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.

The Irish Have Long Memories...

My brother and his wife had visitors from Canada.  They had never been to Ireland before and when we joined them for a barbeque my brother told them that I was the one who’d explain about the Bricklieve Cairns which overlooked his house.

\Photo credit; Kiaran McHugh.com

The Cairns are known as Carrowkeel and through carbon dating it has been estimated that they are over five thousand years old and predate the Egyptian Pyramids.  Carrowkeel is one of the largest passage tomb cemeteries in Ireland.

We headed up the mountain by car and took the short walk to the cairns which have majestic views over Lough Arrow, Lough Key and the counties of Sligo and Roscommon.  Jim and his wife were suitably impressed by the location and ancient monuments and I did my best to interpret their significance.

Over dinner Jim asked how long were our family living in the area and we explained that we were ‘Blow Ins’.  Naturally, this expression was foreign to a Canadian and our children were aghast; ‘Blow Ins?’ this was their home.

As we stood in the bright sunlight I explained that our mothers’ people came from 5 miles over to the east and our fathers’ people came from 14 miles to the west of where we were.  Our mother was Roscommon, and father Sligo.  Jim just about collapsed with laughter and made the remark that we spoke of living 5000 years ago as if it were yesterday and limited our residency by milliseconds.

Our conversation expanded as our guests tried to come to grips with our status.  ‘Is a Blow
In illegitimate or somehow lesser than a local? who or what determined territory? Were we Irish at all?’
So I told the story of our grand uncle who was driving his car in Leitrim.  At the time there were very few cars in the countryside and the traffic hazards consisted of sheep, cows and the odd stray goat on the road.  Vehicular congestion comprised of two neighbours chatting as their donkeys grazed on the roadside whilst the men sat on their carts and enjoyed a smoke.  Uncle Martin nearly drove up their arses and just managed to avoid a collision as did another car coming behind him.

Naturally this drew the attention of neighbours in the adjoining field who were saving hay and a gaggle of men and women formed around the near accident.  Conscience clear, pipes smoked and it being near tea time the crowd dispersed.  One of the labourers was heading to the town and the second driver of the car offered a lift which was declined with courtesy.Martin was still chatting and as he drove slowly forward, the man heading to town signalled him for a lift.  On reaching the town Martin casually asked why the passenger hadn’t taken the first lift offered and he responded ‘era you couldn’t take a lift of that fella, his people stole the horses off The French’.

Now, if you don’t know your history and you’re not Irish this story is nonsensical.  In 1798 when French troops sailed to Ireland to support Irish rebels against the British forces they landed on Killable Bay in County Mayo, and travelled through Sligo and Leitrim to the scene of their final battle and defeat at Ballinamuck, in County Longford. Martin’s passenger in one sentence had obliterated any opportunity for the other car owner to forget his pedigree.

IRISH TWINS

The term Irish Twins was unique to me until the early 1970's.  There was a family near us who had returned to Ireland with their three children.   'The Twins' and a younger sister.  Their father was from the parish and their mother was from the neighbouring county.  The father was very quiet in comparison to The Mother....she knew everything and everyone, joined committees, good causes and attended mass regularly.  All of her efforts would be destroyed with a barbed remark or the foretelling of news before anyone else would have it.  Self analysis would not have been her strong suit and she had the happy knack of spreading news like wildfire.  Having said that, she was not malicious, merely unfortunate in her remarks.

Her less charitable neighbours would mutter under their breaths or ask her publicly about The Twins regularly.  I noticed the conversations but was at a loss to understand how The Mother would bluster or fidget when responding to the enquiries which appeared to be solicitous but carried some mysterious undercurrent.

Some months previously the news of an impending birth had hit the parish.  The girl was unmarried and whilst people may have been sympathetic to her case, no public comments of support for the young girl were voiced.  My parents and their peers were very upset for the girl and her family.  She was young, came of good stock and the girl's welfare and that of her extended family was of great concern.  The father had absconded.  Some of the elderly relatives had not been told of the girls predicament.

After another social gaffe episode involving The Mother of The Twins I asked my mother what was the mystery and she told me that The Mother had married and left the parish on honeymoon and the couple had emigrated.  Subsequently a baby boy was born and 11 months later, a second son was delivered.  The boys were both born in the same year so therefore became Irish Twins!  Maths not being my strong suit, I still didn't get the subtlety;  The bride was pregnant when she married so in order to keep the good side out; when the family returned to Ireland, The Twins got the birth date of the second son.

Apparently nobody minded the subterfuge but every time The Mother imparted gossip, it rankled with the parish.

