Five Over Sixty-Five ...Five siblings visit Thessolonica

It has been almost one hundred years (97) since our Uncle Jack  was killed in action in a military engagement near the city of Thessolonica ( Salonica ) in Greece in October 1916 during the 1914/1918 War.
Although we referred to him as our uncle he had died many years before myself , my sister and brothers ,( the children of Jack's own  sister ) were born.
We had planned for years to visit his grave .
At last , thanks to the inititive of the youngest of our generation , the skill of the next generation and the internet....we were ready to go.....

Five of us left Dublin Airport and flew to Athens on the 23 rd May...arrived in Athens late in the evening and took  two taxis (maximum per cab 4...there were 5 of us ).
The whole trip had been planned in advance down to the last detail..
Hotel in Athens 2 nights....we had our meals in the rooftop cafe/bar of the Acropolis beautique(?) Hotel...which had , of course , perfect views of the aforesaid Acropolis and the Panthoen(word check..please ?)
Metro to mainline station
Train tickets booked to Thessolonica (6 hours approx 350 miles north of Athens )
Hotel Thess. 2 nights ,
Car hire for Sunday trip to grave site ,.All had been arranged in advance by my brother and his son.

Beautiful but rugged countryside between Athens and Thessolonica ....lots of road building and tunnelling ...work-in-progress could be seen from the train...steep mountain gradients ....even snow on distant slopes ...train bursting suddenly into dark tunnels and just as suddenly out again into blinding sunlight....down ear-popping decents....we could see the end of the long long train as it curled around the bends behind us....very little sign of human or animal life on the rocky slopes....
Our train eventually rolled into our destination ....Thessolonica about 5 pm.
Another perfect arrangement , we found our hotel (El Greco ) not too far from the station.
The hire-car was delivered about 11 am on Sunday...I had already chickened out of driving and my youngest brother , as had by now become the norm , volunteered to drive .
We were given 'local' directions to the gravesite by the Hotel receptionist and we already had directions from the internet.
So we set off ,one brother driving , another ,''.a renowned nautical navigator ''  navigating.
We had been informed by the hotel clerk that the gravesite we were looking for was probably over the border in BULGARIA....
Armed with this information and the site was about 65 (miles?/kilometers?) from Thessolonica itself after driving through more beautiful but rugged countryside ( and at this point may I genuinely congratulate our driver and navigator for coping on strange roads ,in the heat , in a strange car ( a medium size Kia ).
After negotiating bumpy roads , unfamiliar roundabouts, sign posts (mainly in Greek) about 80 (miles ?) out we came to the Bulgarian border post, presented our passports to not-too-suspicious border guards....only to discover when we crossed into Bulgaria that our destination was in Greece afterall.
We recrossed the border showed our passports again to the now- confused border guards (as we were the only people around ....we probably were the most exciting thing they had experienced that Sunday.

We eventually found grave site , having driven down the equivellent of an Irish boreen ,and disturbed a Greek wedding in a local church.,a small low-profile sign stating simply '' Military Graves'', pointing to an even smaller track...

But when we found the graveyard site we were amazed to see ,among non-descript rough countryside ,with some small farming holding...that the site ,about 1 to 2 acres(?)...perfectly kept , about 100 to 150 graves neatly laid out ,clearly marked , grass neatly and newly cut , colourful flowers and shrubs growing on each grave and overall the tall conifers , known as ''graveyard'trees.
Despite being in what was almost a wilderness the scene looked as if the caretaker had only left the site minutes before we arrived ....There was even a gentle friendly graveyard dog , with a bronze medal on his collar ...where he came from who knows..

So we ....all five of us over sixty five stood  at the graveside of :

Corporal John (Jack)Nolan ,

Killed in Action ,

3rd Oct 1916

In an engagement in a battle known as ''the capture of Yenikoi''

He was 18 years of age , the only son of Tom and Kate Nolan , the brother of Kathleen Curran (nee Nolan ) and Carmel Byrne (nee Nolan).

Of no.4 Tram Villas . Terenure .


When Jack died ,as he was the only son of Tom and Kate Nolan that branch of the Nolan name died with him....but as his two sisters between them had eight children (seven surviving ) these in turn have about thirty (30 ) children between them ( Jack's grandnieces and nephews )...if we start counting THEIR children we are into the realms of geometric progressions......
So Jack Nolan will never be '' a stranger without even a name , hidden forever behind some dark frame in an old photograph ......''

Having seen this graveyard and the pristine condition it is being kept in the line from the rememberance poem does have some truth:
'' From the going down of the sun ...and in the morning
we will remember them ''
at least they are being remembered  and not just by their families...

So...we found our way back to Thessalonica, a beautiful city by the way , happy young people dancing and singing in a city square that opened on to the seafront a wonderful (if quick) sunset,
back to Athens ...back to Dublin...back to reality...
I want to thank all my siblings ,particularly my brother and his son for an experience I will never forget....

Two more gone...

I've never read a word of the writings of either Maeve Binchy or Con Houlihan but having read what has been written about each of them since their deaths within the past week I very much regret that I missed reading at least some of their writings while they were still alive. Although Maeve Binchy may not have been my kind of writer the article written by Kevin Myers in the Irish Independent last week was a real eye- opener. Apparently she was a very genuine person , without pretentions , who genuinely cheered up all those she met and only her closests friends were aware of her painful condition Con Houlihan likewise seems to have been a marvellous character ( literary Michael O'Muiraracheartig ){?} and the snippets of some of his articles I've read since his death are as poetic and articulate as Paddy Kavanagh ( and generally a lot more cheerful) ,the description for example of the last day he spent on the bog with jis father , before he left home to take up his career.I had every opportunity to read Con's articles as we always 'took' the Evening Press ( I even remember Joe Sherwood ) and I often heard my brothers discussing his writings but as I had no i9nterest whatsoever in Sport I never actually read his column....not reailsing that the actual sporting content was sometimes only about 25% of the piece and the rest was glorious stuff , just like Paddy Kavanagh when he was '' film critic'' for the Catholic Standard ( Kavanagh knew little about films and absolutly nothing about nothing about film making but this did not deterr him from spending many years as film critic for thst paper. But Con genuinely loved all sports so much that when he described a sport the real fans knew that he was as keen as they were and his involvement came across in his writing. They have left us a great legacy...RIP

Joe Goes on the Trail to Santa Fe......

Tuesday Jan 17th Dublin Airport ...,ESTA worked marvellously ,no need to show my passport or papers , even for the stopover for 'change of equipment ' in Atlanta.So ...almost the very first person I saw on arrival in the USA at Dallas/Fort Worth airport was my beautiful three-year-old grandaughter .Yes , before I even collected my luggage , there she was.... dancing in her red ballet-shoes , entertaining the travel-weary passengers as they waited at the luggage roundabout......
What a welcome to Texas.....?
With my son , his 'dancing queen', my daughter-in-law , and the sleeping 8 month -old baby girl the old Honda Accord had us in Denton in about 40 minutes.
Denton ....a large town roughly in a 30 mile triangle between Dallas and Fort Worth , Texas . Spacious and flat with no high rise buildings except the 'twin towers' of the of the accomodation apartments of the local university , formerly known as the Womens University of Texas .
These buildings can be used as a landmark for anyone unused to the area .
Shortly after arriving at my son's home I was informed that we were all travelling to Santa Fe in New Mexico which was about 600 miles from Denton as he and his wife had planned a short skiing holiday in the area .
We travelled by night in the old Honda Accord which was still going strong although tending to cough , from time to time .( they had originally planned to have their new car for the trip but this had not worked out .)
The Texas landscape slipped by in the dark , signposts for familiar town-names appeared in the headlights , Fort Worth , Abeline , Waco , Amarillo ....we made very good time , our two little ones sleeping peacefully in their car seats .....until we passed near the town ( ?) of Memphis (Tx) and encountered a speed-trap , apparently a 45mph zone followed by a brief 40mph zone and then back to a 45mph zone . We were stopped by a very surly agressive policeman (cop) who seemed to me to be ready for trouble .....a young family ; two babies asleep in the back , a young couple , and an old 'fart' nodding off in the front seat ,in an old family car ......no quarter given by this hero , a full speeding (44 mph in a 40 mph zone ) plus an additional charge because the address on the licence had not been changed to their new address).
We stayed overnight at a motel , I think it was on the outskirts of Amarillo and (very..early next morning ) my two grand daughters paid me a visit ...no alarm clocks required...we had great fun watching early morning TV and crawling around the floor....
As we drove on through the Texas landscape , absolutely flat, I have often wondered why this state is often described as having a BIG SKY ,I used to think ..a sky is a sky ...how can it be big or small ?But now I see , having such a distant skyline the sky is like a huge umbrella , no trees , no vegetation , not even cactus , occasional armardillo road-kill...wind- farms were the only items of interest .The long-long freight trains with up to a hundred rail-cars ,that could take as long as 15 minutes to pass a given spot ( we stopped for one and the driver gave the children a blast of the train-horn as a salute....
In the distance we began to see mountain ranges ....the Rockies.....New Mexico....Santa Fe ( Fe meaning Faith ?)
The town (city?) is the capital of New Mexico , is 7000 feet above sea level , and local building restrictions do not allow high rise buildings and most structures , domestic and commercial have to be built in the fashion of the original ADOBE houses , used by the native Indians .
It was amazing to see all these shops , offices , motels , churches built in the style and with the materials of the past and modern inside...
As we drove around I wondered why the countryside seemed so familiar to me until I realised that I had seen sooo many westerns in the cinema that I felt that I had been there before...., tumbleweed , arid landscape , rough vegetation ( chaparral ? )
We drove high up into the mountains , through beautiful scenery , to an ear-popping 10,000 feet .
My son and my daughter-in-law went skiing , my three-year-old grandaughter went to her mini-ski childcare and I hung out with my 8 month old grandaughter . We had great fun in a cafe overlooking the slopes , she proved to be a real 'babe-magnet' , making eye-contact and smiling at everyone and people found her irresisable....ok, ok some of the 'babes' were in their seventies like me and yes some of the 'babes' were even MEN....
We visited the market square where the native Indians displayed their wares in pottery , painting , leather , jewellery and fabric....
On our journey back to Denton we travelled through Alberqueque , a seemingly never- ending
town ....we travelled the whole 600 miles in one day....I tip my hat to the two drivers for their patience and concentration on a wonderful trip and a very special tribute to two marvellous little ones who did not complain on the long , long , journey home ,about 10 hours....
Aother surprise a few days later ,the Fort Worth Rodeo , ridin',ropin' wrestlin'bulls what fun , there must have been many broken bones ,but the bulls and the broncos seemed to enjoy it ....
I mustn't forget the dear old Honda......two days after we got home ....they changed her for a brand new Volkswagen Passat......now there's gratitude !!!!!
Arrived back in Ireland safely , love you and miss you all
THANKS.

