Cork

Stuff

29 January, 2014
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Reading etc.

My siblings pressed upon me a random collection of children’s books which they gathered up at our parents’ house in Cork. They included the very popular Krazy annual.

This is a source of fascination to our childminder as it dates from the year before she was born.

There was also an illustrated “Bible for Children” which my mother used to read every night. My brother repeatedly begged to hear about the plagues, so there was quite a focus on locusts and rivers of blood in our bedtime stories which is, I feel, unusual. It was funny to look through the old and very familiar 70s pictures. Herself picked up the book and read it through. At the end, she announced that the Bible should be over 18s. She doesn’t approve of the story of Bathsheba. Indeed, who would?

Catastrophe

28 January, 2014
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

I have two parents and between them, they have broken 3 hips since last March. My poor mother broke her second early on Friday morning. Now that I am a veteran of the procedure, I am no longer appalled that she and my brother spent 12 hours in A&E before she got onto a ward [Is it worth pointing out that she and my father have what our Minister for Finance calls “gold plated” health insurance?]. Since both of the last hips were broken on bank holiday weekends, that meant it was days before the operation. This time, my mother had her operation on Saturday after being admitted just after midnight on Friday night which was pretty good going. My brother and sister who are both in Cork have been visiting and minding but I was down at the weekend and although it was good for me to see her, the benefit to the patient was pretty negligible as she was still sleeping after the operation for all of my time there.

I am becoming very familiar with the hospitals in Cork. I particularly enjoy the disembodied English voice at the main entrance to the University Hospita which tells visitors to sanitise their hands. It also says, vainly, to the smokers in their dressing gowns who are sucking on their cigarettes in the wind tunnel nearby that “This is a smoke free campus.” Then acknowledging reality it goes on to add sternly, “Your smoke is disturbing patients in the cardiac and cancer wings overhead.” Frankly, I would be surprised, if this were the case, given the chill wind whistling though the underpass where the smokers huddle.

I fear my mother’s recovery from this will be long and slow. Alas. Cheerful broken hip stories in the comments please.

Happy New Year

1 January, 2014
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

How have we been since December 24 you ask?

The Princess was very keen to go to midnight mass (at 9 on Christmas Eve) to sing with her choir. I wanted us all to go together but felt it was too late for the boys. She promised faithfully to go to mass again on Christmas day with all the family so herself and Mr. Waffle went to mass on Christmas Eve and she sang a verse of “Away in a Manger” on her own and she was delighted with herself. On Christmas Day, she dutifully went to mass again (as did her saintly father). The choir were given the day off in recompense for the night before so it was just the organist and the choir director who sang solo. The director spotted herself and asked her to do a reprise of her “Away in a Manger” after communion: “Do the first verse and we’ll see how you’re doing after that.” So away she went. The organist accompanied her quite brilliantly; speeding up and slowing down as necessary. To be fair to the Princess, she sang clearly and in tune. After mass, a number of people congratulated me on her performance including one woman who said that the Princess “made the mass”. A comment which was, theologically, probably not entirely appropriate but was nonetheless very welcome to the singer’s mother.

The presents went down well and Santa played a blinder. Daniel in particular was delighted with his Lego Harry Potter Years 5-7 which he had described as “urgent” on his Christmas list. Michael got a bop it which is a strangely compelling toy. Mr. Waffle has banned its use in the car. The Princess got a zoomer which is an electronic voice activated puppy. Like Siri, I think he is less comfortable with Irish accents than English or American ones. I heard her say repeatedly to Zoomer “Sit, sit, sit.” She achieved varying results. As he lay on his tummy at one point, I heard her say “That’s grand Zoomer” which I’d say was fairly baffling to Zoomer. She also got “The Screwtape Letters” at her request. On Christmas day, she said, “I feel bad going to mass after starting to read that book.” I pointed out that it was not a manual but a system of warnings. “Oh,” said she. This is clearly going to end well.

On the food front, those who said that turkey is a big chicken were right. It was all pretty painless though, oh Lord, there is a lot of it and my parents-in-law who came to us for Christmas dinner are not heavy eaters.

On the 26th we went orienteering with the cousins. It was a beautiful day and very sunny though icy.

It made a pleasant contrast to our trip last year when the weather was, frankly, inclement. Oh yes, a happy memory:

We have just returned from a trip to Cork where we stayed in our saintly friends’ house again – they were in Spain for Christmas so we moved in. We went down on the 27th amid apocalyptic storm warnings but all was well.

There were many more presents in Cork including a Skylanders swap it set which the boys played almost constantly. The highlight for the Princess was probably a trip to the ice rink. A year of roller blading means that she is better than all the rest of us combined on the ice. The boys enjoyed it somewhat less.

We found a dead dolphin on the beach (not included in atmospheric beach shot below):

On Sunday Michael was outraged to discover that he was expected to go to mass twice in one week. I assured him that mass in the country was much shorter than mass in Dublin. Mass was at half eleven and we arrived at 11.28. When we went in, they were on the “Our Father”. We had relied on the internet for our information but the internet had let us down. Clearly mass had started at 11. We slunk to our seats in shame (this was the wilds of east Cork, it’s not like we were going to get to another church) and left again at 11.40. Michael said, very perkily, “You’re right, mass is a lot shorter in the country.”

We drove back to Dublin yesterday. Under the stairs, there was a very strong odour of raw poultry. We had a very good look round but found nothing. I can’t help remember how we never found the head of the pigeon that the cat caught a couple of weeks ago. After that trauma, Mr. Waffle and I just managed to stay awake to midnight. Clearly a good omen for the new year. And today we mostly stayed around the house and some friends came to visit. The boys and I went to see “The Desolation of Smaug” where they were delightfully terrified. And no work or school until next week. Hurrah. Now, if only we could find the source of that smell.

