IKEA comes to town....(Click here for some fun!).

Well it came, It saw, It bloody well conquered....

Well worth the hype, IKEA is now located in Westchester, just North of Cinci & about 40 miles from home so off we popped in after a safari in Jungle Jims (junglejims.com)

WE came out with thousands of ideas for our hovel plus a few sticks of furniture...her indoors was very pleased with a kitchen cart I espied as we were leaving, The young fella got a black-board & a train set plus a lot of other "odds n sods" for the home...the rugs are sensational...we bought one for the living room...the family room will have to wait for now!

Click the title above for some more fun from a disciple of the new store.

a moving experience....

The last post was "glad to be back" hinting I was back on the blog trail but circumstances delayed that adventure so months later I am posting yet again after the trials & travails of buying, selling and at the moment refurbishing a house with all it's attendant problems/situations.

The little fellah loves the space as do we all...It is coming together bit by bit, a decent sized garden , a voluminous garage - lots of living room or "Lebensraum" which went out of fashion as a word of the intelligentsia in the 1938-'39 era .

The lot /site I love as it is set amidst a grove of maple trees, great protection from all the elements and adding a certain aesthetic to our first home together.

It appears we are besieged by some fine people as neighbours and we look forward to getting to know them in time.

This home is a great blessing from God and we're very thankful for it!

Genus Muppetus

Muppets, a term Jim Henson gave us back in the late sixties or was it even earlier that that?

Anyway the word has now seeped into our consciousness particularly those of us from The Western European Isles.

If you're a "muppet", it generally means you're a "saddo", an "anorak", basically a pain in the arse.

These days I seem to meet more & more of them maybe it's me getting older and crankier but there's only so much blather one can put up with.

We have muppets that follow Chelsea for instance that swallow every crap piece of reporting or rumour mongering that the English media dream up - these muppets are known as "new fans" who have jumped on the bandwagon, particularly so in the last two years. They are not to be confused with the muppet known as a Manchester United Fan who are a different breed altogether although they do share some genes in fickleness and ignorance.

I could go on about the muppets we all encounter at our workplaces who revel in muck-raking and making mischief but I won't - the trick is not to listen and if everybody ignores the ignorant, they will melt away.

Then there are those maniac muppets we meet on the highway, the ones that absolutely, positively must get to the traffic lights at 90 miles an hour, almost driving you, your family and a host of other cars into the ditch, in their rush to oblivion and then slouch down in their seat as you pull up beside them, maintaining eye contact at a fixed point in the windscreen before them. The light goes green and they're off like Michael Schumacher in a F1 Ferrari - 2 mins later you pass them pulled over by those great folk of the Ohio State Patrol (closest thing to driving nirvana when you see that!).

There are many more species of muppet out there, like the surly "convenience/movie store clerk-muppet" or the "Stadium attendant muppet" that regards a stick of celery as an offensive weapon (Chelsea fans at Chicago know all about that one). There is a universe of muppets out there who could all do with a good dose of "exlax" laden chocolate to begin with.

I could go on but I think by now you understand the term "muppets" as we lovingly call these morons across the pond. Genus Muppetus should be the scientific term to enter the lexicon.

At least Kermit had an excuse for being a muppet, he had a hand up his arse!

"All I remember....

...is dreading September & school"...words from a Mick Hanly song but I have to say, looking back I didn't particularly hate school - I endured it. I have some fond memories. I was just thinking of some of the teachers lately.

"The Horse" was the name of a teacher back in the day, in the Christian Brother's School, Green Street, Wexford. "The Horse's" real name if I recall was Brother Hogan, he had just finished teaching when I arrived there in September 1976, but that didn't stop him from keeping a bit of order in the schoolyard with his walking cane, he was the recipient of at least one stroke which I understand hastened his retirement - why the name "the Horse"? I don’t know but I guess it had something to do with his long face.


Another Brother that was there when I arrived there was "Huggy Bear". "Huggy" was a bear of a man and had a bear of a temper. He had a bombastic hatred of all things British but so over bearing was his personality, it gave one a sympathetic view of all things British. It was a guerilla war between him & his tormentors who would draw a union jack on the step into the first year prefab or on a blackboard, Huggy would not enter the room until it was cleared away. To some of us the Union Jack was the garlic that kept the vampire away as he was wont to lose the head with a youngster who would stutter an answer particularly so if the youngster had an English accent or was of a different faith. He was soon to be retired.


