CLOSING THE DOOR FOR THE LAST TIME

I read an article in the hairdressers today about your house being the vessel for memories and it prompted these memories:

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I was the last to leave 32 that day. We were all quieter than usual, that “packing day”, sad, lonely, all remembering different days and past times and occasions as we packed and cleared.  We’d maintained our equilibrium all through the day however as we filled the skip in the lane.

It used to make her sad to see the treasures of her neighbours go into a skip so I promised her we’d put it on the lane out of sight. It was hard to know what to dump – it all had a place in our memories. Everything we picked up had a “remember the day we ….” or an “Oh look at this!” or “I often wondered where that got to!” story attached. The treasures that a world would value – silver, glass, tea-sets, had already been divided and dispatched to our various homes. Some of the trinkets that held special memories for us individually – the plaque I brought from a tour, the bottle I gave her from a holiday, a book I shared with her, the more personal memorabilia had also been taken.

Now we were down to “the rubbish”: discarded and chipped ornaments, newspaper cuttings, broken furniture and rusted gardening tools. And yet it was in this junk that I probably most clearly saw her. Her ghost still handled and minded and planned the recycle of every little piece – shells to be stuck on a flower-pot, a container for germinating seeds. She wasted nothing. And now I could feel her watching as we threw out the things we “wouldn’t realise were needed till they were gone”. And just as I sneaked some odd and useless curiosities silently into my bag, so did the others. And this we knew was the REAL goodbye.

When all the others were gone, I took a last walk through the now empty rooms of my childhood. I remember the first day we came here, leaving 19 O’Curry Road, the birthplace that allowed me to forever consider myself a “Liberties Girl”. 32 looked so huge ….

The ParkI thought we had become RICH! A front and a back garden. This would be home now where over the next 5 decades we would make many, many, memories: growing up and older, fighting and making up, friends and loves, lots of joys, a wonderful mam and dad, all the shared events over the years. I’ve talked to others who remember sadness in their youth – I can only remember being loved, knowing so assuredly that I was always welcome. It was a house of welcomes and talk and laughter.

more kids  the kidsI thought of all the years when she sat here alone, the days she was wracked with pain, the nights when she knew her memory was fading. She never complained or asked for our attention. And I wonder, as she sat in her chair in the silence of this room, did she see again the Australian adventures of her youth and the Italian girl with the long black hair in the desk in front of her in that faraway school, the frogs on the road to Rathaspeg, the Wexford stories of history and romance when she sat in the front of the café in Wexford town reading the English newspapers about the royals, the Dublin excursions between work in Twomeys and the frivolity of cycling to Malahide beach on sunny Sundays with Jimmy, Joe and Maureen, marriage to the Guinness long distance driver (Cork and Donegal were two-day drives at the time!!!), her six rowdy children.

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We say that it’s the memories and people that make a home, not the things in it or the structure itself, yet when we’re forced to leave a treasured home behind, it certainly tugs at the heartstrings.

The memories we make there, bit by bit, laugh by laugh, with some heartache thrown in for good measure, make it seem inconceivable to ever abandon the house itself. I never anticipated the mourning that would ensue when we began the process of selling Mam’s home in Walkinstown.

It had always been well cared for. Mam and Dad had a real sense of pride in home ownership. And yes! it was a HOME, comfortable and welcoming, often untidy and cluttered with the treasures we brought. They decorated, bought new furniture, moved old furniture around, hung pictures that evidenced where we came from, positioned trophies and plaques that honoured our achievements, planted the garden. I remember the cushions and the throws and the many crafty bits and bobs she made, the “finds” he brought home and painted for hanging in some nook, all the things that made it OUR HOUSE.

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The memories created there took on more profound meaning than ever after Dad died there in 1990 and Mam left for Celbridge in 2004. The house was our constant – I think it gave us a focus, a common something to talk about: it pulled us together and made us feel safe when we were so vulnerable. Memories became immortalized. My lads moved in and became caretakers – it could still be HOME. Even the neighbours loved that it was still “the O’Loughlin’s house”, still minded, still cared for, still loved and still bringing us back to visit.

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And then we could pretend no longer – mam would never return and the house was put up for sale. Now I’m saying goodbye to the a place of memories.

