Reminiscences of Thurles in the Early Decades of the Twentieth CenturyCompiled by Brigid Condon
In them days there weren't any such thing as A, B or C streams, there were only two groups, the 'tough chaws' who used to scratch a lot, taught by Mr. Wall, and the better sort who were groomed for better things by Mr. Walker. Actually a great deal of the teaching was left to monitors - older boys like Danny Keane, Martin Drew, Jimmy Galvin and Denis Delaney
We were a delicate and miserable lot ... no wonder none of us ever came to anything. Every Monday morning we'd bring our penny to school to pay for our few books and the fuel; even if we didn't have it, it didn't matter. We were all barefoot except sometimes in the winter months we might be lucky enough to have a pair of wooden clogs bound with iron hoop. I'll say one thing for dauld clogs though, you couldn't bate them for sliding on the icy roads ...as long as they lasted ... Hygiene and nutrition how are you! Half of us had 'Tetters' (ringworm, eczema. herpes etc.) and 'Bowknocks' (festered swellings on our leathery feet). Do you know how they used to cure these painful swellings? The mother or father would take a needle and thread and stick it through them and then squeeze out the festering mass. Sure wasn't the cure more painful than the complaint! 'Tis funny though the things you remember years afterwards. Did I tell you the one about the day that auld Mr. Wall caught Jack Conners and 'The Pensioner' (Dan Hogan) smoking a clay pipe in the classroom. 'Twas like this ... In them days the monks used to take a break in the mornings for their elevenses. When Mr. Wall was coming back after his break he spotted the two boyos through the window as they were fogging away. The poor man was outraged. He charged into the classroom ... 'Come up here Hogan, you scalawag', he fumed, 'what do you mean smoking in my class?'
'What', the terrified Hogan mumbled, 'me sor ... no sor ... sure 'twould only make me sick, sor'. Like a petrified rabbit 'the Pensioner' scanned the room in search of cover and safety from the teacher's threatening leather. Then in panic he shinnied up the support pole in the centre of the classroom (these poles were about 8" in diameter and were supporting the wide, high ceiling of the rooms).
'Come down here this instant', bellowed Mr. Wall.
Dan wouldn't budge but hung on for his life with hands and knees. Then with the practiced ease of a lifetime of handling unexpected situations Mr. Wall took the long-handled window hook from the corner and hooked the bold Dan down by the suspenders. And what was really funny was that all the time that Dan was hanging on high above the class his rase was out through his britches.
I remember well the times Mrs. Carrigan would call by and give Mr. Wall a gallon of sweets. Mr. Wall would dole them out to us every day as long as they lasted. Mind you, that was a rare treat in them days. But, you know, we loved auld Wall. When he was leaving us we all trooped up to the railway station with him. Nor were we ashamed when we cried as dauld steam engine pulled him away from us for ever. I don't know whether it was just a case of the devil you know being better than the devil you don't' or if it was genuine affection and regret. Myself ... I loved that auld man.
I was a terror for 'stamen' myself. The truant officer then was auld Halogen. He was a terrifying specter ...a big dark man riding a high bicycle. I can remember the day that the father had to bring me up Hays' Lane to appear before the authorities for my latest bout of 'matching'. Didn't the father have to pay a fine of a shilling and I was warned to mend my ways or I'd be sent away! After school some days we used go up to where the District Hospital is now, poking around looking for spent brass. You see the British military had moved out and it was a great place for scavenging though I never found nothing. It was here that another Hogan, 'Sir Billy', found a live grenade and had his poor hand blown off. (When asked why they called Hogan 'Sir Billy,' Timmy replied, 'Sure, he looked like a Sir?). It was there in Ronnie's field (opposite the present CBS Primary School) that the two little Care brothers were drowned~ Weren't they trying to skate on the ice in the old quarry that was there then.
They call it St. Mary's Avenue now. I still remember dauld grandfather with his shaggy beard and paralysed arm ... he was a man for all seasons. He was born in Graguenageenah back in 1830 but wasn't baptised until three years later in St. Mary's in Killenaule ...don't I have his Baptismal Lines. The grandfather in his early years was a 'hedge-school-master' up near Ballingarry before he came to town as a clerk to Maurice Poor (Power). Power's shop and pub was where Quinnsworth is today. Later the grandfather became a bailiff of the court and was responsible for serving writs and summonses. He always implied that he was a Nationalist 'plant'. You see, when he'd get the summonses to serve, he'd have time to give advance notice to the people being summonsed and that way they could quickly remove stock or valuables before they could be distrained or impounded.