The Game

As JP or ( 'JayPee' as his friends called him ) cycled toward the hostel , the rain/sleet whipped his face . He wondered , not for the first time , how he got himself into this situation . He COULD be at home now sitting by a blazing fire , possibly eating one of his mother' s freshly baked , hot , apple tarts , instead , here he was heading for the Morning Star hostel to do his two-hour voluntary duty . One of his work collegues had ' talked him into' joining the Legion of Mary and volunteering to do at least two hours per week helping out at the nearby hostel 'for down-and-outs' , as homeless people were referred to , at the time.
He was a little bit later than usual and most of the men ( it was an exclusivly male hostel ), had already 'checked-in' , which meant paying a six-pence or a shilling , deemed a fair amount for that time in the early sixties . No one was ever refused admission for not having enough but most of the men were able to raise that small amount .The other conditions were simply that , if required , they should take a shower in the hostel before being assigned a bed , that they behave in a responsible way .
Recently JP had spent his evenings in the hostel serving tea or conversing with the men and lately he had begun to play chess with a man called John C . John turned out to be an expert chess player who , on occasions after about five or six moves was able to inform JP that he (JP) could not win that particular game . John C had come from a very well off family and , JP learned later , had probably fallen on hard times due to alcoholism and a psyciatric disorder caused by drink.
The huge open blazing fire had the usual compliment of men sitting in a semi-circle around it . Some were holding their outer clothes to dry in front of the flames .JP noted the two men whom he knew to be 'deaf and dumb' 'chatting 'together beside the fire using sign language to converse animatedly with each other , completely oblivious to the noisey clamour around them of up to 150 other homeless men filled the large room with noise . This was probably the only communication each of those men had had all day .
John C was waiting as usual , chess board ready , to once again demolish JP's feeble strategy and latest cunning opening gambit .JP apoligised for being late , wondering what would have happened if he had not arrived at all ,would John C have waited all evening watching the door ?
In fact tonight would be the last night that JP would be able to visit , having been given a new assignment to help set up a new Presidium in another part of the city for an even more marginalised group of people.
As the chess game continued John C , as usual ,carefully wrote down on a grubby piece of paper , each move made . Apparently he recorded every game he played in this way .
An obviously very intelligent man , the game of chess must have had a special significance for him . Did all the pieces represent the world as he saw it ? The King , of course , was AUTHORITY , being protected by castle walls , white knights and black bishops , controlled by a powerful Queen using the pawns ( the ordinary people ) as ' gun- fodder'.
When the game was over , with JP the loser again they shook hands as they did after each time they played .When JP told him that he would not be coming back John C showed no reaction , but as he walked away , JP heard John C say '' thanks for coming Paul ''.It was the first time that John C had used his name and how did the old chess player know that ''Paul'' was his middle initial ? A small mystery in an almost forgotten incident when two different worlds meet.

The Wedding.......

It must have been about this time last year when the young couple began to plan their wedding .Living in Zurich , he being Irish and she being French and deciding that they would like to marry in Biarritz meant immediatly that the logistics of planning the day would be even more complex than a 'normal' wedding and that the couple themselves would have to carry the main burden of arrangements and costs.
Last Saturday week it happened , the most perfect day for us all .

Arrival.
The Irish contingent started to arrive at Biarritz Airport on Friday 1st Sept.I was among the first group and we were met by the bride's parents and sister and ferried to the house that we had rented for the occasion.There were , of course , some incidents with Ryanair (more anon) and a 'Jacque Tati' moment when we endevoured to fold a state-of-the-art carrycot/pushchair ( at one point there were about eight people standing around the carrycot ,all , except myself , speaking French and each of us making suggestions of which button to press or which lever to pull in order to collapse the offending vehicle . )
When we first saw the house we could hardly believe our eyes . A lovely house literally on the beach in Anglet .Large , ultra modern , six bedrooms , two bathrooms ,a huge livingroom cum kitchen with a perfect picture window looking straight out onto the sea like living in a constant moving painting , a large patio door led on to a deck outside which went all around the house , a balcony completed the picture .
Outside hot and cold showers , the owner had also left surf boards , so the more adventurous of our group were able to immediatly avail of the huge waves rolling in from the Bay of Biscay on to Marinella Beach. ( Two of our number did discover however that the signs on the beach reading ' DANGER COURANTS ', was not a warning about the imminent arrival of our family , but a serious warning of the genuinely dangerous currents on the local beach .).
By Monday most of our group had arrived , we calculated that at our peak we would be 21 or 22 people in number ( 7 or 8 children including 2 tiny babies under 3 months ).
Some of the family travelled from Texas , some from Dubai , Zurich , Dublin , and Athy....some came by car , some by train , apart from those of us who flew....
We began to explore the area , first of all meeting again with the bride's extended family . We were greeted warmly and invited to meals . As I am unable to speak French at all I was not able to fully participate in the conversation but I think that my wife ( www) who resurrected her school French fully compensated for my ignorance . She used the language as often as possible , even when she knew that some of her listeners fully understood English , she enjoyed it .
The bride's gracious parents and her gentle sister were the perfect hosts having been fully involved in all local preparations and we thank them sincerely.

The Wedding Day.

The weather for the first few days was mediochre but as the wedding day itself approached it improved dramatically beautiful sunshine showed Anglet and Biarritz in all its glory . The excitment inside the house grew , starting with 'the hairdo's' for all the females including the youngest , the men were a bit calmer ....the cars started to arrive ....as the wedding ceremonies were to be in two parts .....first the CIVIC marriage in the Anglet Town Hall , performed by the Mayor of Anglet followed an hour later in the Eglise Sainte Marie , Anglet ,performed by Abbe Peyo Bordagaray .Because of the numbers involved we had to travel to the Town Hall in relays and it so happened that when the car came to collect myself we became stuck in traffic and consequently I arrived late for the civic ceremony and the Mayor had completed the marriage of my son and his beautiful new wife but somehow my wonderful wonderful wife ( www) managed to persuade the Mayor, in her newfound French , to REPEAT the ceremony for me .......what a remarkable gesture.....truly a strenghtening of Hiberno/French connections...for which I will be forever grateful ......the scene ...the couple sitting in high-backed throne-like chairs ,the groom sitting tall and handsome beside his incredibly beautiful ,petite young wife ....the Mayor in his official regalia ,his wide red-white-and blue sash.....speaking entirely in French of course, for THE SECOND time performed the marriage.There were about 50 family and friends present and the Mayor who fitted perfectly my image of a typical French town mayor ...tall ,portly , slightly bearded , looking imperious....who wished to discuss Rugby...but because of my lack of knowledge of both language and the sport I was unable to oblige...
And then to the Church .....the sun was now ' burning in the sky ' , the nervous best man ( the groom's brother ) , the groomsmen nervously walking up and down , all guests arriving , the organ playing , the marvellous choir ...the groom also nervous .......and the arrival of the bride with her father , preceded by her 5 Demoiselles d'honneur...Victoria, Rebecca , Sophie , Amber , Gracie .......but wait ....? some one is missing ....ah le Garcon d'honneur ...who , bureaucracy decreed , because his passport was out of date , could not travel with his parents to another European Union country and even though all the rest of his family were travelling to this wedding , this was NOT an emergency in the eyes of the bureaucrats ....God only knows what mischief this four year old would get up to in France....

A marvellously tear-jerking ceremony, the choir excelled , all in French of course , but this for me added to the whole athmosphere....and Luke Kelly's '' The Sun is Burning '' gave it the Irish touch at the very end....
One surprise....when Rob , Stevo , and Sammy decided to have a 'SILENT' collection...
Everyone , including the Maids of Honour behaved themselves....I'm sorry that I am unable to descride the brides lovely dress , but I know that photo's to come will take care of that....

The Reception

By this time I was beginning to realise just how much detail the couple had gone into when planning their wedding , as well as doing their jobs and attending other friends weddings during the year......but in terms of entertainment the best was still to come...
The reception was booked at Espace de Ocean , Esplanade de Docteurs Genthile , Anglet or in other words a reception centre right on the beach in Anglet.The preliminaries were served on the roof-top area , fully catered , drinks served , all overlooking the sea , in glorious sunshine ,just like being on the top deck of a luxury cruise-liner , everyone relaxed and mingled , the bride and groom arrived and were beginning to relax themselves seeing how all their plans were working out so well .