My Teenage Years

20 November, 2013
Posted in: Cork, Ireland

Kara suggested that I might fill in some NaBloPoMo posts with stories from my teenage years. I am not sure that I can give a story a day because that would just be too traumatic but I will give one story.

When I was about 17, I went down town with my mother and there was a tall handsome Pres boy collecting money for SHARE. “Hello William,” said she. “Anne,” said my mother, “you remember William, you used to play together all the time, you were great friends when you were children.” And I did remember William, last seen when I was eight. But I had not been aware that he was handsome then. Remember, gentle reader, I attended a single sex school and my exposure to young men consisted almost (although not entirely) of exposure to my younger brother’s friends. I blushed to the roots of my hair (and I was a brilliant blusher) and was unable to say a word. I muttered something. I died.

About ten years later who did I run into in Dublin, only William. By then I had been through college and my relationship with men was entirely different. I was filled with confidence. What a co-incidence: what was he doing? Was he working in Dublin? How was his mother (great friend of my mother’s and source of our limited acquaintance)? “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in years,” I said. “Yes,” he said, with deplorable, though accurate, recall, “not since that time when I was collecting for SHARE on Patrick St and I met you with your mother and you went bright red and couldn’t say anything.” I died.

The motto of this story is that, contrary to what your mother says, not all of these things are forgotten and actually, people do notice.

Garryvoe Part 2

5 August, 2013
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

For the second week of our holiday in Cork, we booked the children on to a computer course. Herself did it last year and loved it and all three of them were old enough to partake this year. I prayed that the weather would break because I couldn’t stand it if for the finest summer since 1976 I sent them in to look at a screen all day. My prayers were largely answered. The weather was pretty awful:

This left me free to do a range of things with my free time: spend time with my parents; go shopping; force my sister to look at a large house which was deeply unsuitable for her needs but really lovely aside from the dead pigeon on the drawing room windowsill and the damage to the west wing from the largely collapsed roof and, of course, the derelict listed house next door which was included as part of the sale.

The children meanwhile really, really loved their course. But they were exhausted. We got back early one evening and we ate early and I sent the boys to bed. I was just about to turn my attention to herself when she remarked in tones of outrage, “Do you realise that you sent the boys to bed at 7?” “Yes,” I replied. “You cunning, little vixen,” said she. Really, cunning, little vixen? I have a lot to put up with.

Anyhow, after two weeks we returned to Dublin. The children were delighted to be back pointing out familiar landmarks to each other. “Ah the sights and sounds of Dublin,” said their father. “Tobacco,” shouted the children happily from the back seat. Something needs to be done about the illegal cigarette trade alright.

Holidays – Garryvoe Part 1

4 August, 2013
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

Did you know we went to East Cork to stay in our friends’ house? We have excellent friends; a lifetime of careful choosing.

So, in a very 1950s way, Mr. Waffle worked in Dublin and came down at the weekends and I stayed in Cork with the children. The weather was quite outstanding. This did not overcome Michael’s permanent objection to going to the beach but we forced him there; an exercise that requires more enthusiasm on the part of a parent than you might imagine.

The children spread their wings in a mild way. I went for a swim and left them in the house. The three of them went to the nearby playground together, played and came back. They quite enjoyed being out without their loving parents and I am quite pleased with how responsible herself is becoming. Regrettably, she is getting a bit sophisticated for playgrounds.

We made our annual pilgrimage to Leahy’s fun farm which, as usual, delivered the goods. My cousin, who is a farmer’s son and father of three small children, is underwhelmed by Leahy’s but then he has to go and milk cows whenever his brother goes off golfing, so he and his family are more jaded when it comes to farm animals.

There was a climbing thingy:

There was a snake:

There were (new this), mice to put in your hair:

The Princess made friends with a little French girl and the pair of them ran around together. As ever, her parents were utterly unimpressed by an Irish child who spoke good French. There is a reason why sang froid is a French expression. In an effort to keep her French up over the summer, I have offered to pay her â‚¬8.25 [a figure subject to intense negotiation] if she reads one of the Harry Potter books in French. She got to page 87 when the e-reader died. What are we to make of this? Insights thus far: “you-know-who” in French is “tu-sais-qui” when speaking to children and “vous-savez-qui” for adults. Watch this space for more exciting updates. We’ve just purchased a new e-reader. Sigh.

My brother and mother came to visit us for the day. My mother has not been well and it was lovely to get her out of the city. The loveliness was somewhat compromised by my father calling to say that my aunt and two of my cousins had come to visit my mother. He had been peacefully reading the Telegraph when they arrived and although he was happy to welcome them, he was even happier when I said that they should come to us. Meanwhile, my brother had taken the children and the house key to the beach and turned off his mobile phone. So my mother and I sat in the rather toasty car contemplating breaking in. I mulled on the state of disorder which would greet my cousins and aunt. Eventually the sandy ones returned with a very melted packet of chocolate fingers. It all passed off peacefully but I retired to bed with a migraine at 9. Visitors are tiring.

We have been to East Cork many times but never to Cloyne so I forced the children to visit. It is full of interesting things. Despite this photo, they did not like it and they did not find it interesting:

But look, it has a round tower:

An effigy of Bishop Berkeley who spent nearly 20 years here (though he died elsewhere):

It also has a rather fancy marble stone memorial to the man who was a leading light in the British and Foreign Bible Society:

But no, they remained resolutely unimpressed. Can you take more of this tomorrow?