Cork

The Family Home

9 May, 2023
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

It’s my age but I know lots of people whose parents have died. With this comes the melancholy task of clearing out the family home.

I am lucky that my sister has bought my parents’ house so it hasn’t been a complete break with the past and in some ways the house feels just the same but in other ways not.

A friend of mine emptied out her family home with her siblings and she said that it was very hard but they did it over a long weekend and then they sold their house. A new family lives there now and she said philosophically “That’s the way it ought to be.” I suppose it is, as she very wisely said, “Without the people you loved who lived in it, it’s just walls and a roof.”

54

9 March, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

I was in Cork during the week with my bike. God, it absolutely lashed, it also snowed and hailed. And it was uncharacteristically chilly. I had kind of forgotten the intensity of Cork rain, cosseted as I am in Dublin where it never rains much. My rain gear which is fine in Dublin proved inadequate for Cork. I was out and about a bit so it was put under some strain. Inter alia, I went to see Reggie in the Everyman – funny in places but pretty site specific as they say, can’t see it travelling outside Cork – Reggie was in Elec Eng the year ahead of me in college and I’d say that he has more lucrative ways to make a buck so he must really love it. He was a brilliant debater in college and the best bits of the show are when he interacts with the audience, he’s very fast on his feet. Something about his accent and some of his expressions really remind me of the Cork of my youth and my parents’ friends so I have a bit of a soft spot for him.

The purpose of my visit was to keep an eye on my aunt as my sister was away. To be honest she seemed pretty well minded without me and I was quite impressed by the trail of people in and out every day which my sister masterminds from her fastness next door. Still, my aunt was very glad to see me which was pleasing.

I found a box of my mother’s old papers from before she was married. There were loads of old letters and her diary from the year she spent in England. I had a quick look through it pending a more thorough perusal in due course and many days are marked in capital letters NO POST. My poor mother. That said, the box is full of letters sent to her in England so there must have been some post.

I came back on the train on Thursday. My rain gear completely gave up the ghost on the cycle to the station. My boots (still drying as I type) were super saturated as were my socks. My rain jacket and trousers leaked at cuffs, joints and hems soaking through all the layers I was wearing. I was, foolishly, not wearing waterproof gloves but my nice Paula Rowan ones that Mr. Waffle bought me one Christmas. I literally had to wring them out in the station. They will never be the same again. I was frozen and damp on the train home. Sigh. Don’t give me this “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” guff.

I derived mild pleasure from sending my brother this picture from the train showing snow in Tipperary as he is in Morzine next week and rain is forecast. Rain!

I arrived home safely in time for my birthday celebrations. Mr. Waffle had made superhuman efforts as had all of the children. I got messages from all and sundry (why would you keep your birthday a secret? why?) and lovely flowers from a former colleague as well as great presents from Mr. Waffle, the children and my siblings. A triumph overall.

Sadly Mr. Waffle was up to his tonsils at work and couldn’t take the day off. It was snowy but bright and sunny (Dublin weather) so I went to the park and took some pictures for myself. Sadly, I also got a puncture but into every birthday some rain must fall (though not, generally, in Dublin).

We were invited to dinner at my oldest friend’s house. I have known her since I was born (our parents were friends). On the way over to her house I explained to Mr. Waffle how this was an important time as until April 20 (her birthday) we were the same age and she could no longer tell me what to do. Mr. Waffle said, “I think that was understandable when you were children but it’s a bit weird that you are still talking about it now.” I was extremely pleased that her birthday card adverted to this very fact.

I must say being 54 is not at all as I anticipated when I was 24. I am beginning to realise that everyone is still 24 on the inside.

Working Our Way Through the Schliemann Layers

31 January, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

My sister and I cleaned out upstairs in our 93 year old aunt’s house. It was a bit weird because, as my sister pointed out, normally you do this kind of thing after someone dies but she was just downstairs. She’s moved her bedroom downstairs and doesn’t really come upstairs any more. Physically, she’s pretty well but she had a TIA a couple of years ago which means that mentally she is only alright. I mean she is alright, she’s living at home with support and she recognises us all and can chat and read the papers but her short term memory is pretty poor.

My aunt moved into the house – next door to my parents – about 40 years ago and, to be fair to her, she did a pretty thorough job of getting rid of stuff from the old house which was where she had lived with her mother and aunts and uncles. There were hardly any things left. My granny’s engagement ring, the (silver?) Douglas golf club trophy which my uncle Tommy won in 1930 and a couple of old photos and letters.

I remember my mother telling me that this was a picture of my father at school in South Pasadena, California in the late 1920s or early 1930s. I can’t find him in it but the clothes look right, I suppose, and that is certainly not Irish sunshine that the children are squinting into.

There is a description my mother began writing of our last family holiday together. She seems to have run out of steam about the time we got on the ferry which is…disappointing. However, not before pointing out that she wanted to follow a particular signpost for the ferry in the port but my father said to ignore it as these things are made for idiots and the obvious way to go was straight ahead. Sadly, history does not reveal who was right but I feel, somehow, that it was unlikely to have been my father.