So what is it that makes us mourn the loss of a structure? It’s not the great architecture, or the way the light pours in through the windows in the morning. It’s the loss of the vessel that held our memories. It’s almost as if leaving a home rich in such a lived-in history causes our memories to spill out everywhere, and we feel like we’ve spun out of orbit, scrambling to collect them. So I know it’s possible to grieve the passing of a home,

But I have to remember that I’ve lost the vessel, not the memories. I’ll just have to build a new place to hold them.

But as I wandered around for that last time with my camera, i took no photos. This was not what I wanted to remember. so no photos of an empty building…..I know I won’t forget the home – the photos are forever in my head! So I closed the door, dropped the keys to Foleys and was gone.

A FAIRYTALE IS BORN

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Titania’s Palace on display in Egeskov Castle, Denmark

A COMMENT on a feature about the famous dolls’ house, Titania’s Palace, Stephen writes: “Am I one of the fortunate? That I was able to see Titania’s Palace, in its entirety in a big empty house beside a lake near the town of Gory, Wexford R.o.I. “In July 1952, I was staying with friends in the Barnland Gory, and as I had travelled from Dublin on a motorcycle I was able to visit the house at the cost of 3 pence.

A short comment in a newspaper brought me back through the decades to a trip with. Mam and Dad to Ballinastragh House, just outside Gorey to see a very famous doll house – Titania’s Palace. I was always a romantic and a lover of stories and this house fed both interests. Its accessibility, a country house within driving distance from Cahore, gave its magic and magnificence an ordinariness, an availability to everyone! It also had a particular interest for Dubliners, for it was in Dublin that it was conceived and made. The story of the conception of this fairy palace is as romantic as its construction is an exquisite work of art.

A Fairy Palace is born

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Sir Neville Wilkinson Daughters-Guendolen and Phyllis

Once upon a time on a hot summer’s day in 1907, Sir Neville Wilkinson sat at his easel, in the grounds of his estate at Mount Merrion, Dublin, pencil in hand. Nearby stood an old sycamore tree and Sir Neville was drawing the bark peeling from the old trunk. His daughter Guendolen aged three became very excited. She said she had seen a fairy running under the roots of the tree. Sir Neville told her that the Fairy Queen she had seen lived in an underground palace with their family and the treasures of fairyland. During the day the fairies hid in the roots and at night , when the moon came up, they danced in the fairy rings on the lawn.

Guendolen asked her father if she could see Fairy Queen Titania’s Palace and Sir Neville promised to show her it. That started the train of thought that resulted in the ultimate conception of the lovely miniature fairy palace of Titania. The promise would take sixteen years to fulfil. Throughout his life, Neville collected miniature antiques from all over the world to decorate the Palace.

For years royal and wealthy families had played with luxurious dolls’ houses. Creating miniatures was not new to Sir Neville. He had already created Pembroke Palace at Wilton House, a doll’s house opened by Queen Alexandra in 1908.

Titania’s Palace was, however, to be a very special doll’s house. Sir Neville wanted to build a Palace where children would discover the entire trove of Fairyland. He designed it for Titania, the Queen of the Fairies and her family: Prince Consort Oberon and the seven royal children. Fairy Queen Titania is a character in the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream, written by William Shakespeare. It was from this that Sir Neville took the name for his doll’s house. The Palace was to be worthy of a Queen, filled with fairy-sized treasures.

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Sir Neville claimed that the Fairy Queen was willing to move in and live in her new house on the condition that the palace would help human children. Titania’s secret is that a Fairy Queen is not able to help human children directly. Sir Neville and Queen Titania agreed that by making the treasures of Fairyland visible to children and visitors to the Palace they might be inspired to perform an act of kindness towards others.

The building of Titania’s Palace was commenced in 1907 by James Hicks in No. 5 Lower Pembroke Street, Dublin with detailed drawings by Sir Nevile. It was completed in 1922 and opened by Queen Mary.

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Sir Nevile showing the palace to a young Princess Elizabeth and Margaret in 1920s

The Palace went on a world tour as Sir Neville intended. It travelled 40,000 miles and was visited by millions of people in 160 cities in the British Isles, North and South America, New Zealand, Canada, The Netherlands, Australia before returning to Dublin in 1930 and then to Ballynastragh, Gorey, Co. Wexford, rented by Guendolen and Phyllis following the death of their parents. During the years in Ballynastragh, 287,702 people went to visit Titania’s Palace and contributed £50,000 per year towards children’s charities. I’ll never know how Mam and Dad knew about it as there was never any advertising whatsoever.