We had some good brothers also, Brother Casey had a quick-fire temper but was an excellent math’s teacher and genuinely cared about the student. Casey set up many initiatives on his own and also with the principle -Brother Shreenan. Youth music groups, computer labs, a fledgling sports set up which included a Championship winning football team and a cross country team. He also started the Friday night Ceili where many a youngster met their future spouse. I heard he had "gotten out"of the Brothers & had married, only to die some years ago at the relatively early age of 53. It knocked me back when I heard of his demise. It was a very sad day indeed for me as he had made a great impact on my life and I had a lot to be thankful to him for.

Brother Shreenan was the principle I remember most. He was a very deep, thoughtful person not scared of giving us discipline should we merit it neither was he afraid of confronting a teacher who he felt was bullying a student or even worse was generally ignoring the student over some personal foible, imagined or otherwise. He had this way of gliding along the floor, (the brothers in those days wore soutains), We called him usually "the boss" though I heard "Vader", "Darth" or "Lord Darth" - I called him "the ghost who walks' in deference to the Phantom Comics that were abroad at the time in the papers.

People are quick to slag off the religious these days, particularly those involved in schooling but where would be without them. They made huge personal sacrifices, giving up promising careers to educate a largely truculent, ungrateful bunch. Some indeed were forced into these orders by pious, sanctimonious parents who felt giving up a child would ease their way into their own Catholic heaven. You cannot force someone to do your will or to subjugate their own existence in deference to yours, there is only one ending in such cases - a bad one. Undoubtedly this is what happened to a lot of these people who we encountered during our school years. My wife's stories of her teachers in the Catholic schools of Cincinnati are almost a mirror image of my own. Some great, some good, some bad plus a host of sad, poignant tales scattered among them.

I look back on the remaining teachers I had and I have to say I am glad to have had them in my life. They were good decent, people who made a difference even if that difference is only coming to fruition now.

"Quack" as the man was known fondly to the CBS or Seamus Quirke was s singularly great teacher. He got the message through to our thick skulls and had a tremendous way of meeting you at your level

"Big John" MicNicholas & his wife Mena, John in particular was a tremendous teacher, in time his youngfella & my brother became great pals as his daughter Niamh & my sister Avril became great friends.

Tom Connon & his wife Angela were wonderful teachers too. Tom was an outstanding Sports teacher and a sympathetic ear. His wife Angela gave a lot of us a good grounding in the basics of French, which helped me when I moved into a "Wagon's" class for the last two years of my time there, as "the wagon" had no interest in teaching those of another's class. Years later I was coaching their kids and fine footballers they were too.


Miko McInerney was a great friend of my family and was a great Irish teacher but in those days I had as much interest in my native language as Joe Stalin had in "Noddy goes to Toyland". This was due to an intemperate w**nker who I had for two years in primary school that literally beat a lifelong resentment of the language into his students. Luckily "Miko" encouraged me to go to his native Connemara on a summer school scholarship where I discovered another side to my psyche and a lifelong love of Gaelic & her lore was rekindled.

"Buzzer" was our Chemistry teacher. I understood he got the name from his droning voice and the ability to put the most insomniac of insomniacs to sleep. "Take this down" he would drone as he entered the room and proceed to make us copy vast steppes nay rolling tundra of text-books, teaching us naught but what it must have been like to have been a scribe in a medieval monastery - poor buggers!

History was my favourite subject & so I read voraciously on the subject. Growing up in the house that I did, it was not a stretch for me to do so and I am glad I had two teachers Maura Coleman & Mick Waddle to encourage me or rather gently prod in certain directions. Basically to take away the blinkers and look at the bigger picture, this was particularly so in the case of Mick Waddle of whom I was poles apart politically but I learned to respect in the years afterwards.

On reflection, we were lucky enough to have some tremendous teachers, most were unpatronizing to us and dealt with us in a fair & open matter. they were mentors who gave us great encouragement for the years ahead.

It is a vocation - teaching, of that I have no doubt and a profession of incredible importance - I think of that old maxim, "the hand that rocks the cradle" when I think of these people. We were lucky enough to have some sound counsel at the most important time of our lives. I thank all of them from the bottom of my heart.

Why I blog!

