As written by herself:
There was a young girl from Cork
Whose rhymes just wouldn’t work
She tried to write verse
But each day she got worse
Her last line never would rhyme.
Princess
Mid-Term
I have just returned from four days in Cork with the children. It was very wet but moderately successful.
On Thursday we went out to Charles Fort; a familiar walk. The children did not look forward to it. In fact, only the day before, they had refused to leave the house with the childminder on the grounds that they would be forced to go to Charles Fort the following day.
Despite the rain, it was reasonably successful. We stopped for lunch in the Bulman and got coveted seats by the fire. From there we had an unimpeded view of the lashing rain and grey sea.
After eating, it had eased to heavy drizzle and we went on. The fort itself was successful.
The boys played with imaginary swords and herself bonded with a small dog. The pair of them went running around the grass together; both delighted.
The walk back to the car was damp but mostly downhill and they got to play with the “caution children” sign.
On Saturday we traipsed in the rain up to Elizabeth Fort. This has been tarted up a bit since I was last there (about age 10 with my mother picking up coal from the coal merchant tucked in under the ramparts; still there, you will be pleased to hear) and there are walks around the ramparts; some statues; a damp man from the city council handing out leaflets and demonstrating commendable enthusiasm; and stocks.
Pushing my luck, I also took them into the Protestant Cathedral as it was on the way. I remembered it as being small on the inside but it’s much bigger than I had thought. Still a lot smaller than you might expect given the size of the outside. They had a child friendly two-page brochure which engendered some mild enthusiasm on the part of herself and Michael but Daniel continued to make a strong case for retreat.
Aside from that, we rarely ventured out. Much of the children’s time was spent working their way through their Uncle’s change mountain and bagging it for him in exchange for a share of the profits. He had more than €600 which is really quite extraordinary and made a tidy profit for the children who had sought 10% of the total. They were subsequently forced to amend this to a lower percentage but it was still very satisfactory. Arguably not as satisfactory as their encounter with my aunt who gave them a small shopping bag full of change and told them to keep it.
The children also played cards with my family. I am regarded as a guru here in our little family group in Dublin so I think the children were surprised to hear how my play was regarded by my cruel siblings. Herself said, “I’m worse at cards than Mummy and Daddy.” To which her aunt responded bracingly, “Don’t be ridiculous, nobody is that bad.” Indeed.
Finally, my brother has been clearing out the attic (I think, because he wants his head examined) and has found some wonderful family photos including a lovely studio one of my aunt and my father in the mid 30s. He has also found loads of press cuttings. It’s a bit difficult to work out why some of them were kept. “Why,” I said to my brother, “have we kept the Evening Echo from 1986?” and as I flicked through I came across this photo of me at my debs. I must say that I look very cheerful considering that I found that particular rite of passage a rather grim experience.
And finally, my aunt gave me a lovely coffee table which used to belong to her aunt (a glamourous photo of that aunt from 1921 was also found in the attic) and I am very pleased.
Tallow Candles or Problems Which Are Likely to Remain Theoretical
The Princess recently finished this excellent book. In the course of reading it, I found her looking at the IKEA candles on the mantelpiece speculatively. “Do you think,” she asked me “that they are tallow?” “I’m not sure, why?” I said. “Well,” she said, “I was just sympathising with Emily who is trying to decide whether to give the tutor wax or tallow candles; you can imagine the difficulty.” Indeed. She added, “If you are ever going on a long trip into the wilderness and you are bringing candles, you should always bring tallow rather than wax because then, if you are starving, you can eat the tallow.”
Truly, she is a mine of 19th and 21st century information.
From the Chalkface
They are learning about Jupiter in the Princess’s class. Observations from the floor as reported by Herself:
Girl from the seat behind her: Oooh Jupiter, you think you’re fancy with your 63 moons.
Teacher: Jupiter is 1,300 times the volume of earth. If you put Jupiter in an enormous bath it would displace 1,300 times the amount of water that the Earth would.
Smart (yet annoying) child: Actually that’s not true as a lot of Jupiter’s volume is made up of gas.
Incidentally, though reported to me in English I assume that this is all done as Gaeilge (at least the teacher’s interventions).
Who would be a teacher?
Weekend Round Up or Next, Conversion of Russia
We had a busy weekend. My brother stayed with us Friday and Saturday night. On Saturday morning we went to the Young Scientist exhibition. Within less than two minutes of arriving I had lost Michael and had to make a lost child announcement. It wasn’t bad: the exhibits were interesting; the exhibitors were enthusiastic (we found a neighbour’s child exhibiting, very exciting) and there were quite good shows but the troops started to get hungry and we bailed at lunchtime.
We dropped the Princess in town with her friend and then she went off to her friend’s house and didn’t reappear again until she was dropped off at 8 in the evening – there is definitely something to be said for the mobile phone as regular updates kept us abreast of these developments.
Meanwhile the boys had a friend round in the afternoon who was to stay the night. We said to the child’s parents, “We are going to 11.30 am mass and happy to take him with us or for you to collect him beforehand.” His family are committed atheists, but clearly not committed enough as his mother replied immediately that he could go to mass no problem and they would collect him later in the afternoon.
So this morning I found myself hounding out of bed to go to mass: my two sons, their friend the atheist, my daughter and my brother (who had only returned at 4 in the morning from his night of dissipation). As I shepherded my unwilling flock in the direction of the church, Mr. Waffle commented, “You have become the Irish mammy”.
Mass itself was fine, even my intro which is usually fraught with difficultly. The Princess impressed her uncle with her reading skills. The atheist friend and the boys were positively saintly. After communion, I whispered to Michael to tell his friend it was nearly over as he was unlikely to know how long it would run and I felt he might welcome an update. “Neither do I know how long it will run,” said Michael mournfully.
Mass featured renewing of our baptismal vows and a sprinkling of holy water which is not standard issue. I am pretty sure that there is a device for sprinkling holy water but our priest today chose to use a bunch of (reasonably fresh) flowers for his water sprinkling which I think is unusual. I suppose it was all odd to our atheist friend.
Afterwards I asked him what he thought of it all. “Well,” he said, “it was very boring for me because I am an atheist.” I see.
How was your own weekend?
Everyone’s a Critic
Herself: The 1990s was a golden age for cinema.
Me: Eh?
Her: I give you “The Parent Trap” and “The Baby-Sitters Club”. Need I say more?