My great uncle Dan’s pretty well-photographed trip to the continent in 1924 has survived as has his graduation picture. Here he is feeding the pigeons in Venice. Stay tuned for his time in Zermatt.

My great aunt Cecilia – some of whose things I have in my own house – is looking pretty jaunty in this picture from July 1921, an otherwise quiet time in Irish affairs etc. I was extremely keen to name the Princess Cecilia, even as a middle name, but was balked by husband’s point blank refusal to countenance such a thing. Alas.

My grandmother and grandfather look very young and happy in this picture. Especially my granny who by common consent was hilarious, if you were a grown up. I only knew her as a child though – she died when I was 12 or so – and I found her a bit formal and remote. I am assured that she adored me but I think she was not particularly interested in children and found grown ups more entertaining. And who could blame her?

I will not be taking questions on this at this time but for various reasons some of my parents’ stuff ended up in my aunt’s house. This, I assume, is why my mother’s piano exam results from 1946 has been preserved there. God, she hated learning the piano. She spoke about it with great bitterness; apparently the nun who taught her would rest her hands on my mother’s and every time my mother played a wrong note, the nun would dig into her with her nails. But look it got short term results – first class honours. Not sure that the long term legacy was exactly what her parents were hoping for.

There’s a picture of me aged 15 with the exact same hairstyle as I have now but, you know, a bit more slender and fresh faced. I’ve cut my brother out as, I understand, the internet never forgets and I’m not sure he wants to be remembered in his bowl haircut and Ghostbusters jumper. When I showed this picture to Daniel, he was shocked, “I sort of expected you to be wearing the same clothes you wear now, not real 80s clothes.” There you go. I wasn’t making up living through the 80s.

It’s so funny the things that survive and get passed down and the enormous bulk of things that disappear. I guess that’s the way it goes but it is strangely dismal how much is just gone forever.

Christmas Round Up

31 December, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Christmas Eve

We went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (9 o’clock, midnight isn’t what it once was, inflation etc.) which was nice and the choir were in great voice. Herself and Daniel got trapped by the elderly priest who mans the side door.

Him: I haven’t seen you for a long time.

Her: I’m in England [as she explained she wanted him to understand that she was abroad and not like the other two pagans she was with].

Him: There are great Catholics in England. Look at Cardinal Newman, you can be like him.

Big ask.

Anyway, when we got home, the children disappeared up to bed and Santa got to work. At 11.30 herself arrived down looking for a snack in the kitchen which was Santa’s centre of operations. Who comes down hungry at 11.30 on Christmas Eve? Anyhow, Santa finished the present wrapping and brought herself out a snack to boot. What a saint.

I cracked open the After Eights at 11.55 and who could blame me?

Christmas Day

Santa was very tense this year but in fact, did a very good job, the children were broadly pleased.

Herself made brunch for us all. It was excellent.

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother in the nursing home and then had a brief – though pleasant – walk.

Then we went home to make our very complex dinner. I had put the turkey in the oven before we went out. In fairness, the aga came into its own and overall dinner was v elaborate and v successful [my next door neighbour cooked for 18 and they had to drive to her daughter’s place to do some of the food as her oven was not big enough – the stress!]. However, our turkey was, alas, like ashes. To paraphrase Paul Hollywood, “very dry in the mouth.” But is that not what gravy and cranberry sauce are there for?

I spoke to my brother in France. Over the course of Christmas Eve the gas in his airbnb had got feebler and feebler. It ran out about 7 which was not a great time to ring the owner and explain the problem. Himself and his friend S were looking at charcuterie and cheese for their Christmas day lunch. However, they went for a walk around the town and found an open restaurant with a festive menu. My brother wanted to see what other options there were (this is so typical of him) but S insisted that they go there (my brother always characterises S as his pleasant but slightly dim friend from college but my sister says this is not so, it is just what my brother believes and S’s PhD from Cambridge and post-doc from MIT are strong arguments for S’s smarts but nothing has been as convincing as his bundling my brother into the restaurant there and then). Apparently dinner was delicious.

St. Stephen’s Day

The washing machine broke down again. We went to visit the cousins for lunch bringing with us a full load of damp laundry from the machine (happy Christmas!). The children were glad to see their cousins and lunch was delicious including very good turkey. If I ever have to cook Christmas dinner again and, honestly, my aim is not to, I will ask my sister-in-law for tips.

Daniel made Cajun turkey pizza for dinner which he said was a real success. The rest of us had our leftovers in other forms.

December 27 – 30

We went down to my sister in Cork for a few days. It’s amazing how good the road is now. Just over 3 hours each way which compares very favourably to the five hour trek which was a feature of my youth.

