Morning of a Headmaster

The high whine of Radio Eireann's carrier-wave frequently finds me awake. By-and-by it changes to ten-second bleeps and I get out of bed. It is 7.25am. The high-ceilinged annexe of Drumderrig House feels frosty. It is late January or early February. For four years I have listened to the gurgling water of the hand-basin of Kevin Dodd's bedroom next door as he arose early to open the school. Now that he has left, I have this part of the house to myself, and it's my turn to do the early gurgling.
By 7.40 I am climbing the stairs to the Oratory for Mass. Brigid, woman of many parts, now turns acolyte for fifteen minutes. From the oratory window I can see, across Lough Key, the house where I was born, and where my mother has died a fortnight ago. But now is no time for thinking. Mustn't get behind get behind in the schedule. Downstairs for breakfast at 8.07, dining alone as Noel will have a later Mass. As I crunch toast I hear the slither-and-plop of the letters in the passage outside, delivered by a silent postman who has penetrated the outer defences of the glass porch and sneaked them through the portcullis. A mixed bag. Magazines, scientific and educational; someone offers to sell biros with the school's name on them, at an attractive price per gross; a letter from the department:-A athair oirmh-It is noted that on the December lists furnished by you to this department, the pupil Aida Nosferate of Class 302 has not completed the required two years of study of the subjects French and Science Syllabus A, and is therefore ineligible to sit the Intermediate examination in these subjects, according to Rule 26 (b). Mise le meas….."

OPEN….UNLOCK…SWITCH ON…PLUG IN….

By 8.17 I emerge, laden with mail, books, documents, and an orange-juice jar full of milk for the coffee. Fiat ODI 906 is ageing but willing to go. Out the gate. Turn right. Down Abbeytown. Turn left at the Abbey. Over the bridge. Turn right. Past the Shrine. Turn left. There is a drift of three or four early Christains up to the 8.30 Mass in the Sports Complex. Jim Lloyd treads mincingly on the hardened ice of the footpath. The same people doing the same things as yesterday.
At 8.20 I drive into the school grounds and park my car at the gable of the old building. Now routine really takes over. Open front door of Old Building. Go through to staff-room. Deposit milk. Plug in oil-fired heater. Open back door. Round to boiler-house. Unlock. Switch on. If it misfires, procure newspaper and fold. Apply Ronson lighter. Open furnace door. Throw in lighted paper. Drop door shut quickly. Avoid puff of black smoke. Step over puddle on way out. Back to the staff-room. See is mouse still in the cupboard. Wash two dirty coffee cups left by two unspeakable staff-members the previous evening.

By now it is 8.25 and the first cargo of pupils has arrived, two and a quarter tons, from the Corrigeenroe-Knockvicar area. Naturally, being prejudiced, I consider these to be, 'la crème de la crème', and this morning at least they are models of deportment. For instance they refrain from breaking down the door into the New Building when I am delayed for a minute picking up two empty Coke cans and a 'Holland and Madden' maths. book. I open the door and they deposit their bags inside. Then with a rush they are off to the Sports Complex. I follow at a more middle-aged pace.

ETERNAL ROUTINE;