I blog because I like to. There is great therapy and great fun in remembering times past, times now & times to come. Hopes & aspirations for the future, regrets of missed opportunities - they all even out in the end and as we get older, we do get wiser particularly if we apply those life lessons to our present. In so doing, if I can make a reader reflect or smile when reading this blog, I am a very happy person.

Bannow Bay, Co. Wexford, sept 1999.

More importantly, I have a little son who is growing up far from his father's home and this is really for his benefit. "To understand one is to know one" and I hope that in the years to come, he & his family will be able to read this and know their heritage. In other words to be aware of the spring from which their river of life within, was born. Thanks for reading!

Phoenix Park & Family Lore

Reminiscing...

I remember as a toddler being brought up to the Phoenix Park in Dublin by my Uncle Tom along with my cousin Kim and being let wander around one of Europe’s biggest metropolitan parks, over 1700 acres of it! The park was not far from either of my grannies doorsteps which were in Cabra.

Phoenix is actually a corruption of the Gaelic “Fionn-Uisce” pron Pheeyun-iska so that is the origin of the name. Fionn Uisce meaning clear water.

I always remember being fascinated with the deer that hid off in the forested parts but could easily be viewed from the road. I believe our purpose was Dublin zoo that day and I do remember having the time of my young life. The miniature train had a huge fascination for me that day and if I recall the Lions & the Chimps were the highlights of the animals on display.

On our way back to Granny K’s house in Cabra, Tom bought us each an ice cream at this little shop just above what is popularly known to generations of Dubs as the "Fairy Glen".

This “dale” if I recall had a mushroom roofed little house at the bottom of it where the fairies apparently lived. This was my first experience with the Other Crowd and I remember looking really hard for any sprites, pixies or leprechauns especially with Tom, who unbeknownst to the younger hordes of cousins that I have, was a practical joker.

Tom would be pointing to a bush and telling Kim & I, "Look there’s a leprechaun there!…he’s looking at you and having a right old laugh”. Of course to a tot, it was immensely frustrating not to see this little fella and if a grown up says “it’s true” - it must be…my infant imagination had a great time that day as suddenly, a little fellah with a red cap with a feather in it materialized before my eyes...at least I think it was my imagination playing tricks with me then…or was it? I told my gran later and she smiled, telling me it was a fear-dearg (far darrig), a red leprechaun, very mischievous and always playing jokes on us mere mortals.

That was the joy of having a huge extended family; I had great Uncles & Aunts on both sides including those who were married into the families of My father & mother. I was blessed in particular to have two wonderful godparents, my aunt Mai & my uncle Kieron.

My Aunt Mai never forgot a birthday, she is my mother’s older sister and from what I can observe looking back with mature reflection, she was a rock for my mother. One of my favourite memories is going to Switzer’s in Grafton Street to see Santa, getting this lovely parcel, green paper, red bow and then heading to Bewleys where the smell of the coffee, the cakes & eating my first ice cream soda will stay with me forever.

Kieron in particular has had a huge influence on my life. My Father's youngest brother, Kieron has always been there for me in thick and in thin and he’ll never know how grateful I am for having him in my life. We are supposedly guarded by guardian angels but how many children can honestly say they had a real, live one involved in their lives. Kieron took his duties as a Godparent very seriously and then some.

He brought me to my first International football match, bought me my first watch (a digital Trafalgar) – “just like Kojak’s”, I remember him telling me…he was & is, a big part of my psyche as I strove to be just like him. He is today a big success story in the food business back home. I think it is because he did everything to the best of his ability and life has a way of rewarding those people that do likewise. His maxims of philosophy were neither simplistic nor sublime just straight forward and that ethos lives on here in Ohio. I guess he was symptomatic of a gene that was evident in all his family, who achieved considerably in their chosen fields.

My paternal Grandparents, Paddy & Greta Kiernan outside their house in Cabra, Dublin

parents of ten great children

My Grandmother K was a daughter of Wexford. My Grandfather K, a son of Cavan. I never knew Grandfather, he died two years before I was born but I do have the privilege of being his namesake. He was a Policeman, a detective resident in Dublin Castle's "G" division(pictured) . It was he who set up many initiatives & directives that many western Police forces in particular use to this day. I understand from my cousin, Monsignor John Sheridan of Malibu, CA that he was one of the first to become involved in the science of examining the psychology of the felon, using forensics in detection and as such was one of the first if the first representative from Ireland to the newly founded Interpol in the 50’s. He was a meticulous record keeper, keeping clippings of every crime that happened in Dublin’s metro area for decades so now my co-workers if you’re reading this, you know where that trait in me, developed.

