“That’s what I do
Not afraid to chase a dream
Because I want to
I do it ’cause I want to
I do it for the fun of it”
J Willgoose Esq
Last night I had a phone call from my favourite Presbyterian, Richard. Before I go any further I should say that the last time I referred to my ‘favourite Presbyterian, Richard’ here, another friend and avid reader of this blog, ( lets call him Finn), said that he was disappointed that he wasn’t my favourite Presbyterian. Before I go any further ,further ,I should point out that Finn isn’t Presbyterian by any normal measure, it’s just that he and I attended a talk in Cahans Presbyterian Church and we bought copies of the book, ‘Full Circle – A Story of Ballybay Presbyterians’ in the same week that Jeff Bezo’s wife and her groupies took part in an 11 minute sub-orbital flight, after which Katy Perry claimed that she was now an astronaut, so I said that by that metric , we were now Presbyterians. Of course I apologised to him and he graciously accepted before saying that after my description of a Quaker funeral, he quite fancied becoming one of those instead anyway. And before I go any further, further, further, I must apologise to my favourite Presbyterian , Richard, for over and no doubt improper use of commas. He can get quite upset about that. I’m not sure if that’s just him, or all Presbyterians, so, sorry.
Now, where were we ?
Oh yes , last night I had a phone call from my favourite Presbyterian, Richard. After we caught up on how our respective families were, our summer travel plans, mutual blame for Robert for not organising a date for our overdue dinner, and the favour that was the reason for his call, he asked , out of the blue, “How’s your energy level ?”.
He always manages to do this. He shines a light on an issue I’d been wrestling with. And by wrestling, I mean ignoring. I told him that for the last week or so I hadn’t been sleeping well but that my Soulmate had figured out the reason.
We’d been chatting about something or other and she asked if I was down about something and I said “I do feel down, a little, but I don’t really have anything to be down about. I am a little stressed because there’s a deadline for this contract I’m working on , but that’s…”
“That’s it !” She said smiling.
“What’s it ? The contract ? But I’ve done them before.”
“Yes, but you hate doing actual work when you’re at work.”
“That’s….” I stopped myself saying what had immediately popped into my head , which was ‘ridiculous’, and instead carried on “…probably it.”
After I’d relayed this to Richard, he said what he always says “Eileen’s right.” He then went on to say that he’d enjoyed the P.P.S in last week’s blog and had sent the story about the Potato war to friends in Canada.
“Wait !”
What , dear Reader ?
“If you’re a bit down because you’re doing actual work at work lately, what do you usually do there.”
Research ! It’s a time consuming, and much underrated aspect of my contribution to capitalism. Our Jake worked in a groovy café in Edinburgh and everyone had a title …except the guy who cleaned up in the kitchen. They felt sorry for him and got him a badge with ‘Vibe Master’ on it. That may be an apt title for my own efforts.
Anyway I said to Richard that I hoped he’d told them that it was mostly true.
“Mostly ? I told them it was their history !”
I assured him that any fact mentioned was absolutely true…but that how I arrived at them, or connected them was via artistic license.
You may ask ‘Why ?’, to which I would give the answer that every frustrated adult, parent , and teacher, usually snaps at an inquisitive child when they have just asked a very reasonable question that either undermines everything you’ve just been saying, or simply flummoxes you, namely “That’s the why !”.
In truth I write stories , and this blog, simply because I enjoy it. I gave up trying to impress anyone else with it a long time ago. At one time I would get a little upset if no one reacted to my writing at all. At one time after sending out the blog by email , posting it on LinkedIn, sharing it on Twitter and Instagram and not receiving the vaguest sign that anyone had even seen it, I would check that the email server was working and even check with people directly that they had in fact received it.
Now I , like Amelia Earhart , do it just for the fun of it. ( That reference will make much more sense if you listen to the song at the end.).
I have no expectation that anyone takes time out of their day to read my meandering scribbles.
But that’s not to say that I don’t get a kick out of it when they do, and let me know.
Last week the mention of The Verve prompted some people to share their reminisces of hearing that song for the first time, or seeing them live, even going so far as digging out their old ticket stubs. Music and our reminisces are like time travel. Others commented with a smiley emoji, and one reader even dared to suggest that the Spitting Image porcelain Maggie Thatcher tea pot was preferable to the Mechanical Drinking Bear in my office !
I have had readers in the past let me know that they had argued successfully with others that the tradition of the decorated Christmas Tree in homes had started in Monaghan based on an old blog. If you Google “Where was the chicken ball invented ?” the answer is usually given as Monaghan, simply based on a blog that appeared on Linked in a long time ago. My daughter Robyn when she moved to Edinburgh and was being introduced to new friends and said to someone that she was from Monaghan was greeted with “Oh ! The place where chicken balls come from ?”. I have had coffee bought for me because someone had won €50 in a bet because he’d argued that Neil Young had played in McKenna’s in Monaghan, and cited my blog as proof. And , most deliciously of all, after I wrote the story of the Beatles’ Sgt.Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band being based on Sgt.Magennis from Clontibret in Monaghan who had met McCartney’s great grandfather, I was contacted by both the Irish Times and The Guardian asking about my research.
