Mining Memories: Then & Now

Full Circle, Maria Marshall

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 13:03:03 +0100

My sister Veronica and I loved watching other families, counting how many cats we could see, or tempting sparrows to visit our windowsill by spreading a few bread crumbs.Like most children, we did not consider whether we were lucky or not, nor dwell on the lack of money for clothes or little luxuries, but gradually we became aware that many families were better off than us, but others had no regular dinner or warm clothes for winter. We also realised that friends living five minutes walk away in ...

Thoughts of Ellen and ‘Inter Cert’ Past, Margaret Clayton

Sat, 28 Apr 2012 10:32:59 +0100

A placid baby, Ellen grew into a curious child who took nothing for granted. 'Why is the moon following us?' She asked on a late night journey in the summer of 1998. She was just four. Over the years we were amused by her unique take on ordinary things. 'I don't see why wheelchairs need such a big space', pronounced the innocent six year old as I frantically searched for parking one wet afternoon, a car full of kids.

At seven came her ‘playing school’ phase with herself cast as teacher. Thro...

Cathair Caim...a memoir

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 15:54:41 +0100

In Cathair, spring and summer were never far away, and saving the hay was a wonderful occasion. At midday, Auntie May would arrive with a gallon of sweet tea, lovely buttered home-made brown bread and my favourite – white currant bread. We younger ones used to sit on the cocks of hay, as they were being pulled by Tommy, the horse, through the fields to the hay-shed. How I looked forward to climbing up the ladder in the hayshed to search for hens’ nests and the warm eggs inside!

I lov...

Titanic Sailed Without Him...by Norah Bohan

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 11:17:58 +0100

Which of them first broke their news, is unknown but it’s likely great joy was tempered with sadness and disappointment. James wanting his cousin and friends approval and support for his emigration to America, Patrick simply wanting his cousin and friend at his wedding, in the role of Best Man!

No one knows what soul searching, persuasion or even bribery was involved in reaching the decision but Patrick won the day and persuaded James to stay for his wedding.

As I write, almost 100 year...

Electric Light by John Tackney

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 15:00:40 +0100

Later, these fields would be alive with men picking and shovelling and sledging, excavating holes to anchor the giant bitumen-soaked poles that would shoulder the heavy cables carrying an abstraction, the abstraction of electric current across townlands, into homes, an abstraction, an energy, an imagined dynamic, moving, yet still, a predicate in the cold inertia of metal wire, a mystery that would bang on the doors of perception with an intense urgency, demanding understanding an...

Bon Voyage by Joe Palmer

Wed, 28 Mar 2012 21:36:10 +0100

The tent and all the camping accoutrements were stored in our garage in a black box specially made by my newspaper Editor father, Tom, to fit the Singer’s large boot for their extended motoring adventure. In time, it become known as ‘the Rome box’, a repository for all sorts of bits and pieces with potential for future use. These included scraps of light-weight metal my uncle Liam had retrieved from the wreckage of an aeroplane which crashed onto the top of Benbulben mountain during...

New Shoes by Joe Palmer

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 10:13:22 +0100

I stood there fascinated, clutching my satchel tightly in my hand. I hoped there would be time to see the job finished before I had to head along.

The forge stood on the corner of the Short Line, in the centre of Sligo town. I passed it every morning on my way to school. Most days, I called to the stables next door to see the men tackle up the horses for the daily task of drawing the red Guinness kegs to the local pubs. Packie drove one of the carts, Jack the other.

Packie was...

The Tramore Train: Michael O'Connor

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 11:21:52 +0100

We eagerly waited for the man in the cap and uniform to blow his whistle, for his famous cry to ring out “All aboard” and then for him to wave his green flag. Now that the train was ready we would, not so gently, lurch out of the station and we were on our way. Clickety clack, clickety clack, was the sound the train seemed to be making as it rolled over the tracks.

As we travelled along my brothers and I looked out for a railway bridge or tunnel and then screamed out in del...