Granny K was a Wexford woman so on the occasions I came to stay with her in Dublin, we would talk for hours about the comings & goings of all her neighbours and how the town was doing. My Gran or Greta as was her name, was a Morris of Carrigeen, a name of some import if not renown in the town especially associated with seafaring. Her Father was a printer with the people newspaper and if I recall her mother was a Butler. Other names in her family were MacDonald, Hore & Scallan. Canon Butler being a favourite cousin of hers who we visited on occasion in Grantstown whenever she was down for the holidays.

Living in splendid isolation as I do now in Ohio, I appreciate how she missed her hometown though she had much more frequent visits from her cousins in Forth & Bargy than I do (or will ever have) and was immensely proud of her roots going back generations to the Flemish foot-soldiers that accompanied the Normans in the 12th century.

She had 15 siblings; her brothers in particular were very much involved in the Independence movement. Carrageen this little street in the middle of Wexford town was this hotbed of republicanism, surrounded either by trade unionists or home rulers, she was very proud of the fact that her own Morris’s, & her friends, the Cullimores & the Crowleys were the families in the town to form the first Sinn Fein cumainn (club). The struggle in the following years had a huge affect on her family, losing brothers to the struggle either through death or forced emigration. As I write, I am trying to locate her Brother Tom’s grave in Chicago – that is another story and a very poignant one too.

Granny told me all about the Wexford she grew up in. She recalled to me, of the lockout that Wexford endured two years before Dublin. The privations they all faced, the riots & the subsequent the clamp-down. She told me all about it because she lived through it. Looking back on it I am amazed at her recollections and the objective way, in which she described it, she was a wonderful observer.

It’s no wonder, we grew up very proud of our heritage…the streets of Wexford have bled a lot more in the struggle for freedom than any other Irish town I would wager.

I’ll write more of my roots soon. My mother’s family – The Dubs of whom I am inestimably proud of, have a tale to tell but that is another day in the telling.

Pottering about...

We were in NY in August, 2005. Harry Potter fever was all around with the release of the latest tome. In Little Italy, the T-shirt shops were selling these shirts at $10 a pop and I should have bought one as my workplace was full of eager fans who were about to read the latest episode. But being the considerate person I am, I decided not to spoil their fun.Even In France, the shirts had made an appearance like this one above.

The translation of which is "Prof Dumbledore is killed on page 556, (he is actually confirmed to be dead on p605)".

Happy New Year.......

To all who have ventured in here this past year & beyond, I wish you a happy new year and hope to see you again. My family and I have had a blessed year in 2006, I hope the year was as good to you as it was to us.

Many thanks for your emails offline here, they are greatly appreciated & valued and many thanks for your encouragement.

(Pictured above right) Baginbun, County Wexford.

Yesterday I began the process of transferring some of my older digital picture libraries (from the old homeland) just like the one above, onto the drive here so stayed tuned for that as I will be publishing some stories & observations soon on them .

Wherever you're reading this, God Bless all there from Ohio!

The Wexford Banshee

W hat is a Bow?...No, it's not the favoured weapon Of Robin Hood, I am writing about here.The Bow was the Wexford name for the Banshee.

Banshee is from the Gaelic Bean-Sidhe (same pronunciation basically) that means literally Fairy Woman.

The Bow would follow the families of Celtic Families, those with an O’ or a Mac’ before their name, rumours had it that she followed particular families even in that ring which are the O’Neills, O’Briens, O’Connors, O’Gradys & the Kavanaghs – those 5 families strangely enough span the country and were representative of our old 5 provinces, many more clans are interlinked to these families.

She appeared as a young girl, a stately woman or an old hag in tatters, wrapped in a grave shroud or a grey cloak.

She was also known as The Bean-chaointe (keening woman) or the Bean-nighe (the washer woman) in my home province of Leinster. The banshee would keen for a family who was to lose a member, staying outside the window of the person in questions room, howling her sorrow all night long. The washer woman was a tag attributed to her washing the blood stained clothes of those about to be killed in battle.


