“By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
And, I built a home
For you
For me”
Swinscoe/Watson/France/Page
Last week was blogless.
I was working at worky things and then when I had the opportunity to spend a little while writing my blog, I went for dinner and a few pints with my friends Gerry, Glenn, Trevor, Benny, and our Elliott. I am very fortunate to have them all as friends, and we are all fortunate within this friendship in that none of us get unduly upset by each other’s lack of punctuality. Although we each regularly contact each other, it had been a year since we’d all sat down and broken bread together.
It’s one of those magical groups where the conversation can carry on from where it ended the last time.
These occasions always provide enough material for several subsequent blogs, and I could have written something the following day but, I didn’t.
Last Saturday we drove to Dundalk to say a fond farewell to my cousin Alan who had passed away a few weeks previously in England. Aunty Noeleen had wanted a memorial service in Dundalk so old friends and relatives had a chance to say goodbye.
The road from Monaghan to Dundalk is one I’ve travelled almost weekly since 1976 when we moved to Monaghan from Dundalk. Almost 50 years. It is a journey that is so familiar that sometimes after passing the Cathedral in Monaghan it comes as a surprise to have arrived in Dundalk with little memory of anything that happened in between.
But , last Saturday, on our way to Alan’s memorial mass, every hedge and turn in the road seemed to have a memory. On the straight into Clontibret , at St.Mary’s church was the place where Granda’s Ford Anglia had broken down , (and he met Johnny Cash – see P.P.S), McChesney’s garage where Dad seemed to buy all of his cars for over 30 years, Corr’s Pub in Annyalla , where I went to use the phone and call dad to collect me when one of the first cars that he’d bought in McChesney’s broke down when I was driving home from Dublin. I also ordered a coffee while I waited and people at the bar looked at me as if I had two heads. Mrs.Corr had to go upstairs to her own kitchen to get me a coffee , as no one had ever ordered one before. On the way in to ‘Blayney we passed a lake with an island where I always think of Leo McArdle. Big Leo was a fellow shoe sales rep back in the day, and he’d bought deer to raise on the island. One morning when we were both getting a flight to the shoe fair in Dusseldorf he turned up with a huge black eye, where a buck had kicked him , but he told everyone that he’d been in a fight with a customer who owed him money. Everyone paid Leo on time after that. In ‘Blayney itself we passed the old cinema where we’d seen both Star Wars and Grease when they came out, as the cinema in Monaghan had closed, and then , at the traffic lights, there was Paddy Cole’s pub. I was at school with his son Pearse. Then we turned left after the Faugh’s football pitch where Ray, and I finished our 10 mile race three years ago , and my Soulmate had to stop them taking down the clock on the finisher’s gantry as they were sure there couldn’t still be someone out running and she told them I’d cancer and they all waited and applauded the two of us. There are bits of lonely railway bridges marooned in fields on either side of the road before you enter Armagh, which was once the ominous sounding border into Bandit Country. Cullaville itself once sold more diesel per head of population than the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. They sold both types, laundered and regular. The other side of Cullaville I remember being stopped at an R.U.C. checkpoint and facing me on the other side was a minibus bringing students home to Monaghan for the weekend from the college. Sitting in the front was Brian Toal, and when he spotted me started goofing about to make me laugh. I was giving him the international hand gesture for being ‘two’ funny when the R.U.C officer turned to beckon me forward. I tried to say that I was waving to a friend, but the minibus had passed on the other side. And I was asked to pull over onto the verge and spent the next 20 minutes emptying the boot and having the cat thoroughly searched.
Just around the corner was another spot where years previously Mam was driving us all to Dundalk and taking our cousins’ the Burns home, after they’d spent a few days with us. So Mam and 7 kids in the car slow up to a British Army checkpoint, with all of the soldiers carrying what to us looked like bazookas, and Mam asked us to count the guns, in order to distract us, and cousin John, counted one more than the rest of us and was pointing frantically to a soldier Mam couldn’t see, until she rolled a little too close to the verge and a heavily camouflage netted soldier suddenly sprung up pointing his Bren gun at us and cousin John shouting “That one ! Told you !”.
On yet another occasion when Mam was driving her Fiat 127 and had the three of us with her , we were stopped by an I.R.A checkpoint and a balaclaved Provo’ told Mam that he was commandeering the car in the name of the Republic and she told him simply , and firmly that he most certainly was not. And we drove away, with Mam making us say the Rosary until we’d made back as far as ‘Blayney.
