belgianwaffle

Ireland

Births, Marriages, Deaths


Posted in: Cork, Ireland

I was in Cork recently for my mother’s birthday. I was collected from the station and promptly sent to mass with my mother for a local priest’s month’s mind.

I hadn’t even known that Fr. C was dead. At the mass (cast of thousands, well 10 priests on the altar) there was a long and interesting sermon about his life which in no respect chimed with what I knew of him. Until I was 11, every evening in term time, my parents would eat with Fr. C while my siblings and I were fed elsewhere. My parents therefore knew him very well and they were fond of him. I only met him occasionally and, as this was the 1970s when adults were not obliged to show interest in children unless they actually were interested (possibly a better system than that which currently applies where everyone has to be fascinated by children all the time), he paid me no great attention.

I was a bit surprised when he turned up on the altar at my wedding to concelebrate the mass with my father’s cousin (who was the priest we had asked to come). On the day, Mr. Waffle raised his eyebrow – who was that – and I shrugged whispering, “Family friend, rather dour.” And then Fr. C christened all my children for me. He was as gruff as ever and I can’t say that I ever had a conversation of any length with him but I came to expect his lined, frowning face at important religious rites. I was surprised to hear the priest at the month’s mind refer to him jovially as Canon Mike and a “charismatic priest”. I can tell you, he was never Canon Mike to me and the charisma, if any, was in trace quantities as far as I was concerned.

Still, I do feel that perhaps, from his now lofty perch in heaven (gruff, but holy, you know) he may just, unexpectedly, keep an eye out for my family here. I stopped and said a quick prayer at his grave on Sunday, just in case.

Etiquette Question


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

I was walking down O’Connell Street at lunchtime the other day. It was busy. A man in a tracksuit was yanking firmly on a bike which was attached to a pole by a spiral lock. The spiral lock was not yielding. Could he be stealing it in broad daylight? He didn’t match the bicycle which had a wicker basket. But who am I to judge what tracksuited possibly drugged people might cycle? Perhaps he had forgotten his key. And surely no one would steal a bike by pulling on it until the lock broke in the middle of the day on the main street of the capital? Nobody paid him and his lock pulling antics the slightest bit of notice.

I hovered anxiously looking at him. The lock held and he walked away. So did I, in some relief. What would you have done?

Overheard Outside the Children’s School


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Twins

Young master of the universe, aged 8 speaking of another pupil, “She can’t be called Anne because Anne is an old woman’s name!”

Did I tell you that I will be 44 on March 10? Anyone know an Anne under 30? I feared as much.

Disappointment


Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland

My mother’s first job out of college was with Clark’s shoes in England. Not quite sure why they needed a chemist but they did and she has fond memories of them. She also wear tested all of their women’s size 7 shoes which was an added bonus and meant she had the most extensive shoe wardrobe of anyone really.

When we were growing up we always got our shoes from Clark’s on the North Main Street (now defunct – the shop not the street). Since coming back to live in Ireland, I have bought all the children’s shoes in Clark’s. It’s a little bit dearer but they measure the children’s feet, I have my mother’s assurance as to the quality of the workmanship (admittedly dating from the 1960s) and they have actually held up pretty well, until now.

I bought Michael a pair of shoes at the start of December and last week he pointed out that the stitching at the top had come undone and there was a big hole. Mr. Waffle brought them back to Clark’s and asked for a replacement pair. The shop said that policy was only to refund 3/4 of the price after 28 days. That doesn’t strike me as very long. I would have said that a pair of shoes that lasts only just over two months are not of merchantable quality. Mr. Waffle made this point. They said he could ring England. He did. The English lady said that she would need to see them and he would have to post them to her. We settled for getting another pair at a quarter of the price of the damaged pair. But I am not pleased. And my mood was not improved by the woman in the shop saying to the children, “Gosh, I remember you guys coming in every year, you’ve grown so much.”

The Princess is delighted, her next pair of shoes will be those Converse runners she covets. She’ll have to learn how to tie laces first though.

Not Very Free Range Children


Posted in: Dublin, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

We went to the Natural History Museum which is a small museum where the children have been a couple of times before. At the door, I said, “You can go where you want inside the museum, but don’t go outside. If you need me, I will go to the book corner when I have finished looking around.”

The Princess pushed her brothers forward, “Go on, let’s enjoy our small slice of freedom pie.”

Project Work


Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

The boys were recently assigned their first school project. Each child had to pick an Irish county to write about. Daniel, still fascinated by the Battle of the Boyne, picked Meath. He did some research on his chosen county. He wrote about the Hill of Tara and the stone of destiny at the top.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve never been up the Hill of Tara, we should go this weekend.” Whereupon the Princess moaned with acute, though deplorable, insight, “Don’t make us, it will be a long walk up a hill in the rain and when we get there the stone will be titchy.” I know that this is true but I am still going to make them do it; if only the weather would improve just a little bit. I have a new Portuguese colleague at work and she is in daily astonishment at the awful weather and refuses to believe that it could be worse in Cork but it is. I digress.

Michael meanwhile chose to do his project on Cork. “Why did you choose Cork?” I asked beaming with pride. “Because there was nothing else left and I knew you would know lots about it.” My pragmatic though not notably tactful child. One of the things he stuck to the chart was a picture of UCC the university in Cork with which my family has a long association. On the front he had written, “Lift the flap to find a fact.” Underneath was written “This is a college, it is called DCU.” [Spelling corrected for your benefit. Michael’s spelling continues to be idiosyncratic.] DCU is a local university in Dublin. As I squealed in horror, a part of me took off my hat to DCU’s outreach programme which is manifestly building excellent brand recognition among local school children.

That is all. The projects have now been submitted and are gracing the wall of 2nd class.