It proved quite profitable as well. He got a pound for the early warning and seven and six (7/6) for serving the summons! But dauld grandfather had many irons in the fire. Did you know that he operated a poitin still right there in the lane, in the back bedroom. Because you needed running water to distill whiskey, he dug a well in the bedroom and the father used to work the pump for him. In fact the father had another important job as well ...he had to act as taster to ensure the brew was mature and potable. Didn't he take his job so seriously that after one tasting session he was unconscious for six days Faith you'd be surprised who dauld grandfathers customers were. They were never caught though the street was patrolled regularly by the R.I.C.
It was up the lane that the Protestant gentry would come every Sunday to attend services. I can still remember the chaises and landaus swaying up along the lane ... the Morgans of Crossogue, the Langleys, the Knoxes ... I remember auld Bill Bannon drove the Knox family to services ...the mother - elegant in her finery, the two sons facing her in the carriage and the liveried footman on the back. In them days the only car seen in the lane was auld Canon Wilson's. That newfangled contraption always had a motley gang of ragged kids chasing after it.
Ah, you wouldn't remember the time of the Great Flu'... Wasn't I in bed myself with it but I'd creep to the window and look out every time a funeral procession would come up the lane. Sick as I was, didn't I count nine funerals in one day! Sometimes the coffins would be left inside the gate and my father and grandfather would bury them after work. . . for that alone the two of them deserve a place in Heaven. The priests and ministers in the funeral processions would wear white linen around their tall top hats and another broad white sash across their shoulders. After the burials it was the custom for them to give the linen sashes to the poor attending, to make little items of clothing for themselves or their children. Sure, they were the hardest of times ... and don't I remember going around the town myself collecting pennies to buy breastplates and ornaments for the coffins of many the poor soul. We used to varnish the crude 'Workhouse' coffin and then mount the newly purchased brass fittings ourselves. Ah, 'twas sad and I could tell you a lot about them hard times.
But the lane wasn't all doom and gloom. We had our characters. Apart from dauld grandfather, the most colourful was 'Jack the Webb'. A grand auld fellow when he was sober but God help the lane when he had drink taken. Ours was a very unusual lane. At one end we had James Sayers who rang the bells for the Cathedral and at the other we had Sam Whittaker who rang the bells for the Protestant Church. In the middle of the lane lived a shoemaker named Paddy Ryan who was nicknamed 'The Angel'. Well anyway, when the Webb would be coming home after his drinking bouts... it was his changeless habit to pause unsteadily outside each house door in the lane and berate the unfortunate inhabitants ... nothing was safe or sacred from Jack the Webb's sharp tongue... not even Dooley's auld horse. Finally, exhausted from his imprecations on man and animal, he'd look to the unsteady heavens and enlist the help of the
Almighty ...'O Lord, take me out of this den of iniquity with its bell ringers
above and its bell ringers below and its angels in the middle...' Jack's brother and sister-in-law were two other very unique characters who shared the lovely sobriquet, 'Toot 'n Nan' . . . but I wouldn't like to say how they got that name . . . Did you know that we had a family in the lane who claimed to be related to the wife of President Harry Truman, President of the United States. They were the Eades.
The lane, like all of us, is now q' a sad relic of grander days and precious memories. You can still peek through the rotten door of Dooley's dilapidated auld house and see his once grand jarvey car now moldering away. Me own yard is cluttered with memorabilia of forgotten trades .. .guarded now by an arthritic auld dog named 'Dooley'...
'Twas a kind of romantic place then with its soft dim gaslights and the glow of oil lamps in the shops and pubs around the streets. I could tell you where every gaslight standard stood ... Molloy's corner, the Bank corner, outside Hays' Hotel, at each end of the Suir Bridge, outside the Presbytery, at the end of our own lane ... Aye, and the water pumps, the 'judies' as they were called. I remember where they all were. Isn't there one of them still left at the Stannix Home (Widow's Home). Don't I remember one evening -- with not another vehicle in sight -- seeing the 'Black & Tans' ramming their Crossley tender into the stone pedestal of the Judy that stood in the Square opposite Ryan's jeweler's. In my mind I can still see Jack Conners and Mickey 'Coldbread' as they made their rounds lighting up the town's gaslights. Don't you know, when the town got its own electricity, the bright bulbs only made the town look dingy and neglected, with its crooked railings, peeling paint and rough gravel streets.