My sister and I did a tour of our relatives in North Cork and Limerick which was broadly successful – though God it is impossible to visit my Limerick relatives at any time of day without getting a full three course meal – v nice in fairness but it does make me think that they must regard my hospitality as well below par. We talked a lot about my father and my sister talked about the day he died. I think, it was a surprise to everyone but my sister felt particularly sorry for the junior doctor in charge.

The boys spent most of their time playing Magic with my sister’s partner. She says he enjoys it. I hope so for his sake.

Herself and myself went out for breakfast in Cork (difficult, many places closed, queues everywhere and the indignity of a queuing app nearly broke me). We had an unsatisfactory breakfast but a good trip to the Crawford gallery.

Then the boys joined us in town and we went up on the Ferris wheel. Mr. Waffle had met a friend for lunch but we met him in Waterstone’s after where as a Christmas treat he bought each child a book and then we went for tea and a bun. Where will it all end?

I thought my 93 year old aunt was in good nick. I got her a book of poems about cats (you’d be very surprised how many poets have penned cat verses) for Christmas and she was delighted. Honestly, I think it was the most popular Christmas present I gave anyone this year.

After our disastrous effort earlier in the week, I booked breakfast for myself, Mr. Waffle and herself (no one else wanted to come). Options were few. I booked Sophie’s at the Dean for 9 in the morning which was earlier than I would have liked but beggars can’t be choosers etc. The Dean is a new hotel beside the station part of the ubiquitous Press Up group which is basically a Dublin franchise. I see they are doing what they can to ingratiate themselves with the locals.

The views were really good but the food was only alright. The decor was odd, ski chalet meets marble palazzo. I remain on the hunt for a good Cork breakfast venue.

Herself expressed interest in a very nice but profoundly uncomfortable antique sofa and armchairs my mother bought at auction sometime in the 60s (the sofa is very like this but with fewer legs – it’s a two seater rather than a three seater). My sister was going to get rid of them and I was resigned (because although nice they are, see above, uncomfortable). I was delighted when herself said she wanted them (she said that if you weigh less – like her – they are less uncomfortable). But now I realise that I will move them to Dublin and by the time she comes to have her own flat, she won’t like them any more and I will have them forever. I am not sure that I am as pleased as I thought I was.

New Year’s Eve

Notwithstanding the thrills of Cork, it was nice to be home. The boys filled in their CAO forms today – a procedure which is more open to error than you might think. However, having seen how the English system operates, courtesy of herself, it could be a lot worse.

Herself went to Scotland to stay with a friend for new year’s. I spent the day doing jigsaws and eating stem ginger.

The new washing machine arrived at 8 in the morning and the men said we hadn’t paid for installation (no, but we would have, we would have, if we had known this was optional) and left us to our own devices. Mr. Waffle spent a happy time wrestling with it but it is now working, we are pleased. Michael audibly gasped when he saw it in all its glory when he came down for breakfast.

Lads, we are 2023 ready. May I join in the already deafening whatsapp chorus from the people on the road and wish you a very happy new year?

Home

20 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

Regular readers will be aware that I am from Cork and although I have now lived for longer out of Cork than I did in it, it will probably always be home to me. When my father died in December 2020, I remember thinking that for the first time I had no home in Cork. Your parents’ house is your house, it is, as my mother-in-law used to say, “where they always have to take you in”. A slightly grudging formulation I always felt, I mean surely home is where they always want to take you in?

I was delighted when my sister said that she wanted to buy my parents’ house. It was the best possible option for me. The house would stay in the family and someone else would, realistically, have to go through the lifetime’s worth of stuff accumulated by my parents. Probate took a while and so did the conveyancing process but now the house is finally my sister’s. The sale closed in early November. I am pretty sure I will always be welcome to stay with my sister but, of course, it’s no longer my parents’ house. She has lots of plans for renovations (very much needed) and changes. It is lovely to think of the house being looked after again as it was when my mother was well. She was the most competent person I ever met, she took upholstery lessons and re-upholstered the sofa, she painted, she moved furniture with abandon. She really had endless confidence that she could do anything and mostly she could. So this is completely a good news story but still I feel a bit sad. Another door closed, the end of an era.

Stuff

18 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland, Siblings

You will recall that I am unwilling to let my parents’ large enough collection of Cork Historical and Archaeological annual journals go to a secondhand bookshop. I am equally unwilling to give them house room here. My sister emailed me yesterday to say that the society are willing to take the journals back. They will even collect them. They have even thanked her for donating them. A thrill.

Meanwhile, in other news, I have spent the afternoon taking apart an old fence which has been awaiting my attention in the shed for some time. I escaped almost entirely unscathed although – in quite a dramatic development – a large and rusty nail attempted to pierce me in the neck as I tried to bend back the boards. Also good, on balance.

I met a friend with sciatica this morning and we had a cup of tea and then limped around the block – me with my knee and her with her hip. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? This is not the vision of being in my 50s that Hollywood has led me to expect.