We all went down to the meal , speeches , entertainment the day could not have gone better, we thanked God and the planners . And I thank those who came , some from long distances , some with great difficulty , the bride's relatives and all my own family who by being there helped make the occasion such a success .......God Bless you all

The Aftermath
The following day , Sunday , we had a barbecue on the deck outside the beach house , beer , blazing sunshine , beef burgers , bangers , more beer , kebabs and no one over-ate or got drunk....wow......
We had still a week left to see once again the sights around Biarritz and the little towns and villages around the area particularly St.Jean de Luc and Espellette world famous for its little red peppers , the weather remained glorious , strolling on the beach watching the surfers riding in on the huge breakers , making sand-castles with the children , it has added about ten years to my life to see my work together so well to make wishes come true....

Ryanair
The fact that Ryanair fly into Biarritz helped enomously to make this wedding work but like almost everyone who flies with that airljne we had our Ryanair experience .We thought that we had obeyed all the rules re; bags , weight , boarding passes ...we had passed through security , with all the baby stuff , some of the family obviously had priority boarding because of the baby ....however myself and my youngest daughter were almost last on board...just before we presented our boarding passes my daughter was called aside and told to test her hand luggage in the 'measuring box',she was not permitted to force the bag in and was told that as the bag did not fit she must pay €40 cash extra AND hand over the bag , I was also called over to be treated likewise , even though many other passengers , some whose 'carry on' bags could hardly fit in the overhead compartment on the aircraft when they eventually got on board, were allowed to pass unchallanged . The company seem to leave it to individual members of staff to decide who gets challanged and of course when one is about to board a flight as almost the last passenger he or she has no opportunity to resist or rejig the baggage and the choice is pay up or don't fly and they then take your most precious items off you and dump them in the hold.
I was one of those people who cheered O'Leary and wanted Ryanair to get the second terminal at Dublin ....but no more ..I can see now with their sneaky, catchpenny , take it or leave it policies now enthusiastically pursued by the most humble members of staff , Michael O'Leary
would have turned the second terminal into a hell-hole and screams of pain and anger would daily emanate from there courtesy of Ryanair.....please please ...don't let them get their hands on it ....

Finally....or Finale

The family has dispersed....back to their countries , jobs, normal family life.......in Biarritz just like here the evenings are drawing in ....its getting colder...the famous light house is casting its beams out to sea , along the now- deserted beaches ,the huge leaves scraping the pavement and even the tiny sparrows have gone elsewhere for their food scraps. The house on the beach is probably deserted , shuttered the huge winter waves rolling in from the Gulf of Biscay the only sound .........but listen ..hark ....what's that other sound I hear ? Yes ! Its the sound of the laughter of children AND adults that will echo , maybe forever , from that wonderful place....

Its time for this old man to head back to his papers......

The stand-off

The man only gradually became aware of the cat when he felt that SOMETHING was watching him . He had been half-sitting , half-lying , on a comfortable cushion of moss and dead leaves in the afternoon sun . The sun shone through gaps in the tall trees and the man was almost nodding off to sleep .
He had set out earlier in the day with his companions , his son , his daughter-in-law and his older brother . They had parked their car close to the sign that marked the beginning of the trail up the mountain , which would eventually lead to '' spectacular views of the surrounding countryside '' at the top.
Shortly after crossing a 'rustic' bridge and starting to ascend the trail , he realised that this excursion was not for him , so , slightly embarrassed (after all his brother WAS older than him), and not wanting to spoil the outing , he had suggested that he would find a comfortable spot , near a stream to sit and read his book and they could 'pick him up ' on their way down.
As they made their way to a likely place they passed some signs declaring '' Beware of Bears and Mountain Lions '' . He had laughed , saying that these signs were there just to add spice to the visiting tourists and that the likelyhood of these wild creatures being anywhere close to a road , was remote . He even told the old vaudville joke , '' I have a spray that keeps wild elephants away ''. The stooge answers '' But , there aren't any elephants around for THOUSANDS of miles '' , joker replies '' Yes , very effective , isn't it .''
But there was no humour in him now . The big cat ,( mountain lion ?, cougar ? ) was crouched nearby , having apparently crept out of the woods shortly after the sound of voices ceased and the man was alone .
He had looked into the eyes of big cats before , on his visits to the zoo , usually in winter-time when he was one of few visitors . He had marvelled at the design of the creatures , and the wildness in those eyes , wondering what they were thinking....
But then he had had thick iron bars separating him from the animal....
This was different , the lion ( or was it a lioness ?) was so close that he could smell the creature .
The man didn't panic or move , after all he was already an old fart with a bad heart and none of that would help . He considered shouting but as all around him was deadly quiet , because when the big cat came on the scene all the other woodland creatures , mammals , birds and even insects had gone silent , almost as if they had formed a viewing circle around the man and the cat and were awaiting the outcome , a sudden shout might cause the big cat to pounce .
What should he do ?
On the way up he and his companions had been discussing , jokingly , what one should do if suddenly confronted by a wild bear , his daughter-in-law said the 'rule' was ....stand absolutely still , the bear can't see you if you aren't moving , his brother said , no,no no,, ...if confronted by a bear ...run .., run like blazes ...bears can't run very fast .......But his son said they were BOTH wrong ....you must run AT the bear in an agressive manner the bear will ( probably...PROBABLY ), run away because he is not expecting an attack....
Even in his present predicament the man could hardly supress an hysterical giggle thinking of his response , that he would write all these suggestions down in his note-book and refer to it if attacked by a bear....
He had thrown his back pack and his greasy stetson beside the stream ...too far to reach without serious movement , not that they would be of much help if the lion attacked , his arse was growing numb , despite the moss/leaves cushion....he had to do something.
Was the cat a lion or a lioness ? , he could'nt see ...unless it turned over ....and even if it did he probably would'n t know anyway.....lionesses were more agressive , particularly if they had cubs ....no sign of cubs ...thank God for that , what he didn't need now was a brace of cubs scrambling around and putting mum more on edge.....

The big cat lowered itself , about to jump , a perfect killing machine ,the man looked deep into the yellow,wild, merciless eyes. The man was not afraid of death . Like most men of his age he had peeped surreptitiously around the corner of life and death had no real fear for him .
But the process of DYING was different .
He had expected when that happened it would take place in a warm bed surrounded by a loving family.
Not in the open at the mercy of an animal , red raw in tooth and claw , just as he had seen his own domestic cat hunting in the garden at home where small birds and field mice were the prey...
Now HE was the prey , HE was the expected meal ...
The big cat curled its lips and and spat just like his own domestic cat , only twenty ( thirty ?) times bigger.....this was it !!!!
Suddenly he got angry and started to shout ''GET AWAY YOU BITCH .......I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU.........I'M NOT WORTH EATING , I'M OLD , CRUSTY AND I'LL PROBABLY TASTE AWFUL''.....
He closed his eyes and put his hands over his face and waited for the pain....
Nothing.....he opened his eyes....the beast was gone
The cowardly woodland creatures started to make their noises again and in the distance he could hear the faint sound of human voices as his companions made their way down the trail....

Podger and Tony

Not many people know this , but school teachers have a secret benefit-in-kind , especially primary school teachers . Most children remember all their lives , their first teacher . The first person they came to know after their parents and immediate family .
Larkfield School on Clareville Road in Dublin was my primary school , between 'babies's' school and the Primary Cert.
Our Headmaster was Mr. Sheehan , and of course , as all headmasters have , he had a nickname ....Podger . He would stand in the entrace hall , underneath the school clock each morning as we arrived , dressed in a neat three-piece suit , his waistcoat straining against his pot-belly , checking his turnip warch against the school clock for accuracy .
He had neat glasses , a pork-pie hat with front brim turned up slightly , balancing on his heels , ocasionally flexing the bamboo cane behind his back as he rapped out instructions on behaviour and appearance to each of us as we trooped in . He had a tiny trimmed moustache and rolling eyes . For all the world like Agatha Christie's description of her famous detective Hercule Piorot .
It was a well run school and although Podger was easy to characture , he was well respected .
My class teacher was a Mr. Taaffe , nicknamed 'Tony' ( it may have even been his true christian name ). A brilliant teacher , dealing with a class of about 40 ,twelve or thirteen year old boys , and still finding time to encourage youngsters to advance their education to second level ( which was by no means the norm at the time ) and even to consider third level which was unusual at the time except for the very well off .
He ran a 'tight ship'and although corporal punishment was order of the day , he seldon had to use his bamboo cane ' although I clearly remember a daywhen a note was being passed around the class with a rude word on it , the note was unfortunatly in my possession when Tony swooped . Outside , in the corridore , a few serious words of censure from Tony followed by a few 'biffs' from the bamboo cane , I seldom used rude words following that ( however with the chaos in our society at the moment I have started to use those words again ) He used tecniques well ahead of the times to encourage and motivate his pupils and advised myself at the time of the Primary cert to consider teaching as a career ( advice which I did not take , however ).
Tony often charactured Podger , but in very good humour ( Podger's son was actually in the class ).
I remember these men very well and appreciate the interest and guidance they gave all of us .
They are both probably long gone now but men like these have given a legacy to the country that is beyond measure . God Bless them.....

