Places

Fabian Boyle is our most esteemed local journalist.  He presently writes in the Democrat but formerly for the Irish News.  He reminisced on life in St Mary’s Street after the war. 

‘My father started a greengrocery and fish business in the market at Newry.  He married Margaret Hearty from Dorsey and their first home was in Mary Street.  In the mid 30s the first of his five sons and daughters began to arrive.

We were fortunate in that period of food rationing that my father’s business ensured that vegetables, some fruit and fish were available.  My mother’s culinary speciality was herring baked with bay leaves!

My father would collect the gleaming, silver herring from Kilkeel in the early morning and hawk them by horse and cart all over South Armagh, from Dromintee to Camlough.  My job was to corral the trusty steed from a field at the top of Courtenay Hill, using a hunk of bread as inducement and a rope for capture.  I’d walk him down the steep hill to the entrance with Mary Street.  Then I’d mount and gallop, like Roy Rodgers, down to the market entrance.

Plying his trade at the market-gate, my father would describe the herrings as ‘fresh, fair and lovely as a newly-married woman!’  Again, he would cry, ‘they’ll melt in your mouth and run down your belly like a racehorse.’  He may have been obsessed with newly-weds, for he’d also say, ‘great for young married women.  Makes them jump in their sleep!’  With every dozen he’d always throw one in ‘for the child!’

More later!  

Fabian’s reflections on childbirth two generations ago are reminiscent of those of an earlier contributor speaking of The Meadow.

Read moreMary Street Tales: Fabian

Recent pictures and stories of Mary Street and its residents reawakened my own memories of the street.

In fact my very earliest memory is of Gerry and Maura Hand.  They were friends of my parents and they would visit for supper and a game of cards.  When my family moved to Edward Street, the visits continued as did the card games!  I don’t think much money was won or lost but a lot of fun happened along the way. According to my mother, Maura would collect me and take me out and about in my pram.  The last time I saw Rowan he was in his pram!  We have, however been in touch in recent years, via the telephone.

There was a time when Taeve Carroll’s home was my second home.  I loved their little house and always found a very warm welcome there.  I cannot quite remember whether it was Taeve or his brother who played violin.  When my family moved to Dundalk for a short time before eventually moving to England, I continued to travel to Newry for school.  I always waited in Mary Street for the evening bus to Dundalk.  I hardly ever waited at the bus stop.  I was fortunate enough to enjoy the comfort and hospitality of the Carroll household knowing for certain that the arrival of the bus would be either seen or heard from within. 

Stress-free days when all I had to worry about was what kind of cake Mrs. Carroll would offer me with the hot or cold drink!  Mrs. Carroll was a lovely lady and I remember her with deep affection.

Sadly as my visits home to Newry grew less frequent, so too did the visits to Mary Street.  However, along with The Mall, Hill Street, High Street, Monaghan Street, Edward Street, Corry Square, and Caulfield Place, it remains deep within my memory, never to be erased.

This girl was taken from Newry.  But Newry can never be taken from this girl!

Miss Ethel remembers the midwives of old on the local beat in High Street. 

They were Nurses McKegney and Loughran.  When they were spotted arriving, with their large leather Gladstone bags, the children raced after them for they knew they were bringing a baby, and they all hoped it was to their own house.

Read moreMiss Ethel again

We have basked in summer temperatures for weeks, strolled the canal banks admiring the cherry blossom, and now the hawthorn is in full bloom.  Let’s share Carmel’s reminiscences!

‘Yesterday I walked an English lane.  The cloudless blue sky nestled contentedly atop the green hill.  The cows chewed the cud. The birds sang.  The hedgerows were blanketed in hawthorn – how I wish I could bottle that scent – and the poppies wore their best frocks and danced flamenco in the breeze.  Idyllic.  And yet, and yet………..how I wished I walked an Irish lane.

A Newry lane, byway, hill or field. The choice was endless in those far off days when I rambled with my Dad. Regardless of weather, Sunday was our walking day.  Come hail, rain, snow or sunshine, dressed appropriately, we’d set out.  Our “together” day, my hand in his and my young legs striving to match his purposeful strides.