Indeed it was said around the fire at night to us young’uns that she was an ancestral spirit come to forewarn us of an impending death in the family. When the wind would be raging outside, I remember Paddy Gaul telling us that was the “Bow” outside on her way to some poor family that night. Mr. Gaul was a great one for a song or a story. His wife, Marie would coax him on for our benefit. Another neighbour, Andy Nolan & his wife Sissy would tell us similar tales – The Nolans were from the Counties of Laois & Kilkenny, and great neighbours also.

“Bow” , pronounced bough as in Bough of a tree was a name you often heard in Wexford Town. She was known to haunt Mulgannon Hill where she often follow some poor unfortunate wending their way home after the pubs would shut.

Stories of the Bow abroad in the town were manifest, our mothers especially those native born would warn us “to beware the bow” when we would stay out past dusk during the summer, we would all scuttle in dutifully no doubt muttering about that “oul hag” and then shutting up hoping a member of the other crowd weren’t within ear-shot.

As I revealed, amongst even the kids when we are out playing in the street. The Bow was never that far away. A local character who had the appearance to our childish imaginations at least had to endure the privations of being identified as the local banshee. There was a woman, dead now called Bridgey Harris who was known as 'the bow' or "Bridgey the Bow'.

Some little curs would call after how...."Bowwww!" and get a curse muttered at them as she scuttled her way home through the Republic of Davitt Road South on her way home to the sylvan folds of Wolfe Tone Villas.

She was person of modest means, the poverty of her life, apparent by the cut of her clothes, the perpetual woodbine cigarette hanging from her lips.

Her occupation was one of forager & scavenger. She was eternally searching trough empty & abandoned houses, picking at rubbish tips…Many a day we’d see her pass by, her cart – an old pram carriage piled high with timber, slates whatever trundling by…her tiny frame pushing what a full grown carthorse would have difficulty pulling. A hard life she had, of that there is no doubt.

The local wags said she had millions stashed by but I heard when she passed on, she had but a pittance and that ended up soon in the coffers of some local hostelry, her house-friend drinking it away in mere months - he to die by a broken neck after falling down the stairs in a drunken stupor. Sometimes Irony is a bitter joker.

Life’s not all sweetness & roses especially where drink is concerned.

Happy CHRISTmas

Well it's all over bar the shouting or should that be the ripping of paper by excited little people, no I'm not talking about Leprechauns on Speed or Elves on Acid....the real little people, the kids...anyway enjoy the following.

For all who pop in here, just to wish you a happy CHRISTmas! and may you have a wonderful New Year.

All I want for Christmas.....

I have been dropping hints left, right & center lately...


The conversation goes like this......

sez she"What do you want for Christmas?"

sez he " er, the white album by the greatest band that ever lived would be wonderful"

sez se " but what do you want for Christmas?



sez he"I rather like to hear how the "Cat" is these days, he has a new album out under his real moniker, Yusuf - it's called an other cup"

sez she"- but what do you want for Christmas?"


Bah, Humbug!


So maybe if I post it on the blog, the missus will get the hint!

Dec 18th - A special day

I have a lot of time for a certain Bible Teacher, Andrew Wommack from Colorado. Looking at Andy's program today I was suddenly struck by a piece of scripture that I had not truly known till today or rather three years ago today.

1 John 4:8

"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love". (NIV)

That was the day I became a father for the first time and a little blue eyed boy entered my world. He was all I had imagined, dreamed for & prayed for.....when I held him in my arms for the first time in the delivery room, I sang him "Molly Malone" and "One man went to mow".

My poor wife was exhausted but the moment she seen his face, I will never forget that look in her eyes. I think that is the moment a marriage truly is discerned by both parties as a union. Once a child enters into the world, your own needs become secondary. That day & that day alone, I truly came to realise what Love was all about.

Time flies, He is growing up to be a wonderful little boy and as I described earlier he has a wonderful sense of humour. He has his moments too and believe me we know what the terrible twos is all about. He is also a very caring, sensitive little fella - loves to play and loves life.

But It is a wonderful thing to have hope and a child is the living embodiment of that. I really believe I understand now what the Christmas story is all about. It is a blessing to realise daily how blessed we are by God.

Absurdity....