Heading past the turn for Inniskeen I always remember Nanny giving out about Patrick Kavanagh. They’d been neighbours and she’d had to sit beside him on the bus after he’d spent the night sleeping on bags of calf meal in the shed behind McNello’s Bar. She also, wisely, was always suspicious of poets in general.
Nanny’s sister Bessie, and brother Jim, had lived in half a cottage opposite Hackball’s Cross Garda station. Which we’d always stop at on these journeys to Dundalk. Aunt Bessie was always giddy and great fun and would have a box of Kiplings French Fancies, and Marietta biscuits, with butter. Jim was always smiling, but quiet. When we lived in Dundalk I remember him visiting on his big black bicycle. He never drove.
Dad would tell us that Nanny’s mother, his granny, would get the bus from Hackball’s Cross into twon with two live chickens which she’d bring to their house on Market St., and she’d go out into the back yard as soon as she arrived and …they’d have roast chicken dinner.
Then we passed the turn for Kilcurley, where Granda once had a farm, and he gave our John and I a kid goat each which we called Bill and Ben, after the Flowerpot Men.
And then we’re in Dundalk, heading for the Redeemer church.
We arrive fashionably late, but not late enough to miss any of the readings. I whisper to Elliott that this church had a crying chapel, and then hear a muffled plaintive cry and realise that it still has. It was the last church to be built in Dundalk and is an oval shape with lots of reinforced concrete and hippy stained glass windows. It still has a modern feel to it, despite the efforts of various priests who have jarringly resurrected old alabaster statues of a few saints and thrown them into this minimalist church. The priest was lovely and sincere, with a slight hint of the cardinal from Monty Python’s ‘Spanish Inquisition’ sketch…telling us about the three types of prayer, and then proceeding to describe five. He also very much knew his audience and twice called for a round of applause for any grandparents present.
Afterwards we commiserated with Aunty Noeleen and cousins Jennifer, Carol, Elaine, Derek and Anthony. Jennifer and I stalk each other on FB, so are regularly in touch, but I hadn’t seen my other cousins since Nanny’s funeral, over 20 years ago. And yet we had no trouble recognising and greeting each other. When we lived in Glenwood in Dundalk , Derek would have been a frequent visitor, which was cool, as he was a teenager, when all of my friends oldest brothers were just a year or two older than me , and I was 8.
My Muckian cousins , Shiela, Jackie, and Michael were also there and we all had a catch up and gentle slagging session.
We all agreed that it would be a good idea to have a meet up of the wider Bond family on a happier occasion. And we all agreed that someone should organise it……
These thoughts were all rambling around my head last weekend.
And before we knew it, My Soulmate and I were up at 4.00am on Monday morning to drive to Dublin to catch a flight to Stanstead to meet up with her friend and cousin, Michelle, and my friend Mark. Eileen and Michelle have obviously known each other forever , I met her when I was 19 or so, and then met Mark a year or two later. We have all been on many, many adventures together and I know that Michelle has been a steadfast support to Eileen through many of life’s difficulties…and she thinks I’m funny, so I love her dearly.
They collected us at the airport and we drove through Epping forest to Loughton where they live in a beautiful house that Mark has restored, extended, built , demolished, wired, and plumbed within an inch of it’s life, until it is now perfect. Mark must think of our house as a potential fixer upper. W had a late breakfast with them and then headed into London to take part in a ‘Hidden City’ treasure hunt , based on The Cheshire Cat. They have lived in London all of their lives, Eileen and I worked there at a time, and we’ve been frequent visitors, and yet this app based quiz took us to little nooks and crannies that we never knew were there.
We started in The Coal Hole and made our way through tiny alleyways, deciphering clues…after arguing about them for quite some time and then doing what Mark had suggested in the first place. We ventured to the National Portrait Gallery , and Mark was very, very quick to know what was meant by an ‘unravelled virgin’…”Oh yeah, next left, three doors down !”.
We had turtle soup in the basement of Waterstones and I got to wear a rather fetching chef’s hat. We saw Chatham House where the rules come from, St.James’s Squre gardens, had a pint in The Golden Lion at the table where Lillie Langtrey, Oscar Wilde, and Napolean III all had a sherry, and wandered through an alley where there was a tiny notice asking that we proceed, maintaining a distance of six bowler hats at all times. We loitered with intent around Pall Mall, and soldiered through the Serpentine, Horse Guards Parade, one of our party may have cursed loudly at the statue of Clive, but I promised Michelle I wouldn’t tell anyone.
