The Question and The Answer
9
THE TERRACE
No 1:The Rabbit Warren.
No 2:Mrs. Mawhon
No 3:Mummy Crowe.
No 4:Doc. Harry.
The rabbit warren could take a whole chapter. In fact, it warrants a
whole book. I’ll have to thumbnail sketch the curious people who lived
there. First.
Pater Familial, Michael. He came from Quin, a Village six miles from
Ennis on the road to Tulla. “To where?” you ask. All right, on
the road to nowhere. I’ve already told you his job. He was one of the
first of his ilk in the country; in fact he had two jobs when he started
off first. He was also Secretary to the Vocational Education Committee.
If you want to know about the history of these things, look up Agricultural
and Vocational Education in Ireland in the early 20th. century, Viz. Horace
Plunkett.
He had worked as a shipping clerk in his youth at Lloyds of London. He
got these two positions in 1902, at the princely salary of 100 Guineas.
£105 old money. He was well known and respected throughout the County.
Like Everyman, he had his weaknesses. He was a good father.
My Mother, Christine. In its day it must have been a curious marriage.
As I said, she was from Derry. Just imagine one of the “New women of
Ireland” in the second decade of the 20th. Century. Small, dark and
intense. It must have been hard to get a job as a domestic Economy Instructress
(Edinburgh Qualification) in Ireland in those days. Well? there was one
going in County Clare in the Vocational Education Section. There was one
other candidate. I told you of my Mothers role in the Great Agricultural
Show. How she ably assisted two ladies. I erred, Miss Frost was not a Poultry
Instructress. She was the Domestic Economy Instructress for the County.
The was the other candidate. She was local. Not as well qualified as my
Mother.
The Committee wanted the local girl. My father was for the small, dark
intense Derry girl. They were at an impasse. He had Executive power. Like
Solomon, he suggested dividing the County. He didn’t want any trouble
with the elected representatives. They didn’t want to be seen to be
biased. A bargain was struck. Hands were shaken. Clare got two Domestic
Economy Instructresses. My Mother and Father were married two years after
in l919. Miss Frost remained the sole Domestic Economy Instructress for
the County.
The rest of the curious inhabitants. I had sisters. Like all sisters,
they were a nuisance in many ways. They were older and tried to bully my
young brother and myself. Another one arrived seven years after me. I was
the oldest boy, but the second youngest of the family. She came as a complete
surprise to all of us. To me who had a kid brother, what could I do with
a kid sister. For a while she plagued me. I could write a whole chapter
on that one.
However, the older ones tried to bully us. Sometimes they did, sometimes
they didn’t. I remember one of them terrified a friend of my young
brother Vincent. We used to entertain our friends in the “Drawing Room”
in the front of the house. That’s where the piano and all the “Good”
furniture was. A stentorian voice from my second eldest sister: “Paddy
Bugler, take your muddy shoes down off the armchair”. It’s amazing
that Paddy and she have remained life long friends. If he heard her coming,
even if he didn’t have his muddy shoes on the armchair, he looked uneasily
around. To see what he was guilty of now.
Lastly Vincent. I’ve already given a clue. The penny for acting
as intermediary to Roger. In one way he was very similar to my Father. He
dreamt of making his fortune. All his life he never let go of that dream.
Even today he’s still at it. Long ago, in my altruistic period, or
was it my Artistic period? I christened him “Mr. Profit Motive”.
He should have gone to the States. He wasn’t too bad as kid brothers
go. That was the rabbit warren (in a nutshell). I’ve deliberately left
out Delia. She is worthy of a chapter on her own.
So, No. 2 St. Anthony’s Terrace. Mrs. Vivian Mawhon. Madame wore
long black dresses a la l900. She walked with a silver topped cane. She
was tall and regal looking. She had a maid; Jenny. She dressed in black
with a white lacy apron, and had a white matching headpiece. Mrs. Mawhon
was very grawnd indeed. Despite us rabbits, my Mother was invited into No.
