Country Living

When life was rough and tough for a generation of Irish navvies

Published

2 years ago

April 1, 2021

A photo, probably late 1800s, as navigators as they were called at the time – later shortened to navvies – dug out a trench during the construction of the canal network across the UK and Ireland. The navvy name ‘stuck’ when the transition was made to working on the tunnels, road projects and building sites across Britain during the 20th century.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

I remember as a small boy of the ’60s, some of the visits that would cause a bit of a stir in the household, or on occasion, even in the village. The times of the year were either midsummer, often coinciding with the Galway Races, or in the run-up to Christmas.

The setting would be ‘the return of the emigrant’ for a holiday from places like London, Birmingham or Manchester, and most times there would be quite a fuss before ‘the arrival’, with bits of touch-up being completed around kitchens and bedrooms.

An uncle of mine, long since gone to his eternal reward, always captured the mood and atmosphere of the occasion. Not a man to hide his light under a bushel, he would arrive in a flashy suit and shirts so bright that they almost had a dazzle effect.

The scenario seemed to be replicated in other houses across the village, not always with the same ostentation, but the message being delivered was that these people had done well . . . had found the pot of gold in Britannia. . . and were now back home to show off the trappings of their good fortune.

Sometimes though, the departure back to England tended to be a tad more inglorious. A week or two at the Races and in the local hostelries would often mean that the cash supply had run dry by the closing days of the visit and a little ‘sub’ might be required to get him back in one piece. In fairness though, this uncle was meticulous in paying back such temporary loans.

In later years, I found out that this relative – probably like a lot of other such visitors – would then spend months in his London flat without ever moving outside the door or even spending one ten shilling note on the demon drink. It was one extreme to the other.

Many decades ago, I remember a brother of mine (alas departed too for many, many years) who spent one summer holiday period working ‘across the water’ and his return was also marked by an element of flamboyance by way of a light pair of bellbottom trousers, white shoes, a bright corduroy jacket and even a small hint of an English accent. All a bit too much to absorb in one go – in a couple of days though, my mother had him deprogrammed with the help of a day or two on the farm.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

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Country Living

All a long way removed from cautions over noxious weeds

Published

2 days ago

June 8, 2023

Francis Farragher

More innocent times: A scene at a fair day in the late-1950s-early-1960s as a young Garda does his rounds.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

Maybe, I’m a bit old-fashioned, but back the years we were always given the standard family advice of the time – ‘Not to be cheeky, to show respect for older people, and to do whatever a Guard would tell you’.

Those little life mantras didn’t seem to do us any harm as we grew up in a rural setting which was almost completely crime free.

Our local guard was based in the nearby village of Barnaderg – a man by the name of Martin Lyster RIP – who was the quintessential rural Garda: he knew everything that was going on and if at all possible he would advise rather than prosecute.

There was a sense of alarm one summer’s day when he called to my father about what we all thought must have a very serious issue.

The purpose of his advisory visit was to gently remind my father that one of his fields near the road had a few thistles too many per square yard while a couple of other intruders had ‘moved in’ also, such as ragworts and docks.

It was a very serious but friendly conversation and as I kept an ‘ear out’ for what was going on, I could hear the guard mentioning the Noxious Weeds Act, and the need for us to comply with the law.

Sure enough, that evening the scythes were lined up – one or two of them borrowed from the neighbours – so father and sons spent the best part of the following few days mowing down the noxious weeds.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App

Download the Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App to access to Galway’s best-selling newspaper.

Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

Or purchase the Digital Edition for PC, Mac or Laptop from Pagesuite HERE.

Country Living

A time to stay dry as EU seeks to rewet farmlands

Published

1 week ago

June 1, 2023

Francis Farragher

Rewetting: Trouble coming down the drains.

Country Living with Francis Farragher

For most of us who grew up on family farms back through the decades, it could seem to be a very mixed bag. There were always ‘jobs’ to be done like looking at the cattle located a few miles away on a fine summer’s evening when a game of football would seem a lot more attractive.

There were the tougher jobs like thinnowing beet or turnips; footing turf for a day; or that task I hated with a vengeance – picking stones from the meadow fields. I could never quite figure out as a young lad why stones had to be picked almost every year – it was as if they grew out of the soil!

For all that, the quality of life was quite good for most of us out the country, even during the more straitened times of the 1960s, when in fairness, there was always healthy food on the table but very little by way of the clang of silver in your pocket.

In general, it was a time when farms were less intensive but in the ‘pre-dole days’, it still remains something of a mystery to me how families managed to rear and educate quite large ‘clutches’ of children.

There was of a course a whole culture of self-sufficiency on most farms with the hens supplying the eggs that provided food for the table and the ‘gugs’ also went a long way to paying for the groceries when the ‘travelling shop’ called once a week. We used to call him the ‘eggler’ – in my childhood days, a man called Christy Mannion from Barnaderg whose Wednesday visit to our house was almost akin to a Santa Claus arrival every week.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App

Download the Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App to access to Galway’s best-selling newspaper.

Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

Or purchase the Digital Edition for PC, Mac or Laptop from Pagesuite HERE.

Country Living

Getting a small bit spooked as the machines get smarter

Published

4 weeks ago

May 11, 2023

Francis Farragher

Country Living with Francis Farragher

WE all get attached . . . nay, even dependent . . . on our technology devices, most notably the mobile phone, but here and there the technology does spook me a bit.

A couple of weeks ago, as I sat into my car one evening as I prepared to head for the hills, I began to sing a verse or two of the Beatles classic ‘Yesterday’.

The Apple CarPlay system was on in my car and I had scarcely completed the first verse of the song when lo and behold what started to play on the speakers but of one Paul McCartney with the ‘real thing’.

Now, some of my technology nerd acquaintances will come up with a simple explanation as to why this happened but it surely wasn’t a coincidence.

There are times too when I think I’m paranoid, or maybe not, when after certain conversations have taken place about anything from cars to canisters, an ad flashes across my iPhone about the topic we’d just been discussing.

And now, the latest buzz words in the whole chain of technology advancement are Artificial Intelligence or AI, which I have to admit is just a little bit above my basic level of competency or understanding of high-tech jargon.

Being of country stock, the AI initials always meant only one thing back the years – artificial insemination – when the man with the straws of bull semen would arrive on the farm to impregnate cows in what had to be a very non-pleasurable experience for all concerned.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App

Download the Connacht Tribune Digital Edition App to access to Galway’s best-selling newspaper.

Click HERE to download it for iPhone and iPad from Apple’s App Store, or HERE to get the Android Version from Google Play.

Or purchase the Digital Edition for PC, Mac or Laptop from Pagesuite HERE.