Mrs.English

My Grandparents lived in a small terrace of houses in Terenure and as a child I used to visit them frequently after school . Myself and my brothers played with the children of our neighbours but as the people who lived in the terrace were mostly retired tramdrivers there were very few children of our age .
The elderly couple who lived next door to our grandparents had children of about our age , we were six or seven years old at the time . The couple were Mr. and Mrs. English , he a quiet gentle man but his wife was not so friendly ....in fact we were afraid of Mrs. English .
A very severe woman , with steel-rimmed glasses , brownish hair streaked with grey , tight-lipped , dark eyebrows and a mole on her cheek with hair growing from it .
On the occasions when we called to ask her son to come out to play she usually glowered at us and told us to go away . We were very much afraid of her .
One day on coming home from school , to visit our grandparents , as we approached the steps leading to the terrace , we saw a group of neighbours gathered around someone sitting on the steps . The person sitting there was Mrs. English . She was weeping inconsolably .Her hands were over her face , her hair was in disarray . We could not believe that this woman , of whom were so frightened , was capable of such grief .....
My sister explained to me sometime later , Mrs.English's son had just been taken from her . Mr and Mrs. English used to foster children , I recon from about toddler age to the age of say eight or nine . When the child reached the appropriate age the child was taken from his foster mother and returned to ...the orphanage of possible another foster home .
Mrs. English loved her foster children and her heart was broken when the time came to give him/her up....As far as I know she fostered a number of children and presumably suffered the same trauma when the child was subsequently taken back ...
We , as children , didn't notice that the children were too young to be the elderly couples children . The they were so loved and so well cared for by this wonderful lady and obviously when she saw us it just reminded her that some day she would have to hand over her little ones .
This was over sixty years ago and I still clearly remember that day when I learned that you can't judge a book by its cover....

Joe goes to.......London

I haven't been to London very often , having spent some years around that city during the ''swinging sixties'' I thought I'd had enough ...but when an opportunity arose recently I jumped at the chance to re-visit .
On arrival at Heathrow I was whisked by train almost to the door of my destination the Hilton Hotel in Paddington . Remembering Agatha Christie's '' 4.50 from Paddington '' , which became , thanks to Margaret Rutherford , '' Murder she said '' which in turn became '' Murder she wrote'' with Angela Landsbury the mainline station seemed to have changed very little from the sixties .
The Edgeware Road was almost like a different country , many of the people on the street wore traditional middle-eastern dress , the pubs and cafes had alfresco seating and many of the male customers smoked the hookah pipe . It all made for a very colourful scene enhanced by the famous black taxies and red London buses .
Strolling up to Marble Arch , which was much smaller than I remembered ( or did I grow BIGGER ?) I walked around Hyde Park and while resting on a park bench reading I gradually became aware of the traffic passing by and that almost ALL of the cars , with the exception of the black taxies were Beemers or Mercs....all looking brand new and shiney . Later on when I became familiar with the Congestion Charge I realised that probably only the very wealthy could afford to use the roads in that part of London .
The weather was good and following the dry spell the grass in Hyde Park was a light brown in colour.
Not being able to afford the Hilton I stayed in a very nice B&B , called the Tudor Court

Later , while sitting at a coffee table in the foyer of the Hilton waiting for my daughter , a waiter approached me and asked if I would like to order a drink.....well I thought 'why not ?' , so I ordered a Bailey's Cream . '' With or without ice Sir ?''....'' No ..no ice thank you '' sez I
When he arrived back with the drink , in a whiskey glass , the liquid barely covered the bottom of the glass ....a bare dribble ...so little that I was afraid to swirl the liquid around in case it might all stick to the side of the glass and disappear altogether .'' That will be £7.50 , Sir '' sez the waiter , I muttered something about how the ice would have made it look more , '' would you like ice Sir ''sez he .....As I paid up (plus a tip of .50p ) , I reckoned that that hotel must get about
£180 to £200 dribbles out of one bottle of Baileys ....if Ireland exported nothing else we could solve our economic problems on BC alone....
As I was about to sip my drink , my daughter arrived ( eventually...) and said '' Ah ,I see you have finished your drink Dad , let's go !''..... I gulped down the precious liquid , licked the glass , and galloped out after her .....

Joe goes to ......Zurich .

My first reaction to being told of my birthday present of a trip to Zurich .....was ..nonplussed...
After all I'd heard of the difficulties of air-travel , what with the volcanic ash problem and strikes and rumours of strikes I thought I'd be better off at home .
But I went rather than upset the givers ...
It turned out to be a marvellous experience .....no hassle at Dublin Airport , the AirLingus flight left on time and was very comfortable , arriving at Zurich Airport approximetly two and a quarter hours later . Having no bags to collect I was whisked by the shuttle to the main concourse , passed through customs and immediatly met my son and his fiancee at arrivals , to be driven straight away to their new apartment in about 20 mins.
It was a beautiful summer evening and as I stood on their balcony relaxing , the neighbours on adjoining balconies and flat rooves were also discreetly enjoying the sunshine . It reminded me of the film ' Rear Window ' , where , if one was nosy enough , you could follow part of the lives of those living around you through , balconies , flat-rooves and curtainless windows .
The first day was a bank holiday in Switzerland so my hosts were able to introduce me to the city .
The public transport system was the the first pleasant surprise , my hosts had provided me with a 7 day run-around ticket whiich cost the equivalant of € 30 but covered all modes of transport , trams , busses , local trains ( including the 'orange' train that takes people to the ' top of Zurich ') , the scenic boat trip on the Zurich- See lake , which , by the way , even on a hot summers day can be very cold , being fed by the melting snow from the Alps .
On the first day of my visit my hosts introduced me to the city , we travelled from the station Banhof Enge by tram to the Zurich See lake on took a boat trip on a ferry around the lake , then on to Rapporswill overlooking the city
The trams can take one almost any where in Zurich , and if the passenger mistakenly boards the wrong tram ( as I did occasionally ) he can be literally back on track in minutes .
There are no barriers or ticket checking , once you have your ticket , you are free to travel whereever you wish , in the seven days I was there , travelling frequently each day , I was not asked ONCE to present my ticket , either to a human or a ticket-checking machine . Trust is absolute , I would guess , however , that the penalties for deliberatly trying the system would be severe ...but the system is so efficient that only a foolish person would try to cheat .
On the second day of my visit I was on my own , my son and his fiancee having returned to work . My self -imposed project for the day was to find the grave of James Joyce . I have read ' Dubliners ' of course , almost struggled through ' Ulysses ' but have not even attempted reading 'Finnigan's Wake ' but I am a Dubliner myself and even grew up near one of the many places where Joyce lived in Rathgar .
My son , having checked the Internet , told me that I should start my search at The Zoo near the final stop of the 13 tram .So I got off the tram at the final stop , as instructed , walked up the hill toward the zoo , made inquiries at the hotel half-way up , they seemed to know very little of the whereabouts of Joyces grave and suggested that I make further inquiries at the zoo offices .
Skipping the queues of parents and children I asked for directions from the person in charge who having checked HIS computer told me I would have to go back to the city ......anyway as I was about to give up I discovered the tiny private graveyard A FEW HUNDRED YARDS down the hill from the zoo .
The man in charge of the graveyard took me to the grave of Joyce . In a special area , on a raised area accessed by steps beside a lifesize bronze statue of the famous writer I sat for a while in the warm summer sun , apologised for not finishing Ulysses , not starting Finnigan's Wake , for referring to his statues in North Earl St. as 'the pratt with the hat ' or the ' p*ick with the stick' and for getting Nora Barnacle mixed up with Nora Batty......I also asked for a few literary favours ...I spent about two hours walking about in the sun and admiring the colourful flowers and shrubs .....its a lovely place to visit...
More of Zurich later.....
On following days I visited Uetliberg , the top of Zurich , almost literally walking in the clouds above the city , standing on a high platform viewing the Alps (granted , not the ideal place for a seventy-year-old man with vertigo to stand alone ) , listening to the tinkle of the bells on the Alpine animals , I also travelled on a cable car at Santis de berg , again above the clouds , and saw the mist burn away to see the beautiful valley appear below ....
A visit to the cinema and a stand-up comedy show ( Rich Hall and Ed Byrne ) lovely meal s and a trip to St.Gallas , where we came across Zurich's version of a stag celebration for a young man about to get married , hot coffee liberally laced with schnapps handed out to all comers .....great days laid on by my hosts
I love Zurich , its public transport system , the best in the world , its clear pure air and water , magnificent views , its accessability from the airport , in shops , restaurants , in the streets , although the local language is Swiss /German , most people understand English...
Goobye Zurich for now , I'll be back.....

Gambling , in Rathgar in the rare 'oul times ..( and some namedropping from Mrs.Joe Blogs)

It appears , nowadays , that all teenagers / adolescents , indulge in activities 'frowned -on' by adults ;
drink , drugs , sex etc...( what is the ' etc ' ...I wonder ?
When I was a teenager we didn't have any of the above ( well we did have , but innocents like us didn't KNOW about them ). Our particular vice was.... gambling .
When we were still at school we started playing PONTOON , or twentyone as it was sometimes called ....pennies became half-crowns , half-crowns became pound notes as we got older ( and started getting pocket-money or part-time jobs ).
This eventually led on to Poker - schools ....playing mostly draw poker at every opportunity .
We , at first , played in different houses , but eventually settled on the home of one of our friends as almost a permanent venue . We were all late teens or early twenties , about 10 or 12 in the school , at various times . We depended very much on the patience and forbearance of pur friend's parents . He lived in a three story house , but the family used , mainly , only the lower floor for day to day living and the top floor as bedrooms . Which meant that the middle floor was seldom used . There steps leading up to the middle floor from outside and the front door was seldom locked . So we could access the front room without having to go through family space .
The large window of the front room looked straight out on to Garville /Rathgar Ave. crossroads , so when a game was in session we were able to see from a distance the late arrivals as they hurried in to join the game , sometimes even having their 'hand' dealth out before they even entered the room .