2 for awfternoon tea. Mrs. Mawhon was a reader, as was my Mother. I think
that my Mother was rather in awe of Mrs. Mawhon. As children we played ball
in our back garden. We were graciously told that anytime the ball went over
the lowish wall, we could retrieve it. Tim, her son’s gardener, cut
the minute lawn every week.
Her son Vivian. Ex-officer in the First World War. Portly and affable.
He, his wife and only child, a girl, lived in a lovely old house on its
own grounds beyond the Maid of Erin. Next door to Bishop Michael’s
Demesne. Their daughter, I don’t remember her name, also rode a pony.
Accompanied by her riding instructor. She had a governess. She also looked
down on us .
Vivian was a member of the Farmers Club down the road from us. He tried
many ventures. Nothing seemed to come from them. Before I left Ennis he
opened a bookie shop at the bottom of a lane off Bank Place. My Father was
a good customer of his. Mrs Mawhon had since departed. I don’t know
what happened to it. I didn’t care less. I had escaped.
Mrs. Mawhon had a nephew. He was an actor, English and also a Film Star.
His name was Leslie Howard. I don’t think he was any relation of my
friend Con., whose ancestors helped the O’Deas to win the battle of
Dysart O’Dea. Leslie visited his Aunt. One day I was playing ball alone
in our back garden. Up the roof of the extension and down again. This time
it went over the roof and into Mrs. Mawhons. I hopped on to the roof of
the bicycle shed, beyond the extension, ready to leap over the dividing
wall. This wavy-haired gentleman was walking around the garden reading a
book. “Hello little boy, do you want your ball back?” He chucked
it back. I leapt from the roof and muttered “Thanks”. I had seen
him in The Scarlet Pimpernel. I knew I was meant to mingle with greatness.
No 3. Mummy Crowe. There was Mummy, Tom and Nell. Mr. Crowe had died.
Mummy was English. He had worked in Fords at Dagenham. I dimly remember
Tom. Tall, be-spectacled, quiet and studious. Years older than us. Nell
I remember well. She was my eldest sisters’ best friend. She spent
more time with our family than in her own home. She was regarded as an extension
to the family, as indeed was Paddy of the muddy shoes. At Christmas there
was always a party for the children of the Terrace in Mummy Crowe’s.
What games did we play? English games of course.
“The Priest of the Parish has lost his hat”; “Some say
this and some say that.”; “Who do you say old brother red cap?”.
Another one, a paper and pencil game, I don’t remember its name. Everyone
had a sheet of paper and pencil. You wrote at the top of your sheet, say;
“John Curley” folded it over and passed it on to the person on
your left. Your neighbour on you right handed you his or her folded piece
of paper. You wrote “Met Mrs Bindon-Blood Smythe”, folded it and
passed it on. Next; “and he said to her”. Next, “and she
said to him”. Next, “and then they...”. All rather startling
when they were finally read out. Better than computer games.
We played musical chairs. Mummy thumped out Christmas music on the piano.
That’s when it happened. I was seven. All the plaster crashed down
from the ceiling. The children screamed, panicked and ran to the door. I
was knocked to the floor in the rush. A large piece of plaster cut me on
the ear. True to form I fainted. I woke up at home. My Father was tea spooning
Brandy into me. To this day I can still smell it.
I was six. The two families bathed in a pool below “Droichead na
Gabhair”. The bridge of the Goats. It wasn’t very deep, but it
did. We picnicked on the riverbank. You could, and we did, pick watercress
on the opposite side of the pool. My Mother was an ex-Economy Instructress,
and Mummy Crowe was English. Being six must have been important. I had made
my First Holy Communion. My Sisters asked me what was I going to become
when I grew up; I had new ambitions. I informed them that I was going to
become a Parish Priest. I wasn’t going to wait around and become a
Curate first. Imperiously I told Nell twelve years old, that she could become
my housekeeper. Fickle Sean had forgotten his earlier intentions as regards
Maura.
The war came. The Crowe family went back to England to do their bit.
Nell became a W.A.A.C. driver. She was driver to Od, a Norwegian Officer.