The Bessbrook tramline was a favourite walk, with me attempting to jump from sleeper to sleeper while keeping eyes and ears alert for the sight or sound of an oncoming tram.

The Camlough road and the three blind fields.  Why were those fields known as blind fields?  As a child I accepted the name and didn’t question.  There we’d gather watercress from the brooks and streams and if feeling peckish, a snack of “bread and cheese” from the hedgerow would suffice.

The Fathom Line at the outset appeared endless but always there was the hope of sighting a boat or ship with cargoes of coal or oil or other essentials.  And of course we never walked the Fathom Line without an empty bottle!  As I recall, about half way along there was a barrel into which splashed spring water…….pure nectar…… and always so very welcome on a hot summer day.  Sometimes the promise of a drink from that spring was the only incentive my young legs needed to continue the walk.

The Warrenpoint road with its greyhound stadium and gypsy encampment and much further along, Narrow Water with its castle and bluebell wood.

The Rathfriland road with its ash grove and the hospital where I was born.’

So many walks!  So many miles!  So many happy memories!                                                                        

Hallow Eve, the night when resurrected spirits roamed the earth, was, then as it is now an eerie festival designed for robust enjoyment. 

Read moreHalloween: Joe the Ass

Eileen Malone of Cherrywood Grove grew up in Upper Mill Street.  Later she met and married Thomas Malone, butcher, of Upper Water Street and raised a fine family including Jackie, now married to Jennifer of Concern.  I showed the photo here to her and asked for comment of the district in which she was reared.

‘Of course I remember this.  Next door, going down towards North Street was a little shop called Ma Hughes.  She and her daughter who was called Nellie sold chips and peas and ice cream.  Next was a house and a little shop also.  The people were called Sheridans.  Next to that was the home of the Stokes.  Then there was a large hoarding and bills were posted on it telling what was on in the town.  After was another little sweetshop [boiled sweets, toffee apples] tended by a lady called Maggie Vickers.  She was married to a man called Meekan, a seaman and they had two children, a girl called May and a boy called Joe.  Maggie also had a brother called Joe Vickers who had a barber’s shop close by.  This Joe was the grandfather of two girls Marie and Joan Vickers who married two McAvoy brothers and live still in Mourneview Park.

Close by there lived two brothers Freddie and Peter Troy, tradesmen who worked all week in Balbriggan and came home only for weekends.  They had a sister who was called Madge and she was married to a man called Ronald Rogers.  They had a son and two daughters.  They lived in Magennis Street and would visit the Troys on Sunday.  One daughter, Stella survived into adult life but the other children died young.  Also visiting the Troys were a brother and sister Bridie and Paddy Vickers who were the children of Joe the barber just mentioned.  This was about the year 1933.  Joe the barber was a fattish man with black, shiny hair and tanned skin.  He cut hair in a room at the back of the sweet shop, down past Converys in Upper North Street.’

Paul Mac [Guestbook!], a much younger man, tells me his parents in the 50s had one of the two houses, round the corner in Chapel Lane [the other was the Magills, John etc].  Ma Hughes’ name was Margaret.  Ma Hughes, in later life resided with her daughter Nellie in the small pensioner bungalows of Clanrye Avenue.  Ma died c. 1968.  Her daughter Mary Ellen [Nellie] died in 1985.  Another daughter Lily married a Mr Lennon and she lived to the ripe old age of 102, and is only recently deceased. 

Northern Ireland’s post-War housing stock was worse than that of any other part of the United Kingdom, despite having been spared the worst of the German blitz. Most houses had been built before the First World War and they were grossly inadequate in quantity as well as in quality. In England the newly elected Labour Government was determined to make amends to the working class heroes who had saved the country from fascism. It quickly introduced the Welfare State and embarked on an ambitious house-building programme. The Education Acts (1944 in England, 1947 in Northern Ireland) opened up free secondary education to the baby-boom generation.

Read moreMeadow 9