Games would sometimes start in the early evening , usually on Fridays , and carry on to late at night . On occasion we would change the routine , calling in to the house for a game of pontoon , then heading off to Harold's Cross Greyhound Track until the last race at 9 PM and return to the house to play poker until the 'wee small hours'. At Christmas or Easter when we had more time off and more money , some of the games went on for about 12 hours , early evening to early morning .

Often a weekly wage was lost by one or other of us on a Friday evening , no problem , we could always borrow from the winner until the next payday when hopefully the positions might be reversed .
On Saturdays we of course had to visit the Bookies , even before RTE started showing televised racing , another friend had BBC piped racing , luckily he also lived near the bookmakers shop and we could put on our bet and run quickly around the corner just in time to see the race live on TV .
We also attended race meetings in the Summer , Baldoyle , Phoenix Park , Leopardstown all had evening meetings and were accessable by public transport....
It was great fun while it lasted and over all that period I suppose we ended up even , the fun and the comradery we experienced was the real payoff.....

Since then I have learned a new card game .....Texas Hold'em.... I was taught it by my daughter-in-law , Two-deck -Sal , who was born in Texas and , apparently learned the game in her crib....I can see her now ..green.... eye -shade , dangling Marlboro trailing smoke , snapping out instructions to the less serious players ....as she deals in the no-holds-barred game .......( at one point , when I tentatively queried the hiearchy of winning hands , I was curtly informed by 'the shooter' that we were now playing Texas Hold'em in Fort Worth , Texas in the 21st century and the 'Rathgar Rules ' of a dull 1960's poker school , did NOT apply.....ouch!!!!)

On another subject I have been instructed by my wife to write the following :
'' As a matter of fact my wife , having read all my adventures proceeded to name drop herself .....TO start with as a child she lived in Mill Hill , London , where supposedly the famous playwright Oliver Goldsmith once sat under a beautiful oak tree in her front garden , writing his plays....
Later she was attending a family gathering and was delighted to receive a 10 shilling note from a German gentleman who was the inventor of the '' Thermos flask''.
And guess what ?....one day after school she watched , in awe , as King George VI drove by in his limosene , later she met the Queen Mother IN PERSON , at a local garden fete and curtsied .
And while at college had the pleasure seeing the Queen at close quarters .....she really was beautiful .
But her most EXCITING meeting was in the ITV studios , London .....with Tom Jones...''
end ..

Name dropping ...in Rathgar in the rare oul times

I remember my mother telling us that she knew A.E. Russell the writer who lived a few doors down from us on Rathgar Avenue and that she had studied Irish under Art O'Griofa , in the days before the Irish language was taught in National Schools . As children we were not quite sure who either of these men were and this was our mother's version of namedropping famous people .
When we grew older we added our own experiences of meeting famous people . One of my brothers worked for a time as a chauffeur for a car-hire firm and met people such as Alec Guinness , Brendan Behan , Patrick Kavanagh , and most of ''The Dubliners'' , my father did gardening for John D. Sheridan ...the famous actress Siobhain McKenna and her husband Denis O'Dea lived on Highfield Road just around the corner from us and we were delighted to see her in such classic films as The Robe ( the Virgin Mary ) and Doctor Zhivago ( Zhivago's mother ?).
Erskin Childers ( later President of Ireland ) lived for a time on Highfield Road also .
My father told us that Michael Collins used one of the houses on Airfield Road as a 'safe house'but of course Collins used many houses around the city as safe houses , also James Joyce lived , for a time , on Brighton Road but just like Collins , James Joyce lived in many houses . Of course Collins reasons for moving around so much was to 'keep ahead of the posse ' , whereas Joyces reasons for moving seemed to be to keep ahead of the landlord ...
When I was about 12 years of age I met Sean Lemass , as I and my friends were involved in distributing election literature for the Fianna Fail party and we were treated to lemonade and biscuits in their election offices and Lemass gave me a half-crown ( a good sum at the time ) , I was not aware who he was , but I can still see the moustache , sleeky hair , the pipe and of course the half-crown , in my mind's eye ....a gentleman ( come to think of it I must be one of the few people who received money FROM Fianna Fail ......in the afternoon of that same day we were discovered distributing literature for the Fine Gael Party and we were all summarily dismissed .....end of my political career...
I attended Secondary School , Westland Row , Christian Brothers and travelled from Rathgar to Westland Row on the no. 47 bus . Each day I would see a distinguished gentleman , dressed entirely in black , bearded turning gray , sitting always in the back seat of the single deck bus . This man also got off the bus in Westland Row , it was only years later that I found out that this was Sean Keating , the famous artist ,travelling from his home in the foothills of the Dublin mountains to the National Gallery in town , almost door to door .
Westland Row was the former school of Patrick Pearse and one day his sister , Margaret , visited the school to unveil a plaque to her dead brothers , we were all introduced to her ..
Mount Argus was one of our local parishes and one could 'get confession ' there at almost any time of the day on request . I was sitting in my seat one day , in an almost empty church when three people entered and sat on the seat almost in front of me .....our , then , Taoiseach Jack Lynch , his wife Maureen ,and (presumably ) his aide-com.....no fuss no bother .....I only wish I had the courage to listen at the confession box......
I met Archbishop John Charles McQuaid at my confirmation of course , when he did'nt ask me a question from the cathechism , but I met him more fore formally when I was chosen as an altar -boy to attend on him when he blessed a new church in Templeogue , Josef Locke the singer lived on Rathgar Road but was more famous locally for the rows at his house than for his singing....the actor with the magnificent voice Denis Brennan also lived locally , although at times the worse for wear he was a very elegant man .
I came across Denis later when our school was one of those chosen to take part in the Pageant of Saint Patrick , produced and directed by Hilton Edwards and Michael Mc Liammamore .I can still remember the rehearsals in the CIE hall in Inchicore (1955 ?) , and McLiammore's brother-in-law the famous Irish-Shakespearean actor , Anew McMaster , who was cast as Patrick , standing on a wobbly kitchen chair , dressed in an old army coat ( rehearsals took place in January in the unheated hall ). McLiammore was the High King of Ireland and Denis Brennan was the narrator . Because of my vast experience as an altarboy I was chosen to lead a procession , swinging a thurible .
A number of us were also chosen to represent Irish peasants in crowd scenes carrying staves with little lights hidden in the top , which we switched on when given a cue by 'St.Patrick'....guess you had to be there....
Many well known people lived around Rathgar at the time , most of them best known for their voices , as radio was the entertainment medium of the day....we might be standing in a queue in the local 'chipper'and suddenly hear a very familiar voice( e.g.Aidan Grinnel ) ordering '' a cod and two bags of chips'' , having previously heard the same voice as Daniel O'Connell or Patrick Pearse on a recent radio play .
I never actually met Napolean Bonapart , no...no....really I did'nt...but in England in the sixties I met a man who was actually born on the island of St.Helena , the lonely island in the Atlantic over a thousand miles from the coast of Africa , where Napolean was held in captivity/isolation.
My friend's name was Hensel Maggott and he was proud of his name and ancestry ( descended from pirates according to Hensel ) , he was also annoyed that the only reason anyone had even heard of St.Helena was because of Bonapart's connection . When Hensel's sons ( their mother was Irish ) were starting school they tentivly asked their dad could they pronounce their surname differently , say Maggoh( soft 'T' ) , ..'.no' said dad '' The name is MAGGOT and you should pronounce it that way and be proud of it .'' As far as I know they did ....and they were .
The reason I remember Hensel after over fifty years , is not just because of his unusual name and ancestry , but because he was a kind and generous man who shared his family life with a homesick migrant , I hope he has had a happy life....
I was introduced twice to Charlie Haughey ( for most people once would be enough ) , I still remember the limp handshake , as the hooded eyes surveyed the room searching for someone more important ....or better looking....
I nearly spoke to Garret Fitzgerald .....he having given a talk in which he included an anecdote about having to resort to reading through the TELEPHONE DIRECTORY one time when he was laid up and could find nothing else to read .....I had intended to say that the telephone directory wasn't much of a book ...lots of characters ....but no story ....alas I lost my nerve and didn't pass on my clever comment....
Even I am bored with this now....but I did meet , Michael Caine ( was made up beside him , and 'shared' a scene..)., Kate Blanchett , unfortunatly I did'nt know who she was ,

I could write pages more about the people I did'nt meet but I'm sure there must be some law there against boring complete strangers to death......

Rathgar in the rare oul times ( yet again !!!!)

