Gerry,your Uncle John brought back wonderful memories of my Aunt Rosemary who lived with my Grandmother and later my mother.She had been touched by scarlet fever as a child and was never the same after,according to my Grandmother.
She spent her days either in the back kitchen smoking or out on her black nelly bike traversing the townlands of South Armagh,stopping off on the road to speak to people or calling into houses for a chat,coming home with all the news to my Grandmother,who often turned her eyes up at me saying ‘sure you couldn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth’.
On ‘brew’ day she’d collect her money at the local post office and cycle into Dundalk to get her hair ‘done’ and go for a bite to eat in one of the ‘ating houses’ as she described them.
God rest her,your Uncle John and all our Irish characters.
I reckon if Jung was born Irish, he would regard anyone that people call a "charachter" - in the sense of the word as the story above - as reaching the highest levels of individuation. Charachters seem to be a dying breed nowadays however...... May we all strive to achive that hallowed status one day, le cúnamh dé
What a beautiful, tender, reflection of family bonds and life here in different times - without descending into revisionist sentimentality. Life was hard then but we had each other.
A very fitting remembrance of your uncle and a touching acknowledgement of the crushing weight of responsibility placed on your mother.
It was a fine line to navigate, to get so much complexity into one piece. The numerous tea cups on the windowsill and the pacing / moon-waiting, paid huge dividends. Maith thú...
Beautiful writing and a reminder of what I still love about rural tight knit communities, the capacity to absorb an ‘uncle John’. Now everyone and anyone who doesn’t fit the mould is given a label/ diagnosis and a packet of pharma pills.
Morning, Gerry. Your reflections-literal and figurative - were very touching. I’d wager most families have at least one “misfit” but your uncle sounded like one of the more charismatic ones. Some pegs aren’t made to fit into the holes … we used to say they were “touched,” and indeed they are.
Your words: “He was an angel, of course…I am tempted to say he hadn’t much of a life but, again, the older I get, the more untruth I find in that…”
Sounds like his memory is a blessing. Thanks for sharing this.
Thanks for letting your cyber family into the privacy of your real world.
Such examples are not uncommon, I too had an Irish Uncle who stayed with us in our home I'm England, my Mum was from Ireland.
Her brother, Paddy never got over the death of his younger brother, who was rumoured to be in the IRA..
He stayed with us off and on in between stays at the local mental hospital chain smoking his ciggies and playing his IRA records.
When we were getting to be an age when me and my sister needed our own rooms he had to leave and lived the rest of his days in a B and B run by an Irish lady whose business model was profit through state handouts from her lodgers.
While with us he'd disappear to the biggest town every so often on a Saturday to get drunk on Guinness or Mackeson and arrive back at ours drunk and disorderly. It was after one of these events that my Dad put his foot down and he had to leave.
Your poignant story brought back all the old memories and love I had for him. Thank you Gerry.
Great article Gerry. I remember those characters well. But the 1st memory was the flask of taa and the sangwiches on the bog or raring the hay in the summer sunshine. Fine dining at it's best. On the mental health I've often wondered whether peoples kindness or fears benefited the person with mental health problems. Maybe they would have led happier lives in institutions. These days it's all care in the community and many families are at their wits end trying to look after family member with very little support. And of course we have more and more tradegies of family members being murdered by the person with mental health problems like we saw most recently in Louth of nearly a whole family wiped out. That cant be right and there are families up and down the country living with that terror everyday they wake up.
People in a particular place and time, looking out for each other, politics be damned, except politics is always around the corner, as a threat to our private and natural existence. You write so well about the private sphere, but it is now so encroached by the unpredictable and invasive public one that can not leave us to just be.
Gerry,your Uncle John brought back wonderful memories of my Aunt Rosemary who lived with my Grandmother and later my mother.She had been touched by scarlet fever as a child and was never the same after,according to my Grandmother.
