After A Long Absence

Usually when something profound is happening in my life I tend to write, write, write. Over the past few weeks my husband and I have watched his one remaining aunt slowly die from Alzheimer's Disease but it was a severe chest infection which finally released her from her torment.

During that time and since her death two weeks ago I've not been able to put two words together with the exception of some tweeting.

I have not lost any of my Followers and for that I am so grateful and thank you all sincerely. Also, my apologies for not getting around to reading your posts but I will get there very soon. Looking forward to it.

Until then take care everyone. See you soon!

My First Visit To London - August 1973

This was my first trip abroad, first time ever to leave Irish soil and first time to set foot inside an aeroplane! Life would never be the same again.

My fiance (future hubby) and I set off on a wet Sunday evening bound for Dublin Airport. He of course had been to foreign parts many times before so he wouldn't have shared my excitement at the prospect of flying thirty odd thousand feet in the air. Only the astronauts on their first moon landing wold have come anyway close to experiencing the exhilaration I felt at that moment. That said the flight was uneventful and over all too soon.

On landing at Heathrow we were greeted with a whoosh of warm air even though it was a couple of hours off midnight. Having just come from a somewhat wet, coolish Dublin this warmth was very welcome indeed. What was amazing though was that when I stepped off the plane a very strange feeling came over me. It somehow seemed that I'd come home, that's the only way I can describe it. It was like the environment was very familiar I'd been here before, not in the actual airport of course but just in this part of the world. I'm sure those who understand these phenomena will know what I mean.

So, into a taxi we popped and headed off to Kidbrooke where we were to spend the next two weeks with fiance's granny who wasn't really his granny but a friend of his family who was known to all as just "granny". On arrival we were met by a neighbour who informed us that poor granny had been taken to hospital so we would have the place to ourselves. We had of course to inform fiance's family back home of the situation and needless to say their anguish came not from their worry for the poor old lady but rather the fact that fiance and I would be living together, unmarried, under the same roof for the next two weeks! Later when writing the postcards I purposely decided not to use the phrase "having a good time" for fear of it being misinterpreted.

Each day we visited granny Browne in hospital which was conveniently situated on Shooters Hill Road within walking distance from the house. She was a nice lady who enjoyed listening to the snippets of news from home (Dublin) relayed daily to her by fiance. We also reassured her that her cat, Terry Roo, who we were minding during her absence was safe and well and blissfully living feline life to the full. There were the odd occasions when his life may have come into real danger and that was on the mornings when he crept under the bedclothes and nibbled my toes! Shredded feet apart, Terry Roo and I enjoyed every minute of our all too short holiday together.

Despite the intense heat in the city centre most days we headed in there via bus and tube. From memory we got the bus to Blackheath then the tube to Charing Cross. I'm so glad we didn't have a car as those almost daily journeys became cherished memories. Travelling in the tube also somewhat helped me overcome my fear of tunnels (breaking down in one would be the absolute death of me!) but I've still a long way to go.

Looking back now I wish I'd kept a diary of the visit but as time has net yet quite dimmed my power of recall I still remember my first view of the main attractions.

For instance, Trafalger Square with it famous fountain and sociable pigeons and of course one cannot forget to mention Buckingham Palace which I did photograph but it turned out too dark. (Back then I was still using the good old Instamatic with the glass flash cube which unfortunately didn't have the option to delete a bad photo!). Then there was Westminster Abbey which I also made a kibosh of photographing as I managed to cut off the top of the clock tower.

One place I used to love walking along was Carnaby Street with its psychedelic footpath and shops that sold all the wonderful hippy clothes I had a passion for then and still do. While I was browsing through a clothes rail I turned around to see a guy with one of those old cine cameras filming me, he just smiled and walked off. I wonder where that piece of footage ended up? Perhaps I'm owed royalties, hmmm!

While in Lewisham one afternoon we decided to go to the flicks where "That'll Be The Day" with David Essex and Ringo Starr was showing. What drew me to the film was not only the chance to ogle at the very handsome Mr Essex but to hear the fabulous music of the sixties in splended cinematic sound.

Finally, I can't close without mentioning once again my feline friend, Terry Roo who used to meet us each night as we returned from the pub. One night we decided to return using another route. After a while we realized that pussy was nowhere to be found until fiance remembered he'd be waiting for us at his usual spot. Like a thing possessed he took off and returned with poor Terry Roo who had been still waiting patiently for us. He took full advantage of our remorseful situation as we apologised profusely and cuddled him to death. You could almost see the smug look on his beautiful little face. I still remember him fondly.

Over the years we've returned to London and other UK parts several times and indeed to many other world locations but for me, whatever the reasoning behind it England will always feel like my second home.