My mother was Kathleen Nolan , daughter of Tom and Kate ( nee Howard ).She had only one surviving sibling , a sister , her brother Jack k.i.a. in the Balkans in Oct.1916 , another sister died of TB .
She had seven children .Although she spent all her married life as a 'housewife' she was always deeply interested in the happenings in Dublin of its day . Because of the large family no matter what happened in the city at the time , one of us was sure to have an inside track on the news of the day , either through direct experience or through a work collegue or a friend or a neighbour .
She had studied the Irish language ( before Irish became compulsary in schools , under Art O'Griofa ,an Croibhin Aoibhinn ) and was proud of her knowledge .
She attended 10 o'clock Mass each day in St.Joseph's in Terenure . Shopping for a big family , after mass each day , before the advent of supermarkets , meant having to visit the butcher ,maybe the pork butcher , or the ''baby beef'' butcher , the fruit and veg shop , the dairy , sometimes the fish and poultry shop and other provisions . This meant meeting friends and neighbours and passing on information ( she never let us use the word ''gossip'').
Bread , milk , and laundry were delivered ( in the earlier days ) by horse drawn vans or drays . So the mid-mornings on Rathgar Ave. were very busy indeed , with women coming home from mass or shopping meeting and greeting one another , the deliverymen knocking at doors , horsedrawn vehicles parked by the roadside , the clanging of trams or some of the newly-arrived motor vehicles roaring past .
When the family came home from work/school in the evenings our meal was ready piping hot , a stew , beef or chicken or even rabbit , ready to eat , followed by maybe , a freshly baked Madeira cake , or hot apple or jam tarts , maybe a huge deep apple pie , with whole cloves of course .
Sometimes we would have pancakes or delicious potato cakes baked on the huge black frying pan on the 'hob', big dollops of REAL butter and mugs of hot , sweet tea (from the best blended tea leaves ....none of your 'owl' teabags )......Let me pause for a moment to savour the past..........
Now where was I ????
I remember many of my mother's sayings , which presumably SHE heard from HER mother , but one of her sayings always mystified me ......If we told her what SHE considered to be a tall story that she didn't believe she would say '' Very like a whale ''. It was only in later years when we were studying ''Hamlet '' in school and we came to Polonious's humouring of Hamlet as they looked at the clouds , Hamlet said something like '' look at that cloud up there it's shaped like a camel '' and Polonious ''yes , indeed it looks like a camel ''and then Hamlet said '' but it is backed like a whale '' and old Po..agreed '' Very like a whale ''.....I guess you had to be there ....
The point I'm getting to is that in my mothers time many many people used lines from Shakespeare , often in daily conversation....maybe due to people like Anew McMaster and his fit ups bringing Shakespeare as well as Irish drama to everyone....
I was married in January 1973 , my mothers younger sister and only surviving sibling , died on Easter Monday of that year , my father's sister died mid year and my mother died on the 18th Dec 1973 , exactly a week before Christmas and two months before our first child was born....

Rathgar in the rare oul times....( 1 )

Rathgar in the mid 1940's to mid 1950's was a great place to grow up . Rathgar Avenue , in particular , was a mixture of Georgian terraced houses , some detached old style houses and some ' newly-built ' ( 1920's or 30's ). All had large rooms with high ceilings . The reminders of the previous occupants , who would probably have been the ascendancy , were still there . The three story houses had 'servant ' or tradesman's entrances on the lower level with steps leading up to a grandiose front door ( seldom used by the new occupants ). In the two story houses the kitchen /scullary still had the servants bell- board and the main rooms had bell pulls beside the fireplaces .
Most houses had large gardens front and back .
The neighbourhood consisted of approximately half and half of the old protestant ascendancy business families and newly arrived Catholics , like ourselves , with large or very large
families .
The nearest church and school to our home were Church of Ireland denomination , my best friends included Church of Ireland and some Jewish children as well as Catholics , although we were scarcely aware of our different faiths , even on Sundays .
Playgrounds were few and far between but Palmerstown Park was popular and eventually a children's park and playground was opened at Orwell Bridge on the Dodder ( 50 years later this was still referred to as '' the NEW park''.
But we didn't need parks or playgrounds , the River Dodder itself WAS our playground . We ranged , mainly in Summer of course , on our 'excursions ' , from what is now Bushy Park ,(near Templeogue )then called Shaws Wood , to Milltown beneath the Nine Arches , fishing , swimming , dam-building : catching , pinkeens , minnow , sticklebacks ,and in dark gloomy side-tunnels ..the blind crayfish .
Once we even went fishing with a catapult , a-la Dennis the Menace , and actually caught a trout , stunning it as it rose to snatch , an evening fly-meal .
My father was a former tram driver , now driving buses . He was originally from Cavan and he never forgot his roots , as one of my brothers once remarked '' you can take the man out of the country but you can't take the country out of the man ''. Before he married when he was still working on the trams , each year he would give up his holidays to return to his family home in Cavan to help with the ''MEITHAL'' , in which country tradition , neighbour helped neighbour during harvest - time .
As we had large rooms and no central heating , during the '40's , a constant supply fuel for the open fires in all of the rooms was essential during winter .My father and some of his friends in CIE and the Gardai rented turf-banks or allotments from the state on the Featherbed in the Dublin mountains . As these men all worked irrugular shifts and had days off or early shifts during Summer they travelled up to the Featherbed mountain together on a hired high-creeled lorry from Terenure to '' cut turf ''.As we children got older we were sometimes allowed , school hours permitting , to join the trip .We learned very quickly the basics of '' cutting turf ''.
First the 'bank' was stripped of its surface growth of heather or bracken , opening up the soft mushy turf or peat underneath . Then an instrument called a ''SLANE '' ( basically a sharp spade with a metal '' wing'' welded on to the tip on the right hand side . The cutting started at the top corner of the 'bank', and each sod was sliced out and tossed over the shoulder of the cutter and laid out in neat rows to start the drying process .Some days later the sods were turned and then days later again the turf was '' footed'' , that is , made in to sort of stools , say four or five sods standing up and one or two on top , to allow further drying .
At the end of Summer when all the turf was dry it was then wheelbarrowed over the soggy surface out to the nearest bog-road and stacked neatly for taking away .
The same high-creeled lorry was then hired on an appropriate day and all the turf was loaded as high as safety allowed for delivery all the way down to Rathgar Avenue .
Once or twice as we grew older we were allowed to actually sit on top of the high-loaded lorry as it made its way groaning downhill across the Featherbed , down again steeply past the entrance to the Hellfire Club , around the Devil's Elbow, and eventually to Rathfarnham , by the Yella' House . All the time we who were on top of the heap had to duck under low lying branches or hang on grimly when rounding sharp bends .
So we arrived on Rathgar Avenue early afternoon . Our mother had already organised the friends and neighbours and prepared the house , because , the problem was , our house had no back entrance and the turf had to be carried through the house to our garden in the back.
The lorry pulled up outside our house and deposited its dusty load on the footpath , and partially on the road outside the railings .
Armed with baskets , sacks , trollies etc our family , friends , neighbours carried all the turf through the house and again stacked it neatly in our shed . All over and done with by evening time . A wash up , lemonade and biscuits for the helpers and our winter heating was sorted .
I never learned what our more posh neighbours thought of the ''turf circus'' , but many times over the years we were able to provide some of them with fuel....
A blazing fire in a bedroom at night is a wonderful sight , although nowadays health and safety would not permit , and as we drifted off to sleep on cold winter nights we could remember the Summer mornings helping our Father to save turf on the Featherbed mountain....
..even MORE to come....

Rathgar in the rare 'oul times.....

Late forties and early fifties , when we still had trams , travelling into Dublin City Centre ( an Lar ), was not only convenient but also exciting for children .The whining of the engine , the clanging of the bell and the crackling and sparking of the overhead cables as the trams swung around corners , was an adventure in itself , even before arriving in the heart of the thriving , bustling city .
I always remember my mothers story of her experience when travelling on a tram during our Civil War . As a young teenager she had been sent into town to collect fresh eggs which had been sent from a country relative by train . When she had collected the eggs and was on the tram heading homeward , to Terenure , an outbreak of shooting took place , between the two opposing sides , across the street . The tram was stopped and the passengers instructed to lie on the floor . In the process , the precious eggs were broken and my mother's abiding memory of the incident was , not the gunfire , which was a fairly regular occurance at the time , but the fact that she had to dispose of the remains of a basket of farm-fresh eggs , up a Dublin allyway .
Both my father and my maternal grandfather were tram drivers , and when The Dublin United Tramway Company ( a private company , the forerunner of C.I.E. ) , closed my grandfather and his collegues were given a small pension , and retired to their small terraced cottages . In my grandfather' s case this was a cul-de-sac in Terenure known as Rathmore Villas , or more commonly known as 'Tram' Villas .
These little houses consisted of , two bedrooms , a main living room , with an open fire/range , a kitchen /washroom/ scullary . In a small yard outside was the toilet and other washing facilities, a covered-in area for a 'mangle'( for drying clothes ) , and clothesline . There was also a bicycle shed and even a tiny garden space . The front door opened onto the communal pathway of the terrace and the back yard opened on to a laneway which in turn led on to the main thoroughfare of Terenure . Most of my grandfather's neighbours were , like himself , retired tram-men . So each family had their privacy and if they wished could share gossip and reminisences . All requirements , shops , post office , church , garda station were within a short distance .
My grandfather's only son was killed in action in 1916 , not in Ireland but in Greece in the '' war to end all wars ''. Jack was only 18 years of age when he was k.i.a. ( as they say ). He had volunteered two years previously , when he was only 16 ( pretending he was 17 ). One of Jack's first assignments , was to Cork to assist in the collection of bodies washed up on the beaches following the sinking of the Luisitania . An horrific job for such a young man , described in a letter to his parents , read to me by my mother in later years .After that he volunteered to be sent to the'front' and his commanding officer wrote to my grandparents to inform them that because of his age ( they must have discovered his true age ) , they would not allow him to go but if he volunteered a second time they would allow him to go . He did volunteer again . He was sent to the front.So it came to pass that :

18890 Acting Coporal John (Jack) Nolan

6TH Battalion ,

Royal Dublin Fusiliers ,

Killed in action , Balkans , 03/10/1916 ,


I never did get an opportunity to talk to my grandfather Tom Nolan , about his son , what he thought about how , after the Easter Rising , those young men who volunteered , and died in the Balkans , were vilified by some in our society .
My grandfather could have driven the tram that carried the volunteers to the GPO on Easter Monday 1916 , while his son was fighting overseas.....what did he think , how did he feel , old Tom Nolan kept his thoughts to himself......
more later.....