I could name off all the shops, aye, and tell you a tale or two about some of them. Do you know that in one shop the 'grocer's curates' (shop boys) had to whistle whenever they were sent to the back stores to bring up more supplies for the shop! This, of course, assured the owner that the help was not sampling the goodies in the back room. Then there was the inventive butcher who never bought anything but cattle that died on local farms. He had a workman whose sole job was to stand up by the slaughterhouse and holler out . . . 'How . . . How ... How ... so that the local townsfolk would think that live cattle were being driven in constantly for slaughter.
I can recall the day that 'Sewerdy was dying of the thirst and he asked me to pawn his waistcoat in Flannagan's. Didn't I get one and six for it (1/6) and Sewerdy gave me tuppence for myself. In them days the social life centered around the auld Transport Hall (also known as the Sinn Fein Hall, up in Mixie Connell's Lane). I was in the band and why not? Didn't I help found the present town band. Here we had dances three nights a week. You could get into the workday 'hops' for sixpence. It cost two shillings on Saturday nights when the dancing went on ''til 'all hours'. There used to be plenty of ham and barmbracks washed down with frothy pints from Mixie's. These weekend dances went on ''til the time to go to First Mass on Sunday morning ... where few of us could stay awake through those long - sermons. Dauld floor boards used to shake to the stomping of hobnailed boots; the women's feet rarely touched the boards. I'm telling you there was energy spent up that lane ...Jackie Burke, Jamesie Cahill, Jimmy Dooley, McCowan, Jack Brown, Arthur Fagan, Maggie ('Mixie') and Kitty, her sister, the Kinnanes ... On the bandstand were the four Fitzgeralds, the Graydons, Billy Maher, Johnny 'John' Ryan, Jack Ryan Gollagher', Timmy Finn, Tom Loughnane, John Mulcaire, Paddy Rafferty, Willie Ryan and God knows who else ...I remember we were in the middle of a great night when Archbishop Fennelly died. That poor saintly`man got little sympathy and sweet prayers when the dancing had to be abandoned as a mark of respect.
Will I tell you a good one about the band? Around this time a split developed in the band membership. You know Leo Spittle (God be good to him now) whose uncle was the Mayor of Kilkenny, well he got a lot of brassband instruments from there and with these a new band was formed. Didn't they put all that shiny array of musical equipment on display in Shanahan's window. Of course, those of us who wanted to keep the old band together were very upset by the formation of this rival band - me more than the rest. Anyway, I heard the members of the 'new' band plotting to march before the 'Forresters' on their way to Mass on St. Patrick's Day. Since this was traditionally an honour reserved for the old band, I was determined to do something about it. So, one dark night, I upped and stole all the new band's brassy instruments! Mind you I paid dearly for this little transgression some time later. It seems that when I later applied for a Visa to go to the U.S.A. the local police didn't give me a very good character reference and my application was turned down. Later still I did get admitted to Canada though ... but that's another story.
Who were the 'Forresters? They were a kind of benevolent society and Joe Pollard was the Chief Ranger. Others that I can remember were Mulcaire (dauld lad entirely), Tone Quinn, Bill Quinn, Ter Lawlor, Mattie Mack and Jim Doyle. They really cut a dash every St. Patrick's Day as they stepped right out of history's pages and marched proudly down to Mass. They wore military-like uniforms, green jackets, white pants, high boots, gold sashes and tall hats - trimmed with feathers ... they looked like a whole platoon of Wolf Tone's. To give them their due though, they weren't all show; they helped many a poor soul in this town ... and out of their own pockets at times!