Ballinastragh Hse

I was one of those visitors before 1965, when Titania’s Palace was packed and lodged for safe-keeping in the Bank of Ireland. Eventually it found a home in England before its final move to Denmark. I can still remember the wonderful house with its amazing pieces of art. I recently purchased a book by Laura Ricks who saw the palace in England as a child. She was enthralled and when she discovered that it resided in Denmark close to her new home. Her colour illustrations conjure up all the wonderful memories I’ve carried through the years. (Titania’s Palace A Fairytale Doll’s House, L B Ricks 2012)

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The Hall of the Fairy Kiss

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The Hall of the Guilds

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The Throne Room

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Titania’s Boudoir

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The Morning Room – and one of the 75 miniature books

Memories of St Patrick’s Day

irish_tricolour-1The 17th of March signifies so much for me; obviously being Irish it’s filled with all the razzmatazz of our national holiday. However although it wasn’t always the glitzy affair of today, the proverbial pot of gold that attracts foreign visitors to our shores, it was very special.

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1965 Dublin Parade

When I was a kid we viewed St. Patrick’s Day as a welcome break in the sweet and sugar drought that was the forty long days and nights of Lent. Starting on Ash Wednesday, we carefully stashed sugary treats in a box for opening on Easter Sunday. The church (or at least so we had convinced our pre-teen selves) granted a special dispensation in honour of St. Patrick and ordained a pause in the purgatory of Lenten sacrifice. If Easter was late, the stash of goodies would have time to appreciate into the sizable hoard. The best result was to be found in the years when the 17th of March fell in the middle of Lent. The worst was when it fell on the candy-desert that is Good Friday or even worse the pre-stash Ash Wednesday!

croke park 1970s

The parade wasn’t central to my St Patrick’s Day; Croke Park and the finals of the Club Championships were far more important. (photo shows a croke Park of the 1970s)

 

When my own two kids came along, I really enjoyed laying down a St. Patrick’s Day traditions for them to build upon. They had spent a lot of time in school preparing for the day, making flags complete with shamrocks, learning the life story of St. Patrick and lamenting the torture he endured while tending sheep on those cold barren slopes of Sliabh Mis. I can’t remember which of them spoke in serious tones of the role Niall of the “Nine Sausages” played in the epic story.

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We’d hit off early for Dublin (Naas didn’t have a parade) garbed in green (the skies were usually grey!), loaded with sandwiches and sweets and a step ladder. Anyone who has ever brought children to a non-seated event will know that a tall person will ALWAYS stand in front of you and so will appreciate the value of the steps! It gave two kids an amazing vantage point on Dames Street to see all that was happening. Of course there were some who had access to upper windows on the street but we were happy with our “step ladder” view!
As well as that we were among the crowd to hear all the jokes and comments that only Dubs can come up with. We might also touch hands with some of the puppets or catch some of the goodies being thrown from the floats. The parade of the 1980s was still a bit raggle-taggle, like a local parade of today rather than the commercial and artistic “themed” display of the capital’s parade. There were many local enterprises with their displays on flat-back trucks and small neighbourhood bands.

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The American Marching Band was beginning to appear and their polished and uniformed appearance and sound thrilled us all.

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Their majorettes were from the world of TV.

 

I thrilled my pair with stories of Helen and Carmel playing in an accordion band on the back of a flat-back, mortified in case someone would spot them and remind them of the spectacle at school the next day! Mine had no understanding of that kind of embarrassment as they looked with envy on the marchers.

croke park nowCroke Park regained its Paddy’s Day supremacy in my life when the nineties came along. At this stage attending matches especially on Hill 16 with uncles and their friends was way more exciting for my two lads and so the Parade was something we watched on TV that night “Highlights of the day – the Dublin Parade and parades around the country”. I had never realised that parades occurred all over the country.

But very soon I was to be immersed in one such local parade myself! Kilcock formed a parades committee and local clubs and enterprises were encouraged to enter.  Scoil Choca staff and students and of course parents all lent their talents and labour to preparing a float, costumes and a marching routine.

Particularly memorable were:

    1. 2009 Ireland Past and Present which featured a giant Bull of Cooley.

brown bull

  1. 2015 Mama Mia with our giant wedding party

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3. 2010 Our Kilcock with our Giant Chinese Dragon and over 30 representative costumes – I know there are photos somewhere?