For want of a church the main sports hall is being used for Sunday Mass, the annexe for daily Mass. In the passage, past the annexe into the main hall, I collide with Paddy Leonard, sacristan. Always there, always punctual, with a morning greeting for all. I wonder by what similar eternal routine he has got to this same point as I, at this same time every morning, Fr. Michael Breslin, perhaps, will be the celebrant this week, and because Mass is just about to begin all our operations next door will have to be conducted at less than boisterous decibels.
On a normal morning, I open the canteen door, hand out a football and a few table-tennis bats and they are away with gusto. Mondays are different. What has to be done on Mondays depends on what the worthy parish councillors of Grange, Derrymaquirk and Bealinultha have done after evening Mass the previous evening. They will at least have rolled the carpets and stacked the chairs. The chairs, eight hundred of them, are stacked against a side wall, but the job may have been hastily done, and the tall teetering piles, unable to stand the impact of a football, may have to be restacked. Why? Because they didn't obey Anthony Martin's strict command-'No more than twelve'. Or was it fourteen? The carpets too may have to be re-rolled, as the original rolling may have been crooked, or the warp-fibres of one, may have rolled into another, holding two rolls together like Siamese twins. Each roll weighs about a quarter of a ton and the manhandling of them brings forth much groaning, not all of it faked. At least they are lined up at the end of the hall, out of the way to a great extent. Now the basketball backboard on its tall mobile frame has to be moved from the corner out to the centre. Co-ordination of effort is needed here. James Monaghan applies himself with vigour. Padraig Harte excitedly shouts orders. Liam Bruen, a more careful man, extends his hands to the bar, but as we physicists would say, 'the point of application is not displaced in the direction of the force'. Wattless power, perhaps, the ESB would call it. Soon the job is done and the football can proceed. The days of Spring will soon be here and I will soon tell them to go outside and play on the tarmac pitch behind the complex. Their speechless shock at the wanton cruelty of asking them to go out into the mild, fresh air, will almost melt my heart. The nets are now put on the four ping-pong tables and recreation proceeds.
On a normal morning I have about a half-hour of relative peace at this juncture. I sit in the canteen. Or I walk up and down the hall being careful to avoid high- flying footballs. I can read letters that have come and draft answers in my mind. Dear Sir, We are surprised to learn of a discrepancy in the December lists from this school, as we had them thoroughly checked. Aida Nosferatu should of course read Aidan O'Farrell. The error is regretted. Yours etc etc."

ARRIVALS;

Between 9.05 and 9.10 the inbound traffic is at its most dense, three tons from the Plains of Boyle, three and a quarter from the Foyogues direction, and about fifteen hundred-weight by mini-bus from the northern Tundra regions of Cloonloo and Carrowcrory. At 9.10 I collect the football and evacuate the gym. If a first-year class has a P.E. period immediately following, they appear at this stage, shivering but eager, and ask for the ball to kick around until the teacher comes. If any more senior class has P.E. at this time, they melt into the bush like Salvadorean rebels and have to be got out with napalm. I leave the complex and return to the staff-room, where by now Gus is waiting. Normally he is calm, confident and pipe-smoking. Occasionally he is a trifle edgy and key-rattling. Perhaps some ferocious frit of a teacher has discovered a discrepancy in the time-table! One that will necessitate some late nights for both of us. But no. This morning the trouble is more urgent. A phone-call has come from some teacher. He won't be in for the first period. Gus has already added him, in his mind, to the one who is known to be stretched and won't be in at all, to Fr. Sharkey who is on the Stations but luckily does not have a class until 11.30, to the teacher who won't be in for the first period but hasn't bothered to phone, and to the two missing down in the Vocational School. A messy business. Desperate, but perhaps not hopeless.

PROBLEMS AND SOLUTIONS;

Word has come that some miscreant has inserted half a match-stick in the Yale lock in Mary Martin's prefab. This is not an uncommon occurrence. Not that anyone could possibly have any ill-will towards this attractive young lady. It's just a very inexpensive form of protest. Perhaps someone has the wistful hope that he can find the weak spot that will bring the whole educational juggernaut to a standstill. But we who exploit the young are not so easily baulked. A search is made for Rory Sheerin or some such boy who is not swollen by Tayto crisps and Coke, and he is inserted into a four-inch slit in one of the windows. All is well again. It is at times like this that one feels proud of the self-reliance and independence of the establishment. We are almost the perfect society spoken of by medieval theologians. We have all the means necessary for our own survival. Nothing is needed from outside, except Brigid's jar of milk and Dympna Moriarty's biscuits. We can reach out in any need and find an expert or specialist from among our own ranks; Peter Toolan to pick locks, Noel Mattimoe to solve a crossword, Brid Ferguson to coach a basketball team, Mary Martin ditto with the badminton team, Paddy Nangle to explain the rules of all known games, John Moyles to weld a goalpost, Cathy Gilroy to make a French telephone call. I marvel at it all.