At a large social gathering for the area, an elderly aunt of the pregnant girl was present.  Several manoeuvres were conducted to keep her out of the range of The Mother and all went well until refreshments were being served and whilst the Aunt waited for her tea to be poured by The Mother, The Mother enquired 'how is your niece?'  The air was sucked out of the hall like a vacuum and the revellers froze in a state of suspended animation as the Aunt responded 'why do you ask?' As the tea poured out in slow motion The Mother leaned forward imparting an aura of confidentially and sympathy and imported 'the news' in grave tones.  The Aunt genteelly placed sugar in her tea and asked was her niece coping with the pregnancy and The Mother responded that she was well but very big.  As The Aunt reached for the milk and straightened herself up she looked at The Mother straight between the eyes and said 'Perhaps she's having twins'.

PETER HORAN TAKES TO THE PITCH

What is it about the human psyche that we cannot accept our natural gifts?  My late father Peter Burke loved traditional music and was an athletic and handsome man.  He played at minor level for his County beloved Sligo; and won Silver at the Collooney Fleadh for playing the fiddle.  He admired athleticism and all of the maxims of life were delivered with a sporting theme.  As a child, when faced with a dilemma or indecision his response was 'you're either on the pitch or off, make your mind up'.  

One of dad's contemporaries was Peter Horan.  Horan is revered and remembered for his interpretation of traditional Irish music and sense of mischief.  Both friends admired each others skill and had a wistful envy and sadness that they could not both compete in the same arena.

In company, the two Peters always greeted each other with a question.  Neither of them would answer the question which was puzzling to the onlooker but was entirely clear to the pair of bucks who would then burst out laughing.  

Often as not, Burke would ask Horan "why did you kick it?" and Horan would retort "why wouldn't I take the chance?"  Naturally, the others in the room would be curious to know 'the story' and the boys didn't disappoint.  Whilst Horan assembled his flute he would wax lyrically about Burke's prowess on the field.  Burke would return the compliment by extolling Horan's ability as a flute player.  Others would join in the exchange by recalling a moment on the football pitch or the rendition of a tune by Horan.  Eventually some one would ask Horan was he ever a football player and thus provide an opening for the story.....

Apparently there was a football match to be played; a local derby which would be keenly challenged and attended by both parishes.  It was to be an away match and a lot of 'the lads' worked away from home so getting the team together was always difficult.  No mobile phones, very few cars and even bicycles were scarce.  

The day of the match arrived and as the Bunninnadden team arrived in ones and twos they realised that they were a man short and the pitch was underwater in places.  The hosting team would win by default until someone suggested Horan as a substitute and the game was on.  The team strategy was decided; if the ball came to Horan he was to immediately hand pass it away as he had two left feet. 

The battle raged on the pitch, against the odds and the waterlogged pitch, our boys were winning by a point. The ball came to Horan and in a fit of exuberance he kicked it.....right into the hands of the opposition who scored a goal and won the match.

The weary teams assembled in the pub, the match was replayed and as the pints were lowered one of the opposing teams remarked loudly that it had been a great match to which Horan replied, 'sure ye beat us in water; next time we'll play you on land'

The picture below is of Peter Horan and his friend Fred Finn in a typical pose..... more anon.

HOUSE CONCERT WITH JESSE SMITH, SEAN GAVIN & JOHN BLAKE

Just before Christmas 2014, our young neighbour James Carty who is also a proficient traditional Irish musician had been chatting to Jesse Smith, another fine fiddler from Baltimore USA about the House Concert phenomenon in the USA.

Jesse was surprised that there were none in Ireland, especially when the Rambling House had been such a part of the social life in Ireland up to the 1960's.
James remarked that his neighbours had a fine room which was well versed in the art of partying and that we were keen on traditional music.  The dye was cast, and Jesse contacted me with the notion.  Nothing ventured; nothing gained…. we decided to give it a go.  Despite my physical frailty, I make a good Armchair Director!  We determined a date and the multi talented John Blake and Sean Gavin from Chicago made up the musical trio.

In a fit of self-doubt I contacted Keith Conroy a Sound Engineer from Boyle and we collared John Carty & our Sarah to test the acoustics of the room.  Not many artists can boast that a Gradam Ceol holder did their sound check!  Keith christened the duo ‘The Knockroe Rousers’ and decided to elevate their position with a rostrum whist our Conor swiped the Christmas lights from the attic to light up the proceedings.'The Knockroe Rousers' deemed the room 'Sound' so and secure in the knowledge that our musical guests were ‘top shelf’ we extended personal invitations to our home.

'My Reason For Living' assisted with parking whilst the rest of the household did meet, greet and seat.  Our friends and friends of friends gathered with bits to eat and a little libation;

Well…… not since I was a small child did I hear or see such a spectacle! Jesse, Sean and John took to the stage and immediately sensed the air of expectancy.  The audience knew what they hoped to hear and the aura was so strong that it took our musicians aback .  John explained later that at a concert venue one prepares a running order but because the audience is a little distant, the musicians have to work hard to set the tone.  In this instance, the audience were almost sitting on their laps, knew the music, were prepared for greatness and could put names on places and origins of tunes.  Within minutes our room became a sanctuary.  Every variation of a tune was met by a resounding sigh, hup or gentle acknowledgement. Banter was exchanged, locations of tunes were identified and we rollicked the house for an hour and broke for a libation.

