Читать книгу The Murmuring Waves - John P. Healy - Страница 9

Change and disorder enters our life usually without us desiring it. Its significance is more or less important, depending on many factors and the stage of life we are going through. It first appeared in my life in 1949 and as was understandable, at this early age, I had no say in the matter.

As times changed and business demanded, the Shell company decided to close the depot and distribution centre in Westport in 1948 and my father was asked to return to the larger distribution centre in Galway, from where he had started out and with due promotion. So began the first of several changes in my own life and that of my family. From then on, regular uprooting with its inevitable excitement but also the loss or absence of friendships and familiar places and faces became part of my life’s journey.

With my father already residing in Galway, on the conclusion of the school year and having procured a house, the rest of the family moved to Galway in the month of June 1949. We did not have a car then, so two of us travelled to Galway with an uncle together with some personal items on the night of June 23, the eve of St John. As tradition would have it bonfires lit up the hillsides along the narrow winding roads from Westport to Galway. My mother and my other brother travelled the following day by bus having seen to the removal of the furniture.

In those times the amount of furniture was limited, no fridges or washing machines much less television sets or other technical appliances. I was disappointed however that the long leather covered couch had been left behind. With my brothers we used to use it as an imaginary kind of bus on which we would invite the adults to come aboard for a modicum sum of money, usually without success. I being the eldest had the privilege of being the driver.

My father had arranged, having procured a bank mortgage, to buy a newly built four bedroomed house in Newcastle, Galway city. The house was at No 1, Newcastle Park. There was a row of 16 new houses, some of which were still not complete when we arrived. The house was ideally located near the University and the Regional Hospital, as it was known then, and within walking distance to school. Galway was an important seaside resort as well as a university city with its bustling student life and was then a much smaller city than what we know now in the late 20th and early 21st century but even so it was much larger than Westport.

It now seems portentous that the house was Number 1. How significant has that number one been in my life! I was the number one child in the family. This was the first move and interruption to my innocent and ordered life. I was much later in life to discover that I am number one in the Enneagram personality type indicator. I was the first, at least in recent generations of the family, to become a priest. I was the only one of my brothers to later marry. Was that number one to be an ominous sign of later and greater disorder or an invitation to a deeper consciousness of what life’s journey is about?

Being something of a perfectionist where order, the correct and the wholesome have been a determining factor in my life, yes perhaps this number one was more than a coincidence. The comings and goings in my life have been instrumental in shaking up the complacency that comes from any superficial security. What is order but the desire to remain in ones comfort zone when the passage from innocence to growth and maturity demand a necessary disordering, usually not of one’s liking nor sought after for its own sake. The vagaries of life have taken care of that aspect. I just need to stand back now and look at it in that light. Discover the ups and downs, ins and outs that life itself imposed to lead me to that reordering and discovery that is growth and fulfillment.

Like so many other families in the world, with the sole income of my father and the additional burden of paying off the mortgage, my parents had to consider other means of income. My mother now no longer worked as a trained district nurse and mid-wife as she had in Westport. The house being ideally located, as I mentioned, near the University and the Regional Hospital, my parents decided to accept lodgers as an additional means of income. The first experience was with some university students, but this gave way sooner than later to lodging working adults. These included radiographers working at the nearby hospital and a man called Richardson who later set up his own business on the corner of Eyre Square, a business that continues to the present time.

This meant squeezing us three boys into one bedroom, but that didn’t seem to be a problem, as we were close in age and the times demanded sacrifice. It must be said, of course, that in those days children were never made part of any conversation regarding financial difficulties and decisions, so we just accepted the reality that was imposed. Those matters belonged to the adult world and our role was to obey and enjoy life as much as possible. The only time I might become aware of the shortage of money was when I asked for and possibly was refused the price of entrance to the Savoy or Estoria cinemas on a Sunday afternoon. These matinee attractions were usually cowboy films with actors such as Roy Rogers and John Wayne or comedy films with Laurel and Hardy or the Three Stooges, a long way from play stations!

One of my earliest memories of Galway is going for the last few days of the school year at the end of June 1949 to the Presentation Convent girls’ school, in which boys were accepted until first grade. In line on the first day before going into the classroom, I started crying and had to be consoled by the lady teacher or perhaps a nun with her swishing flowing habits which I had first encountered during my kindergarten days. In Westport, the boys’ school where I had attended 1st grade had only male teachers. I was entering a new environment and feeling a stranger in this school shattered my puerile confidence.

This period of what I may call pre-puberty was a delightful time in my childhood. Like most fortunate children lifelong friendships were established and life was mostly play and learning. Neither was I in a position to question nor capable of establishing limits and any such were quickly forgotten by my immersion in the routine and discoveries of a happy childhood.

With regard to my own primary level schooling in Galway most of the school subjects were taught through the medium of the Irish (Gaelic) language which was no small obstacle for those of us where the Irish language was not the language spoken at home. I completed most of my primary school in an old building on one section of the river Corrib which runs through Galway city. The last few months however were full of the excitement of moving to a new building just recently inaugurated. We were the honored ones being the first pupils in a new school. Here everything was new and fresh, the desks were individual, the boards at the front of the class were green, not black. The fire places were replaced by central- heating, the windows were large allowing more daylight and the surprise of a large central auditorium. All was strangely new with that typical fresh paint smell forever implanted in my memory.

