No. 6

I attended Summerhill College from 1970 to 1975 in Sligo. It was a great school and I loved my time there for the most part. I had a many great friends. Eddie Armstrong and Jarlath Mulligan, who was always called "Chuck" were my two best pals. Eddie was brilliant on the accordian and Jarlath was mad about Man. United. I was never a rebel but at some stage, over in the bicycle sheds we decided to join a group of other students and try smoking. It took off from there. Sometimes, we cycled down the docks or some other quiet place to have a smoke, in peace. The danger of being caught was always a resident fear that stalked us. If our fingers were inclined to brown a little we would rub the affected area up and down on a roughish wall, white if possible, to remove any evidence of our illicit activity. We chewed mints to freshen our breath. I must point out that Eddie was never a smoker but several others accompanied us as time went on. If we were short of cash there was a small shop nearby sold cigarettes individually. I remember one lad going in, got a bit flustered and ordered "Ten Carroll's and ten matches please." We tried several brands, discussing the merits and failings of each and eventually each of us found our own favourites. My own favourites for a while were Player's No. 6.
I seldom meet any of my friends from that time. If I did, I am sure the subject of smoking would crop up eventually, and we would laugh at the innocence of it all.
When we were in our house in Emyvale for a few years we decided to lift some floor covering that had become worn. Underneath was a flattened No. 6 , 20 pack, a poignant reminder of fondly remembered school days.

Winter Flowers

Today is the 14th. November and there is not too much happening in my garden.I still have a few of the last roses in flower outside the library window but it will be Spring before the garden comes alive again with the daffodils and narcissus that I planted.This morning was bright with blue skies so I spent the morning pottering about outside, raking leaves, removing dead plants from the rockery and doing a general tidy up. The lawn was rain sodden and I left wellington boot marks when I walked to the bottom of the garden to the compost heap. But it was lovely to be outside in the fresh air and I prepared for my last task on the gardening calendar.I put out my Winter flowers in the large pots I have on the patio. Even though it is dark outside they are bright and cheerful and put a smile on my face whenever I see them. They are low maintenance, need no watering and only require a few bulbs replaced from time to time. As someone one said it is better to light a candle than forever curse the darkness.

Beezie

This is a painting I did of the Garavogue River. It is the place I played around when I was a child. We used to catch little eels and tiny fish in our hands and put them in jam jars with some stones and weed. In the summer we waded across to the crannog with the three tall trees, and sat there in the sun. In front of this little manmade island is the Finola, a boat which was owned by a local man called Jumbo Mc Carrick. Jumbo had a great knowledge of the river, and Lough Gill from which the Garavogue flows. He, and other boatmen brought provisions to the last inhabitant that lived on one of the islands: Beezie Gallagher. He recalled Beezie's great hospitality to all visitors, her affinity with nature, and that even the wild swans ate from her hands, in front of the hearth in her cottage. Local people feared the last resident of the lake was destined to drown while out boating. Instead, the eighty year old Beezie died as a result of small accidental fire in her island cottage. On Christmas eve 1949 Beezie made her final visit to Sligo and returned to Church Island safely, after crossing from the Dooney Rock shoreline. Her body was discovered a few days later by local friends who had arrived for a visit, and to cut some firewood for her.
The island is now, more often called Beezie's Island, after Sligo's own Lady of the Lake. The last remains of her island home can still be seen there.
Our own house is on the right edge of the painting.

It's All In The Name

My father had a great interest in education. He grew up in Tralee, Co. Kerry. His family had biblical names. He was Jeremiah but was always called Jerry. His father was Cornelius, and known as Con. Con married Hannah Stack. My father had one brother, Bartholomew referred to only as Bertie. I was named after Con but am known as Nelius !!
When my Grandmother, Hannah died, a lot of her furniture was transported from Tralee to our house in Sligo. One of the items was a lovely firm bed, that I slept in. It had four oak posts and a nice carved headboard. One night, I woke to find a priest kneeling alongside my bed. His prayer book, with black, tooled leather cover, and black braiding was open and rested on the ledge of an oak wooden kneeler. He was reading from it and his lips moved. The only colours to be seen were the vivid red, yellow, green and violet, ribbon bookmarks. Every so often he would turn a page and dart a piercing look in my direction. I closed my eyes tightly, pretending to be fast asleep, fearing that if he found me awake it would be the end of me. Slowly, I would half open my eyes again to see if he was still there, and he was. I dared not move anything, except my eyelids.
Some weeks later a conversation arose about the bed, and indeed, it transpired it was owned by a priest before it came in to the possession of my father's mother.
Another item that came to be in our house from my father's home in Oakpark, was an old book. It was my father's, beginner's text book, to study English. His initials are on the top of the first page, written in blue ink, with an old fashioned nib. On one of the following pages his brother Bertie's name is written, with the same pen, and the capital letter B now pokes through the tattered pages.