4. 2015 -T-shirts for parading and a revamped St Pat

St Pat NEW T SHIRT PATS

20170317_133852This year I was invited by the Parade Committee to be GRAND MARSHAL (“auspicious”) of the Kilcock Parade. Dressed in thermals and green I sat on the viewing platform with dignitaries and organisers.

20170317_133614  I was introduced to the crowd  and a brief bio of my life in Kilcock was presented. Particular mention of my teaching and leadership in Scoil Choca and my involvement in community especially sport was described. It was nice to be reminded of managing a camogie team in Croke Park on the first night hurling was played under lights and the beating of teams from Kilkenny and Wexford in a Leinster Blitz.

 

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The rain arrived just as the parade was about to start but spirits were undaunted and crowds gathered with their painted faces, orange wigs, flags, leprechaun hats and umbrellas.

 

Tpats9he floats were brilliant – I particularly enjoyed the wit of the GAA and their wall-building to keep out the Dub footballers and the men’s shed comment on the health system.

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Naturally my favourite was Scoil Choca – all the friends from over the years singing Louise Goggin’s composition. Just like with my own 2 lads, I’d like to think I started a GREEN PARADING tradition in Scoil Choca.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day where ever you are in the world and I hope the ties that bind you to this tradition enrich your life with the sense of belonging to this most diverse and dynamic of tribes.

Beanachtaí na Féile Pádraig!

 

 

 

EMIGRATION PHOTOGRAPHS

Having visited Cobh during the summer of 2016 the reality of emigration, particularly in today’s context when so many people are being forced out of their home, became very real. The statue of Annie Moore and her two brothers is a poignant representation of a miserable time in our history.

anniemoore cobh

The day Annie Moore landed on Ellis Island in 1892 she was just 17½ years old. The girl from Co Cork, who arrived with her brothers Philip and Anthony to rejoin their parents, became the first documented migrant to go through the processing centre on the small island in New York harbour.

Moore’s life wasn’t easy. She spent her time in the Irish slums of the Lower East Side of Manhattan and died there when she was 50.

Ellis Island

Irish artist, Matt Loughrey, discovered the New York Public Library had a store of photographs taken at Ellis Island, some of which it had bought and others which had been donated. He contacted the library, which then emailed the scanned images to him. Most of the photographs had been taken in glass plate by Lewis Hine, an American sociologist and photographer. For others, the photographer is unknown.

Loughrey’s interest in the centre in Ellis Island was first piqued in 2014. “I happened to stumble upon the information about it on the internet and was astounded by the numbers,” he says. “Some days 10,000 people would pass through the station.”

annie moore

So he decided to colourise some old photographs of migrants who had passed through the checkpoint. However the image he chose of Annie Moore from Co Cork, the first immigrant to enter the United States through Ellis Island immigration point, he chose an image taken more than 30 years after her arrival and which he felt was more representative of her, the face of a woman who has lived her life as an immigrant in the United States.

Loughrey’s images have particular resonance today and he hopes to highlight the origins of today’s Americans, many of whom have ancestors who passed through Ellis Island.

“If you look at Ellis Island those people were fleeing persecution,” he says. “That’s what’s happening now too. It’s very relevant in these times.”

In addition to Annie Moore, Loughrey also worked to add colour to pictures of other Ellis Island migrants, including German and Finnish stowaways, women from Syria, Albania and Czechoslovakia, a Romanian shepherd, an Armenian Jewish man and a little Italian girl who had found a penny.

Part of article from Irish Times Digest (Sun, Feb 26, 2017)

DIARMUID GAVIN’S MYSTERY GARDEN

Friday 24th Feb 2017: Diarmuid Gavin was on the Ray Darcy show today answering the usual gardening questions about seasonal work in the garden – what else would he be talking about? you might ask. Ray was particularly interested in what made a GREAT GARDEN great. Diarmuid told the story of a garden on the Ballyboden Road that attracted huge attention through the latter part of the last century. No one could explain its attraction ..

Ballyboden Garden6

We didn’t live in Ballyboden but we drove by the garden frequently when we went to Kilakee visiting our granny.

As a family we had a gardening history: My parents were garden aficionados. We had plaques and trophies for Spring and Summer displays year after year in the Walkinstown Residents’ Garden Competitions.