We crossed the Thames using the Golden Jubilee bridge which Mark had worked on, and which his kids call ‘Daddy’s Bridge’. Mark and I spent a good while on the bridge and he showed me how the Victorians had constructed the Hungerford railway bridge beside his bridge. He also showed us how you can start vibrating the supporting cable at one end of the bridge it sets off a chain of vibrations. He demonstrated this by swinging the first cable back and forth vigorously which scared me , and I knew what he was doing , and that he’d built the bridge, but to the many casual observers who gave us a wide berth and then stopped a safe distance away and started filming him…sure that the clip would be required by the BBC later and shown as a newsreader with a clipped Estuary English accent informed the public “ Police have yet to determine a motive behind the incident earlier today when a smiling man startled sightseers by causing a tremor in the Golden Jubilee Bridge at the Embankment in London. Police have assured the public that there is no immediate danger to the public as the suspect is still in custody. Two of his fellow protestors, going by the names of Michelle and Eileen are also assisting the Police with their enquiries , but have, as yet not been charged. A fourth protester, who witnesses describe as a handsome man in a rather fetching ‘Flaming Lips’ tee shirt, who fled the scene when the Police arrived shouting “ Free Mo Chara !”. Police have advised that he is no threat to the community.”
We found our squirrel related clue on the other side and made our way through Leaky Arches, a graffiti paradise that none of us had been aware of up until now. Our quest ended in Vaulty Towers , the quirkiest pub I have ever been in…and believe me ,, I’ve been in some quirky pubs. We had a celebratory pint and headed home , still full of chat about everything and everyerthing.
At home we said hello to Molly, their dog, not Molly, our dog, and we had dinner and chatted even more.
The next day Mark made us all breakfast while we sat outside in the sunshine drinking coffee. We headed out into Epping Forest and ended up at Queen Elizabeth’s Hunting Lodge where the staff told all about it’s history and the Bramley Hedge characters we’d spotted along our way there. Molly was in 7th heaven chasing leaves and dragging Mark up the hills. It was a beautiful day spent in beautiful company, capped off with a visit from my friend Mark Lyons, yes, Baz’s brother, and Eileen and Michelle’s cousin, and his ever patient partner, Maryanne. We all caught up sitting outside while Mark and Michelle dis something miraculous in the kitchen. They served up sea bass on a bed of mashed sweet potato served with….broccoli ! The miracle was that the broccoli was absolutely delicious, and I say that as someone who loathes broccoli. We all had seconds. Mark and Michelle’s son Aidan joined us for dinner and he and I had a great time telling Mark why he was wrong about AI, Elon Musk, and his, and more importantly, our futures.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed but someone said it was 1.45am and maybe we should go to bed.
We had a short walk together, only 5 miles this time, but taking in that other cultural gift from Epping Forest, namely the Kings Oak Hotel, which featured a lot in the early series of TOWIE.
And then after tearful goodbye’s at Stanstead we were heading home again.
It was a magical few days, and without realising it, just what we needed.
Mark and Michelle have not created a house, they have built a home, and it was a pleasure and a delight to be part of it.
We all make our homes in our own way. My cousin Alan made his in England for many years, but when he came back to Dundalk his partner brought his ashes with her and last Sunday they went out to Gyle’s Quay and on the pier where I remember him catching bucket bursting crabs, his mother, brothers and sisters said goodbye. In typical Alan fashion the wind changed direction and Aunty Noeleen was lightly dusted. My cousin Jennifer said that was Alan’s final kiss.
I love that.
Enjoy making your home, and enjoy welcoming others into it, they may need it more than you know.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. This is for Alan, Derek, Elaine, Carol, Anthony, Jennifer, Aunty Noeleen, and Mark , Maryanne, Mark and Michelle….To Build A Home, by the Cinematic Orchestra
P.P.S Although I did not know Sean Rocks well, being from Monaghan, I could not not know him at the same time. His sister Grainne has been a very active member and participant in more or less any community project I’ve ever been involved in, and when we were all younger, sometime in the early 90’s, my friend Paul McCormick insisted that we all go and see Sean perform in ‘Frank Pig Says Hello’ in the old Andrew’s lane Theatre. I can’t remember who played Frank, but I vividly remember Sean playing every other role and sometimes swapping roles while having a conversation between two characters he was playing simply by swapping the handle bars of a bike he was holding for a head scarf.
The last time I met him was at my best friend Micky’s 50th birthday party where I was thoroughly enjoying myself and Micky introduced me to Sean saying “This is Paul, he knows Grainne, and he thinks he’s a writer.” Sean was very kind and encouraging.
I followed his Arena programme avidly on RTE and , like anyone with a passing interest in creativity in Ireland, I will miss him.
