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Siblings

Words are the Daughters of Earth, but Objects are the Sons of Heaven

2 May, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

I was in Cork over the weekend a couple of weeks ago. My brother announced that he had thrown out a couple of books from my parents’ house. “You shouldn’t have done that, I might have wanted them!” I cried. “Well,” he said, “You’ll just have to manage without Common Household Insects and Pests“.

My sister and I spent hours clearing out my mother’s wardrobe; you will recall that my mother died in June 2019 so this was overdue. It took a lot out of both of us.

The clothes were ok actually though why I thought that I would fit into a size 10 jacket – which I have now donated to herself – is beyond me. We found an enormous number of kid gloves in yellowish white all of which I have given to herself in the – possibly forlorn – hope that she will find these vintage items of interest.

There were furs which had belonged to both my grandmothers. In surprisingly good nick but, I don’t know, fashion may have moved on. Mr. Waffle believes there is something distinctly disturbing about the little paws on this scarf (intertwined dead rodents is how he describes the whole), hard to disagree. These were standard issue for everyone’s granny when I was a child but not so much anymore.

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Herself says her fellow students are always leaving unlikely things at nightclubs and posting distraught messages to social media saying things like “I lost my Great Aunt Edith’s pearls at Wild Nights, has anyone seen them? My parents are very cross.” I can’t help feeling that her great grandmothers’ furs are more unlikely lost items than most and she might enjoy having them.

The wardrobe also contained a mountain of papers, most of which we threw out: old theatre programmes; dinner menus; conference programmes; receipts; hand made cards; bafflingly, an entire Cork Examiner from December 1985 kept for no discernible reason; photographs; a letter from my father from London; chequebook stubs; and postcards.

I kept a description of the dying days of our cat written by my mother which was surprisingly emotional for a hard headed farmer’s daughter. I also kept her insurance book issued from when she went to Freiburg as a postgraduate student in the 50s.

There were some lovely photos of her time as an international student in Freiburg as well as some from her graduation and UCC balls. We kept all the photos, of course and also all of her out of date passports.

I wonder where the people in this photo are now? My mother is in the middle of the front row. If you know any international students who spent 1957/58 in Freiburg, get in touch!

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I kept three of her old cheque books from the 60s. Many of the stubs were not filled in – I regret to say an abiding failure of hers. There was one though for £600 to a garage in Farnborough and I think that must have been for her beloved mini cooper. I kept one of my homemade cards – there were many but I remembered the pain associated with creating this particularly elaborate one. There was a German calendar for 1958 and some unused postcards from Copenhagen, I kept those too.

There was what I can only assume was an unopened wedding present from 1967. We used them for breakfast the other morning. Good to see them getting a trip out after a wait of 54 and a half years.

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It’s funny how few things remain of a whole life time, a whole beloved person; and I am conscious, not necessarily the things she would have chosen to have kept or be remembered by. That’s how it goes, I guess.

Post

15 April, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

During the week I got a blank postcard with my name and address on one side and a picture of Costa Rica on the back. I was quite baffled. Conversation with my sister revealed the following:

  • She bought a postcard for me and addressed it when she was in Costa Rica in 2013.
  • She never sent it.
  • She brought it home.
  • Her partner’s mother has a friend who likes to send postcards of places he has never been.
  • My sister posted a lot of blank postcards to her
  • The envelope opened in the post box.
  • The post office dutifully delivered the unstamped blank post card to me.

Not vintage content, I would concede, but there it is, this week’s postal mystery unravelled.

Separately, the census enumerator collected the census form. I had dutifully divided the time capsule bit at the back into 5 for us all to fill in a bit. It was on the hall table for herself to add her bit but, alas, she had not done so by the time the enumerator came. I wanted to take a photo of the time capsule as well for…um, not posterity, for me I suppose but it was not to be. I put in as much as I could about family history (I bitterly resent that empty fifth as I had much more to say but there you go); Mr. Waffle put in a bit about us and our cat; Michael hoped that there were people to read it; and Daniel put in a line from a song. I do hope we get to do it again next census.

Happy Birthday to Me

10 March, 2022
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

I am 53 today. I have had a very satisfactory birthday. My loving family delivered on the present front. I got amazing home made cards from the boys; I spoke to herself in far off England. I got lots of flowers, cards and good wishes. I had birthday cake. Mr. Waffle and I went to Glendalough and it did not rain on us.

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Honestly an excellent birthday.

Unfortunately, as I tramped around the mountains on my delightful day off not one but two of my staff texted me to say that they had tested positive for Covid. As I had them in my office several times over the course of the last few days, I fear the worst. I feel fine so far though and I am double vaccinated and boosted. Let’s hope for the best.

Long Old Month All the Same, Isn’t It?