The wonders of the Wexford People or "Sharon's weekly" as it's called in my household, I stand agog at the quality of their prose...I read this week the following headline..
"Wexford worst outside Dublin for numbers lying on trolleys", ok it's about hospital beds or rather the lack of them but I was instantly whisked away to the Wren's Nest car park on the Quays and members of a certain local first aid organisation sitting in L&N carts telling lies...you knew that these people were lying - their lips were moving!

The "Wren's Nest" was a favourite haunt of mine as I was a member of said organisation and I deny totally any implication or involvement in said activity.

The picture is the closest I can get to a wren at this time of the morning, It is "woody" the woodpecker who visits us each year for the summer. One of the lovely things about living in the Ohio sceachs is the wildlife, the place teems with it and the little fellah loves to sit & watch the birds especially the wee ones snack on tit bits he leaves out on the deck.

I had a close encounter with a copperhead last year when I was weeding, we said 'Howya!" to each other and went our merry way....I believe the snake may have heard of an Irishman called Patrick in his family history and decided to bugger off, I am glad he did!

Spiny pays "W" a visit.....

Other news is that star of the household will be 3 on Monday (tomorrow) and already is showing incredibly good taste in the comedic ...He has a penchant for Monty Python and er, Spiny Norman...."Dinsdale!" he exclaims when Spiny pops up. Some people reading this will be horrified.."Monty Python - so young an age?"...well it didn't do me any harm or so they tell me as they bring me back to my room on a trolley, (that word again!).

Thunderbirds are Go!

5,4,3,2,1....Thunderbirds are go!

Saturday Mornings, 10am and I was sitting before the telly...HTV (Harlech Television) and I was set. My favourite TV show in the whole world. The world of Gerry Anderson was my world. Stingray, Captain Scarlet, Secret Agent and my other favourite Joe 90 who my son loves watching just as much as I did. The schoolyard was full of kids doing the marionette walk on Mondays. The music as I recall was "deadlydesh" as we say in Wexford.

It is amazing seeing my youngster develop passions for the same thing I once enjoyed as a youngster.

As we grew up, Gerry Anderson developed series for the adult world like U.F.O. and his more famous work Space 1999 which has a huge following stateside. Martin Landau was the main star in this series. The premise of the series was that the Moon was being used by earth as a repository for storing nuclear waste. A catastrophic explosion blows the moon out of the earth's orbit and sends it hurtling through space. It actually was a fun series and very popular when aired. The models used were brilliant in concept 7 design, the eagle transporters (pictured) being particularly striking. The design crew of this series led by Brian Johnson (who worked on Thunderbirds as well) went onto work for Ridley Scott in "Alien" and George Lucas in Star wars "The Empire strikes back".

UFO, for me though was the Dog's Bollix of Cult TV. Great premise, a secret organisation set up to counter a sinister alien invasion. Great stuff when you're a teen and the world is full of conspiracy theories. The autopsy of the alien in the first program was incredible (for the time) TV, 11pm on HTV - Saturdays. Great thing I was allowed to stay up & watch it by my mam. (mam= IRE, mom=US, mum = UK). Barry Grays theme music as before in all the other shows listed here was groooovy!

Probably the Greatest Rock Band in the World...

Phil Lynott's 20th anniversary was back in January. To those that did not know, the man or his music, specifically Thin Lizzy, he was and is a legend.

He was taken from us tragically young, victim of his own indulgence you might say, like so many in that art. He left us with wonderful memories.

Thin Lizzy(imho) was the greatest Irish band ever! - "What about U2?"- what about them? Hype is the modus operandi of that Industry as it always have been. Some managers have been brilliantly exploitative of that fact!
But if you don't believe me about "Lizzy", have a look yourself here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9iyF-Q4eVM&mode=related&search=
The boys are doing Jailbreak, Gary Moore looking er, a wee bit bloated but is he the world's greatest guitarist? Some say he is, I'd love to hear somebody better!


Anyway back to Phil....
His Mother told Billy Connolly this tale:
Somebody asked Phil "What was it like to be Black & Irish?
" a bit like a pint of Guinness!"- Phil retorted!

Gone but not forgotten!

