Farmer and former TD, PAUL CONNAUGHTON, takes a nostalgic look back at his local Mountbellew Agricultural Show and what it meant to schoolgoers in the 1950s.

THE holding of the Agricultural Show was a brilliant event in our young lives in the 1950s. Our Show Day in Mountbellew would certainly match in our imagination the heyday of the Spring Show in Dublin or the ‘Daddy’ of them all – the Agricultural Shows at Stoneleigh in the United kingdom.

The sheer joy of Show Day then is hard to explain now. Looking back there was not much else to get excited about. The odd circus, McFaddens ‘Touring Company’, the occasional film show with a rickety projector in the Mountbellew Hall usually featuring Fabian of Scotland Yard, was about the sum total of our social activity.

My memories of our show in Mountbellew vividly recall the old showgrounds in the field beside Farrell’s Mill. Nice new houses now stand on the sacred showgrounds. Indeed PJ and Maura Farrell’s house sits right on the spot where the Champion Wall stood but more about that later. It is true that we seemed to have more wet Show Days than fine ones but a day of freedom with a half crown (two and sixpence now 12c) was like a gift from the high heavens. It was a double edged bonus if you could get in for nothing.

Not an easy thing to do but I must confess that I, with others, got through the fence behind the Mill on several occasions. A real trick then was to come through the entrance, collect your pass and do your illegal entry again. You then had a few tickets for younger members who might be afraid of getting caught.

On the ass-cart

There was another way of getting in for nothing also. Get yourself associated with a horse or ass-cart of exhibits as they went through the ‘Exhibitors Only’ entrance. I remember the late Bernie Keogh remarking in desperation one show morning that there were ‘more young lads hanging onto the cart than there were hens and ducks inside it’.

My late mother was a regular exhibitor. She would be preparing for several days: jam, butter and a bit of embroidery – not always her own – and of course poultry.

Poultry at Mountbellew Show was not exactly the biggest section but my mother obviously wanted to win the special overall prize in this category which she did on a few occasions.

However, if the truth be known not all the ducks or hens were either bred, fed or owned by us. On a few occasions when she did not have matching ducks, she relied on the help of her longtime friend in Springlawn, Bridget Brennan, as she called her, Jimmy Leahy’s late mother to be precise.

There used to be pandemonium in our yard on show morning trying to catch the fowl. Somehow or other our Rhode Island cock, – who was a sleepy devil 364 mornings of the year – suddenly got energised on show morning when we would try to nobble him going through the creep hole in the haggard.

I can still see the austere presence of John Moran, the then Show Secretary. He seemed to us to be like a Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces with his wide cap and the long flowing brown coat: as kids we thought that he just looked cross.

Another memory is the old man walking around the Showgrounds selling catalogues shouting what we thought was ‘cats and dogs’. Many an hour we spent at a discreet distance shouting cats and dogs behind him. He complained to the late Garda Michael Conway about us and I will always remember getting fatherly advice from the friendly Garda to go and play with someone of our own age.

Madden’s mare

I will always remember my first exhibit at our show. My late uncle, John Madden, in Annaghmore had a fine big red mare, as fine an animal as ever pulled a mowing machine. It was the undisputed belief by most people who knew anything about a horse that Madden’s mare was unbeatable.

However, she got beaten, narrowly; it must be said, but beaten into second place just the same. The late Tommy Dillon of Springlawn had a fine big mare also and she looked resplendent in the show ring on that September afternoon now nearly 60 years ago.

When the class commenced the two judges in top hats and riding breeches looked knowledgeably at a full circle of about 14 fine horses. After a brisk walk around the ring the 14 became eight.

Another brisk walk, a trot, and a close inspection of every limb with particular scrutiny on the ‘wind’ the number was down to three. This included me. I doubt if ever I got such a buzz. I now knew I would get third prize at worst.

But I came for the red rosette. More consultation between the judges, more walk, more very close inspection, more trots and more murmurings outside the ring.

“Madden’s mare will win” said an elderly man standing beside me. She has better bones. After what appeared to be an eternity the third animal, whose owner I do not remember, was called.

Who would get the nod? Well the judges must have seen some little extra refinement in Dillion’s mare. I was placed between her and the third prize winner. My heart fell. How could I possibly lose and I holding the best mare in the country?

Like most things in life when you do not win and particularly when you thought you could not be beaten, the clouds got a bit darker and the Showgrounds was not exactly the paradise that you thought it was at least for a few moments.

Pictured: A Mountbellew Agricultural Show picture from the 1950s with the crowd paying close attention to the action. Note the selection of caps and hats – as well as ‘the young lads’ watching on from the side.