32 St Mary's Park a prize winning garden

Our garden in 32

The pleasure and the pride it gave my parents, planning the colour scheme – Michaelmas daisies, salvia (awful for slugs), lobelia, stock, wallflowers, standard roses,- we knew these names from listening to planting discussions. We heard about borders, window-boxes, lawns, edgings, trellis, lawn decorations were all familiar garden resources and within our vocabulary.

 We knew the location of other award winning gardens and often drove by them. But the garden in Ballyboden took the biscuit! Here was a garden with a difference, a gaudy and eccentric affair, every spare inch packed with garden ornaments. We were not the only drive-bys who were enthralled by the creation – you would frequently see cars slowing down to view. Reputedly cars screeched to a halt and reversed for a second look

Even Diarmuid Gavin admitted to its magic. Seemingly he used a slide of the garden at the beginning of his lectures to illustrate that a great garden was a garden that captured people’s interest!

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The slide was quite dull and hoping for a clearer illustration he contacted Ray Darcy in 2014 to inquire if better photographic evidence was available.

“Dear Ray

This is a photo of a garden which I took around 1994. The house is located on the Ballyboden Road in Dublin and as a kid growing up nearby, it fascinated me.

It had an effect on everyone who passed it, it made some people smile and a few became annoyed by its eccentricity.

Around the time I took the photo I have vague memories of the lady who owned it being in the audience of the Late Late Show, talking to Gay Byrne about her garden. I’m almost sure they showed some footage and think that Dulux gave her a load of paint as a gift to celebrate the gardens vibrancy.

For 20 years I’ve used the image to start most presentations and power points. I introduce audiences around the world to the notion of garden design by charting the amount of ‘stuff’ that’s been packed into such a small space to create an overall effect.

The garden is sadly no more; it’s been gone for many years. As, I believe, has the owner who created it.

My image, originally taken on as a slide is blurred and slightly fuzzy. I can’t make out all the ‘stuff’. So, to further inform my lectures and to help me develop a new project I’m trying to track down more images, pictures or footage of it in its prime. And stories of who created it and why. And I’d love to find out where the ornaments went and see if any survive anywhere.

Can you help?

Best wishes

Diarmuid Gavin”

D GAVIN’S LETTER TO Ray Darcy in 2014 looking for info about the garden

There was huge response from the locals of Ballyboden and Tallaght areas who dug out photographs for Diarmuid. Some respondents had passed the house many times as children and their parents had taken photos.Gnome Garden4

The clearest were from a guy who had photos from 1990.

There was also a copy of an old documentary called ‘Old Rathfarnham’ – and it featured lots of close up video footage of the garden, as well as an interview with Julia Pegman, the owner.

One listener Jeremy had some stories about the gnomes being vandalised – someone even doing jail-time for the theft!

Julia’s granddaughter Julieann got in touch:

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“Hi Ray,

That was my family home and my grandmother was the lady who started it all. I have spoken to her daughters one of whom is my mother and they have asked that I contact you as I was the person who helped my grandmother with the garden and Gnomes and I have family pictures of the garden and press clippings about it. I will gladly pass on all the history about the garden, my grandmother and why the garden and Gnomes came to an end. It would be such a pleasure for my family to know that my grandmothers work and passion have not been forgotten.

Julieann Kelly-Williams”

 Ray spoke to both Diarmuid and Julieann the following morning.

Julieann chatted about growing up in the house with her mother and grandmother. Kitty, as Julieann’s grandmother was known to everyone, died in 1997.

But even before Gavin’s interest, the garden had been documented in a book Tiwidu: Village on the Verge (2016) by William Tucker, a story about a village that comes to life! A passage by Willie Walsh in the book describes Julia’s garden.

Page 1: a distant neighbour – we’ll call her Julia because that was her name- was famous for her collection of garden ornaments….the 1980s in front of her house, proudly speaking about the gnomes that were kept brightly coloured and maintained year round in pristine condition….

Page 2: the Irish had tales of the sidhe and of fairy folk that lived in certain ancient hill forts or were associated with particular trees, streams or lakes.

By 1229, there was a Mayor of Dublin. A Lord Mayor presided at meetings of the City Assembly from 1665. The Assembly became Dublin Corporation in 1840 around the same time as the first ceramic gnomes were being produced in Dresden, Germany. Six years later the march of the gnome into Britain began. It’s uncertain when the fashion first came to Ireland but it would be a bit more than a century before gnomes arrived in numbers in Ballyboden.