One of our young guests is a dancer but he was wearing soft shoes.  Undaunted, Maureen Carty propositioned every male with brogues until she got a pair to fit Ryan Owens and off we went again.  Young Ryan acquitted himself well despite the fact that he was on a dangerously polished floor. 

The second half of the proceedings commenced with gusto.  Sean played the illuainn pipes which proved difficult because of the heat rising in the room. Windows were opened but the effect was worse, to sympathetic and understanding chatter the pipes were abandoned and it was at that point I realised that there were 27 musicians in the audience! To my knowledge we had Connaught and County Champions from All Ireland Fleadhs together with two Gradam Ceoil Winners sitting in the front row.

Jesse Smith introduced a tune; he believed it came from near Killaville, Bernard McGuire identified it as from Henry’s Cross at Doocastle and then explained to the two ‘Yanks’ that they were only 15 miles from the location and off they went again to rapturous applause.

All the while John Blake sat, master of all he surveyed as he led, followed and worked his keyboard like a spider creating a web, completely unobtrusive yet leaving a masterpiece behind him every time.

As the music soared and swooped throughout the house, every foot tapping and the little rostrum bobbing from the vibration I thought to myself of the 46 musicians in my ancestors home in Doocastle and vowed I'd make a brave attempt to match the sentiment of Arthur O'Neill  At the hour this hospitable gentleman's customary meeting was finished, some guests contiguous to their own places went away, but those who lived some miles off remained ; and in order to accommodate them Mr. and Mrs. Irwin lay on chairs that night in the parlour. For my own part I never spent a more agreeable night, either in bed or out of bed."The Memoirs of Arthur O'Neill (1734-1818)

Kevin Burke Comes To Eastersnow

The way I heard it is that John Carty was chatting Kevin Burke who was planning to come to Cork and thought he’d swing by Carty’s.  Burke is based in Oregon in the USA so I suppose landing in Dublin and going to Cork via Knockroe Townland seemed logical.  Anyway, some way or other the subject of house concerts came up and John sez to Kevin, 'The Egans in Knockroe have never heard of you!'  Naturally this story was being recounted in Dickie Beirne’s Emporium at Eastersnow with the aid of a couple of creamy pints.  My Reason for Living was highly entertained and knew that if Burke was in the vicinity we’d go to see him play. 

Kevin’s Burke’s CD ‘If the Cap Fits’ has been worn to a thread in our house and the final set of reels is a particular favourite of mine.  When our Sarah started to play the fiddle I’d told her when she mastered that set she’d be sorted….

Well somewhere between Dickies and Carty’s, Kevin contacted me via email saying that John Carty would put in a good word for him and perhaps he’d be welcome at our house in November!

Kevin was playing in Sligo at the Master’s Concert for the Fleadh.  We had tickets and were also looking forward to seeing John Blake again so when the gig ended we hit to the stage door to introduce ourselves.  ‘Mr Burke’ sez I, I’m your date for November, ‘very good’ sez Burke with the aplomb of a man being accosted by groupies on a regular basis.

The night closed in as it does in November, the usual suspects had arrived and with a flourish the Carty’s arrived with Kevin and his brother Noel.  We settled them into the front room whilst people were meeting, greeting and seating.

As I passed by the doorway I heard the strains of Aherlow and without thinking literally burst into the room and screeched ‘are you playing that?’.  ‘Yes’ responded his lordship and I left the room with my eyes blurred with tears… it was the first tune my little Sarah had mastered.  The emotional thump hit me in the solar plexus… I thought of my late father,  Arthur O’Neill’s night to remember in Irwins, The Bergonzi Fiddle, John Carty gently slagging our Sarah about Burke and the enormity of it all almost overwhelmed me.

Our room was full as was the kitchen as Kevin settled himself.  During the interval our guests; some who had little interest or knowledge in traditional music expressed their delight at Kevin’s international repertoire.  I was too happy to care what anyone thought.

John Carty joined Kevin for the second half.  As they played I literally was stuck to the chair.

The final set was over and as I raised my head I saw John nod to Sarah, I thought he wanted a glass; she pulled up a chair and tucked her fiddle under her arm….my alarm and panic grew; Like Elizabeth Bennet of Pride & Prejudice who was torn between loyalty to her family and her public embarrassment when her not so gifted sister insisted on playing piano, this was a potentially calamitous situation. 

I never heard what Kevin or John said as they introduced our daughter.  My eyes frantically searched for my husband who stood at the jamb of the door and just smiled benignly at me.  Sarah started and the two Masters played with her, I lowered my head; unable to look and even when I realized that she had nailed it I still could not look as the sound soared and swooped, laughed and tickled around the room whilst our daughter was escorted through the tunes by the generosity and courtesy of the gentlemen. 

Serendipity.