CARS , FAMILY and FAMILY-CARS

When I was growing up in Rathgar in 1940's cars were not very much in evidence . Public transport was convenient and frequent . The first cars I can remember were large , heavy machines a few generations up from the 'Tin Lizzie .The crossroads of Rathgar Ave. and Garville Ave. were notorious for crashes . These were the days before shatterproof windscreens and the aftermath of collisions were often horrific to see , particularly for youngsters .
Eventually what was eventually to be dubbed ' a winking willie ' was installed at that dangerous crossroads and the situation improved .
Near one of the areas , where we played football , there were lock-up garages , at the rere of large houses on Terenure Road . One of these was a double garage belonging to two elderly brothers who owned a local business . This garage housed two shiney new MG's. A two-seater , open topped , red sports car and a green saloon . Spoked wheels , wooden dash- boards , large headlamps ...etc . We , back-lane- footballers used to stand open-mouthed as the gentlemen , usually wearing soft hats reversed the cars out . Beautiful cars , we had no sense of envy , just awe , besides we has our own Dinky version of these very machines .
One of our neighbours ' daughters once dated an American who sometimes called for her in a huge Chevvy or Buick , I can't remember which , and of course this was a great talking point .
Because of its large , chrome , engine grille one of my schoolfriends referred to it as ''a grinning whale ''.
My father was a tram driver and when the trams were ' discontinued ', he became a bus driver .Although at that time , in Ireland , to get a licence to drive a car all one had to do was fill in a form and, hey presto , you got your driving licence ( one person managed to get a 'valid' licience for his ventriloquist dummy ) , bus drivers had to have a test .
We didn't have a family car but a friend used to loan my father his car for family outings , occasionally , and for summer holidays .

I can still remember travelling to a country cottage , again loaned by a friend to my parents , sitting in deep leather seats , my four or five siblings around me . in what seemed like 'the President's' car , although it probably was a Morris Cowley , one of the medium -to -big cars at the time .......Sheer luxury...
These journeys reminded us of scenes in the lighthearted bio-pic of Frank Gilbreth ( one of my heros ) and his wife , who were pioneers of Time and Motion study and economies of scale in the US . The film was called '' Cheaper by the Dozen'' , and told the story of a large family growing up in the 20's.
When out on a family trip if they stopped for a 'bathroom' break the father would use the euphemism '' does anyone want to see Mrs.Murphy''.

One of my uncles had a Ford Prefect and he and my aunt used take us for Sunday drives on the country roads around Kildare , Straffan , Sallins , Celbridge ....My uncle seemed to always wear a hat and smoke a pipe and if he accidently ran over a rabbit , he seemed to feel guilty about it for miles afterward.....a gentle man . He eventually progressed to the famous Morris Minor , as did , apparently EVERY man who wore a hat and smoked a pipe , while driving .

Later someone in the immediate family got a car . My older brother , or at least he and his friend jointly bought a car . A Ford Prefect , but at this stage the old beetle -backed Prefect was way , way , past its use-by date ....but it was a car and as far as I can remember it brought my brother and his friend around Ireland , before it eventually gave up the ghost .
Another brother of mine had by this time started to work for a care -hire firm and we began to hear stories of some of the famous people he met or drove , I remember Alec Guinness was one memorable passenger . Also as the company was situated near Paddy Kavanagh's roaming patch , the poet would occasionally pop his head round the door of their funeral parlour shouting''any owl stiffs ?''......guess you had to be there.......
We got an opportunity to see many different types of car as my brother had use of a car on a daily basis .

I was introduced to the 'new' Ford Anglia , the one with the back-angled rear window , by my good friend Hensel Maggott , he also provided a first tour of the swinging city of London for my mother and her sister in 1967....

The Volkswagen Beetle came in to my life also in 1967 , it was owned by Charlie Barrett , whose daughter I had met at a (wait for it...) Parish Council meeting . The VW was Charlie's pride and joy , after his wife and three daughters of course It was a creamy white colour , constantly polished ( HE knew how to look after machines ) . He kept it in a lock-up garage and I was told that sometimes he would not take the car out if it was RAINING . Some years later , when he retired to Ireland , he of course brought the Beetle with him , in spite of all the paperwork involved at the time . Charlie was a gentleman but even his best friends would not describe him as a gentle , man. He was a Corkman . And like all Corkmen , HE WAS NEVER WRONG .
So it happened that one Monday morning as he was taking his special daughter from Hatfield to London , as he did EACH Monday morning for years , on the busy Comet Roundabout , he accidently bumped into a posh car . Now anyone not familiar with the VW beetle would not be aware that this car was built like a TANK , heavy metal bumpers and overriders , ...so any other car unluck enough to be 'bumped' by it would come off second best . Of course it wasn't Charlie's fault .....the man in the other car was prepared . swap insurances , names and addresses etc , in the event Charlie gave him 50p and drove off .....again I guess you had to be there .

Having met Charlie's daughter we eventually decided to buy a car between us , all this bussing and training around Hatfield , St. Albans , Wellyn Garden City ,etc , became a chore . So enter ....58 FXN....an off white mini , delux , with REAL chrome , etc , etc , etc , must have been the apple of Sir Alec Issigonis's eye . Unfortunatly I didn't have a full licience , so Charlie's daughter initally did ALL the driving ......I remember some Winter evening WALKING the four miles from Hatfield to St. Albans with 58FXN safely garaged ....incidently the same road that features in Charles Dicken's ''Oliver Twist '', where Bill Sykes , after murdering Nancy , was captured by the authorities , while walking in the snow.....
There is a short cut from the Hatfield Road when approaching St. Albans , called Sandpit Lane .
When walking that road late on a Winter's night , the excavator machinery shows stark against the sky and they looked EXACTLY like dinosaurs....creepy ...now where was I ?

Charlie's daughter and I married , we brought 58 with us , on the MAIL boat not the Ferry , I can still see the mini turning slowly in the wind as they crane loaded it into the hold.

Eventually , getting on in years , 58FXN had to go , I can still see my wife's tears as a stranger dragged the car , with all its memories , away to God only knows where , luckily she did not see MY tears.....

Then came our very own MG saloon , unfortunatly nothing like the green car of my youth , the only time the heater seemed to work was in the SUMMER , as they say nowadays MG should be OMG........

Then came our first almost -new car ....the Vauxhall Viva.....a great car , until an apprentice ran into the side of it in A FORK LIFT TRUCK.....and then said 'don't go too hard on me , I'm not insured and I could lose my job . I cried as well ....
The VIVA eventually became a 'play-car' for my eldest daughter and her friends . Nicknamed ''the MARY car..

My first company car was almost called after my wife , the very first Toyota , Carina , saloon , for some reason , the colour was Primrose . However on my very first business trip , a shattered windscreen , January 1980 , in the wilds of Longford , in the days before laminated windscreens .....

My next company car was also a Carina , a white , hatchback , then an 8 seater , Spacewagen , 3 rows of seats , for the growing family , then the Camry Estate , another 8 seater , one of only two in Ireland at the time , when full of family it once again reminded me of Frank Gilbreth and his family , about this time my wife acquired a tiny Kia and finally on retiring I bought the second Toyota Carina that I still drive , 12 years old and still going , thanks to the patron saint of motors , Tony King .

The next generation are starting to drive , I had whiteknuckle rides with my youngest son , in a VW of course just like Grandad , and my eldest son took me from Jersey City to Fort Worth recently in a Honda Accord , my eldest daughter 's Renault Scenic , when you can see the floor , is quite comfortable and now here comes Rosie in HER little car .


Modern cars can tell you where you are , where you are going and how to get there , but they don't seem to leave any memories , probably because we change them so often ......

I think its time to go , turn off the engine , and lock the garage doors

Goodnight...

Jersey City to Fort Worth ....Part FIVE

Sunday morning , heading out of Memphis , singing a duet ...no no not Elvis songs , but Kris Kristoffersons ''Sunday Morning''( comin' down ) , we started the final part of our trip to Texas .Our in-car entertainment of the Oddessy was now finished , Oddessyeus a.k.a Ulysses , having slaughtered the Cyclops and all his enemies abroad , now returned to find his household slaughtered , so he set about slaughtering his enemies on home ground...great stuff, so for some light relief we listened to another 'spoken book'...Crime and Punishment , this story about a student who murders two old women with an axe and claims it was their own fault...
This was actually an improvement on my son's other choice ....EARLY Michael Jackson tapes , as the singer had died in the previous few days . I felt sorry for Jackson but not sorry enough to suffer his early music....I recon this was retaliation on my son's part for all those Dean Martin hobo songs he was forced to listen to , when he was young , on family car-trips....

