Memoirs of Ireland, my Irish Relatives and Irish Friends. Tony Smith wasn’t Irish but he was a Roman Catholic, the only one out of 350 boys at my school and I was jealous of him because he was excused assembly, as it contained prayers of the Anglican kind. Although my parents were not churchgoers as such, I am sure they believed in God and they certainly made sure us children went regularly to Sunday School, the Band of Hope (we paid a penny every week to cover our funeral),The Recobites, where the part time religious teachers attended in normal clothes and were called brothers. Occasionally it would be announced that in two weeks time there would be a film show and sure enough Brother Rickets would arrive on his bicycle with huge tins of films, a projector and a rolled up screen. He must have been well rewarded with the laughter of the children, as we watched the “Dead End Kids”, “Charlie Chaplin” “Laurel and Hardy” etc. All these religious organisations for the children put on treats for us kids every so often, such as Christmas parties, trips to the seaside which included tea and cakes and in the case of the Recobites, the film show. The weekly events were not particularly well attended, but like children all over the world, news of these treats would circulate like magic and the week before, the venues were packed out, so that us little sods were then able to qualify for the main event. During the tea parties kids like me who had brothers and/or sisters who were too young to attend, stuffed our pockets with cakes to take home for them. Much to the neighbours annoyance, I started to learn to play the Euphonium in the Salvation Army Band. I was somehow under the impression that I was selected to learn the instrument because I had a musical ear, but when I realised it had more to do with the fact that I was the only boy, big and strong enough to lift it off the ground, I became disillusioned, and mores the pity, gave it up. I started work in a garage at the age of 15 years, but that’s another story. At around 17years old I contracted TB (tuberculosis) and had to leave the garage job. I found a job in a factory and shortly after starting work there, was befriended by my first Irishman, Paddy Murphy and I don’t suppose you can get more Irish than that. Paddy played trumpet in a R.C. church hall dance band in Sutton, and it wasn’t long before Ernie and I became regulars and after plucking up courage to ask a girl to dance, were shuffling around the floor closely supervised by the local priest. While at the factory the wages department discovered after several weeks that they were paying 2 Irish labourers and receiving the services of only 1. It transpired that Liam would clock his and Joe’s time card in one day while Joe took the day off and the next day the role was reversed. They were never to be seen together. You will see from the above that I was a convinced Christian at this stage of my life, at least until I engaged in a series of arguments with a semi-starved Dubliner named Jimmy who joined the workforce, he was himself an atheist, and in no time at all sewed the seeds of doubt in my mind. Jimmy was a rebel and taught me a lot about Ireland that I was completely unaware of, I remember him saying that it should be “Great Ireland and Britain”. For all that, I took to him, and remember taking him in wads of sandwiches (sometimes only bread and jam) until he got his first pay packet. My mother also found him and his shy mate, digs with one of her friends. The shy guy repaid the lady by eloping with her under age daughter. Ernie was the key to my getting more involved with the Irish and the O’Brien’s in particular. Although we had previously attended a few Irish dances, because the girls were not so stuck up as the girls at our usual venues, and we would always get a dance, at least until the pubs shut, after which the girls had more boys to choose from. Sheila had been working in catering with Ernie’s kindly aunty Flo. I remember that Flo was partial to a drop of whisky in hot milk at bed time and therefore was a regular customer of a local off licence, she started to notice that the milk needed more and more whisky to get her off to sleep, so she complained to the weights and measures man, who discovered that the outwardly respectable owner of the shop had been extracting some of the whisky, and replacing it with water, via a hypodermic syringe. Flo had invited Sheila and Mary to lodge with her and her husband Jobie. Jobie was a lovely person, very short and fat, with a round Jolly face. He reminded me I suppose, partly because his name rhymed with it, of a Toby Jug. It was said of him that he looked like a tall well built man who had been hit on the head with a 14lb hammer. As I say, nonetheless he was very kind and I feel guilty for describing him thus, but that is how I saw him. Indoors or out he was always smartly dressed in a dark suit, I think he held a clerical position at the Streatham Park Cemetery. Indeed all the male Mardell’s seemed to work at the cemetery in some capacity or other, some dug graves, as did my uncle George, one worked at the gate, handing out watering cans and Ernie’s dad had worked as the cremationist for years before he died and became a victim of his own furnace. Incidentally a lot of my relatives ,including my mother and father were also returned to dust there. I have no idea why, but Sheila and young Mary came to lodge at Ernie’s mum’s(Phyllis, the widow of Ernie’s father and Flo’s brother.) house in Marian Road, Mitcham, Surrey, I think around 1956-7, and it wasn’t long before Una also arrived on the scene. I often called