Granny Browne sadly passed away during the mid 1970's.

Above Holiday Images:
Fiance and Terry Roo, Kidbrooke, London.
View from Granny Browne's house, Kidbrooke, London.
Me reading "The News of the World", New Cross Railway Station.
On train to Charing Cross, fiance's feet also in shot.
Trafalgar Square, London.
Oxford Street, London.

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Things That Make Me Happy

The following is a list of six things that make me happy, pretty much in order of preference although they could change from time to time but never the top one!

1) Having the whole family together for dinner.

2) The cooing of the wood pigeon.

3) The lazy sound of chickens on a hot summer's day.

4) Walking on the beach under skies of blue or grey.

5) Listening to poetry on the radio especially when the reader is Andrew Motion.

6) A phone call with the offer of exciting work.

The above image of Sandymount Strand looking towards Ringsend was taken by me in June 2005.

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A Study In Apprehension

Turning into the laneway
my six year old mind
is once again filled with anxiety.
What shall I learn today?
more to the point
what will I not understand?.
Almost there now,
past the red bricks
and the four stone slit windows
then sharp turn left
I'm on the final leg of my journey.
To my left
the red brick building
beckons to its charges,
the solitary cross on its rooftop
portraying a false sense of holiness.
No going back now,
mother's tight handgrip
preventing all chance of escape.
Greying snow crunches
beneath my sensible school shoes.


The above sentences describe my anxiety which I felt each morning as I headed off to school with my mother. I have a vivid memory of walking past the red brick secondary school then turning left into the final laneway which took me to the side gate of my school. Always hoping for any excuse not to go, Winter-time usually granted my wish in the form of burst water pipes caused by the severe frost we encountered back then. I can still see and hear the semi-frozen snow crunching beneath my strong shoes.

The top image, taken by me last Summer, shows the first laneway before turning onto the next which I'm delighted to report hasn't changed at all over the years. Everything is exactly as it was.

The second image, taken by me two years ago, shows the final laneway to the school. Again, the only changes here are where the road has been re-surfaced and to the left, the area where once stood a small row of cottages now houses an exercise area.

Thought I'd share these memories with you.

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My Dad - A Soldier To The End

Recently I've been thinking a lot about my Dad who passed away just over nine years ago. Although he wasn't my natural father he was my adoptive Dad and I loved him very much. The one thing that makes me sad is that he didn't live to see his grandchildren graduate from college and grow into adulthood, I know he would have loved to have had real man-to-man conversations with them and would have been so proud of them too. I feel sad for them also that they no longer have elderly family members except for one paternal grand aunt who has now reached the great age of ninty three. (Above image: Dad on my wedding day).

I remember when I was about ten or twelve Dad telling me he'd been a soldier in the Irish Army and that he rode a horse and carried a rifle! To me that was amazing and I probably bored the socks off everyone telling them about my brave Dad and his military adventures. He even had the nickname of "Gunner". Of course he never fought in a war but knowing me I most likely invented some gruesome stories about his bloody battle days! (Above image: Dad in uniform, 1930's?).

The early life of this brave soldier was tinged with so many sad events. A few years following his death I wrote: "My adoptive father also had more than his fair share of sadness to contend with. As a baby he lost his parents and sister to illness and a tragic accident and as a result he and his siblings were raised by his grandmother. Not a great start to life.

I gather times weren't too bad during his adolescence and early adulthood although he did leave school at ten years of age. His marriage, which should have brought him the long-awaited happiness he deserved, ended in tragedy. His wife died thirty six weeks into her pregnancy from a "retroperitoneal haemorrhage" according to the death certificate. Of course, the baby died along with her.

Two years later he married my adoptive mother who sadly was not able to give him any children either. So, given all the sad and traumatic events in his life, it sure doesn't take a degree in psychology to figure out where his hurt was coming from. Still, for the most part, he was a good father to me and a loving husband to my mother...."

"....one of my happiest memories as a child was when my father, on our way home from Mass on Sunday, would buy me the Beano and Dandy comics and read them to me before dinner. It's those kind of moments that I hold dear and despite everything they were the best parents I could ever have hoped for. In some ways, they were as innocent as children themselves".

After my adoptive mother died Dad's own health slowly went downhill. Although he had a heart condition for years it was his wheezy chest that was always his problem. Still, that didn't stop him attending all of the activities that were arranged for the senior citizens in his area and even going on holidays around the country with them. He lived life to the full and was loved by one and all. At just over eighty years of age he got his first passport and flew to Lourdes telling everyone that the flight was just like a car journey!

