Patricia's Memories

Amongst my earliest memories is that of the birth of my eldest brother John. This was my mother's fifth child and by then she was giving birth at home. I had three younger sisters and the arrival of a male child clearly impressed me greatly. I was almost five years old. When I learned of the birth I rushed on to Monaghan Street to tell the news to anyone who would listen to me. Marie Rowe (D'Arcy) recalls my very words:

“We have a new baby! And it's a boy! And we have no trousers for him!”

It was probably sometime in that same year that we almost lost a child as well! My sister Mary was fascinated with flowers (as she still is!) and used to gather them wherever she could. The nearest place to home (43 Monaghan Street) was along the railway track, no more than twenty yards off. These were wild flowers - in fact I think it was dandelions she gathered. Unfortunately there was a deep ditch that ran along the railway line. In winter it carried floodwater from the Derrybeg River through the town to discharge in the Clanrye and then to the sea. (To prevent excess flooding of the town of Newry, a retaining basin had recently been constructed in Rooney's Meadow, to ease the strain on the banks of this drain. This, and the Derrybeg River were soon to feature prominently in our play-life!)

Now in summer the drain was almost empty of water but its bottom was covered in a thick, deep and foul-smelling glar. Reaching too far over the edge, the three-year-old child toppled and plopped into this - sinking, almost without trace, immediately. Across the line, Jimmy Mulholland, a railway employee, was in his signalman's box. I screamed and waved frantically to get his attention. Then I raced home to get help there. By the time I returned with mum Mr Mulholland was lying on the bank and reaching full stretch towards the quagmire. He grasped something and hauled. There was a sucking, squelching sound and then a sudden plop as the muck closed in again on the hole the child had occupied.

Mary remembers being washed down in a tin bath in the middle of Dolly's (Granny was recently deceased) dining room. It took many, many fills of that bath water to get rid of the mud. For months afterwards the residue was being coughed up or blown from her nostrils!

Everyone was scared by this incident. However some advantage accrued to me, because for years after I took advantage of my younger sister in every disagreement, by reminding her that she owed her life to me! It gives me no satisfaction now to admit that this tactic worked. Mary was practically my slave for months!

My mother gave birth to thirteen children after me. I remember at least ten of these births. As most were at home, the midwife and the district nurse were frequent visitors to our house. I was always enormously impressed with their efficiency and I was in awe of them. I'm sure this influenced my own choice of career and that of my sisters Mary and Kathleen who also became nurses in adult life.

How my mother fitted holidays into her busy life is a mystery to me. Of course, our early holidays were spent in the homes of our uncles and aunts and may have actually given mum a break. But she still had to prepare clothes for us on holiday, pack our bags and arrange transport. It was rare indeed that she could accompany us, and then only in the beginning.

Holidays with relatives were a welcome release from the chores that were routine to us at home. My principal holidays were spent either in Sheetrim or Kilkeel. Day trips to Dungooley and Forkhill were especially nice because mum would always accompany us then. Mum would be visiting her brother Petie in Dungooley and her sister Rita in Forkhill. I do not know how frequently these trips took place. Memory has a strange way of playing tricks, leaving us with the impression that the good times were almost endless. In truth they must have been rare - we had to attend school, and mum couldn't afford too many bus fares.

The most carefree place was Grannys at Sheetrim. My grandfather Jack loved children. He used to rub his rough beard on our faces, just for a laugh! I think he especially liked me. I'd get off with misdeeds if he was around but Granny was made of sterner stuff! Their home and farm was an adventure playground to me. I remember which outhouses contained which animals. There were pigs and turkeys, in addition to cows, calves, sheep and chickens. I was oblivious to the constriction of space in that house. Well, not really! In fact, I loved the tiny cramped conditions because I didn't see it in that light. It was always an adventure to climb that narrow and steep enclosed staircase to the iron bed above, with the horsehair mattress and the snow-white valances. Of course there was no light upstairs. Our candle - Wee Willie Winkie style - added to the atmosphere. Our toilet was a china chamber pot kept under the bed. The window was narrow and high but faced the bed so that we could see the folk walking over the brae, the first thing in the morning. We were awakened each day by the first ray of dawn's sunlight.