for Ernie at the house so it was inevitable that I would get to know the two girls. Ernie started courting Sheila and I likewise courted Una, who was dating another guy until he was informed by young Mary, that, “Una is going to pack you up”. Mary was a lovely kid and would present me with drawings to give to my mum. Mary was the cause of much merriment on the top deck of a bus one day as we passed the cemetery when she pointed, and loudly exclaimed “ My uncle Jobie LIVES there!” Although all my life I had admired girls and young women I was very shy. and found it difficult to talk to them, and there I was at the tender age of 21 years, with Una, my one and only girlfriend. It wasn’t long before things got serious between Ernie and Sheila, who decided to get married. Una and I got engaged, with the disapproval of Una’s mum because I wasn’t a Catholic and the disapproval of my mum because Una was. We ventured to drive to Ireland and stay with Una’s family for a couple of weeks when my firm closed down for the 2 week summer holiday. This in my first car which was a 1937 Ford 8 HP Y Type ( When new, produced and sold for the princely sum of £100, by Henry Ford ) which I had purchased for £45 in 1956 and which. after many miles, much work and 2 years later I sold for £55. When I called to pick Una up from her digs, Ernie’s mum told me to ”bring her back in the same condition as I collected her”! and so we set off for Fishguard. We picked up a workmate in Tooting, an Irishman, Jimmy Collins who wanted to join the Royal Canadian Navy, but not yet, as he only wanted a lift to Wales. At some stage I thought it a good idea to buy an Irish flag and the Union Jack, and display them crossed in the rear window. At the dock we found out that we should have booked and be in possession of sailing tickets (each passenger had to produce one of these so that the boat could not be overloaded), but were advised that a bribe into the hand of the harbour master might be in order. When I eventually found him I slipped him ten bob (50P), I was earning £5-10s a week. He solemnly said he would reluctantly remove some goods to make room for my little black car, but this didn’t stop him not so reluctantly, grabbing the 10/- note. In those days there was no such thing as drive on / drive off. Every item of goods, loaded or unloaded was accomplished with the assistance of several men above on the harbour, several down in the hold, and a large crane. Drivers drove their cars onto 4 nets, 1 for each wheel, whereupon the driver joined the rest of the passengers, and the car was lifted up by the nets, and into the hold. In those days getting on board was one thing, finding a seat was another, I doubt if there were seats for half of the passengers and most people were sitting on suitcases or just lying on the floor. In the following years and until quite recently I was to find that this was the norm. If animals had been subjected to these conditions I am sure the RSPCA would have kicked up a stink but these were only people. On one of these trips I lost my way in the boat and accidentally found myself in the almost deserted 1st class area, almost deserted that is, except for a sprinkling of nuns and priests. Anyway, after we had settled on our suitcases we had a long wait before the boat pulled out, I kept going outside to see if my little car had been loaded on, and about 15 minutes before we were due to sail it was still on the harbour, a solitary shape, highlighted by the harbour lights. Had I wasted my 10 bob ? As we pulled away I had another look and the car had disappeared, so I returned to Una and my suitcase, to face one of the many nightmare journeys I would endure, to and from that lovely island. To the best of my knowledge, all the ferry boats at that time, plying their trade between the two islands, were operated by British Rail, one such was the Princess Maude. Compared to today’s ferry’s, these were tiny, and in rough seas, were thrown about in a most frightening manner. Unfortunately the Irish sea / St Georges channel was, and is, almost always rough. There was always at least one guy with an accordion, fiddle, or a tin whistle, sometimes all three. and half an hour after the bar opened the music would start accompanied by the sound and smell of people throwing up as they negotiated their way across and around you, on their way to the toilets. Sometimes the toilet floors were awash with vomit. If you were not splashed with sick, there was an even chance you would be trodden on, or splashed with Guinness as passengers made there way to the bar and back. Unfortunately I have always been a bad traveller and when I started to feel queasy, the sight and stink of another sufferer was all it took to finish me off. Through all this there was always someone who was not affected in the slightest, and would demonstrate by devouring huge quantities of fatty sausages, fatty bacon and fatty eggs etc. in front of you, thus adding to your misery. Of course there were occasions when there was hardly a ripple on the water, but they were few and far between. It must be said, that even with today’s huge ferry’s the sheer power of the sea is such that it is still possible to wish you were anywhere but on board. As with all unpleasant experiences, I thought the crossing would never end but of course it did and after we docked, firstly the priests and nuns disembarked, followed by the post, followed by the foot passengers and eventually by the drivers and their passengers. As my little car was last on, it was first off, so as soon as it was free of the nets, Una and I eagerly got in and I proceeded to