Every year my father reads the Holly Bough from cover to cover on Christmas Day. It’s a Cork publication and the content is, perhaps, not at the cutting edge of journalism. On the cover it describes itself as “A Cork Institution since 1897”. Its articles are full of quirkiness (the girl who was called Tanora – apparently only Cork people know what Tanora is, imagine) and nostalgia. It has several pages of pictures of Cork people in foreign parts holding aloft copies of last year’s Holly Bough. Are you getting a picture here? Nevertheless, I was really very pleased to come home and see that my loving husband had picked me up a copy. My ambition is now to get a picture in it for next year.
Cork
Last Weekend
I took the children to Cork last weekend. We went to Charles Fort again and Michael said bitterly, “Why oh why do we have to go here every time we come to Cork?” Because it’s nice and I can get in free with my heritage card. And also, Daniel got to drink hot chocolate through a straw at the Bulman. Are these not reasons enough?
Miscellaneous Cork News
I went to Cork for my parents’ anniversary. I was alone. Very exciting. My mother and I went for a walk in Kinsale. The weather was beautiful.
We had a family dinner where my aunt told us about how, as a young woman, she and a friend went to Torquay on holidays. They were desperate to see the News of the World which was not then available in Ireland. They promptly went the newsagent’s and bought the News of the World, the Observer and the Catholic Herald. As the newsagent said, that’s not a combination you see very often.
We bought my parents an iPad for their anniversary. So far they seem wary but broadly positive.
I decided to bring my Great Aunt Cecelia’s Persian rug back to Dublin with me as my parents have taken it up to stop themselves tripping over it and killing themselves. Given my reputation my mother said anxiously, “You can have it, but you’re not to throw it out.” I promised not. I imagined it transforming my room, a bit like in “The Little Princess”:
This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed changed into fairyland– and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.
It didn’t quite meet those, admittedly stringent, criteria but I like it as does the cat:
That is all.
Garryvoe – Part 3
Saturday, July 21
Mr. Waffle was restored to us. We went out for lunch to celebrate. The sun shone with some determination and when herself and myself went for a swim in the late afternoon, it was warm. Unprecedented in these waters in my experience.
Then my sister came and collected me. While my noble husband minded the children, I went up to Cork for dinner and then the cinema.
Sunday, July 22
And best of all, I slept in my parents’ house and didn’t get up until 11 on Sunday morning. I genuinely cannot remember the last time I slept so late in the morning. It was fantastic. Oh happiness. I am a champion sleeper, if only given a chance. Sigh.
In the afternoon, reunited with my family, we went to “The Queenstown Experience.” We had been before when the children were smaller and they hadn’t liked it much but it was pouring rain, they were older and they had spent the year learning about the Titanic in school. Unfortunately, this made no difference and the boys, in particular, remained resolutely underwhelmed. Alas.
Monday, July 23
This was our last full day in Garryvoe and was to bring two important sets of visitors, our friends who live in the Netherlands and their four children and childminder and the washing machine repair man. Inevitably, they all arrived simultaneously.
The washing machine man said that there was nothing wrong with the washing machine other than that the water pressure was low (confirmed with neighbour that pressure always low in summer). All that was required was to plug it out and it would reset itself which it duly did. Oh bitterness, thy name is hotpoint.
It was lovely to see our friends though. The children all got on being of similar ages. Despite dreadful weather we all quite enjoyed a trip to the beach except for the Hiberno-Dutch children’s Colombian au pair. She sat glumly on a rock wrapped in her coat and looking in horror at the children in their togs. Under the direction of the Dutch part of the Hiberno-Dutch group they were building a canal at the edge of the water while digging for clay an activity which made them all satisfyingly wet and dirty. I asked the Hiberno part of the Hiberno-Dutch couple what she thought of the changes in Ireland since the economy collapsed and she commented: “We’re much nicer when we’re poor, aren’t we?”
Tuesday, July 24
We set off for Dublin stopping in Cork for lunch but, at least no washing, so it wasn’t all bad. We beguiled the three hour journey in a variety of ways. “Guess the character” where one person thinks of a character and the others have to guess who it is. Daniel kept us guessing for a long time. He had “road-runner”, it’s not that we didn’t guess that, it’s just that he wanted us to guess which episode and nobody managed that, as he pointed out.
Michael resorted to the DS. “Why isn’t it in English?” he wailed. “I changed it to Dutch, after yesterday,” said Daniel, “you know, I speak Dutch now.”
It was a long drive.
And next I’ll do France but not until the middle of the month. Yeah, I know, you’re on the edge of your seat out there.