Too Much Time On My Hands by Mattie Lenoon

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 21:56:28 +0100

On Sunday 16th July, a scorching day, I headed for McHale Park, Castlebar to the Connaught Final. Roscommon beat Mayo 5:8 to 3:10 and I boarded the Dublin train with pockets bulging. In the All-Ireland hurling final Kilkenny beat Cork 3:34 to 5:11 and watches were on offer to all.

And on the penultimate Sunday of September, as the final whistle blew, I was waiting outside Croke Park. Kerry vs Offaly had ended in a draw. Both sets of supporters were jubilant in anticipation of a win next time out...

Zietgist: My 1960s Liz Walsh

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 15:06:33 +0100

Hamburgers, Fleetwood Mac, Anoraks - guilty! Remember

Archbishop McQuaid! Bishop Lucey challenging Father Good!

"Wimpey Take-away" - meet a fella - womans lib!

Vietnam War, Albert Hall and Wilson Pickett.

"Would you kiss a boy on the first date?

Drip dry nylon, Dickie Rock gyrating

"Plastics are the future” the graduate said.

"Would you take the pill?"

Tayto crisps - "cheese and onion" munching in the dark.

Che Guevara, Mao Tse Tung and that little red book

in an empire line d...

Deserted by Paddy Reid

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 11:05:18 +0100

“He doesn’t really hate him.” She slices a spud in half, sees it’s all rotten, and tosses it into the bin with other bad ones. “They don’t see eye to eye on a few things.”

“Why not?” I demand.

“Because that’s how it is,” she snaps. “It’s like askin’ why birds fly. They jus’ do, is all.”

I’ve picked the wrong time to ask. She’s still edgy after last night’s argument with daddy. She had threatened to take me and go to Waterford to her mother’s h...

Taking Down Nelson by Honor Molloy

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 13:01:43 +0100

“Guess what it is, guess.” He started rocking madly.

“A bent tramtrack?”

“No. G’wan guess.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Mam said. “I have no. Idea.”

“Nelson’s Pillar got blown sky high. I’ve brung you home a bit of it. This is Lord Nelson’s sword.”

When my father hid the sword under our couch, a rumor moved swiftly through the family. All the kids knew it was under the couch but we weren’t supposed to know, do yeh know.

When the Irish newspapers d...

Bloody Sunday by Sue Leonard

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 22:32:51 +0100

Drinking in the Old Stand, we parted with our cash, as sinister black clad IRA sympathisers circulated with collection tins. I was ashamed of my nationality. And confused by this shame.

Before setting foot in Ireland, I already loved the country; or loved my idea of it, garnered at it was through literature. My English teacher at A Level, was so passionate about Yeats, she’d made summer pilgrimages to Sligo. How could we not take the man scorned by Maud Gonne to our hearts too?

Since school, ...

Gypsy and The Poet by Dave Kenny

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 22:51:51 +0100

Old man Connolly nods at me. I sit on a board on his chair. He chats and chops, winks and gives me two pence ‘hidden’ in a hanky. Dad watches me in the mirror. His dying eyes are wild, terrified.

Memories merge again. I am in my 30s. It’s February 1999. A dying decade is wheezing through its penultimate winter. My father too is breathing uneasily. He holds an oxygen mask to his face. He is in a nursing home, but he is the Ted Kenny of my childhood. He is wearing the face he should ...

The Little Engine that Could - Anne Maher

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 14:40:05 +0100

In actual fact, Dyane turned out to be a brilliant car, that toppled along nicely. It might not have had any glamour but it was spacious and comfortable, which was a great help when our four children arrived in quick succession. In later years they insisted on throwing caution to the wind by squeezing into the hatchback for fun, two at a time. Crazy!

I found the Dyane to be an extremely reliable and fuel-efficient car. When ‘not driven hard’ she totted up fifty miles to the...

Christmas Memories

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 10:55:16 +0100

I rose at dawn. 'Oh God, they're all up', my parents groaned as a herd of children descended the stairs, someone always tripping on that bit of carpet that was on my father's ever growing list of things to fix. The injured sibling would be just another hurdle to jump over in our haste to find our presents. Some evil child would bring up a bad deed you had done in February just to add some stress to the occasion.