Julia’s home was built in the very early 1950s by Dublin Corporation, who regulated public housing and other services in the city and on some outlying lands. I don’t know when she acquired her first gnome, but one can imagine the pride Julia and her family must have felt in their new terraced house. Perhaps the garden was a little hilly to the front, so maybe a gnome or two would brighten it up.

We of course knew nothing of this ancient gnomish history in our childhood days of the 1970s but we knew that our neighbours were colourful, strange, amusing characters and that some stood our more than others. Julia’s gnomes were unusual for our time and place, but they were taken for granted by us kids as one landmark among many. (A man further up the Mountain had constructed a porch made of brown Guinness bottles.)

The gnomes that watched the borders of Julia’s front garden are now just a pleasant memory. Julia passed away in 1997, aged 82 years. Her house still stands among the others on Ballyboden Road.

The unity of village life is in the unity that comes about by shared experiences of people. The foibles and personality of individuals add the colour that enriches the everyday and the mundane. The everyday, in time, becomes history for another generation to study and to learn.

Willie Walsh

Dublin, Ireland

September 2013

A nice addendum to the story is that when Julia Pegnam died. The house was being renovated. A neighbour across the way ( who also has a house/garden worth seeing, I’m told!) asked the builders for the old garden lamp from the garden. Sometime later he bartered it for a load of logs and it now stands in Lambert’s front garden in Kilakee.

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The Gnome House today – all the magic is gone!

Whatever happened to the seven deadly sins?

Religion used to be about lots of Dos and DON’Ts and NUMBERS: the TEN Commandments, the SEVEN virtues, the SEVEN Deadly Sins. There used to be MORTAL sins and VENIAL sins. Now nothing seems to be a sin! Or has just the jargon changed?

 

This is why I was so interested to read the review of Mary Telford’s book and see what has happened to sin. The book investigates how the seven deadly sins have been rebranded and acceptable in today’s more laissez-faire, digitally enabled age

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The seven deadly sins have become invisible; no longer having the power to cause scandal and restrict behaviour. In a consumption culture founded upon convenient gratification and pleasure even “naughty but nice” sounds judgemental. Sins are forgotten so much that many people nowadays don’t know that they are sinning (though remain very quick to recognise when they are sinned against).

Without fanfare, discussion or notice, the traditional Seven Deadly Sins had a makeunder and dropped off our charts. Admission or acknowledgement of sin nowadays belongs to a different, fustier era. Sins have almost disappeared from our vocabulary, minds and behaviour.

Sins is such a deliciously short, four-letter word.

But who wants hellfire and damnation?

Seven scrumptious flavours:

Pride now rebranded as Self Respect

Avarice (Covetousness) now rebranded as Ambition

Lust now rebranded as Desire

Anger now rebranded as Self Expression

Gluttony now rebranded as Gourmet Dining

Envy now rebranded as Aspiration

Sloth now rebranded as Chillaxing

good and bad

But LOVE is still LOVE!

 

GREAT WAR POSTERS

While looking at the Irish artists who depicted images of the Great War, I also explored the posters used to encourage people to enlist.

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Posters from Britain and America are pretty well know – some of them even iconic. England and France were always depicted as the brave, the honourable, defenders of the week. Germany was portrayed as a brute.

WW1 Poster

 

I had never seen however posters that might have been displayed in Ireland. I suppose the fact the Ireland and Britain were in conflict at the time could be a reason.

download (1) images (2)They differed slightly from the British posters. The word “Britain” rarely if ever appeared on the poster; rather the names of the battalion was given and that always had an Irish connotation or connection.

There was also quite a local flavour – a soldier with a Gaelic name “Lynch” or “O’Leary” was shown with a commendation for his particular bravery. Terminology such as “self determination” would also appeal to a community who had little or no control over their everyday lives. The idea of rising to a station of “hero” or “sergeant”, being awarded for valour, being stronger that 10 Germans were all enticements to join up.

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Its also interesting to note the different depictions of characters and their dress: the Irish Colleen differs greatly from her British counterparts. The posters were particularly designed to attract the poorer elements of society; the gentry were already affiliated to Britain and would therefore be more guided by “King and Country”.

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The assault on Belgium was frequently used as a call to arms for the Irish. The Belgian nation was small like Ireland and needed to be defended.

 

 

 

 

Really interesting to browse through the annals of history and note the popular art work of the day!