Happy Birthday pt 2

Today, I’m 42…I was 9 when Allende was overthrown by Pinochet in a coup in Chile on this very day. I wrote about that in an earlier post, access it here...
http://deadlydeshravenspoint.blogspot.com/2006/05/danzan-solas-they-dance-alone.html
You can read all about that day here...... http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/september/11/newsid_3199000/3199155.stm


Pinochet - an evil bastard

Even then I was curious about the world I lived in. 1973 was to say the least a bleak but yet an interesting year, the Arab-Israeli conflict where Israel fought a desperate rearguard action but survived. OPEC flexing their blackmailing muscle and sending the west into a nose dive economically.

Terrorism of the Arab kind was nothing new then; Munich was but a year in the past. I was very aware even then of the fact that we were not living in some idyllic Eden but a very, tough, uncompromising, unsentimental world.

I remember the interminable queues at the gas/petrol stations. I remember those days as very dark, bleak. I remember the union strikes, the power cuts. I remember my mother cooking food on the family fireplace, the stew (yes folks, bloody stew!) tasting like soot or rather having a sooty taste – is that the same thing?. (Oh! The deprivation!).

Northern Ireland was in turmoil, I remember the refugees though we did not call them that. People with even stranger accents than ours - coming to visit for a few weeks which turned into months until they were re-housed by the Government. That year saw a United Irish team, succumb to the mighty Brazil 3-2 at Lansdowne road. So in the midst of all the gloom, there were sparks of a hint at a better tomorrow.

1973 was also the year; Ireland joined the EEC which later on became the EU. It was a seismic event in our history. Britain & Denmark joined also. I remember a charity match in London’s Wembley which was called the 3 versus the 6. Irish, British & Danish footballers against the crème de la crème of the footballers of the other 6 countries. If I recall the “3” won the game too.

1973 a desolate year.....

I remember things getting better after that, optimism is the spark of life.

Others call it Faith!

Chicago in August!

A month later but some pictures of our trip to Chicago.

Even more than ever, we’re committed Chicago fans. I guess it is something to do with our familial links with the City. A part of Chicago dies at midnight tonight with the acquisition of Marshall Fields by Macys.

The Sledd Aquarium, The Field Museum, the Adler Planetarium, The Science & Industry Museum plus the Hancock Tower all part of the great deal offered by www.citypass.com.

From The Hancock, the view is simply stunning!

The little fellah loved it so much we returned the next day for a night-time viewing. Where else can you wander around a major world city at 12 midnight without fear. Simply a very exciting place to be.


The game was an anti-climax, though it was great to meet the lads and have a few chats with some old & indeed new friends. Hallo Mokes! A fellow blue that made the bus trip to Chicago from D.C.. That is what devotion is all about!

Last year at training in New Jersey, there were about 20 or so Chelsea Diehards…this year at the Chicago session, there was 7,000. Proof that the World has sat up & taken notice of us. Proof that the youngster is taking notice of us is his repeating of a phrase that 500 or so Chelsea fans exclaimed after Didier Drogba’s goal was dis-allowed, beginning with F ending in K’s and add a “Sake” to that and you get my drift!

Bridgeview is a lovely stadium; hopefully it will resurrect that area of Chicago and build Chicago Fire a real fan-base. The organization there are a wonderful bunch of people and very helpful to all. Some of the Security got over zealous with the Celery throwing, (a Chelsea tradition from the early 80’s)…the song is the funny part and no I am not posting the lyrics here.

Chicago again!

The Windy City

“To the City of Chicago
As the evening shadows fall
There are people dreaming
Of the hills of Donegal”

Or so the song goes…well I am not dreaming of the hills of Donegal though I was in the south of that county – flat as a bloody pancake incidentally, when we (Wexford) played them in the 3rd division of the national league (1981)....how times have changed for the better for both Counties in the Football department.

Anyway, we were off to that City once more to visit my wife’s maternal home although her own ancestral home is Wexford. Lots of things are planned, visits to old haunts and some new ones too. My wife is anxious for us to try Italian grinders…sandwiches, dripping in olive oil, sausage, peppers, various cheeses all topped by a rich tomato sauce sprinkled with herbs.

Chelsea by some strange co-incidence visit the town at that time and by an even stranger co-incidence we will be seeing them too. I’ll enjoy the time away, meeting some old friends from England & Ireland…a chance to relax amidst my own, and a refreshing change from the daily grind...no pun intended.

Storms

A few days ago, someone at work sniped “what have you achieved in your life?” or words to that effect.