We crossed the Mississippi during the morning , another missed photo opportunity , into Arkansas , passing near Little Rock , Pine Bluff , El Dorado , and crossed the border into Texas at Texarkana , passing near towns like Marshall , Longview , then past Dallas and so on to Fort Worth .....a remarkable futuristic city and holding on to a tiny corner of the Old West in Cowtown . We were welcomed by my son's wife and daughter ...our mission completed .HOOray for Robert HOOray for the Honda Accord ( since voted the most reliable car in the WORLD...I agree )..HOoray for U-Haul .....I'll spend another ten blogs telling you about my journey home through Heathrow. YEEEHAAAAAW....

Jersey City to Fort Worth ...Part FOUR

Leaving the area of the Shanandoah Valley , Hugh having performed very well , we then made our way from Ashville towards Knoxville , following directions such as ''ask for 81 South , National Pike , West , merge to......etc my driver had to watch all these directions and signs , while at the same time avoiding ,huge trucks and cars coming from either side .....
We followed signs for West Virginia , Tennessee , ...finally exit 1 B for Knoxville, on to Turkey Drive , down Snowgoose Lane ....and there it was Holmwood Suites Motel.
Tired , we went in search of food , having missed an opportunity of visiting the eating establishment that served the BIGGEST BURGERS IN THE WORLD...we settled for the closest we could get to the famous HATFIELD HOTDOG....

On Friday 3 rd of July ,yes , yes ,'as dawn's rose fingers touched the sky'' , we set off for Memphis, , passing out of Virginia into Tennessee, signs for Clarksville , Chatanooga , and stopping in Nashville ( the home of country music ) , to savour the 'action' in that legendary place . We parked Hugh , taking up TWO parking places , on Buddy Holly Boulevard , and went looking for the 'action' , but were unable to find it , eventually we had to ask directions from two cops in a squad car , who looked at us very strangely....we DID see Sun Studios where Elvis made his first recordings and WE were asked by a passerby ''did we know the way to Chet Akins'' , to my surprise my son had never HEARD of the famous guitarist and did not realise that the person was looking for a street not an actual person.
The only action we eventually found in Nashville was afternoon tea , served on a veranda , by a Greek orthodox lady , who apologised for not having any freshly-baked scones , and whose black-bean soup consisted of ..just that ,,black beans ...no liquid...she pressed some religious promotional pamplets as we rushed off to save our car and trailer from being clamped , or whatever they do to illegally parked cars in Nashville...
We arrived in Memphis in the late afternoon , an amazingly spread-out city ....found our motel . The Scots Inn , almost directly across the road from Graceville , Elvis's former home .We planned to stay two nights , to give the driver and Hugh a rest and enjoy the eve-of-Independence -day and Independence Day itself in the city .
We parked Hugh , booked in and made our way to the room .We went for a meal and on the way back my son said ''Did you SEE him ?'' , I said ''Who?''...He said ''The ELVIS impersonater on the stairs'' ...nooooo, this happened THREE TIMES, ''did you see him on the BALCONY''...''DID YOU SEE HIM IN THE CAR PARK ???..no...no...and again no ...I was beginning to believe that my son was seeing Elvis's ghost when I did see him on the stairs ....or did I???
Memphis by night on the eve of Independence Day is something to behold ....or maybe its like that EVERY night ....music pouring out of all the cafes and night clubs , dancing and acrobating on the streets , everyone merry , laughing , young , old , black white , drunk and sober ....and surprisingly for an Irishman visiting .....NO signs of violence or disorderly conduct....of course that MAY have had to do with the fact that the Memphis Police and Squad cars were very much in evidence , just think Rod Steiger ...''IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT'' , but they were laughing and joking too.
We went to BB.Kings night club for ribs , a Bud , and some jazz to round off the night..
On Independence Day we visited Graceland , a bit disappointing , the house almost as he lived in it , the jungle room very interesting ( details of Graceland can be found on the Internet ).
As we were leaving on the Graceland Tour Bus the african-american lady who was driving the bus started singing ''Blue Suede Shoes'', my son joined in and soon the whole bus crew and passengers were singing all the Elvis songs they could remember the words of ...and a few minutes before they had been strangers to one another......oh yes Elvis LIVES. We didn't see the fireworks as we had yet another early start the following morning....goodnight Memphis...tomorrow is our final leg of the journey....

Jersey City to Fort Worth ....Part THREE

We had decided to have Country Music tapes to accompany us on the long drives , but somehow we ended up listening to 'spoken book '' tapes . The first of these was '' Homers Odyessey '' on six hour long tapes .Oh ..no I thought ....but as it turned out because of the well known stories , the rhytm of the words and the soothing tone of the narrator it was a perfect accompanyment....Sooooo 'as dawns rose fingers touched the sky ' we set out on the Thurs, 2nd of July heading for Knoxville , Virginia .
We crossed from Maryland ( sorry Morryland ) into Virginia , West Virginia , ( Kentucky, Nth. Carolina , ?) , Tennessee, passing close to well known towns , such as Charlstown , Clarksburgh , Winston , Salem...and another surprise ...we took a side trip to The Blue Ridge Mountains , and the Shanandoah Valley. Once again I was wary of the hills which became mountains, sharp bends , looking out for wildlife in the wooded landscape ,(a deer ran right across our path on a bend ).
We travelled high up the mountain , with myself expecting the trailer to separate itself from the car at any moment . We stopped at a viewing point overlooking the Shanandoah Valley , and the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance . We were admiring a picturesque ranch-house nestled down in the valley and saying what a lovely place to live when we became conscious of a man about my own age standing close by , smoking a cigarette , and gazing , like ourselves down into the valley .It turned out that he was the owner of the ranch house we were admiring . His name was Paul Lester and he had lived there most of his life , he had spent some time abroad doing his national service in Europe and the far East ....his abiding memory of Paris was not the Eiffle Tower ( a pile of steel girders !) but the fact that people pi**ed in the street , presumably referring to the on-street urinals which were still in use there in the sixties . He told us about the local wild life , the ( deer )huntimg season ran (I think) from October to March , for the first part of the season , hunters were only allowed to use BOW and ARROWS , then old fashioned MUZZLE LOADERS , and only then were modern weapons , seemed to me a fair deal for the deer .However Paul then told us that HE shot deer with a .22 rifle from his porch , deer meat tasks great . He told us that his son was the local Deputy Sherriff. Although he had never been to Ireland , said he hoped to visit one day...he was very interested inthe European Union and the fact that the Euro was used in most European countries now .
As we said our goodbyes we looked down into the valley again and understood why people like Paul would have no incentive to travel anywhere from this peaceful setting....

Jersey City to Fort Worth .....Part TWO...

We decided to leave as early as possible , before the ''city that never sleeps'' woke up , so Hugh and me and Bobby slowly moved out of Sussex St. '' as dawn's rose fingers touched the sky'' on the 1st July 2009 . There was barely room for me to move in the passenger seat , even the footwell on my side was full of stuff .
We were both a little thoughtful as we drove out , I was concerned because we had never road-tested the combined load and trailer , my son , no doubt , thinking of the 5 years he and his wife had spent in Jersey City and their apartment (from which , he told me one time , if the light was right , the wind favourable and standing on a table it was just possible to see the'arse' of The Statue of Liberty ).
As we passed the Mail Office we half expected to find a smouldering ruin , following the previous day's battle , but all was quiet.
We headed out of Jersey City toward Pennysylvania , with the massive trucks/trailers roaring past us as we drove in the centre lane of the 3 lane highways. Sitting in the car , with rear visibility , except for the wing mirrors , I soon gave up any vague idea I had had of driving ...I would have been sitting in what for me was the passenger seat , with very limited rear visibility , with a constant stream of very heavy traffic all around , in short I was a coward.
About 100 miles out visibility for the driver was further reduced when a light shower of rain hit .Then a woman , driving a large four by four , passing us pointed animatedly towards the trailer behind....uh ,oh....a problem ...already....We pulled over into the emergency lane as quickly and safely as possible . We discovered that the steel ''fail-safe'' chain on the trailer had become loose and had been dragging for some miles , as it was pitted and scarred . Thank you ma'm, whoever you are .We contacted U-Haul who advised us that by tying up the chain to the towing bar we would NOT be interfering with the turning mechanism. Phew!......

My son got his first experience of manouvering the car and trailer in a tight space when we pulled off the highway for petrol at a small 'gas'station . Reversing to access the gas pump was a tricky job and then trying to exit the forecourt , with limited visibility , called for extreme care and caution.
We had planned our first night's stop for the Days Inn in Hagerstown about 300 miles out , then my son informed me that he had a surprise in store , we were going to go on a side- trip to visit
a famous site of a Civil War battle at Antietam . Whereas I was looking forward to seeing the site , I was worried that travelling over a battlefield , on hills and small roads , might give Hugh Hall problems....suppose we got a flat tyre , a broken connection...etc, all my anxieties were swept aside....we were going.....
A rainstorm broke just as we arrived at the site and although it was only 7pm visibility was bad , there were hills and small roads and very few other visitors there but we were given good advice and directions by the helpful staff at the reception centre. The battle took place on 17 Sept. 1862 , 23000 casualties in 12 hours , some of the earliest battlefield photos were taken there , including Abraham Lincoln and some of his generals poring over maps etc (see the Ultimate Guide to the Battle of Antietam , for more info...)
My driver and Hugh Hall performed excellently, a great experience....
We headed on into Hagerstown and the Days Inn and a well earned rest ..