Beyond The Sea

by Jack Lynch

  As had happened in the Carrignafoy house what daddy failed to realise was that this bathroom now incurred additional taxes that is until a tax bill arrived. He soon dismantled the bathroom rather than pay the extra tax. It’s just as well because the water had to be boiled in a kettle, or pot, and brought to the bath. By the time one lot was in the iron bath it started to get cold, while waiting for the next lot of hot water. It was farcical.

  Some years later, he countered the tax law, which related to bathrooms, when he converted the pantry on the first floor, into a shower. A shower would not incur any tax. This was so small we could not undress or dress inside it, and to get to it we had to go naked, with a sheet over us from the adjacent bedroom. To make matters worse it only had cold water. Nobody ever sang in it! We were reluctant to take a cold shower, particularly in winter and would much rather have continued with our piecemeal cleaning than be squeaky clean but cold. On reflection, I can’t remember if there was anything protecting the walls or floor from getting soaked. I remember some form of a curtain protecting the door but there were certainly no tiles

  The stairs were covered with linoleum and brass rods to keep it in place. On the way upstairs the first flight had a pantry, two bedrooms, and a sitting room. This latter room was the full width of the house and had two sash-windows overlooking the harbour. The toilet and one bedroom, which was my bedroom, were on the second floor. From this room I could see Harbour View, but could not see the harbour. Up another flight and there were two more bedrooms. One of these bedrooms also took up the full width of the house and this too had two sash-windows overlooking the harbour. The back bedroom had one window, which looked out onto the yard, and up to Harbour View.

  In my room there was a constant smell of camphor, particularly from the wardrobe where camphor balls were used to keep moths at bay. There was a trunk in one corner of the room with American stickers on it. The room was sometimes occupied by an American couple, who were relatives of Nan, and they came over to her from time to time when she was alive. It was they who had brought the camphor with them. They always stayed in this room. Maurice was the man’s name, the lady’s name was Minnie and she was always called Aunt Minnie. On reflection I wonder if she was Minnie Mansfield whom I believe was in fact daddy’s blood mother. Maurice liked his little tipple of ‘Paddy’ and used to go next door to Mackey’s pub to indulge.

  The trunk, covered with American stickers and labels, remained in the room for years after they went back and I can remember we played with it a fair bit. We often dared each other to get into it alone but would get really frightened, I’m not sure we trusted our siblings to let us out again! After they had gone back, mammy found a wet, crumpled American dollar note out in the backyard. The delight on her face was beautiful to see, and her excitement rose when she opened it and found it was a ten-dollar note. She immediately rinsed and ironed it, until it was like a new crisp bill. The visits of the Americans ceased after Nan died and I don’t recollect hearing from them again. I would bank on it that they were Prendervilles from my grandmother’s side of the family because Maurice was a Prenderville Christian name.

  I loved looking from the sitting room of our house where I watched the yachts racing outside in the harbour. My interest in all things nautical was growing by the day. As well as the small yachts, there were the wonderful one design yachts; ‘Cygnet’ (red), ‘Imp’ (Dark Blue), ‘Maureen’ (white), ‘Elsie’ (Light Blue), ‘Querda’ (Yellow), ‘Sybil’ (Pink), ‘Jap’ and three others ‘Colleen,’ ‘Betty’ and ‘Lynx’ (Black.). I do not remember too much about these last three yachts, as they did not race too often but got to know the others and enjoyed watching them and cheering on my favourite to win. George Radley owned and sailed ‘Querda’ with his brother, Dr. Willie Radley. Kevin O’Regan and his brother Frank owned, and sailed, ‘Cygnet.’ There was great rivalry between these two crews every Wednesday when they sailed around the harbour. Another local, Jim Horgan, owned and sailed the ‘Maureen’. When I was about eleven years old, I was out in this yacht once, with mammy, daddy and Jim. It was so exciting, as Jim gave me some pointers on how to sail and allowed me take the tiller for a while. It felt great and I fell in love with sailing and the open sea. The famous large cruiser yachts, ‘Gull’ and ‘If’ constantly raced in the harbour, and I loved the Bermuda rig of the ‘If’ which anchored off Whitepoint. There was never a dull moment in the harbour before the Emergency. On one occasion the gaff-rigged white cutter ‘Gull’ with the number 107 emblazoned on her mainsail, entered the harbour and was leading a big race when she ran aground on the Sand bank. High and dry, she waited for the tide to lift her, but to no avail, as other yachts passed her. If only she had gone around the Spit lighthouse instead of cutting across the Sand bank she would have been home and dry. What a dreadful end to her race. The year escapes me, but I think the race may have been the Fastnet race, now one of the most infamous boating races in Irish history due to the terrible tragedy that occurred in 1979.