Someone, somewhere reads something I write at some time.
Isn’t that cool ?
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is for you , For The Fun Of It
P.P.S This is an old blog , in audio, and features horse racing, for the week that’s in it.
P.P.P.S This is this week’s worky blog
Just a number
Numbers are important to some people and meaningless to others. Here in Monaghan’s 4th largest workwear store my brother John has an almost religious devotion to numbers, spreadsheets and data, whereas our Dad, after whom our John is named, had a much more casual relationship with numbers and data. When Dad would ‘help’ with our annual stock takes he would gaze with mild horror at a large box of 144 pairs of gripster gloves, that had clearly been opened and had a few removed, so it should have been emptied and everything counted back in as per our John’s instructions. Dad would not do that. He would pick the carton up give it a gentle shake and write down 135. Then he would seal it and no one else would dare check it, as Dad was our company chairman…and , well, Dad.
Invariably when the auditors came in to do a check on our stocktake and our John was escorting them around, they would pick a box that Dad had counted , and John would be horrified and embarrassed to discover that the count wasn’t right. In the case of the gripster gloves , there were actually 120 gloves present. I remember it well, as it was the last time that John let Dad take part in the stocktake.
Dad would argue that the gloves only cost €2 each so it only made a different of €30 while John argued that that wasn’t the point, if we couldn’t count what was in a box of gloves, how could we be expected to manage our business.
They both had a point.
Numbers matter.
Just off the roundabout on the N2, on the Derry side of Monaghan is a large petrol station and deli called Sam’s Bridge. However , the bridge which it takes it’s name from is 15km away on the road from Glaslough to Caledon.
It’s an old defunct Great Northern Railway bridge which was bridge number 21 on the line from Clones to Belfast. It was in existence for over 50 years before it became known locally, and by railway staff , as Sams Bridge.
Samuel Woods was known as a ‘character’ by those who found him amusing and mildly irritating. But the RIC and the GNR staff knew him as a delinquent and petty thief. Monaghan town had a long history of pork production and during the First World War this went into overdrive as cured pork and bacon was needed to feed the troops. Every Tuesday and Thursday when the train left Clones for Belfast it would stop at Monaghan Station and collect three cargo carriages filled with pork destined for Belfast port and the sailing to Liverpool.
And every Tuesday and Thursday Samuel Woods would get the train from Glaslough , where he lived, and wait for the train coming from Clones. He would have a half one and a pint. This was an old habit in Irish bars. The ‘half one’ was a measure of whiskey which the customer consumed while he waited for his pint of Guinness to settle.
Sam would board the train after the pork carriages had been attached and sit and wait until it reached Glaslough. Although he lived in the village , he didn’t disembark there. When it stopped in Glaslough he would make his way to the pork carriages and hide there and wait for the train to head out towards Tynan.
Back then railway bridges were numbered from the main hub outwards. Clones was the junction for four branch lines, so the Clones to Belfast line bridges were numbered from Clones. Bridges 1- 10 were between Clones and Smithborough, bridges 11-14 were between Smithborough and Monaghan, numbers 15-19 between Monaghan and Glaslough, and bridges 20-24 were between Glaslough and Tynan and so on all the way to Belfast.
Sam would select two sides of bacon and as the train approached bridge 21 he’d throw them down the siding, as it was close to his house, but he would wait until bridge 22 to jump off himself, as it was on a bend so the train would slow down, and the siding was gentler there.
This all worked out incredibly well for Sam , until Thursday , February 11th, 1915.
On that day the train was late departing Clones , and Sam ended up having an extra half one and a pint…and then having an extra , extra half one and a pint. He got on the train , complaining loudly to the ticket inspector that he had a cheek checking for fares when it was so late. When the train arrived in Glaslough he made his way to the pork carriages and sat down for a minute or two , waiting for the train to depart. He woke with a start as the train’s whistle screamed loudly , and he realised it was already moving. Cursing to himself he assumed he’d slept and missed a couple of bridge and he grabbed a side of bacon and got ready to jump at the next bridge.
It was only as he’d leapt into the air that he saw the sign had number 21 on it and he realised he’d jumped too soon. The sidings here were shear, and while the bacon could cope he knew he wouldn’t. This was Samuel Woods’ last thought. And that was wrong too. HHe’d jumped at the wrong bridge and at the wrong point, so he actually cleared the bridge wall and fell straight onto the road below, and died instantly.
Everyone has called bridge 21 Sam’s Bridge ever since.