An interesting comment on the portrayal of the Great War in Irish art

The cultural legacy of the Great War 

(from Artists and the First World War by Keith Jeffreys accompanied by examples of the artists works that I like)

The way in which the Great War was – and is – remembered and commemorated in Ireland and by Irish people exemplifies the often equivocal response, north and south, to the issues of patriotism, national sacrifice and personal loss which were raised during 1914-18 and in the following two decades. The comparatively limited cultural legacy, in terms of music, visual art and literature, clearly reflects the lack of Irish commitment for or against the war. In a sense, the war did not seem to matter to Ireland. Despite efforts to equate Ireland with Belgium, and John Redmond’s attempts to fire Irish patriotism in support of the Allied war effort, during the war itself and after there was a collective and increasing lack of engagement with the conflict.

Although a great number of Irishmen volunteered to fight, and very many died, Ireland as a whole – or at least nationalist Ireland – progressively became detached from the war, becoming, like Orpen and Lavery, and Yeats’s airman, in a sense ‘onlookers’.

William Orpen

Although Orpen never lived in Ireland after August 1915 (a one-day visit in 1918 was the only time he returned home before his death in 1931), it’s said he never lost his Irishness.

Despite his position as an official War Artist employed by the British Ministry of Information, he always seemed an outsider looking in. On the western front, he was ‘an onlooker in France’, the title he took for his illustrated war diary which was published in 1921.

There are two principal features about Orpen the Irishman and war artist.

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Imperial War Museum, London; (c) IWM (Imperial War Museums); Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

 

First was his detachment from the actual conflict, stemming from both his status as an official observer of the war (in which capacity he was not permitted to go up to the front), and also as an Irishman, not wholly engaged in what we might call the Anglo-German conflict.

 

 

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This detachment, however, was coupled with an intense sympathy for the common soldier. In the preface to An Onlooker in France, Orpen noted his ‘sincere thanks for the wonderful opportunity that was given me to look on and see the fighting man, and to learn to revere and worship him’.

 

John Lavery

sir_john_lavery_parkeston_1917._a_destroyer_base_at_harwich_the_imperial_war_museum_iwm_art_1278

The second notable Irish painter of 1914-18, also an official War Artist, was the Belfast-born John Lavery. Although, like Orpen, he was an immensely successful portrait painter, his war paintings contain little of the strong human emotion displayed by his Dublin-born compatriot. Most of his pictures depict the home front, principally in a conventional landscape mode. They are not pictures of much passion, and Lavery himself afterwards dismissed his war paintings as ‘dull as ditchwater’.

William Conor

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Images of the Great War were also being produced by William Conor in Belfast. Of the three artists he was certainly closest to ‘the people’. His vigorous and personable, if rather folksy, sketches of soldiers in the 36th (Ulster) Division were effectively uniformed versions of the ordinary workers. His pictures mostly dealt with the home front or soldiers training before they went overseas. They also record the role of women in the war effort.

 

 

 

 

TWENTY ONE YEARS

Isn’t memory a very strange thing…. The triggers of words, events, numbers, dates that set your mind rambling down paths of remembering.

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A song on the radio did just that today. I remember the O’Loughlin’s singing “Twenty One Years” on journeys to Wexford or Wicklow…. A song about a young lad who was sentenced to Dartmoor Prison for twenty one years, “a mighty long time” according to the song, a rousing if unimaginative ballad that required little talent to belt out. We actually learned it on the accordion as part of an Irish medley of waltzes; I think there may have been just 3 chords in it.

But thinking about the 21 years brought me back twenty one years to January 1996:

School reopened on Monday 8th January that year and with great trepidation I returned. On 6 December Shay had been diagnosed with oesophageal cancer.  He spent the weeks up to Christmas in James Hospital and it was brilliant that he got home to spend Christmas with us. His health deteriorated pretty quickly after Christmas however and we spent New Year’s back in hospital. And yet here was I returning to school – maybe I thought that school would bring a normality to family life, a life that had changed so drastically in the preceding 33 days.

However when I came in from school on 11th January I found Shay in great pain. The truth could no longer be avoided. The doctor spoke to us both about the needs that we would have as the illness progressed faster than expected. He advised me to visit St Brigid’s Hospice in the Curragh that afternoon. His words will probably stay with me forever: “You will all need the help they can give to be courageous and dignified”.

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I know the word “hospice” causes great fear and that’s certainly how I felt as I drove through the gates that Wednesday evening. Little did I realise that we had only a short 20 days before our goodbyes would be over.  I’m not sure how we would have managed without the help of that wonderful team of people who joined our family for those last days to help us all to come to terms with the inevitability?