  From this room there was a beautiful view out to Roche’s Point and beyond. I could see East Ferry, Aghada, Whitgate oil refinery and Fort Carlisle on one side, and the view continued and swept around to Fort Camden, Haulbowline, and Ringaskiddy on the other side with Spike Island, smack in the centre. When the liners came into the harbour, before the war, the view from the sitting room and top bedroom was breathtaking, and I saw them clearly, day and night. At night their lights were bright and it was a lovely sight as they lay at anchor off Whitegate. There was also a fine view of the Baths Quay and the red brick powerhouse, with its chimney rising up above the attached building. During the Emergency that building was used for storing coal, and turf and I worked here storing turf during my school holidays.

  Tenders departed downtown from the quays to take emigrants and mail out to the liners, and bring immigrants, other passengers and mail back. Two of the tenders that I remember from those early years were s.s Saorstat and s.s Failte. The ‘Green boat’, named Victoria and Albert used to ferry people from Cork, down to Passage, and then onto Monkstown. From there it called into Cobh, and on to Aghada, before setting off again to Crosshaven. It then returned back to Cork.

  Many Shipping Lines had offices in Cobh including the famous Cunard, White Star Line, and North German Lloyd. At midnight, on any New Year’s Eve, it was terrific to see ships in the harbour, all lit up, and decorated with flags. Hooters, horns, and sirens all sounded on the stroke of midnight to herald in the New Year. Searchlights from the warships and Forts lit up the sky. I will never forget those sights. I loved the view and sat at the window looking out enthralled. The Spit lighthouse and the old coal hulk were off towards Cuskinny. Roche’s Point lighthouse was out at the mouth of the harbour. the Bath‘s Quay could be seen. It was however very depressing looking out the window on a foggy day listening to the Fog-horn at Roche’s Point lighthouse…

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I was about seven years old daddy and mammy took me on an outing to Killarney with agents of the Prudential Insurance Co. This was a company outing for the Insurance personnel as a gesture of goodwill by the company. We went by bus. The bus was red, had a long bonnet, and was a real boneshaker. I don’t know why Eileen didn’t come, and the twins would have been too small at the time. The smell of the fumes, from the exhaust were overpowering and sickening and I remember that after a few miles, I got sick all over mammy. It was a long trip to Killarney for her as much as for me.

  In Killarney that day, I had my photo taken, and I still have this picture in my album. Looking at this photo I wore long grey trousers that day, and I can distinctly call to mind the reason for getting them. Normally, I wore short trousers, but the long trousers covered the boils that I used to get quite often on my knees around that age, and this was probably because of a lack of vitamins. Many of the agents gave me money to buy sweets and treats for myself and I felt on top of the world. Thinking back over this another memory has just arisen of an incident that occurred that day. I had a
beach ball, which daddy had bought for me and I liked to play with. One of the insurance men took it and started playing and punctured it when he kicked it. He paid me the money to buy a new one, but I held onto the money and didn’t tell anyone. I think I would have been in trouble if my parents had known.