P.P.P.S When Granda Met Johnny Cash
It was raining sideways, as usual in Clontibret , as Frank McKenna made his way slowly towards Monaghan and the promise of a pint in McCarrens. The windscreen wipers on his Ford Anglia had lost their enthusiasm ,and their fuse, back in Annyalla and Frank was now driving with one hand on the steering wheel while his right hand was tugging his bootlace which was now threaded through the open window , onto the windscreen where he’d tied it to the wiper.
He was driving past St.Mary’s church when the headlights started to flicker and then gave out altogether, along with the engine. He drifted the car into the verge and cursed his luck…however he did this very quietly and self consciously as he was still within the shadow of the church.
Although not renowned for his devotion , he , like many a decent God -botherer, found perfect recall of saintly prayers in times of need. Unfortunately, or fortunately, for Frank he now recalled two prayers perfectly, the prayer to St.Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, and the prayer to St. Christopher the patron saint of travelers. He was still debating which was most relevant when there was a tap at the window. He jumped out of his skin and roared ‘Holy Mother of God !’ as he stared out the window at a figure clad in black.
He wound down his window, saying with relief “ That’s great service altogether Father, I hadn’t even started praying !”.
“Father ? Are you OK Sir ?” the stranger asked, in a deep Southern American drawl.
“A Yankee priest ? I’m doubly blest.” Frank smiled and blessed himself.
“I’m neither a priest nor a Yankee, and not sure which I find the most offensive. I only stopped to see if you were in need of assistance.”
“Indeed.” Frank said, still smiling.” And why would you be dressed all in black fancy clothes then ? Funeral , is it ?”
“No Sir. It’s just how I roll.” The non-Yankee stranger replied. He was also smiling now, in the rain, as Franks’s smiles were always infectious and had the reputation of getting him out of many a scrape.
Frank extended his hand out the car window in greeting “Frank Sally, pleased to meet you.”
“ Johnny Cash , pleased to meet you too Frank. Can I offer you a lift somewhere ? “
“Indeed you can Johnny” Frank said as he opened the car door and wound the window up and then climbed out. “ I’m heading into town for a pint in McCarren’s. And I’d be honoured to return your kindness with another.”
“That’s very kind of you Sir.” And the two men got into Johnny’s car , a four cylinder Ford Zephyr and headed up the road to Monaghan. As soon as the car roared into life , Frank smiled “This is one of them ‘streak of lightnin’ cars, isn’t it ?” Frank was full of questions and they continued at a rapid pace.
Where are you from? What are you doing here? Are you really a priest ? What do you do ? Do you have any family here ? Are you sure you’re not a priest ?
Mr.Cash patiently answered each question in turn , Arkansas, roaming, no, musician, no, and yes I’m sure I’m not a priest.
“Well it’s very confusing you wearing black fancy clothes head to toe and doing mighty fine in your streak of lightning car. Wait ! I’ve got it. You’re a minister ! Which is it , Church of Ireland, Presbyterian or one of those funny pretend ones from up the North ?”
“Listen Frank, I just happen to like black. I’m not a reverend, priest, minister, rector, or anything to do with any church, OK ?”
“You’re not the Other Fella’s lot are you ?”
“Who ‘s the ‘Other Fellow’ ?”
“You know, horns, pointy tail…very good at cards.”
Johnny laughed “ No, that’s not me either…although I do have my moments.”
“Have you ever been to New York , Johnny ?”
“Many times Frank, many, many times.”
“My sister Annie lives there ! Have you met her ? She lives in the Bronx !
“No Frank, it’s a big place.”
“Oh” Frank was a little disappointed by this, but perked up as they drove into town , passing the cathedral and seeing the lights of McCarren’s. “ You can park there “ he pointed to a spot just beside the front door. ”Come on in .”
The two men rushed the short distance to the front door to get away from the rain. Frank entered first and was greeted like the long lost friend and valued customer that he was.
“Frank ! Great to see you.” Pat , the bar man said as he immediately started to pour a pint of Guinness. He stopped as quickly as he’d started when he spotted Johnny coming in behind Frank.
“OUT Priest !” Pat bellowed. Johnny froze on the spot. Frank interjected “He’s with me Pat, and he’d…”
That was far as he got “ Out the pair of you then ! You’re barred Frank ! OUT !”
Frank turned sadly and motioned to Johnny that they were leaving. They went outside and hurried back to the car. “Sorry about that Johnny, but there’s no talking to Pat when he’s taken a notion. And he’s convinced you’re a priest.”
“Why won’t he allow priests in ?”
“He say’s they’re bad for business.” They both laughed.
“So where can a body get a drink in this one horse town ?”