My daily walk to school brought me passed the high wall of the old jail or prison, then an enclosed vacant lot on which the future Catholic Cathedral was to be built in the 1960s. Many times as I looked at that high wall, while on my reluctant way in the often misty and windy school mornings, I longed to know what was on the other side, but the mystery remained and so did my ignorance. It was a large area closed off to the general public, whose high wall remained as a symbol of other turbulent times. If those walls could talk, what tales of sadness and desperation, injustice and frustration could be revealed? So perhaps it is no coincidence that it later became the location of a Cathedral church where other secrets of life with their joy and sadness could become manifest.

Even though my family was not musical in the strict sense of the word, singing was a regular aspect of our family life. Visits by family and friends were common events in our house. My father, who sang quite well in both the English and Irish languages, was regularly called upon to sing one of his favorites. It was at these times that I first heard or learned some old Irish melodies such as Slievenamon, The Snowy-Breasted Pearl and even more patriotic songs like Glory O to the Bold Fenian Men. My mother didn’t seem to be as gifted songwise, but could also rise to the occasion. Only later would our turn come to offer our party piece, but nevertheless the three of us would join our voices to sing some popular songs as our bedtime approached in the long, bright summer evenings.

It is not unusual then that singing has always been an enjoyable part of my life. It was no surprise that I was chosen to participate in the school choir. The choir master insisted on rigorous training which had produced success and rewards and our year was not to be an exception. Now in my senior class, I would have to walk home much later than my companions as the choir practice took place mostly after school hours. Excitement was high when the day finally arrived for our participation in the regional Feis Cheól. Our long hours of practice were rewarded with very high points and the applause of my proud parents among many others present in the audience. We were indeed a chosen and disciplined few as even a few short days prior to our presentation at least one member was told to leave the choir because of the slightest mistake in intonation. The choir master’s vigilant ear, observing the sound produced by our individual voices was enough to dispel any negligence.

Apart from the choir, we also had the lengthy preparation for the annual school sports which were shared by two schools. This involved, apart from the usual athletic skills, marching in perfect military order and step and a show of dexterity with dumbbells, flags and poles according to age as well as other physical and acrobatic feats by the older students. The athletic finals and show with the accompanying local band took place on a Sunday in the showgrounds when our parents could be present. These performances have long stopped, I understand. It was an era when highly disciplined young boys were expected to be giants or so it seemed.

On a more personal level, I was sent to learn the piano. Strangely we did not then have a piano in our house, but that was not considered an obstacle, as I could practice on a piano in the Convent school where my aunt was resident. This did not particularly appeal to me, but then who was I to question it. Going to the weekly piano lessons with Ms Brown did not appear to be too much of a burden, despite the proverbial occasional slap on the knuckles. What helped lighten the burden was that one of my neighbors and whom I considered my pre-adolescent girlfriend usually had class before mine and I was occasionally required to accompany her walking home, especially in the darker winter evenings. That was a bonus and I felt really important. I was evidently easily pleased!

Behind our house in Newcastle Park there were open fields in which we could wander and play. This feature also allowed me to admire the lingering summer sunsets in the evenings through the open kitchen door. During the mornings when my mother would be alone and the weather permitted, having that kitchen door open was an invitation to commune with nature. So much so, in fact, that on many occasions a red breasted robin would happily and hopingly pick its way into the kitchen to accompany her. This was all very well until one day the bold robin made its way into the nearby dining room and up onto the table to start picking at the butter still lying there since breakfast time. That put an end to the over-familiarity.

A special feature of the area was large rocks covering several of the fields, which we aptly called the “rockies” and which was the ideal location for the typical childhood games of Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Jailers among others. There was also a stream running close by in which we would catch tadpoles and frogs during the long summer evenings of those latitudes. It was a time when we were part of nature and nature was part of us.

That strange but exciting Irish sport known as hurling became my favorite at this time of my life and I participated in school games as well as with the local club in the city competitions. I still recall the Sunday I scored an important winning goal playing for my neighborhood team. It was so easy to be satisfied in those days when we had to organize our own outdoor activities and did so despite the weather and the lack of facilities. But then we had very little to entertain us indoors in those distant bygone days of the mid-twentieth century.

Having said that, we were encouraged to read and I dutifully became a member of the local library from which I borrowed my favorite books every fortnight. This introduced me to the wider world and its adventures. The English writer of children’s books Enid Blyton was a favorite author at the time as well as many other well-known adventure stories and characters by authors from Jules Verne and R.L. Stevenson to Mark Twain, to mention just a few. I had no screen or smart phone to distract or entertain me then.