And finally, we reached the room with the presents and I opened m...

The Christmas Panto - Isobel Smyth

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 13:56:44 +0100

Jimmy O’Dea was a legend in his own lifetime. He was born in 1899 at Lower Bridge Street across the road from the old Brazen Head Inn. He came from a large family, his mother Martha being his father’s third wife. The O’Dea family owned a toy shop in Lower Bridge Street. They would have been considered comfortable in a time of terrible poverty. Although, Jimmy was apprenticed to an Optician and later opened his own practice on Sth.Frederick Street in 1921, he couldn’t shake off his great ...

Mr. Carter's Kiosk - Alan Carroll

Tue, 22 Nov 2011 09:26:06 +0100

Mr Carter was ably assisted at times by an elderly lady called Nancy, we called her Nancy Carter but she wasn't actually related to Mr. Carter as far as we knew, Nancy was a little more prickly than Mr. Carter, her patience was not open ended and she often scolded us for taking too long to decide on an orange ice-pop or a golly bar. She smoked like a chimney and constantly drank a from a small red lemonade bottle and on certain days, when you approached the little serving window, you got that st...

How Do You Pronounce Lyreacrompane - Mattie Lennon

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 15:49:09 +0100

I unearthed the stories behind the now familiar songs, most of them sad. (Euin McColl once asked him ”why does somebody have to die in all your songs?”) In Shame Love In Shame was written to try and rid himself of the anger brought about by society’s attitude to a tragedy in his own family. The inspiration for John O’ Halloran was a chance meeting with an old toil-worn Kerryman in the Mother Redcap in Camden Town.

"The Key Above The Door", Encompa...

The Big School - Gerry Hancock

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 11:22:50 +0100

This feeling was only ratcheted up when we were met at the high iron gates of the school by one of the senior boys, neat as a pin in his crisp maroon coloured school uniform with its yellow piping, his brylcreemed hair plastered to his head. Smirking gleefully, and looking us up and down with cold black eyes, we were led to the line. Here about twenty boys were already assembled at the lower door of the large grey two-storied school building. We swelled their ranks by thirt...

Air Tours - Mike Mahon

Wed, 02 Nov 2011 16:58:37 +0100

We flew general cargo but also livestock such as horses between Ireland, the UK and France for race meetings and horse sales at Newmarket and Deauville. The horses were carried in individual stalls and accompanied by grooms and handlers. On one flight, a stallion started to go berserk and was violently kicking the stall to bits. The Captain was afraid he would get loose and kick a hole in the side of the aircraft. He carried a gun for such emergencies and was threatening to shoot the stallion. �...

The Mystery Box - Valerie Healy

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 18:07:37 +0100

As her father was a member of the British Army, he was anxious to get home to find out what was happening and thus they set off on foot to return to their home in Rathfarnham. On the way home, they watched as large plumes of black and grey smoke rose up into the sky from the direction of the city centre. Everyone they passed on the street were anxious to pass on what knowledge they knew of the events in Dublin. With each passing stranger, the story of what was happening grew in size, making...

Ghost in the Drama Department - Monica Walsh

Wed, 12 Oct 2011 16:56:22 +0100

Time passed and I was clacking away on the manual typewriter when I heard the sound of the front door opening. A man’s footsteps came up the hall past my slightly-open door and I expected him to look in and greet me, which would have been usual for colleagues coming in and out of the house outside normal office hours. To my surprise he continued straight on and up the stairs. That puzzled me, because my first thought had been that it was probably scriptwriter Wesley Burrowes or som...

Teenage Fright Night - Carolann Copland

Wed, 12 Oct 2011 13:10:48 +0100

By ten o’ clock the kids were in bed and a quiet encircled the house. The fog had lifted somewhat and the wind had died down. My parents had been invited to a neighbour’s house for drinks.‘You don’t mind babysitting for an hour or two, do you?’ They were already half way out the door. ‘We won’t be too long, love.’ And they were gone down the path.