I'm so happy that he lived into the twenty first century even if it was for only six months. His death was a total shock as he'd gone into hospital for a bronchoscopy and was expected to be discharged within a few days. Unfortunately, following the test he had some bleeding which at first didn't seem too serious. He continued going about his business as usual, watching tele and playing cards with his fellow patients in the day room. Exactly one week following the test just as he had returned from a card game in the day room and was getting ready for bed he had a massive haemorrhage which took his life within minutes. At the hospital that night I was told by the nurse that he whispered my name as he was dying. I was also told he didn't suffer and that makes me extremely thankful to God.

These days when I remember all the wonderful times we shared I consider myself so privileged to have known this man and even happier that he was my Dad. May he Rest In Eternal Peace.

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Michael Jackson - One More Soul To Grieve For

I clearly remember what I was doing when the news came through of Elvis Presley's death - I was in bed listening to Radio Luxembourg. The shock and disbelief I felt that night in August 1977 was comparable to that which I experienced last Thursday when Sky News announced the death of Michael Jackson. I ask the question: What is it that arouses in us a grieving process similar to what we would feel at the death of a close friend?

After all, we do not personally know these people. We feel we know them through their music, films, reality shows etc but for most of us we've never actually met them let alone had a close physical or social relationship with them. Yet when they are taken from us, especially before their time, e.g. short illness or tragic accident, we are devastated by their passing. Perhaps mass hysteria plays a small role but I suspect it is something that goes much deeper than hysterics, something other than not being able to see or hear them again.

What was it that drew us to them in the first place? I can only speak for myself. In the case of Elvis it was definitely his music and good looks certainly in the early years because in the fifties and sixties I was too young to have any interest or indeed understanding of his personal problems. It wasn't until the early seventies when I became aware of his drink and drug habits and how he sought solice in food that I began to see that here was a real person with real sadness in his life. While I continued to love his music it was his emotional pain that reached out to me. It made his dying all the more sad in that nobody was able to save him from himself.

I was in my kitchen ironing when my son alerted me to the Breaking News on Sky that Princess Diana had tragically died in a car crash in Paris. The month was again August but this time twenty years on. Again it was not just her great beauty or the fact that both her sons were each born a year earlier than my own two boys that made me feel close to her, no in her case it was her intense lack of self confidence, the images of her looking so alone, her battle with bulimia that made me wish I could be her friend. Her death was so shocking there are still times when I find it difficult to believe she is no longer with us.

While Jade Goody's death was not exactly sudden, we had known for about two months beforehand that her fight for life would soon be lost it was nonetheless also shocking. At just twenty seven years of age and a mother of two young children she had everything to live for. (I have written my tributes to Jade in two posts, one of them prior to her death, Jade Goody - A Shining Star Whose Light Is Slowly Fading and Jade, The Brightest Star In The Sky).

For me it was not what Jade achieved in life that attracted me to her although I was delighted at her success, it was her dreadful childhood circumstances and everything that went with it that made me feel connected to her. Out of all that suffering grew a strong, independent young woman who lived life to the full and had so much love to give to those around her. Her untimely death is still very difficult to accept and painful when I do acknowledge it.

Now the world has had to endure yet another painful loss, that of the great singer/song writer and dance artist, Michael Jackson. Over the decades Michael has consistently entertained us with his unique songs and later his music videos. I was never what you would call one of his die-hard fans but I do love his songs especially the ballads but also the strong beat one like "Beat It". His "Earth Song" really tears at the heart strings.

Like so many people I always felt that Michael had a kind nature always giving of himself to those in need. So when the dreadful allegations of child sexual abuse started coming out I felt deep in my heart that he was totally innocent and would be cleared of the charges against him. Watching him having to endure that five month trial was heartbreaking. A man who sought only to bring joy into the lives of these poor children to be accused of such crimes must have felt that he had been dealt life's cruelest blow. How could you ever recover from that? It is my belief that that whole episode was the beginning of his downfall.

So what is it then that endears these people to us? Their ability to entertain us certainly plays its part but it's when their souls are laid bare before us and we witness their suffering that we really begin to connect. It's an inborn thing I guess, our need to comfort our fellow human beings in their time of need. We open our hearts to them and in doing so become so drawn into their lives to the extent that we need to know their every move, how they're coping etc. These days, twenty four hour news channels satisfy that hunger.

I once heard it referred to as "grieving by proxy" but call it what you may, it is a very real experience for some people and can be every bit as traumatic as losing a close friend. After all, isn't there a universal bond that ties each and every one of us? Perhaps there lies our answer.

May Michael rest in eternal peace and God give strength to his family and friends at this very difficult time.

Michael Jackson image: www.contactmusic.com
Elvis Presley image: www.photobucket.com
Princess Diana image: www.telegraph.co.uk
Jade Goody image: blogs.conventrytelegraph.net

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Adventure At Sea Inspired By Enid Blyton!