After the war they married. They had three children. He was something in
Oslo University. He Was killed as the result of a ski accident. Nell kept
in communication with her adopted family. She came home to Ennis some time
ago. Made contact with my sisters and visited no. 3. She had her daughter
with her, who had her daughter with her. The bonds of childhood friendship
remain strong.
No. 4; Doc Harry. He was father of Maura and Paddy of “the muddy
shoes”. Genial would be the best description of Harry. Paddy and Vincent
were and still are best friends. Both of us spent a lot of time in Buglers
house. It was the last house on the Terrace. Their back garden had a gate
through to a strip of land beside the river. It had a sun house. On rainy
days the four of us played Ludo and Lotto there. Yes, Maura played with
us until she was fourteen. I stopped going to their house after that. Anyway
I was going to the Diocesan College. Shortly afterwards they left to live
over the new chemist shop in Francis Street.
The rest of the neighbourhood. Beyond the Terrace on the same side was
the Farmers Club. Opposite it was Rogers house on its own grounds with its
orchard. Opposite to them was The Maid of Erin statue on its column. Tribute
to the Manchester Martyrs. Across the river you could see the County Tennis
Club. All his family were members. You had to wear whites to play in “The
County”. You could have afternoon tea on the veranda of the Pavilion.
You didn’t have to wear whites to play in “the commercial club”
on the road out to Lahinch. They had a clubhouse, no veranda. No afternoon
tea.
Opposite to the Terrace was the new Technical School. The Vocational
School in the old Masonic Hall had vanished. So had my Fathers second job.
That’s another story
My Fathers’ office was in the Courthouse. He rarely went there.
He did his work from No. 1. At first the Department tried to install a telephone
in the Courthouse. He was having none of that. He had been on the job long
before the Senior Inspectors of the Dipartment were ever heard of. He knew
them all as “garsurs”. Not impressed. A comprise. “Well,
we’d put a telephone in No. l”. We were thrilled; a telephone
in our home. “ Not at all, there was no phone going into no.1”.
I told you he was stubborn. He laid down the ground rules. There vas a perfectly
good phone in the Technical School opposite. That would do. The Dipartment
knew when they were licked. “O.K. ” We were furious. It was the
same with the car. All that travelling around the County. Travelling expenses.
What car did he need? There was Paddy Callahan the local hackney man and
friend. Honestly, what could you do?
Kevin, the head of the office in the Tech. used to send over one of the
girls over. “Mr. O’Dea, the Dipartment is on the phone”.
“Right dear, tell them to hold on”. I think he did it deliberately.
Kept them holding on, I mean. His office in the court House was used for
storing the multitudinous forms that were part and parcel of his job. Our
task was to collect same and stationery. The standing fee was six pence
(old). One day he sent me over to find some particular forms. I couldn’t
find them. I rooted around in some old cupboards. I found them and an old
horse-pistol 17 hundred and something. I appropriated it. Thank God the
firing mechanism was broken. I was into my firearms/explosives period. It
was Subsequently sold to Dinny Mc. Mahon. Returned Irish Yank, owner of
the towns only “Antique Shop”. To buy our first set of golf clubs.
History has a sort of way of repeating itself. Kevin gave my Mother the
key money to move into No. l. My Father had died and she was moving up to
Dublin. No. 2 became the rabbit warren of the Terrace. Ambie Howard (the
Howards again) a traveller and his wife moved in there. I don’t know
who moved into Mummy Crowe’s. No. 4 “Paddy of the muddy shoes”
aunt moved into their old house after marrying Paddy Mc McCormack, the manager
of the Whiting Factory.
No. 1 was modernised. The others received the same treatment. I remember
the only one with a bathroom was Doc. Harry’s. They also had a maid;-
Eileen. She didn’t wear a uniform too. I often wonder what it’s
like to live there now. Does it still echo to the shouts of children, the
sound of front doors banging as they scurry from house to house. I’d
like to think so. That it still retains the unique oddness that was part
of my memory of the Terrace.
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