troubling The Guards and with some encouragement outlined her sorry tale. She had attended Dublin's Bird Market and purchased a Canary complete with cage and all accoutrement's as a gift for her niece.  The bird sang prettily but had difficulty with one of his legs and couldn't swing on his perch.  So Liam was dispatched to escort the lady back to the seller to question the sale of faulty goods.  On arrival, the lady complete with her fur coat and Garda escort arrived to the stall and outlined the difficulty.  Unconcerned the seller responded 'Jeasus Madam, did ya want a singing canary or a dancing one"

Uncle Liam was promoted and his next position was in less salubrious surroundings.  In the late 1940's a large block of Corporation Flats were built in Dublin to replace tenement houses and a second development took place in the early 1950's.  All of the accommodation was for families and as with every community, those in the first block of flats felt more "established" and somewhat superior to the younger families who arrived nearly ten years later.

Once a month, the State Child Benefit was paid. In Dublin, the payment was called 'Micky Money'. Mothers would dress in their best and any non school children would be brought for the walk to the Post Office to collect the much welcomed money.

As the mothers cued greetings and news would be exchanged.  Observations and enquiries regarding the progress and welfare of children, husbands and extended family members would be eagerly sought.  The arrival of a new family was a source of great anticipation and source of gossip.

As the 'Established' mothers took precedence in the que, a young mother was observed, nicely dressed and pushing a pram.  An infant was snug in the pram,  two other children held onto either side of the pram, a fourth child sat on a board across the pram and the mother was heavily pregnant. Two of the older mothers greeted her and as one returned from the post office counter with her money she paused and asked in a loud voice 'Well Mary, and how are you, things are going well for ye in Fertility Flats' to which the young mother riposted 'Well I can tell ye now Kathleen, its a lot more fun than yer having in Menopausal Mansion's as she circled her pram and brood and swept out the door towards the shops.

A further promotion saw Liam back in Connaught.  He'd never lost contact with his old friends and looked forward to the experience of working at home.  It was a swift learning curve.  Liam had forgotten the nuances of the countryside.  In Dublin, directness or at the very least outright defiance was the norm.  Country life was embroidered with many layers which Liam had to learn all over again.

There's always a family in a parish who despite their lack of funds, property or material wealth they contributed by their labour to assist or improve their community.  A lot of these families were very large and the greatest compliment to be paid to the mother would be the public utterance, 'Fair play to you Mrs Donnelly, ye've reared ten childer and not a Bowsie amongst them'.  A 'Bowsie' is Dublin slang for a messer or individual who committed some minor act of mischief.  On the other hand, 'A Right Bowsie' defined acts of criminality or physical assault.  In rural districts a Boyo or Bucko held the same status as the Bowsie.

All things being equal, and to somewhat balance a community; there's the family known to be light of finger or adverse to work.  The mother tried her best to keep control of her family  and was seen to do so.  One day on the Mickey Money cue, one of her high profile miscreants was spotted by the Guards.  Full of bluff and thunder; he knew his rights and fired out an alibi that he was assured his mother would give him.  Enquires were made to find the Mother and bring her to the Garda Station.

The poor mothers loyalty to her son was severely tested. She could not endorse his behaviour either way.  To bring the attention of the Guards to the family was both hurtful and damaging.  Meanwhile, the son realised that the one person who loved and believed in him most was now dragged into a scenario which was entirely his fault.  Whilst sitting in the Garda Interview Room, a wise and experienced Garda listend to the tale of  woe from the son robustly defending his mother and wishing to extract her out of the situation he had placed her in , he admitted his offence as his Mother entered the office.  The Garda replied  'Son your mother is true to a fault; sure she could throw out nothing' thus praising the Mother and shaming the son.

'MAKING A PRIEST' IN IRELAND.

In Ireland, a great aspiration and achievement of many Irish families was the 'making of a priest. Strong farmers and tradespeople, shop owners, teachers or police families were the preferred backgrounds of the potential seminarians.  These families could be relied upon to finance the seven years education before ordination.

For these families, the eldest son would be selected as the heir, and the younger sons would be encouraged to follow up on family links in associated professions.  Daughters could marry or enter a convent; both options held in high social currency.

A priest, a teacher, policeman or merchant were the middle class in Ireland and they held enormous power in a parish.

For families without connection, a son or daughter with a strong vocation could be offered a place with with a Missionary Order for a small contribution.  Our story begins with a family who had a modest holding of 5 acres and the determination of the family to survive on this holding and to make something of their family by 'making a priest' of the eldest son.

The family lived just above sustenance level and to increase their income the woman of the house developed a large clutch of hens to sell eggs and occasional chickens.   The home diet consisted of soda bread, porridge, cabbage, potato bread, and no egg could be spared for the family.  A piece of cured and salted bacon hung from the ceiling and if an unexpected caller arrived, a sliver would be cut and hastily thrown onto the fire to create the smell of cooking meat.  The neighbours had cottoned on to this subterfuge and grudgingly admired their ambition but also felt that they were getting ideas above their station.

The Fair Day dawned and the farmer and his wife headed with their ass and cart loaded with the eggs and chickens for sale.  As they approached the main road, the husband gave a shout, stopped the cart and vomited violently onto the roadway.  A number of neighbours travelling before and behind them, stopped to enquire and offer help to the weakened man as he climbed back up on the cart and all the while his wife fussed and fluttered around the eggs and chickens and bewailing the loss of her husbands breakfast, now splattered on the roadside.  She declared to all and sundry that he'd eaten his usual repast of porridge, soda bread, tea and two boiled eggs with which her neighbour, who had been standing by  the roadside remarked 'Begob Mam, didn't he behave well to holt on to the eggs!'

I never did hear did they manage their ambition but I looked up the costs of 'making a priest' in 1958 and they were as follows;


Capuchins – £1,000 for entire course 

Oblates – £1,500.
Passionists – £250 per annum (no separate accounts kept for students).
Redemptorists – £150 per annum.
St. Patrick’s Foreign Mission Society – £98 per annum (no separate accounts kept for students).
St. Columban’s Foreign Mission Society – £150 per annum.
Maynooth College – £150 per annum. This figure does not include the cost of books, clothes, travel and the many other necessary personal expenses of every student. According to a recent survey, about £900, on the average, is contributed by his parents towards the total cost of a student’s education while in Maynooth College.