30 January, 2022
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Siblings

We had my brother up to stay last weekend and my sister came to visit yesterday. There’s no two ways about it even though we drive each other crazy sometimes – mostly? – there is nothing like a sibling. It was lovely to see them both. We went bowling with my brother and he won comfortably. A misspent youth, clearly.

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Mr. Waffle and I attempted a cultural adventure last weekend but were refused entry to St Patrick’s cathedral on the grounds that evensong was on. “But it’s only 3.15,” I yelped. “It’s Protestant, you know,” said the security man slightly patronisingly. “But it’s nowhere near evening,” I said. He looked at me pityingly. “Let’s go to Marsh’s Library instead,” I said to Mr. Waffle. “That’s closed too,” said Mr. Annoying Security Guy.

We had a browse in the outdoor book fair in the park beside the Cathedral and bought two books (do we need more books? NO!). Then we went on to Bewley’s where we waited 15 minutes to be seated for tea, with Mr. Waffle chomping at the bit; he is not patient. As the young woman led us to our table she asked, “Have you been to Bewley’s before?” Mr. Waffle confided to me that he was very tempted to say to her, “I’ve been coming here since before you were born.” But he managed to stop himself which is just as well.

Today we went up to the Hellfire club which is a very modest walk in the Dublin mountains close to the city. It didn’t rain on us. A win.

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We booked our summer holiday this evening which took a great deal out of both of us but it is done. Let us hope that we will be able to enjoy it in due course.

Small Island

11 January, 2022
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Sample 1

You will recall that Michael and Daniel spent time on Bere Island over the summer, I’m sure. It’s a small island off the west coast of Cork. My sister’s partner’s parents have a house there. In conversation with a classmate, Michael discovered that his (the classmate’s) grandmother was from there and they owned the nearest house to my sister’s partner’s parents where the classmate went for Christmas. All three of them were there at the same time over the summer and it is almost unbelievable that they didn’t run into each other but they know for future reference and the classmate’s mother has told me that none of their outhouse doors are locked and the boys can help themselves to canoes etc if they are back again. If I’ve told you this before, I’m sorry but I have reached the age where I am allowed to repeat myself.

Sample 2

A retired colleague dropped in to the office before Christmas and a couple of us went for coffee.

Still working colleague: How are you getting on?

Retired colleague: Great, well, my health is good which is a great thing.

SWC: Yes, at our age that is a great thing. A friend of my husband’s was swimming in the sea in Kerry last summer and started to feel unwell. A man in the sea with him (a stranger to him) happened to be a GP. He asked the friend if he was ok. He said not. The GP brought him to shore where he collapsed.

RC: The exact same thing happened to me when I was in Kerry with friends over the summer. They are both doctors and this man collapsed who had been out swimming and they went to help. It was very dramatic, the air ambulance landed beside the beach and all the cows ran to one corner of the field.

SWC: And this man had to be airlifted to Cork where he was treated for a brain bleed.

RC: He was airlifted to Cork but we never heard what happened.

Yes, yes, it was the same man, same beach and, you will be delighted to hear that, although it was touch and go for a while, the man has made a complete recovery and just had an appointment with his doctor the other day who said he was fine. Retired colleague said his doctor friends had been wondering what happened and now he would be able to tell them the good news.

The Mother of All Sundays

9 January, 2022
Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

I’m back to work tomorrow after what feels like a very long break. Am I looking forward to it? I am not.

Covid

Over the past week, Mr. Waffle and I have sampled a range of Dublin eateries for breakfast/brunch, which has been hugely enjoyable. However, if I get Covid, it will definitely be from the Elephant and Castle in Temple Bar. It’s not that they weren’t observing all of the requirements but it was the fullest place we’ve been in months.

So, I do not currently have Covid. However, Covid is rampant here. My brother-in-law and his wife have it – baffled as to where they could have got it. My brother is at home self-isolating as a close contact of some randomer in Spain (regular readers will recall that he was in Tenerife for Christmas). I am a bit amazed that the systems talk to each other and impressed. He’s not delighted.

I went to visit my mother’s friend from college whose husband died in August. Two of her sons live abroad with their families and couldn’t easily come home due to Covid. She and her son who lives at home had been going to host her other Dublin based son and his wife and children for Christmas Day. However, you guessed it, the son, his wife and children all came down with Covid so it was just my mother’s friend and her son who lives at home for Christmas Day. He had a really bad reaction to his Moderna booster and spent Christmas evening throwing up so it was not exactly a peaceful and joyful day as hoped.

My friend who lives in America came home with her husband and four children. There was a problem with two of the children’s passports and her husband had to stay behind with them to sort with the American embassy while my friend went home with the younger children. This is not exactly a Covid story but, of course, everything was made much more complex by having to source a Covid test (when the public system had basically given up putting additional stress on private testing) after they had solved their passport difficulties.

