Willie Burns
One gentleman who entered my life when I was about seven years old was Willie Burns, my mother’s uncle. He lived with his sister Lily at No 82 Chapel Street. Before that time I didn’t even know he existed!
Lily was ‘odd’ in her way and never bothered much with any one. She worked in Dromalane Mill and called regularly at our house. She asked me one day if I would whitewash her yard and I agreed. It was only when I called to her house that I was confronted by her rather stern and gruff brother, who found it hard to communicate with me.
Lonan Teach an Conais
Lonan Teach an Conais, or Tan Open, or
Brother Lynch’s Class
I was exchanging e-mails with my new mate Deano (Jim Dean) about the identities of that host of thumbnail photos of past Abbey Boys, when he recklessly decided to send me photos of himself and his good wife then and now (at marriage 1972, and after 30 years of wedded bliss in 2002). I say recklessly for your editor tends to upload such photos as ‘timely lessons’ to the young: examples of what can happen if you ‘let yourself go!’.
Anyway it was dwelling on the ravages of time caused me to recall that I had failed as yet to upload to the new site, that most popular of photos from the old: the Brother Lynch class that included such miscreants as Gene Falloon and Davy Hyland, not to mention Donal O’Hanlon. So here I go again!
Last of Chapel St residents
Bartley and Hilda Feehan lived across the street from the McCanns. Batley had two sons Joe and John. She lived for her greyhounds. Joe had then left home and joined the Royal Navy. Later John also took the boat for
Chapel Street residents
Like yesterday I can visualize the neighbours of Chapel Street.
On the left-hand side coming out of
In the grave!
True story!! Honest!
Dickie Rodgers was always very fit in his younger days and was up at the scrake of dawn walking his greyhounds. Believe it or not there are a few others constantly about at that time – insomniacs, milkmen and people like me, just on the way home.
Kill or cure?
In the spring or early summer, many residents would whitewash their yards and outside toilets. Lime purchased from J S Fishers of Merchants Quay would be used. However from the ground to a foot or so up, tar would be painted. The dual object was to disguise spattered dirt with the black colour and to deter insects and tiny creatures from crawling up the walls.
A word in your ear!
Some of the most amusing anecdotes originate in the classroom.
I was teaching a class one time, a ‘rough’ class in a ‘difficult’ school in a ‘deprived’ area. Still everybody likes a story and I was reading them one.
Coal deliveries at Gasworks
Coal was delivered to the Gasworks by horse and cart. The carts were filled from a collier at
The Gasworks’ Coke
Those of you who were children in Newry in the 40s/50s will retain both pleasant and unpleasant memories of the Newry Gasworks.
The gas used to fuel domestic supplies was extracted from coal. Apart from tar, coke was the chief by-product. In the town it was used extensively as a cheaper alternative to coal.
St Joseph’s Winning team
It would not have been an area of expertise for which the boys of St Joseph’s Secondary School Newry was especially renowned in 1966.
It was our fortune that year to have a number of loquacious and competent speakers. Yet we were serious underdogs when we travelled to Lurgan for the Schools Final. The home team had won the previous two years.
Meeting Big Pat Jennings
The year was 1985. I was employed by Fords at Dagenham and I happened then to be player manager of a departmental football team.
Work in the Fields
Emigrant’s Farewell
Farewell to every hawthorn hedge, from Killeen to Belleeks
And every pool of sticklebacks and every shady creek
To sloping fields, the lofty rocks where ash and willow grew
Killeavey Old Church yew tree, to friends of youth I knew.
Though forty years since last I saw, I see them shining still
The Lough that cuts us North from South, the view from Fathom Hill
Adieu to Camlough’s crooked lake, to ‘Cross and ‘Blaney fair
To Gullion’s Ring, to everything of childhood days we shared.
From Carlingford beneath Slieve Foye and dark Mournes’ brooding slopes
I sailed away to foreign shore with pockets full of hope
In Durham Town where I’m bed-bound, each day is long and drear
The doctors offer little time, some weeks, a month, a year…
But I can fly on fairies’ wings to fields of dry-stone walls
To flax-holes in the meadow where the lonely corncrake calls
I stroll past Jack the Farrier’s place, to ringing metal blows
Of hammers struck on anvil’s plate to forge the Shire horse shoes.
When neighbours call to ask a hand to save the summer’s hay
I volunteer like e’er before and labour all the day
We ceili of an evening, or at the crossroads dance
To the fiddle and the squeeze-box, on rough boards wheel and prance.
In mind’s eye still I wander, in lanes of twisted thorn
And stray with my first sweetheart through fields of golden corn
The Mummers call at Christmastide, with many a loaded rhyme
In thatch, and mask, and costume dressed, in couplets fair they chime.
Barracks Blocks 58-65
As you can determine from the photo,