Certainly there was other entertainment at that time. The earliest carnivals that I remember were down at the Presentation Convent grounds. I can still remember the time they strung a cable from the top of the Laundry chimney stack and ran it down the convent field through a big cock of hay to the ground. The daring were invited to climb up and then swing down on a pulley to the ground. Wasn't it there that poor 'Leggy' Maher earned his badge of courage and a lifelong game leg. However, for us kids, it offered other more lucrative possibilities. You see the brave aerialists usually landed head over heels and the loose change in their pockets scattered all over the place. We'd grab what we could and run ... kid's eyes, tanners, an occasional bob ... but mostly coppers. I can still recall the excitement I felt going to my first moving picture show back in 1917. The father took me to McGrath's and to this day I can remember the name of the picture, 'Coming through the Rye'. In that cinema Jackie Burke and the sister, Mona, provided the musical accompaniment. The first film to come to Delahuntys -- didn't I hurl in the field where the cinema was built -- was a real tear-jerker named 'Orphans in the Storm'. 'Twas booked-out solid for a whole week. You'd have to get down very early on Sunday nights if you wanted to get a seat. Joe Mack's daughter - the one who later became a Nun - used to play the piano there.
Ah, back then, too, we'd look forward to the live productions of the Parnell Players. That was a talented lot, I can tell you ...John Burke, the O'Brien brothers, Mrs. Carey and, of course, Maudie Mooney.
It was around 1926 when over four hundred Welsh Miners descended on the town. It was during the great strike/lockout in England. They came over to raise funds to continue their struggle for decent conditions and a living wage. They would march in military formation all around the town and then give open-air concerts. Anyone with a spare room or bed put them up while they were here. We had a few nice Welshmen staying at our house.
Do you know I still have my first Library Card ... It was up opposite Llandaff Lodge in Hays' Lane then; it cost me two bob (2/-) for a year. After the Great War (World War I) all the local discharged soldiers used to go up once a week to the Labour Exchange -- then located where Clancy's Electrical shop is now. The Exchange was run by Mahony and the daughter. I can still hear the old jingle that they used to sing on the way to collect their money ,.
'Up to Mahony's and in to sign
That's where you'll get your twenty nine (29/3)
Inky, Inky, Parlez Vous ... '
Timmy knew Thurles. He was a keen observer who could unravel the most complicated genealogies with ease. The ubiquitous Ryans, Mahers and Dwyers whose complex ties and ancestry confused many, posed no problems whatsoever to the astute Tim. Nicknames, of course, were critical for differentiating between the many popular family names. His whole recorded narrative is liberally laced with these delightful sobriquets . . . Toot-n-Nan, Turney Larry, Stiffy, Mag-a-Hoe, Foll-de-Doll, The Guardian Angel, Pull-a-Pint, Call-in-the-Morning, Shittyfoot, Moll-the-Bobber, Cross-the-Roads, Mawbags, Glassybaggs, Goodybags, Hole-in-the- Wall, Sprig, Abbey, Fireball, High Hat, Ranty, Shifty, Mr Deeds, Moonlighter. Sunman ... and many more we couldn't even attempt to spell or understand.
Consanguinity was a town feature. You only had to talk to Timmy for a few minutes when you would find yourself welcoming him 'as a long lost cousin! Timmy was neither saint nor sinner ... he was simply one of us. Despite his foreign travels he never lost his parochial outlook. He was a jack-of-all-trades and master of quite a few. Indeed, he collected more than memories. His regard for the past made him reluctant to throw away anything ... from the old fork he claimed was used to stir the cabbage in the big pots used during the Great Famine to a unique letter from Amold Harris Mathew the last claimant to the title of Earl of Liandaff.
Jack Ryan was born in Garryvicleheen St., (now Abbey Road) on 31 December 1894 and at the time of this taped interview in 1982 was still active and alert. In fact Jack was still working a little at his trade of tailoring - still threading the needle without the aid of glasses!
Jack took us back along Bohernanave and Garryvicleheen Sts as they were at :the turn of the twentieth century when, as Jack remarked,'nobody had nothing', As Jack quietly called the roll along the streets he paused at the name of Martin McNamara. Jack remembered this stalwart who played on the Tipperary hurling team which won the first ever All-Ireland, giving us the proud title of 'The Premier County". Talking of Martin, Jack began to recall his own experiences of the game ...