(Above image taken by me in 1968 shows the white structure in the centre which was earlier the concrete foundation slabs that our boat rowed over).

Summer in Ringsend, Dublin during the late 1950's and early 60's was pure magic. For me it was something to do with the sounds of summer. Living so close to the sea, my most cherished memory of summer was listening to the dredger cleaning the bottom of the river on a warm sunny day, that sound alway signified summer holidays! The other sound was of course the cry of the gulls. These magic moments I've written about in a previous post called A Touch Of Nostalgia. It was during those childhood years that my imagination was probably at its wildest.
(Above image taken by me in 2001 shows Ringsend Library on the right).

I was about twelve years old when I joined the local library. Books like the Richmal Crompton "Just William" series and other suchlike stories where the central character could always be trusted to get into some sort of mischief by the end of the day were my favourites. Later I began reading the good old spy stories set in the then Cold War era not to mention the wonderful crime novels in which the Chief Inspector nearly always had marriage problems which he dealt with by consuming vast amounts of bourbon and smoking cheap cigars while at the same time managing to solve the many varied mysteries his daily work presented him with. Heavy stuff for a young teenager but it all went over my head.

It wasn't until I began reading Enid Blyton's "The Famous Five" series that my imagination really took flight. For those not familiar with the stories each book, twenty one in all, told of the adventures of four children and their dog. The children were two brothers, Julian and Dick, their sister, Anne and Georgina, their cousin, or George as she preferred to be called along with George's dog, Timothy. To make a long story short every adventure the children had involved them at some point heading off in George's rowing boat to either Kirrin Island (George's island!) or some castle in search of horrid gansters who they (the children) would round up with the help of Timothy and hand over to the local police for locking up. Each story always had its happy ending.

(Above image, Enid Blyton sourced at Wiki).

A few years later with my imagination still fuelled by these fantastic escapades I decided one summer evening to have my own exciting experience. As my friends consisted of two sisters, their brother and their dog we seemed the perfect combination for our own Famous Five team.

Less than a five minute walk from my house and literally just across the road from my friends' house was the slip-way where small boats including rowing boats would rest against the sea wall until their next venture out onto the ocean waves. On this particular evening a young neighbour of my friends whose family was very much involved with the sea happened to be in the vicinity and the fact that one of the rowing boats was conveniently lying by plus he was an excellent rower was enough to make me persuade him to take us out for an evening cruise. Bearing in mind that this young chap was only about fourteen or fifteen at the time and I was the eldest at sixteen made this venture an extremely dangerous one. In the end only one of the sisters and her brother, plus a couple of very young children, the boy who owned the boat and myself set sail. The dog had more sense and remained on the slip-way.

The boat owner and myself took the oars and with a little coaching from him I managed to row without spinning the boat around or horror of horrors, dropping the oar into the water. After a while we were really on our way out to sea and I was beginning to pretend that we were heading into our own Famous Five adventure. By now the clouds had begun to darken and brave as I had been earlier I was now quite scared as were the younger kiddies. We decided to turn back. While on our return journey we noticed waves bubbling around the boat and wondered where they could have come from. Just then I looked up and saw in the distance a giant passenger ship heading straight for us! Definitely one of those times when your life flashes before your eyes.

(Above image taken by me in May 1969 shows to the left, after the bus-stop, the slip-way. You can just about see one of the rowing boats).

With shouts from the boat owner of "Row, row", I worked the oar with all the strength my little arms could muster. In our state of terror we'd completely forgotton about the enormous concrete foundation slabs barely visible beneath the water (these were the beginnings of what would later become the massive re-development of our Docklands) so the scraping sound of the boat's bottom (sorry I don't know the terminology) against those stone monsters sent us into hysterics.

As we approached land we could see that the tide was going out and that we would have to walk the short distance across to the slip-way. We didn't really care as we were so relieved we'd made it in one piece. I was able to walk across carrying the smallest child on my back with the boat owner having to make several return trips for each of the other passengers! If we thought that was bad worse was still to come as our parents stood anxiously waiting for our return. I got into the most trouble simply because I was the eldest and was repeatedly told I should have had more sense. The fact that only two of the people in the boat could swim didn't seem to deter us in the least.

I should at this stage point out that I do not ever recommend anyone, children or adults alike, to go out into the water without proper safety measures in place.

Oh! well, looking back it was one of the greatest adventures I ever undertook but also one of the most dangerous, well maybe not. There was the time I convinced my friends to accompany me on an underground journey through sewer tunnels that possibly led out under the sea. Lighted candles were used! Maybe for the next post!

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