  Besides days out and interesting trips we often, as a family, had some of our best times at home, all together. We had a gramophone record player which was brilliant and we loved to listen to music on it. Daddy played a selection of 78 rpm records, and these were mostly hymns, or John McCormack singing Irish ballads. This player was a mechanical wind up one that had a large heavy arm, and this was fitted with a changeable steel needle. The needles were sold in tins of one hundred, and were about ¾ inches long. These needles had to be changed for every record, otherwise they damaged the tracks of the records, because it was difficult to place it accurately into the grooves of the record, and a steady hand was needed. Many of the needles were rusty and quickly lost their sharp points. Later, when only the head of the arm remained, and the main arm went missing, I used to hold the head and needle, in my hand, and try and play a record. There were many more scratches on the records after this.

  When on our adventures outside as children, roaming the streets and exploring we often had a companion in the form of our little King Charles dog whose name was Fluffy. The dog had a habit of going next door to Mackey’s pub, where he sniffed the front of the door, lifted his leg, and piddled against the wall. This drove Mr.Mackey mad and he put pepper where the dog piddled hoping this would deter him. The dog came out to piddle again, sniffed the door and then ran sneezing into our house. I thought this very funny. I have no idea what happened to the dog, but I would not be surprised if daddy got rid of him, because of Mr. Mackey’s complaints.

  On the other side of our house at No 35 there was a tailor named Vincent Lotti. He was slightly built, wore thick lens glasses, and displayed a bushy moustache. He was a genius with a needle and thread. Daddy gave him his discarded suits so that he could make suits for me. This man performed miracles with daddy’s old suits. The suits were ripped apart, and the material was turned inside out and bingo, I had a new suit. He was a great tailor, but was very short sighted. He sat crossed legged on the table near the window and only had a candle to throw any light on his work area. This was pre-electricity. It was something else to see him trying to thread a needle. The other thing I remember was his ritual of ironing the clothes. The iron was a large heavy implement made up of two parts. One solid lump of iron was put into the fire to heat up. When it was hot enough it was loaded into the hollow body of the actual iron. This gradually heated up the base of the holding section and this was used to iron the clothes. The handle got very hot, and was covered with a cloth to protect the hands. Most houses had these irons, but Vincent’s was larger than the normal household irons.

  Kate was Vincent’s wife and together they had one son, also named Vincent. As I said Vincent (Snr) was short-sighted, and one day he called to Kate, and asked; “Kate, where are the blue tacks? I want to tack down the linoleum in the hall.”

  “They’re in the white paper bag in the larder,” Kate replied.

  Vincent found the bag and proceeded to tack down the lino. After a little while he shouted to Kate;

  “Kate these bloody tacks are no damn good, the heads keep coming off.”

  Kate came downstairs, looked in the bag and said, as she laughed; “Vince, you blind old bat, they’re not tacks, they’re cloves!”

  Kate herself was a character. She was a small and chubby with a red nose and a constant smile on her face. She wore thick lens glasses too and more often than not she wore slippers, even when she came into our house, which she did on a regular basis. She also went into the snug next door, in Mackey’s pub, for her ‘little jar’. Often, I got the whiff of Paddy whiskey from her. The whiskey seemed to keep her going and she had a busy life to manage. One day she got very distressed because as she came in through our kitchen door a picture of the Sacred Heart, which we had hanging over the door, came down on top her and her head came through the picture. Fortunately, for her, there was no glass in the picture as it had fallen on another occasion, and the glass had never been replaced. Anyway, poor Kate got down on her knees and said;

  “Lord I’m sorry. I’ll go up and pay St. Anthony the money I promised him. I really forgot about it.”

  She had apparently got some favour from St. Anthony and promised to give a donation to St. Anthony’s Bread for the poor and had completely forgotten. Poor Kate! She went up that day, and paid her dues and no doubt always paid them on time in the future.

  Along with remembering these little snippets another big moment in my life was about to happen. I was about seven years old Daddy gave me a brand new two-wheeler Raleigh cycle. It was black and a bit too big for me at the time but I loved it. At that time there were very few cars around and only horses and carts were generally to be seen so this became my ultimate mode of transport. Anyway, I got on the bike and was scared of falling off but daddy held the saddle as I struggled to cycle. I was at full stretch reaching the pedal as my legs were too short for the bike and I couldn’t sit on the saddle and reach the pedals at the same time. One day daddy let go of the saddle, without me noticing at first, and I was doing quite well cycling on my own until I decided I wanted to stop, and there was no hand to help me. I panicked and rode close to the Baths’ wall hoping to be able to stop by slowing down against it. Of course it wasn’t as easy as I might have thought and I scraped my knuckles badly and fell off. But, as the saying goes, you have to get right back on and after some more lessons I mastered the art of getting on, cycling, and getting off – without too many further injuries.