Jack hurled for the Thurles team before the advent of the famous 'Blues' and his memories of those days are worth recording. In those early days teams travelled to matches in wagonettes (4 wheel carts, drawn by two horses, capable of carrying about 30 passengers) which usually left town after Mass and did not return again until 2 a.m. on Monday morning. Many the time when they'd call for Jack he'd be off hiding in the fields -- all because he didn't have a penny in his pockets and was ashamed to go without money. To make his point he told how one day down in the town square they made a collection among the passengers in two wagonettes and all they came up with was 18 pence; some had a penny, some a halfpenny but most had nothing at all! Wagonettes were usually hired then from Hickey or Leahys of Borris for the trips. Indeed, Jack recalled that many the time they didn't get a bit to eat from the time they left town until they returned home the following morning. When they togged out for the game there was never any shelter for their clothing and on many occasions their clothes were soaking wet when they had to dress again after the match. As for injuries ...'well, they dragged you to the sideline and you stopped the blood yourself -- as best you could. Sure they didn't have as much as a sticking plaster or even a rag in them days'. But Jack recalled that there was always large attendances. It only cost three pence to get in and if you didn't have that then they'd let you in for nothing.
A little cross, now overgrown and almost hidden, still vainly tries to keep the memory of a 'Volunteer', Jimmy Moloughney, alive. Jimmy was shot by the Crown Forces on the Cormackstown Road back in 1919. Jack remembers the incident clearly. On that tragic day Jimmy, who had just avoided capture in the town, called at Jack's house to inquire whether there had been any 'Tan' or R.I.C. activity along the country road. Jack invited Jimmy to stay the night but he refused insisting that he had to push on down to the Arms Dump in Cormackstown to arm himself. Not long after his departure the R.I.C. were at Jack's door looking for the young volunteer. Needless-to-say, they got no help from Jack. But time was running out for Jimmy Moloughney. The Tans, by the lorry-load, were already on the Holycross and Cormackstown roads and even along the road to Ballycahill; they had their quarry boxed in. Jimmy, now armed, was behind the ditch on the Cormackstown road and facing towards town. He never saw the 'Tans' coming through the fields behind him; he was shot in the back! A little ways down the road a man named Doyle, who was hauling out manure to his garden, was ordered to untackle his horse from the cart and drag it to where Moloughney was lying at the side of the road. Young Moloughney was still alive when he was thrown on the filthy manure cart. Doyle was then forced to drag the cart all the way to the District Hospital in Thurles. Poor James Moloughney died later that day.
Another Volunteer, a Corkman named Crowley, was also captured that same day. Crowley worked in John O'Callaghan's Drapery in town. Jack recalls that the infamous Sgt. Enright was in charge that day ...'a proper dog who used to bate the people in the streets for nothing at all . . .and on Fair Days he'd use an ashplant to thrash innocent farmers ... sure, he got what he richly deserved when he was shot during the Truce'. Jack also remembered Sgt. Wallace ... 'a man with a big heavy black moustache' who often visited his aunt's house (Millers) in Ballycahill. Wallace was shot dead at Knocklong railway station during the rescue of Sean Hogan by the Volunteers.
Things got completely out of hand when Dick Bourke was evicted. It seems that the Bourkes owned a bakery in the New Road (Parnell St.) and the family had fallen on hard times. Coadys bought the premises. For some reason this eviction and change of ownership caused much local resentment. A mob gathered and went on the rampage, breaking in the windows in Bourkes, then Coadys, then on down to the Munster & Leinster Bank and finally to Hanley's Offices ... all, apparently, involved in the transaction. The streets of early twentieth century Thurles were of gravel and loose stones making them an arsenal for the stone-throwing mob.
When Mickey Power burned down his house ...
Mickey Power lived down below on Garryvicleheen St...well, he did until he got his eviction notice (by a landlord well known by all the old residents of the street). It seems that Mickey raised and sold songbirds at a little stand outside his house. One Sunday morning as the crowds were coming back along the road from Mass there was me bold Mick sitting out front at his stand hawking his wares as usual. Not quite so usual though was the fact that his house was in flames behind him! Not only did he burn down his house that morning, but he also burned out his two neighbours ... (one was Jack Ryan's aunt's house and the other belonged to a Jewish family named Molesworth). Ironically, Mickey was rewarded for his pyromaniac activity with a new council house in the Pike. Incidentally, the landlord built two storey houses on the burned-out site afterwards. Jack recalls that the Jewish family used to have the kids on the street light their fire each Saturday because of the Sabbath restrictions prohibiting Jews from working on that day ; they couldn't even light a fire!
Jack recalls that the field where the Bohernanave houses are now once belonged to Mahony and was taken by the Council to be used as a graveyard. However, this site proved to be a little too rocky for the purpose. Incidentally, another site, behind St. Johns on Garryvicleheen St. was earlier (19th century) offered by Viscount Chabot for use as burial ground and actually had one internment in it before it also was found unsuitable. The one body was subsequently removed.