“Well Johnny, I don’t believe we have a horse, but we are blessed with fifty seven public houses, of which I am welcome in fifty five, sorry, fifty four, thanks to you. Let’s go up Dublin Street there and I’ll introduce you to everyone in McKenna’s, we might even get a tune out of you.”
They entered McKenna’s and were greeted warmly and with the sound of Irish traditional music being played by a bunch of happy chaps in the far corner. The barman nodded his greeting and started pouring two pints without being asked. As the two visitors pulled up their barstools he placed two Powers in front of them with a little jug of water. Frank poured a little water in his, lifted it and waited for Johnny to raise his, and when he did, clinked his glass and said “Here’s to your health Johnny !”
“And to yours Frank!”
Seamus the barman, topped off their pints and placed them beside their whiskeys. “ Evening Frank . Evening Father”.
The two men laughed. “He’s not a priest Seamus, he’s a musician from Arkansas.”
“Arkansas, you say ? That’s mighty. Would he play us a tune ?” Seamus asked.
“He’d be delighted !” Frank answered “ Can he borrow a fiddle ?”
“I don’t play the fiddle Frank.” Johnny answered.
“Seriously ?” Frank looked confused “ I thought you said you were a musician. What is it the box ? No don’t tell me, the tin whistle ? Sure that’s a toy, not a musical instrument !”
“I play the rhythm guitar.”
“And what in the name of St. Jude and St. Christopher is a rhythm guitar ?”
Johnny hopped off his stool and went outside to his car and came back a moment later with large black guitar case. He opened it dramatically on the bar and took out his prized Martin guitar. Frank looked a little disgruntled, Johnny just smiled and asked Seamus “May I ?”
Seamus got the folk musicians to hush for a minute and Johnny Cash stood on the bar in McKenna’s on Dublin St. Monaghan before a crowd of twenty two decent drinking men and launched into ‘I Walk The Line’. Nearly everyone clapped along and stomped their feet. Everyone except Frank. Johnny finished to raucous applause. Seamus leaned over the bar to Frank and said “I know who he is now, I heard that song on the wireless last week. He’s a big star in America.” Frank remained decidedly unimpressed.
Johnny was helped off the bar and stood in front of Frank, who still had his arms folded. “Well ?” he asked.
“I hope you have a trade to fall back on, that rubbish will never last.” Then he turned to Seamus and said sarcastically “Another round for me and the ‘Musician’.”
“Man you’re a tough one to please.” Johnny said , he looked crestfallen.
Frank shouted over to the folk band “ Gimme a lend of that fiddle for a minute.” The fiddle was handed over and made a pretence of tuning it a little before he picked up the bow and launched into a foot stomping tune. It took Johnny a few moments to realise that Frank was playing ‘I Walk The Line’. He roared out the words along with Frank fiddling the tune. By the time they finished the whole bar was singing along to the chorus.
Frank handed the fiddle back and then placed his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “ You should learn to lighten up a little, my friend, and not be so quick to doubt yourself. I recognised you before I’d wound down the window in Clontibret.”
After that they learnt a lot about each other. Frank told Johnny everything about his tiny farm in Dernaseill , three fields and forty shades of green between them, and everything that every blade of grass meant to him. Johnny told him in turn tales of the road.
They had a royal time. So royal in fact that it went on long, long into the night and early morning. Songs were swapped , compliments paid ,and kegs emptied.
Frank and Johnny never met again.
This happened almost twenty years before I was born. I was Frank’s first grandchild and he doted on me. Although we both lived in Dundalk we were regular visitors to Monaghan whilst I was between the ages of 1 and 4, before I’d started school. All of Granda’s family and friends lived in Monaghan and he would take me to visit with him in dozens of farmhouses, and the odd public house or two along the way. He’d often hum a tune and sing quietly one verse, over and over:
“Well , we’re doin’ mighty fine I do suppose,
In our streak of lighnin’ cars and fancy clothes.”
I didn’t know what it was at the time. It’s a verse from Johnny Cash’s song “Man In Black”. I smile when I hear it now.
I like stories.
I’m not fussy if they’re true.
I hope you liked this one.
Johnny Cash played in London on the 25th September 1959, travelled alone to Ireland for four days of roaming around before flying out from Shannon airport to Dallas , where he appeared on October 3rd in the Sportatorium and played “Forty Shades of Green” for the very first time.
Frank ‘Sally’ McKenna was barred from McCarren’s, Old Cross Square, Monaghan in September 1959 in the company of an unknown Yankee priest. My Granda didn’t keep the company of priests, Yankee or non-Yankee.