Garryvoe – Part 2
Thursday, July 19
We went on our annual pilgrimage to Leahy’s Fun Farm. It didn’t let us down. As ever, the tractors at the entrance were a huge, though to my mind, mildly mystifying, attraction:
There were encounters with animals which Michael didn’t bother with on the basis that he had a packet of crisps which he would rather eat:
It’s not cheap and it’s not slick but if you have children, I cannot recommend this place highly enough.
Friday, July 20
We went swimming first thing in the morning and despite how lovely it looked, it was freezing. There was a reason the beach was deserted.
The boys were keen to participate in Bible Camp which worked out very well as my mother and brother came down to visit. We all went out for lunch, then the boys peeled off to play soccer and learn verses of the bible in the care of large numbers of young adults who will certainly go to heaven for their virtue in running this thing during their holidays. My mother and I went for a stroll and my brother and herself contemplated the water.
Despite having been frozen earlier in the morning and not having her togs with her, she ventured in:
My mother and I volunteered to go back to the house to get towels. But we were slow and just as we were leaving the house, she came dripping up in her soaking clothes and said bitterly, “Where were you? I was just about to call Childline.”
Still, all in all, a huge success and another fine day making this undoubtedly, the best week of the Irish summer so far.
Still more to come. Nearly there now though. Tune in tomorrow when Mr. Waffle returns from the big smoke.
Garryvoe – Part 1
Monday, July 16
This was to be a sort of 1950s holiday with Mr. Waffle back in Dublin working and me at a seaside resort with the children, so, on Monday, we dropped Mr. Waffle off to get the train back to Dublin. Before he left, he put on a first wash and the washing machine refused to work. Ominous. Fortunately, M and R had chosen to extend the warranty on their machine (a decision which I applaud) and Mafew promised that someone would come on Monday. “No, not today,” he clarified. Alas.
On the plus side, there was Bible Camp. We have been to this before – it’s evangelisation through fun and the boys love it. Herself was always a bit dubious and this year put her foot down and refused to join in the communal fun. There was an accordion and this may have been the last straw for her.
In the afternoon, we were in Cork (with our washing, obviously) and the weather was absolutely beautiful. My brother, who can be saintly when the mood takes him, played rugby with the boys in my parents’ back garden while I had a nice cup of tea with my mother and herself continued operation read for Ireland.
Back in Garryvoe we ran into the neighbours. The father of the family shares a name with my brother-in-law but looks quite different from him. Undeterred by this, Daniel commented, “I am looking forward to seeing my cousin later.” Children’s minds work in mysterious ways.
Tuesday, July 17
We went to the beach first thing in the morning. It was cold but great fun. I think my bones actually shrank a little as I waded into the water.
We then took ourselves to Bible camp. Herself stayed resolutely in the car reading her book for the hour’s activities but I sat on a bench in alternately freezing wind and drizzle and watched the boys playing while reading the paper. I was thus able to prove that it is possible to get burnt in cloudy weather. Oh the pain.
My sister and a friend came to visit us that evening briefly distracting Michael from his anguish that he had pulled a heavy kitchen chair over on his foot. When they left, about 10.30, I went to bed. Michael was still awake whimpering that his foot was sore. At 11.30 he started bawling. His foot was sore. Could he conceivably have broken it? He cried loudly and pathetically until 1.30 am when I was getting desperate. Of course, I hadn’t so much as a bottle of calpol on me. I found myself wondering would I get them all out of bed and drive to A&E in Cork or, at least, to an all night pharmacy in Middleton. He fell asleep, I scooted to my own bed. At 2.30, Daniel came in and woke me up. “Michael’s having a tough time,” he said, hopped into my bed and was instantly asleep. Poor Michael was indeed crying again, “The pain! My foot!”. In desperation I rang my father (house phone off the hook, so had to ring my sister’s mobile first and get her to wake my father). I asked could I give Michael one of my own adult paracetemol tablets. How much did he weigh, how much paracetemol was in the tablet? I chopped it up following instructions and Michael was so miserable he swallowed it. About 10 minutes later he was asleep and I was able to text Mr. Waffle my woes for his consumption in the morning.
All night Michael slept the sleep of the just. When I asked how he was in the morning (fearing the worst) he bounded out of bed, saying, “I’m fine.” My father texted me, “How’s Oedipus this morning?” If like me, you thought the only significant thing about Oedipus was that he killed his father and married his mother (notable certainly) then see here.
Wednesday, July 18
After the horrors of the previous night, I was a shadow of my former self. I took the children for the customary tour of Blackrock Observatory which they pronounced satisfactory. Daniel played the theremin:
On the way back to Garryvoe, Daniel said sadly, “I miss home.” “Why sweetheart,” I asked. “There’s no wifi in Garryvoe.” A whole new world people.
More tomorrow.