Jack recalled that where the P&T now have their storage yard at the railway bridge there used to be houses occupied by Mahers, Mrs. Flanagan and Paddy Cunningham. Kielys lived further up along that side of Bohernanave. It seems that Kiely and Owen Saunders had a kind of mobile stand in Liberty Square . . . right beside the Markethouse. They did leatherwork repairs 'while you wait'. Most of their business came from the farmers. Afterwards the town council forced them off the street.
Then there was Jack Coleman ...
One town character who popped up in the reminiscences of all the older folk who were taped was Jack Coleman. It seems that lack Coleman was in the habit of dossing down in a carpenter's workshop - down where Casey has his fuel yard today. The workshop belonged to the Boland(?) brothers who used to make coffins for the town's undertakers. Well, one day when Jack 'was nicely nourished' (drunk), the brothers found him 'dead to the world' in a pile of shavings in the workshop. It was an opportunity not to be missed, so the boys decided to have some fun at the drunk's expense. The brothers bought some penny candles and proceeded to cover up all the workshop windows with canvas. They lifted the prostrate Coleman into one of the coffins and lit two candles at its head. They then stood all the remaining coffins around the walls of the workshop with their lids open beside them. The brothers then settled down to wait for Coleman to awaken from his stupor. Anyway, some hours later, Jack Coleman awoke with a start, sat up in the coffin bleary-eyed and looked around at all the other coffins standing open and empty around the walls. Never at a loss for words the old vagabond scratched his head and they heard him exclaim,
' wouldn't doubt you, Coleman, you're late for the Resurrection ... sure, they're all gone already without you '
Down along Friar Street Tom Stapleton used to have a grocery shop in the early decades of the century. One day Jack Coleman, while on one of his scavenging trips along the street was asked by some lady whether Tom Stapleton had pigs feet. With a shrug of indifference the bold Jack replied, 'Sure, how would I know Ma'am, I've never seen the man with his boots off'.
Among Jack Coleman's many talents was the ability to poach the odd rabbit or pheasant from local estates. It was during one of his early morning visits to Brittas estate that he came face to face with auld Langley. On this occasion Jack had his snares out in anticipation of a plump rabbit when he was surprised by Langley, himself, who came up riding on his charger. 'Good day to you', said the Lord of the Manor, 'I'm out early getting an appetite for my breakfast, and what would you be doing here, my good man!'. Caught red handed but undaunted Jack replied, 'I'm out, meself, to get a breakfast for me appetite, your honour'. According to Jack Ryan, Coleman wasn't really a beggar but he preferred to live rough than submit to a more settled life style. He acted as a kind of agent for many of the grocers in town. He was a good judge of vegetables, especially potatoes. He was frequently to be seen bargaining and buying on the market. His greatest talent, though, was the ready and witty riposte that often left his interrogator speechless.
Jack told the story of a Dr. H. . . who once lived in Friar Street. It seems that Doctor H. was very fond of the drop and on the morning of our story the doctor was broke and desperately in need of the price of a drink. That special providence that seems to provide for drunks soon brought a paying customer to his door. It was a lady from Gortnahoe who was suffering from very severe stomach pains. The profligate doctor had no medicine of any kind left in the house. Still, remembering his Hippocratic oath and the even more pressing thirst he now felt, he couldn't afford to let the woman leave without some physic. The resourceful M.D. excused himself, went into the back room, scraped some pink distemper from the wall, mixed it with tap water and brought it back to his grateful patient.
The doctor got his fee and the lady hurried away to commence the instructed dosage. The delighted medic then adjourned for 'The hair of the dog that bit him'.
A week who should show up again but the lady from Gortnahoe. The alarmed doctor had visions of being removed from the Medical Register as he went to the door. To his immense relief the lady called for a refill of the great tonic. Her pains were all gone and she wanted to keep a bottle handy in case she ever had a recurrence of the malady.
Jack Ryan told of the visiting troupes of actors that used come from Scotland and actually performed in the open air in the square. These roving thespians performed free but collected for raffles between the acts. He recalled the 'Irish Animated Picture Company' which visited the town annually, pitching their marques in Ronnie's Field (behind the County Library). Here the latest celluloid fantasies cavorted on the makeshift screen to the wonderment of all who could afford the tuppenny admission fee.