It rolled me back on my ankles, I must admit and I replied, “A two and a half year old child”. Looking back on that statement, it was from the heart and if ever there was truth in something, it was that.

We are living history, our children are our footprints in time, without them – we cease to exist.

Nothing I have done to this point can compare to the birth of my son. I am so thankful to have him & my family in my life.

It is 8.10am on Midsummer’s day and It is as black as night. Overhead, a storm rages. Sheet lightning, hail, driving rain, the works. My grandmother often said, it was “God moving the furniture” when I asked as a frightened child what thunder was? It appears that God is rolling a Grand Piano across the Living room as I type.

The thunder explodes around our little home, shaking it like a toy, time to disappear, but not yet!

8.43 am, the storm is passing…..morning is peeking out. The birds outside are joining in a chorus of morningsong. God has a way of showing us how to carry on in the midst of a storm. Hold firm, endure, keep the faith – all storms are but a moment & pass on.

Charlie

Charlie Haughey died yesterday.

For those that did not know him or indeed of his reputation, I am sure it is of no consequence but to a “paddy’ like me raised in a Fíanna Fáil household, this is a sad moment.

Forget the (recent) Charlie of ill repute, the scandals, the jobbery, the backhanders….all alleged but as yet largely unproven. Whether the man did have a knack for graft, I do not know but what I do know is this….take a drive through modern day Ireland and you’ll see his legacy all round. The Ireland that exists today is largely directly thanks to his initiatives whether his detractors like it or not but as he was wont to quote the eternal ephitet from Brendan Behan, “F*ck the Begrudgers!”.

He dragged us kicking & screaming from an economic backwater on the fringes socially, politically & economically of Europe into the economic powerhouse that Ireland is today. Boasting reportedly, the highest standard of living in the Western World. Fair play to him, if he liked the finer things in life – CEO’s of small companies earn more!

As I type this, I am listening to Dermot Morgan’s (rip) impersonation of Charlie as he recounts his “pedigree” to “Mara” his hapless aide (P.J. Mara), brilliant stuff!

I don’t live there now but whether that is a good thing or not, I do not know….as my friends who reside therein advise that a lot of values disappeared accordingly despite the economic perks….but then again they are a bunch of whinging bastards! - I am sure they would want to go back to the days of “Section 31”, mass emigration, crap TV, crap schools, crap everything while the mullahs of the Catholic Church were hitting anything decent, ideas, people, movements - with a crozier!

There is a lot of anecdotes in my family about C.J., all good as indeed we were “Haugheyites”. Charlie had a way of cutting through the crap, of getting to the point, of getting business done – he was a master of “realpolitik”. Charlie was one of us, a lad from humble beginnings who rose through the ranks, married the boss’ daughter – the boss being the prime Minister, Sean Lemass.

A personal anecdote is this;
I always remember my father pointing out when on our way to Dublin (I must have been five or so), "there's the bridge where Charlie nearly died". Charlie was involved in a bad auto accident, a few miles north of the North Wexford town of Gorey in 1969. It was a stone wall where the old Dublin Road took a left turn over a railway bridge, Charlie's mercedes slamming right through it and leaving him in a coma for a couple of weeks. For years after until the N-25 made that left hand turn redundant, I had a dread approaching that bridge and always said a quiet prayer that we'd pass safely - amazing the stuff one remembers as one writes!

Another family anecdote concerns my mother’s bridesmaid, Rose.
If I recall correctly, Charlie was the Health Minister at the time – Rose’s mother was sadly, dying of cancer in a venerable Dublin Hospital. The Chief Surgeon decided that her case was hopeless and sent her home to die, no hospice care, no medication, nothing. For people of moderate means this was not unknown at the time in Ireland.

As you can imagine, this was a horrible situation for her and her family. Rose in her desperation contacted Charlie and explained the situation. He drove over with his police driver to her mother’s house, took charge of the situation and brought the poor woman back to the Hospital. When confronted by the surgeon, Charlie “advised” him that there better be a bed for this person or the surgeon would be typing up his resume “toute suite!”. Needless to say, the hospital had plenty of space for Rose’s mother and was treated afterwards with dignity till she passed away. Stories like this are legion from people all over the country.

Reading the BBC’s page on comments about him, to get the DUP, the OUP & Sinn Féin to agree on something (him) must be a first. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/5075096.stm!

Charlie, thanks for the memories – God bless!