start the engine, which probably due to the damp sea air refused to oblige, then followed the indignity of being push started on Rosslare harbour in front of a smiling audience of fellow passengers and workmen. So now I was in Ireland for the first time and very apprehensive about what reception I would get from Una’s family, I had the address of a Baltinglass hotel in my wallet in case things didn’t work out. I remember driving very very slowly towards Knocklishen and when we were nearly there we passed a small man with dark curley hair and the bluest of blue eyes driving a tractor, who was travelling in the opposite direction, he smiled and waved at us. As he disappeared behind us Una said “that was my dad”. My welcome was much better than expected and I think the kids were initially in awe of the Englishman, except for Eddie who loudly enquired of his mother “is Una going to marry that old man” (I had worried myself into starting to go prematurely bald after being diagnosed with T.B. as stated previously, it was a killer in those days, and feared like cancer is today). Peg never forgave Una for introducing me to her while she was still in her wellies, and which prompted me to Christen her, Dunlop. John was the eldest still at home, I think he was recovering from an hernia operation at the time, but that didn’t stop him enjoying a smoke. He accompanied Una and I to visit several places of interest including Donnelly,s Hollow and I remember comparing the length of my arm with the supposed skeleton of Donnelley’s arm, which was in a glass case, on the bar wall of the adjacent pub, my arm was longer, so if Donnelly was a giant, he was a very economically sized giant. I think I can say that John and I hit it off straight away and I always look forward to seeing him. However at a recent family gathering he confided in me that I was “ his SECOND favourite Englishman” my mind boggled, who had beaten me to the number one slot, Shakespeare ?, Churchill ?, Charles Dickens ? It turned out to be Ernie. Jim, Mick and Billy were in short trousers and it wasn’t long before Bridie entertained me dancing, with her dad playing the accordion and Vera who amazed me when she fell over and seriously grazed her knee, jumped up and carried on without a whimper. Had this been any of the kids of her age that I knew in England they would have run crying to their mum and made a dreadful fuss. I think Tony was working in Hacketstown at this time, although I am not sure if he was old enough, he certainly worked there later and I remember with a small man called Mousey who was extremely strong and who was lifting 18 stone sacks of wheat about all day. Jim told me that he guessed my age as 34 (I was 21). He frightened the life out of me telling me ghost stories before going to bed, so much so that although I was desperate in the night to go for a pee I wouldn’t venture outside until dawn, well as I say, I was only 21. The family introduced me to the one eyed horse, Kitty and Jim persuaded me to mount it without a saddle, whereupon he slapped it on the rear end so that it took off at a gallop with yours truly hanging onto the mane for dear life. I don’t know why, but did then and still do, think the world of him. Mick although younger was of a heavier build than Jim and I remember teaching him how to use his weight when wrestling his older brother, but I think Jim still came out on top. Billy was always the first to cry at the end of a holiday and would start the rest of the family off, so we always drove away waving to wet faces with wet faces. The exception was Una’s dad, who couldn’t face the tears and always disappeared just before the off. I've a tune going though my head which in a round about way reminds me of my mother-in-law. We were discussing something one day and to back up my argument I volunteered the remark "well it says so in the book" to which I am eternally thankful for her reply, "paper never refused ink" which has been useful to me in my journey though life. The tune in my mind is George Gershwin's, "It Aint Necessarily So" - The things that your lible, to read in the bible, it aint necessarily so, Methuselah lived 900 years, Methuselah lived 900 years but who calls that living, when no gal will give in, to no guy who's 900 years. etc. My future ma-in-law was extremely religious and I don't know what she would make of TV programmes like Father Ted but I do remember sitting down to a meal in Knocklishen and for some reason uttering the word SEX, well ! there was a deathly hush, and I remember feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The ridiculous thing was, as you well know, she must have been aware of the subject in her personal life, and apart from that there were chickens and turkeys demonstrating all over the yard, and I remember on one occasion, a couple of turkeys at it in the doorway. I don’t remember being asked, I guess I went with the tide, but I always attended Rathvilly church on Sunday. I stood up when the congregation stood up and sat down when they sat down, there was usually a sermon advising the flock on the dangers of sending their sons and daughters T’England, then into Nolans after the Mass for a pint or two of the “iron lung”. Hopefully the practice has ceased but what did upset me on one such visit to Rathvilly church was to find outside, a table, some large accounting books, and two priests who were collecting money from the congregation on the way into church and writing the name of the contributor and the amount into a book. During the service the names and the amounts given were read aloud. This still has me fuming even as I write