We had our chores there too, but they were a pleasure to do. Not like at home! I loved the sounds and smells of the farm. I usually stayed away from the turkeys and the pigs in the top outhouse. They were intimidating and smelly. I liked to watch the cows being milked but my favourite was collecting the newly laid eggs. I think I was impressed with the sheer abundance of food.

Of an evening the smell of Granddad's tobacco smoke would dominate the parlour. John James Laverty would take down his accordion and play a few tunes. He was not much older than me and we became great friends. He was Delia's son but his grandparents reared him. Neighbours would call in for a ceili. This term applied to any visit with neighbours or friends for a “bit of craic” and didn't necessarily involve Irish traditional music. Of course it was a great advantage if it did! Summer evenings were marvellous when a crowd would gather at the crossroads below for a game of skittles or road bowls (with bullets, as the steel balls were called). Mum remembers when they'd bring a “stage” to the crossroads to dance on. This would be simply a wooden flat (of the type used now to hold heavy goods moved by forklift) and the music would come from accordions and fiddles played by locals. Such was my mother's early experience of “dances”.

The other principal holiday destination was Uncle Frank's in Kilkeel. This was completely different. There was a harbour there with brightly coloured boats. Strangely too I have a vivid memory of the rainbow colours of the oil floating on the sea's surface. This was from the fishing boats' engines.

At that time Kilkeel had a lovely sandy beach and Maureen and Priscilla spent a lot of time there with us. We would fish in the rock pools. My aunt Phyllis was an English lady and I thought she was very grand on account of her accent.

She was always very good to us. It can't have been easy. At that time she had five children of her own and this can't have been a holiday for her!

I don't remember a lot about Brian and Kevin. They were quite a bit younger than me. Michael, on the other hand, really did impress me. He was very handsome, like his father.

One of the jobs carried out daily at the Coastguard Station was measuring the rainfall. Frank used to allow us in to help. Another job was hoisting the flag that flew from a huge mast in the garden. The Union Flag would have had no significance for us then.

Frank was diligent about doing his daily physical exercises. He was always keen to keep fit and look his best. In hindsight I think he was a little vain about his good looks. He loved to sing “The Whistling Gipsy”. He sang it well too.

He was a very interesting man. He used to allow us into his lookout post. As principal station officer he was charged with ensuring the safety of sailors in his vicinity. He commanded great respect from his neighbours and all who knew him. He wore a very impressive uniform with gold braid on it. He always seemed to be busy writing.

As teenagers we used to get trips by train to the seaside at Warrenpoint. If we were given the money to go alone, I'd immerse my swimsuit in the sea and wring it out to pretend that I'd been for a swim. I was terrified of the water but I didn't want mum to think she was wasting the train fare on me. My brother Michael was a strong and confident swimmer. I remember once the whole family was at Warrenpoint when someone remarked on the temerity of a lone swimmer who seemed to be halfway to Omeath. Half an hour later, when he returned we discovered it had been Michael. Mum spent the whole time on the beach counting heads, lest one of us got lost. I don't know how she could have enjoyed herself. Perhaps her satisfaction was in witnessing our joy to be at the seaside.

