VIEWING LIFE the other side of 80
Some weeks ago, I visited my sister Winnie to wish her a happy birthday – yes, she had reached another milestone birthday, she had in fact reached that mega milestone or very notable achievement, she had made it to the big 8-0. I complimented her by saying that it’s only the lucky and resilient that make it successfully through those eighty long years, which included all the years of World War II and the subsequent rough and tumble period of the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s.
She was a war baby. In 1940 the people of the world were hopeful that the war was coming to an end, but it dragged on and on for another five years and the world had been turned upside down and was a very different place from the world that existed before Hitler tried to take over Europe and the rest of the world.
We were chatting away about this, that and the other when I passed the remark that I still had a vivid memory of that period and the actual morning that she and her twin brother, Laurence, were born. I went on to describe my recollection of that morning when she and her brother arrived into this world. It was a momentous occasion for us and our family, when two new babies arrived into our home, hence it stuck in my mind for the rest of my life.
On the morning in question, my brother Pat and I, as usual, went down to the kitchen in the early hours. The first thing we noticed was that there was a strange woman sitting at the kitchen table. We were later introduced to her as “the nurse” and we were told that Miss Barry was the midwife who had attended Mam (Suzanne ‘Suzie’) earlier that morning, for the birth of a beautiful twin brother and sister. My father was stirring a pot of porridge, preparing it for breakfast.
We were then told that they had a big surprise for us as soon as we finished our breakfast. Dad then took us up to Mam’s room and there was our surprise, two beautiful babies, a boy and a girl and we were allowed into the bed to give them a little hug and a kiss.
SPANISH FLU
Yes, things have changed since then, and “as my father used say” there is a lot of water gone under the bridge since that occasion. It is hard to imagine that a full lifetime has passed away since that morning in 1940.
We are both now octogenarians and I suppose one could say in the “twilight of our lives.” How things have changed, on this birthday get together and on this occasion in 2020 there were no hugs or kisses; no, the coronavirus epidemic had made sure of that and we had to abide by the rules and regulations. Eighty years is a mighty long time, but this coronavirus epidemic has taken over our lives and we must now make every effort to rid ourselves of such an unfriendly and hostile enemy. We must therefore stick with the rules such as social distancing, hand sanitisation, mask wearing to eventually free ourselves of all such inconveniences.
When I was a youngster, my father used tell us about the various incidents that he remembered regarding the Spanish flu which was similar to the coronavirus when it was raging through Ireland and most of the world, shortly after World War I, which ended in 1918, all of 102 years ago. Fermoy as a Garrison town was severely affected by this deadly Spanish flu in 1918 and it was a remarkably busy town and at the hub of much coming and going by the general public, but particularly by the British army personnel.
My father’s family lived in King Street, Fermoy (now MacCurtain Street). Dad told us many stories about his years growing up, but the stories that stick mostly in my mind are connected to the hardships and sadness of that deadly flu period. One family lost three teenage sons, all within six months. The family ran a pub and were more vulnerable than most. His most vivid memory of that time was that those three friends were carried out of their home in coffins. Their deaths had a great effect on him, they were his close friends and neighbours.
They were exceedingly difficult times in Ireland. Dad was in his early twenties, his father had died when he was seventeen and he had to help his mother to run the home, business and farm. They used to advertise as ‘Bartlemy’s Sweets And Smokes’, which continued until the mid1970s.
FROM FERMOY TO SYDNEY
When the British left Fermoy in 1922, Dad emigrated to Australia and spent eight years there. He told us that it took him seven weeks to get from Liverpool to Sydney on a cargo/passenger steam ship via the Suez Canal, Colombo, Singapore and then down to Sydney. The famous Sydney bridge was under construction at that point in time.
The first six months in Australia he spent working as a labourer on the bridge and ‘as he said’ he made a few pounds and moved on. Most of his time from then on he spent sheep farming. Wool was a huge business in those days. Australian wool was of a very high quality and was in great demand throughout the world. That all came to an end during the period of the great depression of 1929 which became known as the Wall Street Crash. The stock market in New York, which was the hub of the world’s economy, crashed which created a depression, with misery and despair throughout the U.S.A., Australia and most of the world.
In 1931, my father decided to return home to Fermoy. It took him quite a long time to get the paperwork straightened out, as he had become an Australian citizen and had lost his original passport and consequently, had to apply for an Australian passport which delayed his departure for home by many months. He spent the rest of his life in Fermoy, reared a family of eleven children and was quite happy to spend the rest of his days in Ireland. He never again left the auld sod which he loved so much. As ‘they’ say (whoever ‘they’ are), age is only a number - I agree with them.
SEEMS A LIFETIME AGO
The facts are: we only pass this way once and it is up to ourselves to make the best of it. But the big question is ‘What is the best way?’. We are all individuals in our own right, but a good rule of thumb is “Love thy neighbour as thyself,” or in other words, look after yourself and give a helping hand when others need it. Don’t let fear influence your life, it often can prevent us from achieving many of our goals and ambitions.
My father was a Fermoy man and proud of it. He and his eight siblings were all born and reared at 14 King St., Fermoy. This year marks the centenary of the murder of that great Irishman and patriot Thomas MacCurtain, Lord Mayor of Cork, who was shot dead at his home on March 20th, 1920. They were horrific times, but I will leave the recording of such incidents to the historians who would do more justice to such atrocities.
King St., Fermoy was later renamed MacCur-tain Street in memory of that great Cork man and patriot. Tómas MacCurtain, who was assasinated on March 20th, 1920 on his 36th birthday, by members of the RIC.
When I was young the older people of Fermoy when referring to the streets in which they lived during their younger years, often used the old street names which they were familiar with as children. It all happened so long ago, it seems almost as if it all happened in another life or another world.
Happy Christmas to you all.