Tucked up in bed with a good book is your only man in situations like that and I was pyjamaed in no time and lost in a grown up n...

Times Gone But Not Forgotten - Joe Rogers

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 10:50:35 +0100

On Saturday afternoons and evenings this kitchen/living room took on the new role of bathroom. A large metal bath was placed on the floor near the fire, and then part filled with hot water from several fillings of the kettle for our weekly all-over-wash. As children we could sit or recline in the water and have a proper bath but adults could only stand in the bath and wash themselves best way possible. It wasn’t ideal by any means and involved much labour with filling and heating and em...

Fever - Gerry Hancock

Wed, 28 Sep 2011 16:20:05 +0100

I wasn’t really sure what I should do for the best – run back to the house for mother - or try to get Mrs McCrea back into her own house. Placing my hand over the back of her hand and feeling its icy coldness I didn’t hesitate. Placing my other hand on the old woman’s shoulder I led her back towards her own house. The hall door was wide open and in the gloom of the living room I could see the glow of a small fire in the hearth. I helped Mrs McCrea into the old wooden rocking chair a...

Wartime - Frances Donoghue

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 17:15:07 +0100

Going to be fitted for our gas masks was great fun or frightening depending on which generation you belonged to. We were all summoned to the local national school and kitted out with tin snouts fastened tightly around our heads with wide straps. The snouts ended in a big pair of celluloid goggles pressed so close to your eyes that your lashes brushed against them. The children circled round each other hooting with laughter at the alien look of their pals. The small ones, frightened, ref...

Childhood Summers - Jane Shorthall

Wed, 14 Sep 2011 15:38:24 +0100

I was put on the train from Dublin to Kilkenny, (different days) to spend blissful, long, happy summer holidays and I could hardly wait for the train to pull into the station when I could join my cousins for weeks of freedom and adventures.

Our grandparents had a big, rambling, charming house that lent itself to children’s holiday visits. The land has not been in the family for many, many years and the lovely old house is long gone. It could not be described as a grand country manor; it was ...

The Girls in Green - Frances Donoghue

Wed, 07 Sep 2011 11:56:28 +0100

The company had been casting an eye on university graduates as a desirable source of recruitment. University graduates however had not been flocking towards such an untried occupation, with no academic air to it at all: although the starting salary was seven pounds a week - more than twice my existing salary! - with bonuses, uniform and free travel as far as Aer Lingus could carry you. I had my application in by the next day, my head in a whirl. I had never been in an aero...

All At Sea Part Two - Bernard Boylan

Wed, 31 Aug 2011 15:28:48 +0100

John Young is at the top of the stairwell and we both go down to our cabins which are alongside each other. We have only one torch between us, I go into my cabin, remove the pillow case from the pillow and stuff some clothes into it, we go into Johns cabin and he does the same, by now the water is in the alleyway, dirty slimy greasy water up to our ankles, we can feel the movement of the ship as she sinks towards the bottom. We had all we could collect, time was running out, and we ran back up th...

A Southside Childhood - Isobel Smyth

Wed, 24 Aug 2011 14:51:38 +0100

We reached most places on foot and often encountered ‘Bang Bang’ (Thomas Dudley) on our travels. He was an auld Dublin character who staged mock shoot-outs with the passing public. His ‘45’ was a long church key worn thin and shiny which he aimed at people who, in general, participated in his good natured antics by returning fire with their finger, taking cover in doorways, even clutching their chest and falling down ‘dead’ on the city streets.

St. Catherine’s Bakery was a short w...

All At Sea Part One - Bernard Boylan

Wed, 17 Aug 2011 15:44:52 +0100

It is Christmas Day at sea. The catering staff have been down in the depths of the ship looking for dust covered Christmas decorations; these are hung from the deck head in the officers saloon and crew mess rooms. The Chief Cook and his right hand man the Second Cook and Baker have been busy for the past few weeks making the Christmas cakes and mince pies. The main Christmas fare, the turkey and ham had come on board at our last port of call Curacao, and are ready to be devoured.

T...