Despite the large number of siblings in our house, I never remember feeling “left out”. How did our parents manage to make us all feel important? My mum helped me when I was studying for the 11+. She was “expecting” Angela. After the first few, all mum's confinements (except the last two) were at home. The news was brought downstairs to me that the child had been born. I rushed upstairs to congratulate mum and see the new baby. I brought my books with me, and asked mum to help me again with my work. So much for rest and recuperation! And she did! Though I don't think she could see the pages too well! Midwives and district nurses were like family friends. Nurse Grant and Nurse Mulvaney delivered most of us. They used to scold mum who would have the knitting or darning needles in her hand within the hour of delivery. When mum was in bed in the days after, we would bring her a bag of potatoes (and a basin of water) to peel for the dinner. Wasn't that thoughtful of us! All the children, down to Michael, were breast-fed. The fire in our parent's bedroom would be lit and the baby would be fed there. Some of us older girls would occasionally sit with mum then. It was a quiet, intimate and for me, a privileged occasion.

I have happy memories of a horde of sweet-smelling well-scrubbed children on bath night congregated in the living room, where the sofa converted to a double bed. The oldest boys had to share this and they couldn't get to bed until everyone else had retired. Daddy used to tell us ghost stories or we would while away the hours reading or making jigsaws.

I didn't like Mondays. Mum tried to catch up with the week's washing then. Dinner often then consisted of home-made vegetable soup with boiled potatoes. That was fine but these smells combined with the smell of boiling clothes produced an all pervading, unpleasant odour.

In the morning, Mum would wait for the breadman to come along to help her lift the boiling tub off the gas stove. Mick Campbell was a jovial and friendly man who didn't mind this chore at all. I remember when he'd deliver bread to our house, both arms would be lined with the plain loaves favoured by mum. We were his best customer, in spite of the fact that mother baked most of the bread we ate. (My friend and next-door neighbour now is Joan McVeigh, daughter of Mick Campbell. Her mother remembers him speaking of us.)

On a Tuesday morning the rent had to be paid. The Family Allowance would have to be collected to cover this bill. Before I was old enough to do this chore, mum had to go herself and find a neighbour to mind us children. This was no great bother. Neighbours were ready and willing in those days. They would always need such favours in return. Mrs Clarke, from four doors down, would usually oblige. The fact that she had a growing family of her own didn't deter her. She'd take charge at once and organise us like a work detail. By the time mum returned with the rent money, there would be a full line of snow-white nappies fluttering on the line in the back garden.

Before I went to Belfast to train as a nurse, I was taken on by Daisy Hill Hospital as a GNA (general nursing assistant). Once I was sent on an ambulance call to O'Neill Avenue. It happened that dad was working on houses up there. I remember the pride on his face before his workmates when he saw me climb out of the ambulance. When we came out of the house with the stretchered patient, he was still standing there, beaming! He told me later how proud he was of me in my uniform. It had been my first day on the ambulance and I had been terrified. I was always a good actress though and I kept my fear from the poor patient.

My mother liked to sing. I remember her ironing a mountain of clothes and happily singing her favourites. Among these were “Yours”, “Just out of Reach”, “My Happiness” and “As Usual”.

We were poor. After my father lost some fingers in an accident at work in the late forties he could no longer work as a baker. (According to Mary Maguire (Kelly), he received about £100 compensation for his loss, and was immediately sacked!) He became a general labourer. He described himself as a “house repairer” in his application form on one of the new Housing Executive houses in Rooney's Meadow in 1948. He worked with Joe McCullough of Canal Street. He was a very good worker and popular in all the homes he worked in. Eileen Gorman of Dromalane remembers him working in her home when she was a girl: what a fine job he did and how highly respected he was as a man. When Joe had no work for him, he sought labouring work wherever he could. Once he arranged with some friends to go to England where they were told there was good, well-paid work. The others let him down and he went alone but he could find no work and no suitable place to stay. (He told us he stayed at “Mother Green's”: we were surprised that he'd know someone there so intimately that he'd refer to her as Mother: only later did we learn he meant that he's slept out in the open. We were upset that dad would have to do such a thing!). He returned shortly after. Later he worked on house repair, for the local council.

I remember how pleased he was in the last week of May 1962 when he received a wage increase. He was earning almost £10 a week. I saw how my family struggled on this income and it was my ambition to one day earn as much as £20 a week.