  I adored that bike. I peddled up and down Harbour Row, day after day, and became quite good at it. The other boys were very envious and wanted ‘a try’ on the bike too. Eventually, the time came when I got too big for this bike. I had to improvise, because no more freebees were available, so as an ongoing hobby I collected old bicycles frames, and pram wheels and made makeshift bicycles myself! They mightn’t have looked the best but they offered me the freedom I’d come to enjoy so much with my first bike. The only problem was that I needed a hill for self propulsion or alternatively to run with the bike and mount it while it was in motion.

  During my early childhood years there was no electricity in the house. Something of course, that had no bearing on their lives. Gas and candlelight were the main sources of lighting. Prior to the arrival of electricity, gas lamps as well as candles, were used in our shop area. The fragile gas mantles, which glowed bright, fascinated me. Yes, we had paraffin oil lamps as well, and these smelled quite a bit, immediately on lighting, or after they were extinguished. We also used paraffin oil burning Primus stove to do the cooking, supplementing the coal and wood burning stove. I have a vivid memory of seeing the Gasman, lighting, and extinguishing the old public gas lamps. One lamp was located up at the Preaching House steps, and another was located outside Dockery’s house, in Harbour Row. Twice a day he used a long pole, with a hook at the end to pull the chain which controlled the gas flow. Also on the pole there was a lighted wick which ignited the gas mantle. From dusk to dawn these gas lamps glowed and the gasman went around each morning to extinguish the lamps. I can’t remember when the practice finished, but it was great that we had this lighting, even if it was quite dull. There was an overlap between the complete installation of Public electric lighting and the discontinued use of the Public gas light

  It was 1925 when W.T Cosgrave first got involved in the idea of having cheap electricity in Ireland and, with Dr. Tom McLoughlin, decided to seek German know-how to build a power source for the country. Ard-na-Crusha, on the Shannon, was chosen and the Germans built the power station. Dr. Tom Mc Loughlin managed the project. However, due to the poor infrastructure in the country all the equipment and materials had to be shipped direct to Limerick. In 1927, on my arrival into this world, the ESB was granted the
licence to manage the station and the country network. In 1929 the ESB started supplying electricity to the country. This led to the Industrial revolution which started in 1932 under Sean Lemass.

  It was no easy task organising who should be the first to get electricity into their homes. Of course everyone wanted it right away but it was up others who were the lucky few to get the first service. The choice was made and work began by men digging holes for the poles and then planting these poles vertically into the holes. It was a back breaking exercise and the men had to strain all their muscles to achieve the objective. Transformers and wires were then attached to the poles and spurs taken to their final destination. Electricity meters and fuses were fitted in the respective houses which would have been inspected by engineers prior to installation of the equipment, and the switching on of the power came to Ireland, a momentous moment in our history.

  After electricity arrived on the scene, in the mid thirties, almost every catholic house had an electric Sacred Heart lamp installed. These were a great source of comfort to the elderly people, and most of the elements were in the shape of a cross. The advent of electricity made it possible for children to play outside at night too, and people went for walks under street lights. Up to now, especially in the winter, it was pitch black, and only paraffin lamps and gas provided illumination in shop windows and dark streets. As children we were scared of ‘the Bogeyman’ and ‘the Banshee’. People gathered in houses and there were some storytellers who frightened us with their ghost stories and stories about the fairy rings which were dangerous to tamper with. There were stories about Banshees being heard and somebody dying soon after. It terrified many superstitious people. Now it was different, even though there were dark patches, there were many more people about, more light, less dark corners and we felt safer.