Culture

We went on a number of cutural outings. Somewhat satisfactory. There was an exhibition in Dublin castle on photography in Ireland from 1839. Look, ok, it was put on by the photography bit of the National Library but a bit more on the subjects of the photographs as well as full details on the photographers and their techniques wouldn’t have been any harm.

As a Trinity graduate, Mr. Waffle can get in to the Book of Kells free and bring a couple of guests. This is a genuine graduate perk, I have to concede. When he and I visited we were told that now you have to book in advance to get the graduate perk. “Will we just go in anyway?” I said to Mr. Waffle. “How much is it?” I asked the woman on security. €18 a head! We did not just go in anyway.

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In other cultural excitements, I decided to go to the annual Turner exhibition in the National Gallery but there was a big queue so I was put off. Instead, I decided I would finally cash in the gallery membership I got last Christmas (2020 – I was waiting for Covid to be over so I could get full value for my annual membership, I’m tired of waiting) and go into the (cost-free to members) Jack Yeats exhibition. Was there anyone in the whole gallery who could assist me in redeeming my membership? There was not. Apparently I can ring any morning. Well, that’s helpful. A job for next week. I had a wander around the free stuff but my absence of membership gnawed at my frugal bargain-loving soul and I couldn’t enjoy it properly thinking I ought to be in the Jack Yeats exhibition for free.

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Great Outdoors

We went on a couple of successful walks. Out to Howth Head early on Wednesday morning with Daniel and Michael. When Daniel saw the Summit car park he said, “Oh God not here.” This was not exactly propitious but it was a beautiful day and we had the walk largely to ourselves and, I think, despite himself, he didn’t hate it. We had lunch in Howth and were home by early afternoon filled with inner smugness (in fairness, that was probably just me).

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On Wednesday night, we had a farewell dinner. I went all out on the Christmas ware which none of the menfolk appreciate at all. Their loss but it was nice to have herself defending it, even if it does make the cupboards a bit full for December (conceded).

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Thursday was Women’s Christmas. The Wise Men completed their epic journey from the far side of the hand sanitiser on the hall table.

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The boys went back to school. Herself went back to England. We drove her to the airport. “Did you see my whatsapp message about how hilarious it is to google “askew”?” I asked. “Yes,” she said tartly, “but I knew about it already because I have been on the internet since 2007.” Notwithstanding her very recent reminder of how keeping your parents young can be a brutal process, I was so gutted to see her go. It’s just really sad seeing a child off at the airport and I know it’s great that she’s having such a good time and loving it and the alternative would be much worse but I am heart broken. Seeing the light flooding into her bedroom every morning because the curtains are open gives me a pang and reminds me that she’s gone, probably for good. For the very first time, I am wondering what it was like for my mother when I moved abroad at 23 – and basically was gone forever. In fairness, herself is only 18 which seems so young notwithstanding her extraordinary competence at managing everything. I completely forgot to slip her any money at the airport which was something my mother did for me without fail. Happily her father remembered and had cash to hand so that she could sustain herself on her epic trek.

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Mr. Waffle and I drove away from the airport in lashing rain. I had decided to go for a walk in Carlingford to cheer us up but as we drove there in the downpour I did wonder about the wisdom of that. Miraculously the weather cleared as we arrived and stayed fine while we had our walk.

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Then it started to lash again. We went off to a nice lunch spot which we had found on our recon mission during the summer. A pretty successful day out.

When we returned to Dublin, the boys debriefed us on school. They said it was largely empty as half the children and many of the teachers were out with Covid or were close contacts of Covid sufferers. God, I really hope they don’t close the schools.

Change and Decay etc.

On Friday morning, Mr. Waffle and I went to a friend’s father’s funeral. It’s the biggest funeral I’ve been to since Covid. The back doors of the church were left open (Covid, I assume) and the sleet blew straight in and down the back of my neck between my scarf and collar no matter how tightly I wound my scarf. I have never been so cold at a funeral mass. They must have been perished at the graveyard afterwards although it can’t have been a great deal colder than the back of the church. The mass was lovely, if chilly. A relative was an organist and they had pieces from Fauré’s requiem. An outstanding funeral music performance (although a friend did tell me about a funeral he went to where they had a choir and string quartet – which I’m sure was excellent – upping the ante even in death). The speeches (several) were very good, particularly a granddaughter who gave a real feel for what the dead man had been like to her and her cousins (lovely, obviously). I ran into a friend – it turned out she was there in her professional capacity as president of an important national body where the dead man had been advisor to the finance committee. I tell you what, it’s weird to be part of the middle aged, middle class establishment. Where have all the grown ups gone? Dead and buried apparently.

We went home and Mr. Waffle worked for the afternoon and the boys and I took down all the Christmas decorations. What a melancholy end to the holidays. January is going to be grim, I fear, but I’ve decided we will all – Covid permitting – visit herself in England during mid-term in February. She and her brothers are, if not delighted, at least resigned.

How’s your January going?

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