The first years after were filled with such loneliness and sadness and anger. I was blessed to have such a great family and especially the boys and friends. And now I can honestly say: “life does go on” and “time does heal” and now January 1996 is a mighty long time ago and we’re all fine – very changed – lads grown, me older (much) and retired.

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But life’s good. And snowdrops still bloom at the end of my garden!

 

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I also found this lovely image of the Curragh taken from the gate of the hospice ……Doesn’t it make you hopeful?

 

“Sleep well Leonard, you were one of the people who made the world better.”

Remembering Leonard Cohen (Friday 11th November 2016)

(had this written in November but forgot to post it!)

Leonard Cohen entered my life in 1973 when I met Seamus Fay. Cohen songs were played endlessly on the tape deck in the car; we knew every word and sang them late into the nights at parties in the Castle in Cahore and in flats in Inchicore. Suzanne, The Sisters of Mercy, Marianne, The Stranger Song were all part of our repertoire interspersed with Janis Joplin’s “Another little piece of my Heart” and Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen”. Many Beatles numbers also found their way into the sing songs.

I think this was perhaps my favourite Cohen song (although in more recent years, I’ve developed a soft spot for “Hallelujah”)

Famous Blue Raincoat

Leonard Cohen

It’s four in the morning, the end of December

I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better

New York is cold, but I like where I’m living

There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening

I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert

You’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping some kind of record

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair

She said that you gave it to her

That night that you planned to go clear

Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older

Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder

You’d been to the station to meet every train, and

You came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life

And when…

 

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I still have a copy of this album in the attic – if I can find a turntable in working order I’ll give it a spin for old time’s sake.

 

 

There were so many tributes to Leonard and his work today but this one from The Irish Times has the more Irish connotations and is worth considering:

President Michael D Higgins was among those to pay tribute to musician Leonard Cohen whose “lasting legacy and his work will continue to inspire current and future generations.”

“Cohen captured not just feelings of loneliness and loss, but also the essence of human life: love, beauty, humour, as well as social and political engagement,” Mr Higgins said in a statement following Cohen’s death.

He noted how the singer was “deeply influenced by William Butler Yeats” and he made a very warm connection with his Irish audiences – a fact that he valued and emphasised to me when I met him in Dublin.”

There were hints that Leonard Cohen would not live much longer, but in a year that has already taken away Prince, David Bowie and George Martin, his death , announced via a Facebook post on Thursday , still came as a shock to many.

“It is with profound sorrow we report that legendary poet, songwriter and artist, Leonard Cohen has passed away. We have lost one of music’s most revered and prolific visionaries,” the post said.

‘Incredible, sublime’

DJ Dave Fanning said on the Ryan Tubridy Show on RTE Radio 1 that the late singer “was the best I’ve ever met”.

Minister for Arts, Heritage, Regional, Rural and Gaeltacht Affairs Heather Humphreys paid tribute to her “personal favourite”. She said his “music had an ability to reach into your soul and speak to your inner thoughts, your hopes and your fears. His music brought solace and joy to so many. The world has lost one of its true music legends and indeed one of its greatest modern poets. He will be sincerely missed by his Irish fans and millions more around the globe.”

Labour spokesperson on the Arts and former Tánaiste, Joan Burton, expressed her sadness at the news. She said: “I am so sad to hear of Leonard Cohen’s passing and offer my sincere condolences to his family, friends and indeed his many fans in Ireland and around the world. “His concert at the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham in Dublin in 2008, not withstanding the pouring rain, was one of the best of my life, and an evening I will never forget.

“Through his music and lyrics, Leonard Cohen touched so many people, and with his great love of WB Yeats, he had a special affinity with Ireland. His thousands of Irish fans will remember fondly his concerts at Lissadell House in Sligo in 2010, held just a short distance from the birthplace of the poet.

Eddie Walsh, the co-owner of Lissadell House in Co Sligo where Cohen played two concerts in 2010, said he was “a man dedicated to art, dedicated to professionalism, incredible, sublime”. “It was one of most incredible weekends in my life. He played two magical very special concerts. We even had a rainbow over Ben Bulben one of the nights. They were two of the longest concerts he ever played because he was so blown away by Lissadell,” Mr Walsh told RTÉ’s Morning Ireland.