My Mother Was An Abbey Actress - Nora Mathers

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 14:25:46 +0100

The organisers of World Book day were looking for givers, people who would give out books on March 5^th. They had millions of them or a million I’m not quite sure, anyway they had loads and all I had to do was send in a little story. There was a selection of books to choose from. I spotted the winner. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, the play in question from her ‘I was an actress in the Abbey’ quote . I quickly wrote to them explaining how she had acted in the Play in the Abbey in the sixties...

Classroom Memories of Mrs C.

Wed, 03 Aug 2011 11:42:16 +0100

The ‘unitary method’ sums were the worst; the three men doing a job in four days, and how long would it take five men to do it. You had to reduce it first to one man doing it, and then bring in the five. Of course my father always said that the more men you had in a field of hay, the less work was done. I couldn’t argue that with Mrs C. because she didn’t like my father, there was something about a political difference between him and Mr C. Fortunately she didlike my mother, so that somet...

Sea Sessions - Bernard Boyle

Wed, 27 Jul 2011 14:08:16 +0100

As a child on the farm I can remember we had a clothes line in the field at the front of the house, this line was supported by two poles , and in order for the poles to stay upright, on one end there was plank of wood about six inches wide supporting the pole. The top of this plank was the bow of my ship. In the strongest of gales I would run up the plank, hold onto the pole and ride the waves in my imagination, fighting off pirates and travelling the seven seas. I would stand with the wi...

Ghost Story? - Patrick Kavanagh

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 15:21:53 +0100

A grandfather clock, twice our size, stood before us. The pendulum swung back and forth. The ticking echoed around the huge wall panelled hallway. Spooky paintings of people long dead hung on the walls their eyes following our every movement. “Who’s there,” an eerie voice came from above us. She floated down the wide staircase her feet not making a sound. A long white dress covered her from neck to floor. Coal black hair hung loose, framing her deathly pale face. A ghostly sm...

The Trunk - Dympna Fennell

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 11:08:25 +0100

The Virgin Mary in the heavy gilt frame had a sad face too, even though she had a chubby Infant Boy in her arms, and a couple of angelic cherubs guarding them. The Infant had a rather supercilious look on his face, he must not have known what was going to happen to him eventually. That was graphically depicted in the crucifix on the opposite wall.

Not that the girls were concerned about such theological niceties - there was a much more interesting object in the far corner of the room, Mammy’s ...

Kidnapped - Valerie Healy

Tue, 05 Jul 2011 14:27:19 +0100

So my dad took the lead and as he gazed out the long glass windows onto the golf course he recalled when it was first told to him. “Well like you are now I was very suspicious about this tale from my father too”, he began, “I was a young married man, I think it was in 1960 something when he first mentioned it to me over a pint.” “You know my grandmother – your great grandmother was kidnapped. She was thought to be lucky because of the blonde hair, he told me.”

Just to fill you in o...

When You Leave me at Baltyboys

Tue, 28 Jun 2011 10:18:15 +0100

After a lifetime of various jobs, from carrying twenty-stone bags of wheat up a steep ladder in Cartons, North King Street, to swinging a 56lb sledgehammer in Ballyknockan quarry, he claimed his first year of employment, with the Kylebeg farmer, was the toughest. He did, however, stay on for a second year; this time the annual remuneration was £13.

His knowledge of local history was legendry, his humour dry and his wit, at times, razor sharp. On one occasion, in 1974, when the Gardai were mak...

Vienna - Rosemary MacCarthy-Morrogh

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 09:31:15 +0100

Along with the happy memory of the brooch, there will come the burden of an adult veil of disquiet. This woman who shows kindness and generosity to the child of an enemy army – what were her real feelings? She has lived through the ravages of conflict and suffered the ignominy of defeat. She has witnessed the exposure of all she had been told to believe in as the epitome of evil. Already she feels that shame which will be first hurled and then insinuated down many generations. Did she welcome t...