this. Mrs O’Brien and most of the contributors were finding it hard to feed and clothe their large families and at the same time were being subjected to blackmail, in that, knowing there name and contribution would be read out in front of their neighbours, they paid the priests more than they could afford. On one occasion Mrs O’Brien was with Una and I walking along O'Connell Street and I think Mick was with us, when we chanced upon some very black African students( she had given “pennies for the black children” in church all her life but this was the first time she had come across the real thing), she stood perfectly still and examined them closely as they walked past. To see these men after having lived all her life in rural Ireland was a complete shock to her. She loved books despite her very poor sight (her spectacle lenses were extremely thick, like the bottom of a bottle) and I always considered her an extremely intelligent person and am sure that had she been born 50 years later, she would have got into a university and seen more in her life than a succession of children’s bums. We continued our visit to Dublin during which we were physically shooed and escorted hurriedly out of a spit and sawdust pub because women weren’t allowed and spent a memorable afternoon in Guinness’s Brewery where yours truly who was in the company of several Pioneers (teetotallers), and HAD to drink their export samples, got quite drunk. I had been worrying Una’s dad, Tom (Canty) to take me to a pub where they sold Draught Guinness as I had been told that it was better in Ireland, so after breakfast one morning, off we go in the Ford Y type to Quinns in Baltinglass and as I was sitting down starting to taste my first pint of draught, my lip touched something small and hard,it was a dead wasp and as I got up to take it back and complain, Tom said where are you going ? So I told him and he very firmly pulled me back in the chair and whispered give me the “expletive” wasp. We sat and enjoyed our pints and when they were empty, he put the wasp back in my glass, had a quiet word with the landlord and returned to the table with 2 free fresh pints and a big smile on his face. Kit the pony only had one eye. The trap originally belonged to Lord Rathdonnel it was upholstered and a little beauty.Una's dad made the mistake of handing me the reins on the way BACK from a drinking expedition to Quinns in Baltinglass. The drunken prat that I was, I somehow got the reins crossed, pulled on the left side and ended up in the ditch on the right side of the road with the wing torn off. You can imagine I wasn't flavour of the month. On another expedition to Baltinglass, Una and her mum were on board and the poor little pony couldn't make it up the hill. I offered to get out but I was told to stay where I was and he ordered Una and her mum out, I thought he would stop at the top of the hill but he got a laugh at watching them running after us down the other side. The little 20 year old car served us well and we visited Arklow, Courtown, the Wicklow Hills, Glendalough but while we were having a drink at the Curragh an old man came over and enquired if the black Ford outside was mine, when I confirmed that it was he looked very gravely at me and suggested that I remove the crossed flags from the back window before the families of I.R.A. prisoners visiting the town prison noticed them. I took his advice pronto and found he had followed me out to point out the pillars in front of the courthouse where he explained that, centuries before, my countrymen tied convicted prisoners and hacked them to death. It was time to move to another location but I did return another time and took a picture of Bing Crosby at the racecourse, unfortunately you will have to take my word for it as he was so far away it could have been anybody. Incidentally my mothers elder brother Joe while serving with the 10th Hussars was saved by his commanding officers foresight in putting the horses in the front carriages, so that when the track was blown up as the train travelled through the Curragh the soldiers survived. I corresponded with Mrs O’Brien fairly frequently over the years and never forgot to mention the Hacketstown equivalent of Harrods, Duffy’s, always making some sarcastic comparison. Sometimes I would enclose a cutting of the cartoon character Andy Capp who wore a huge cloth cap and was obsessed with pub opening times and fags, he always had one dangling out of his mouth. When his little boy asked him why he had to go to school the only answer he could think of was “ if you don’t go to school how are you going to fill in your football coupon ?” During one holiday it was Vera’s 9th birthday and Una and I bought her, her first doll. Christmas times we would send various items, I remember sending a full size leather football which had a tongue and had to be laced up after the rubber bladder you pushed inside had been inflated with a bicycle pump, this was much appreciated and much used but I remember being bewildered and disappointed when I heard that the kids had washed the salt off the peanuts we had sent. It would be a conservative estimate to say that at least half of all parcels both inland and overseas, handled by the Post Office in those days had a large white stick on customs label on which was written “ Old Clothes” and addressed to Eire. I have no doubt that some contained old clothes but by far the majority contained new clothes and other presents sent by relatives, and declaring “Old Clothes” avoided customs charges. To be continued Willie the Gonny, Old Tully, The flying duck, Tommy Bolger and Canty day out, etc.