She spent her days either in the back kitchen smoking or out on her black nelly bike traversing the townlands of South Armagh,stopping off on the road to speak to people or calling into houses for a chat,coming home with all the news to my Grandmother,who often turned her eyes up at me saying ‘sure you couldn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth’.
On ‘brew’ day she’d collect her money at the local post office and cycle into Dundalk to get her hair ‘done’ and go for a bite to eat in one of the ‘ating houses’ as she described them.
God rest her,your Uncle John and all our Irish characters.
Thanks Mick, thanks for telling me about yours. You're aunt sounds like a woman they don't make anymore. Lovely snippet.
Ah, that was just beautiful. The last line bowled me right over
I reckon if Jung was born Irish, he would regard anyone that people call a "charachter" - in the sense of the word as the story above - as reaching the highest levels of individuation. Charachters seem to be a dying breed nowadays however...... May we all strive to achive that hallowed status one day, le cúnamh dé
What a beautiful, tender, reflection of family bonds and life here in different times - without descending into revisionist sentimentality. Life was hard then but we had each other.
A very fitting remembrance of your uncle and a touching acknowledgement of the crushing weight of responsibility placed on your mother.
It was a fine line to navigate, to get so much complexity into one piece. The numerous tea cups on the windowsill and the pacing / moon-waiting, paid huge dividends. Maith thú...
Great stuff.
I think it's the Johns of this world, with their eccentricities untouched by the modern world, who will save Ireland.
I just hope there are enough of them left!
Beautiful writing and a reminder of what I still love about rural tight knit communities, the capacity to absorb an ‘uncle John’. Now everyone and anyone who doesn’t fit the mould is given a label/ diagnosis and a packet of pharma pills.
Sadly true. I have, in fact, recently diagnosed a new condition in myself: A severe and prolonged allergic reaction to labelling...
Morning, Gerry. Your reflections-literal and figurative - were very touching. I’d wager most families have at least one “misfit” but your uncle sounded like one of the more charismatic ones. Some pegs aren’t made to fit into the holes … we used to say they were “touched,” and indeed they are.
Your words: “He was an angel, of course…I am tempted to say he hadn’t much of a life but, again, the older I get, the more untruth I find in that…”
Sounds like his memory is a blessing. Thanks for sharing this.
Thanks for letting your cyber family into the privacy of your real world.
Such examples are not uncommon, I too had an Irish Uncle who stayed with us in our home I'm England, my Mum was from Ireland.
Her brother, Paddy never got over the death of his younger brother, who was rumoured to be in the IRA..
He stayed with us off and on in between stays at the local mental hospital chain smoking his ciggies and playing his IRA records.
When we were getting to be an age when me and my sister needed our own rooms he had to leave and lived the rest of his days in a B and B run by an Irish lady whose business model was profit through state handouts from her lodgers.
While with us he'd disappear to the biggest town every so often on a Saturday to get drunk on Guinness or Mackeson and arrive back at ours drunk and disorderly. It was after one of these events that my Dad put his foot down and he had to leave.
Your poignant story brought back all the old memories and love I had for him. Thank you Gerry.
Great article Gerry. I remember those characters well. But the 1st memory was the flask of taa and the sangwiches on the bog or raring the hay in the summer sunshine. Fine dining at it's best. On the mental health I've often wondered whether peoples kindness or fears benefited the person with mental health problems. Maybe they would have led happier lives in institutions. These days it's all care in the community and many families are at their wits end trying to look after family member with very little support. And of course we have more and more tradegies of family members being murdered by the person with mental health problems like we saw most recently in Louth of nearly a whole family wiped out. That cant be right and there are families up and down the country living with that terror everyday they wake up.
People in a particular place and time, looking out for each other, politics be damned, except politics is always around the corner, as a threat to our private and natural existence. You write so well about the private sphere, but it is now so encroached by the unpredictable and invasive public one that can not leave us to just be.