Sister Mary's Fountain - Tom Molanphy

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 13:11:17 +0100

If you caught Sister Mary in the hallway, she would be shuffling head-down across the red-tiled linoleum, hugging a slew of music books. In class, where she taught us the recorder, she seemed constantly disappointed in us. But she bloomed beside her water fountain, and the cold, grey box cooed and warbled next to her. She commanded that post, back erect, blue habit starched straight, gummy-soled feet wide part, ruler in hand. Her duty transformed her from a nervous teacher to an indispensa...

The Witch Doctor - Kirk Houghton

Wed, 08 Jun 2011 13:39:09 +0100

It was only the second time I’d been in the doctor’s car. Its leather seats smelt of polish and it was hot, wedged in the back between Newripides and Oldripides.

“Do you like your new Zambian home?” the doctor shouted back as we rattled along the dusty road. Dad said they came from Greece but Newripide’s mum didn’t much look like Olivia Newton-John.

I nodded. It was much bigger than the house we had left behind in Belfast. Eagerly, I pulled Granny’s leaving present from my rucksac...

Into the Arms of Listowel - Lorraine Griffin

Wed, 01 Jun 2011 09:26:01 +0100

It was opening night, and along with the masses, I ended up at John B Keane’s pub. Jammed with writers, poets, comedians, teachers and actors it was the essence of Writers’ Week distilled into one tavern. At this stage, everyone had had their “Gabriel Byrne moment”, be it at the bar or walking through the Square. If not with Mr. Byrne then it was with one of the other luminaries in town. Eager to have my moment, I was delighted to learn that Colm Tóibín was in the bar. I would b...

April Fools - Carolann Copland

Wed, 25 May 2011 12:56:49 +0100

We back out again and I’m down on all fours with the bridesmaids in the rain, feeling around for the ring in the puddles. My father is going to explode. When he passes by my brother he clips him across the ear.
‘Behave yourself, for God’s sake!’
We begin the trek up the aisle once more. I can hear poor Lorcan sobbing behind me. My dad tells me to stop laughing.
‘It’s not funny! Look at the state of you!’
I do stop laughing when I look around the flowerless church and wonder what hap...

The Blessington Fair - Mattie Lennon

Wed, 18 May 2011 12:50:55 +0100

My mother often talked of trimming and filling oil-lamps in the house of gentry, yet she hardly ever succeeded in cutting this lamp wick straight across. The result was a diagonal flame. His pipe is filled, he's ready then, he took the reins out of the pony's winkers that hung by the open fire, under the tallague. With the rope he made a head collar, went to the cow house and led out the White Head Cow. The name was not a misnomer; she was a big red animal, with a white forehead adorned by two ...

My Mother Wears a Car on the Third Finger of her Left Hand - Jane Travers

Fri, 06 May 2011 09:49:46 +0100

In 1969, most officers of my father's rank would have spent about one month's salary, or less, on an engagement ring. My father spent the equivalent of about three months', thanks to the sale of that car. Almost the entire proceeds went on the ring, a magnificent diamond cluster with a delicate gold band, almost too fine to hold the combined weight of the diamonds. It is a beautiful piece of jewellery, timelessly elegant and coveted by all who see it (including myself and my sisters).

Like a...

Grand-Uncle Paddy Clarke: A New York Irish Story

Wed, 13 Apr 2011 14:35:45 +0100

“Sure, Marie, let’s go.”

My eyes examined every inch of the huge beveled mirror at the back of the mahogany bar. Then I caught sight of two flags - one was American and the other one had green, orange and white stripes.

“What flag is that, Uncle Paddy?”

“Ah, don’t you know, Marie? That’s an Irish flag.”

Then I looked up at the pictures next to the flags.

“Who are those men?”

Uncle Paddy began pointing at the three pictures.

“That’s Robert Emmet and that’s Mi...

Mining Memories

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 22:35:34 +0100

It’s still dark o’clock

and fumbling fingers of recall

fossick through the rubble of remembrance

searching for stones of colour that might

polish up to give some value to yesterday.

But in the night light

textures tell more than colours

and I feel the happiness of other times

when we searched together for the tint

that might glint in each other’s heart.

Those mines are empty now

our picks and sieves abandoned.

You settled for an easier life where

you can cho...