Belonging to an age when religious practice was not just common but considered necessary and appropriate I also became an alter server in my local parish of St Joseph. This activity had its perks and after dominating the Latin language responses which were a necessary step I then graduated to participating at weddings and funerals. This meant that on occasions I could get out of school for periods during the morning to help at the services for which I was chosen. We were also duly given some money by the best man at the weddings as was then customary. So all in all it was a kind of lucrative activity. It also had its social side, one of which was the annual altar boys outing and picnic accompanied by one of the priests. This also usually meant a day off from school in the early summer.

There were, of course, the more serious moments as an altar boy such as staggeringly transferring the heavy missal and metal stand from one side of the altar to the other, as was then customary. This meant negotiating down and up the altar steps while hopefully not tripping on the hem of one’s soutane or cassock. This was a real challenge fraught with not a little danger of being ridiculed by one’s companions and scolded by the celebrant. Lighting and extinguishing the out-of-reach Paschal Candle was another challenge for any small boy and more than once I suffered the hot candle grease falling on my hand and arm. Of course the altar wine was strictly controlled in the sacristy, so any attempt at getting even a little drop of the stuff was a feat that even the most intrepid could hardly undertake.

Being close to the seaside, we spent many hours there during the summer months, swimming or learning to swim in the sea. I remember swallowing my fair share of sea water in my attempts to keep afloat while struggling to beat the waves amid my helpless coughing and spluttering. I have often recalled since that the swimming teacher’s efforts to teach me to swim properly met with little success. The sea has its own obstacles over a swimming pool, but that was all part of growing up and learning to survive.

Regular visitors to our life in summertime were the threatening wasps and wild bees, as mosquitos were not to be found in those latitudes. On one summer’s day, when my mother was in bed after surgery and we were being cared for by our dear young cousin Nuala I was sent on a message to a local shop. On my way home running with my mouth open, as was natural, a bee flew into my mouth and feeling trapped left its sting at the base of my tongue. Having spat it out I continued my journey, now near home, but the resulting pain soon began to make itself felt. Happily, Nuala had the presence of mind to rush up stairs and get her hands quickly on a tweezers, as used by women, and proficiently removed the sting completely. This rapid reaction on her part no doubt saved my life or at least a serious medical complication. I can still see in my mind’s eye that sting with its white head when shown to me by Nuala, I being totally unaware at the time of the consequences had it not been adequately and quickly removed. My time hadn’t arrived yet!

Winter time had its own rival moments. On the damp winter evenings when frost was forecast we would arrange to meet on a nearby quiet street with a slope. There we could slide with no mechanical device between our shoes and the ice or snow to actually skate. We never wondered how long the soles of our shoes could last with such activity, but we were so excited that even the freezing temperatures could not dampen our spirits. When sometimes we performed the same activity on the footpath, there were the inevitable complaints by the neighbors whose physical integrity we were jeopardizing, and so they would proceed quickly to throw salt to melt the ice. We ourselves must have fallen many a time while sliding down the street, but the resulting scrapes and scratches couldn’t hinder our youthful, frosty enthusiasm.

Watched and contained by the religious atmosphere of the time and family in particular, my life was otherwise very normal. The praying of the Rosario in the family was a sacred tradition each evening. Dare we be absent, except for a very plausible reason from those fifteen minutes on our knees, and hopefully being able to lean on a chair. Occasionally I had the excuse that I had participated in the family rosary in the house of one of my friends. All this in a world of conspiracy and abuse of which much of the world and I was not aware until very many years later. The latter part of the twentieth century brought to light the obscure world of child abuse and the centers where unmarried mothers were hidden from public view, and whose babies were often sold without the mother’s consent.

Only in recent years did one of my younger brothers mention how one of the local shopkeepers, where we were sent for small items, had forced him up against the counter with obvious abusive sexual intentions. When he reported the matter to our mother she dismissed it rather light handedly. That could not be happening! On asking me had I been aware of such a situation, I had to admit to his surprise that I hadn’t.

We were aware of a boarding school for orphans and delinquent children in the neighboring countryside when threatened to be sent there for some misdemeanor. We had no idea however of the horrors being perpetrated there on the young boys. Apparently neither had our parents, we can only presume, such was the ignorance and secrecy being played out within the community at large. Keeping up appearances was the principal objective of society in general, both civil and religious. Meanwhile we had to be well-behaved young boys and girls and overall we were.

Even at this preadolescent stage I did have my eye and natural desires on a very beautiful young girl living down the street. Any excuse could be found to be near or with her or even her young brothers. I was not the only one of course, competition was strong. Nevertheless, I was generally considered a serious and morally correct young boy by the neighborhood at large, and my parents were proud. After all I was an alter server as were some other of my friends. My life had entered a period of order and regularity but it was not to last.

My room

Where I stay, where I play

Where I watch and spend my day

Where I dream, where I fear

Where I cry when no one’s near

Where I read, where I sneeze

Where I laugh alone at ease.

Here is where, from my room

I can see and draw the moon

Now it’s small, now it’s big

Just like me, whenever glib.

It is here I grow up fast

To travel the world at last.

‘Dinner’s ready’, oh it’s time

And I must leave all that’s mine

To join the family table

Where there’s no time for fable.

‘Stop that nonsense, eat your food’

Why can’t I be alone to brood?