Jack had some bitter words to say about local employers in his boyhood days ... and he took some relish in tracing their subsequent misfortunes and decline. Even when the normal working day was up no employee dared be first to leave in case that would be noted by his employer . . . often grounds for being let go! Times were tough and labour too plentiful -- a fact local employers took full advantage of.
Jack told some interesting things about the 'lodging houses' of the early decades of this century. They were hardly Tourist Board approved establishments. Some were called 'standing-up lodgings'. He mentioned Delaneys in Stradavoher, Ryans in the Derheen, another Ryans at the Council Offices (Liberty Square), McDonaghs in Croke St. In most of these establishments there was neither bed nor bedding; lodging was simply shelter and possibly an old sack to cover yourself! Down in Pudding Lane there was one lodging house where the landlady had a very novel arrangement. Here lodgers would sit side by side on forms (backless seats) and lean forward over a rope strung from one end of the room to the other. In the morning the landlady untied the rope and this quickly put an end to her lodgers' slumbers. Of course, though the accommodation was crude, the price of a night's lodgings was also very modest ... only 3 pence. In fact there was even cheaper accommodation, known then as 'tuppence and up with you' lodgings. But then as Jack says, 'there were many large families in town who had to sleep in shifts in their own houses'.
The Devil and the Priest
Our final storyteller must remain anonymous at his request but since no memories of a locality would be complete without a story of the Devil and a priest, we will tell it as he told it to us . . . At the time of our story this house in Turtulla belonged to a prominent landowning family. When the landlord died, an old beggarman from the town, hearing of the man's death,decided to pay the house a visit. The beggarman was familiar with the custom then in vogue of giving the clothing of the deceased to the poor. Well, sure enough the old beggar was given a suit belonging to the late squire. Delighted with his good fortune, old Jack (to give him a name) didn't even get as far as the lodge-gate before he had stripped off his own rags and donned his fine clothes. Strutting like Beau Brummel, he made his way home along the Mall. However, who should he run into but Father Dogette ...
'Well now me good man', said the priest, 'isn't it you that looks the proper dandy?'
'Yes, indeed, your honour', said Jack, 'Didn't this suit belong to the master of the Big House in Turtulla that just died.
'I'm surprised at you', said Father Dogette,'don't you know that those clothes you're wearing belonged to a man that has gone to Hell. I'd advise you to turn around and go back and change into your own clothing as fast as you can.'
The priest's words frightened the heart out of poor Jack and ,I needn't tell you, he was soon back in Turtulla and hastily dressing in his own old familiar rags. While he was changing the son of the lately deceased squire saw him and came down the drive to see what was going on. Jack was quick to relate the story of his meeting with the priest and the priest's warning. It later transpired that Father Doggete received an invitation to attend at a party in the Big House. When he arrived he was immediately escorted upstairs to the room directly above the front door. Here the son of the squire joined him at a table set for two.
'Now', said the young man, 'you'll not leave this room until you prove to me that my father is in Hell'.
Taking out his prayerbook the priest asked to have some Holy Water sent up to the room. A servant was called and the request quickly satisfied. The priest then turned to the young man and asked him if he really wanted to go through with this. The young man was adamant.
'Very well', said the priest, and he began to pray quietly.
Then to the amazement of his host the priest whistled softly three times and at the same time he made a ring around himself and the young man with the Holy Water.
Immediately the window flew open with a crash and a great ball of fire came hurtling through and landed in the corner of the room.
The priest asked the fiery specter (which looked like the late squire - complete with manacles and chains) where he was when he, the priest, whistled the first time.
'I was in the depths of Hell', replied the apparition.
'Where were you when I whistled the second time,' queried the priest.
I was watching the gates of Hell opening', was the eerie reply.
'Where were you when I whistled the third time', continued the priest.
I was right here in this room', answered the specter.
By now the younger man was so frightened that he begged the priest to banish the horrible 'devil'. The priest agreed to the terrified young man's request but only if he would promise to lock the room permanently and brick up its solitary window. Needless-to-say, the young man agreed and the priest then banished the fiery specter.
* * * * *
Maybe you don't believe a word of it ... still, that window was bricked up and it was a brave man who ventured into the grounds of the 'Big House' after dark.
By the way, Father Doggete was real enough; he was the last Franciscan to act as Guardian of the Friary which stood in Friar Street. He was transferred in 1892 to the town of Drogheda.