'BEYOND YON STRAGGLING FENCE…'

The classrooms are now open and the troops move in, sullen or smiling or shifty or serene. I wait a minute or two to see if all is well. A kind of uneasy peace settles on the school. The sounds that emerge from the classrooms differ as I move around. In Tommy Conlon's. Francie's and Phil's all is tranquillity. Back in the Old Building, in Room 1 of the 'double-room', one simply knows that the metaphysical poets are in good hands. Next door a deep-voiced, subtle 'dig' misses by a mile its smiling 203 victim, who sits protected by a carapace of innocence. It reminds me of Abdul the Terrible, greatest swordsman of the Caliphate, who one day met his mortal enemy, Mahmoud. No eye could see his flashing scimitar as he swung it round at the speed of light. Hah!" said Mahmoud, You missed". Did I?" said Abdul. Shake your head!".
From Marian's room comes an occasional high shriek, perhaps at some unacceptable form of the Aimsir Caite. From No. 4 some tremors and rumblings, fearsome at times, but usually low down on the Richter scale. Over in the 'New Building' Frank Fahy is already in occupation, even though he has come from Loughrea. Rugby weekends frightened him at times. On one occasion he solemnly said goodbye on Friday evening. At the thought of meeting some anthropoids from Galway or Athlone in the League, he felt he might not survive the Saturday match. I offered the Last Anointing. He would soon return to teach in his native county and Brid could then come in from the cold, that is to say , 'The Henhouse'. Further along the corridor, one can find Noel, like a wily Lebanese trader, always ready to open his stall and do business at any hour, making large profits on rulers and copybooks. In the Geography Room Don frets about the Killavil Group Water Scheme. Down in the lower Science room no one has told Des that he has four hundred days to live.
But, hark, what is that sound? I enter the door of the New Building. A group of second-years loll at the front of the stairs, waiting, murmuring. Even as I pass I hear the word go out, "He's coming". And sure enough he is, Don Paco himself, Frank Tivnan, having come down from Corr na Miolta, greatly assisted by gravity. The yellow bird, RDI 449 skids to a stop outside his very own window. Sometimes I fear that one day he will penetrate the wall and emerge from his car inside the classroom to greet his delighted pupils with a "Buenos Dias". But today he unadventurously enters by the door, and after his coming a sort of silence falls over the school. It is 9.20am.

I climb the stairs to my office. The school day has begun!

---

Article by Fr. Henry Tonra - Principal of St. Mary's College, Boyle circa 1979.

Flared-frocks and Brylcreem

Irish Dance Halls, London, circa 1969. I spent some interesting periods of my younger life in London, in the sixties. I first went there in the late sixties. Like most Irish people I became immersed in the social outlets of the huge Irish population in that great city at the time. These outlets were basically the Gaelic football and a vibrant pub culture for men, and the Irish dance halls for both men and women

The London-Irish Dance-Halls:
It is somewhat odd, that, for a person who never really got to grips with the nuances of the dance floor I regularly explored the London-Irish dance halls. It was one of the great diversions for young Irish émigrés who had few other social outlets.
My first 'room' was in West Ealing, so, very early in my stay, I visited the Innisfree dance hall in Ealing. It was my only visit and it being a Sunday night it was a muted affair. It suffered a premature end in a fire in the middle sixties and was not restored which was an inconvenience for us in West London.

'The Garryowen'
Most of London seemed to have enclaves of Irish people living in them, two notable areas being, Shepherd's Bush and Hammersmith. Oddly 'the Bush' did not have an Irish dance hall in my time though I have heard of one called 'The Carlton' up the Uxbridge Road, close to Shepherd's Bush. Hammersmith, however, had one of the iconic dance halls in The Garryowen. Close by was another famous dance hall, a mainly English one, The Palais, where Joe Loss and his orchestra were kings. I worked, for a short time, in a bar on Hammersmith Broadway called 'The Swan' and the orchestra members socialised there. Sunday afternoon dancing was a feature of a number of dance halls, the Palais being one, though it was more of the Ballroom variety and while interesting in a glamorous way it was way above my head or my feet. Also in Hammersmith was The Emerald, which I seem to remember as being in the middle of a roadway and opposite Hammersmith Hospital. Another Sunday afternoon dance hall was very conveniently located in the centre of London at Tottenham Court Road, where, when you exited the Tube, your eyes were diverted sky-wise by the high-rise skyscraper just then completed, Centre Point, I think it was called. Like a number of halls it was downstairs to 'The Blarney'. There is reference somewhere to these afternoon dances being referred to as 'Tea Dances'. Alcoholic drink was not a feature of some dance halls.
In Fulham, there was The Hibernian but I only remember one visit though a nearby pub, 'The White Hart', had a reputation for fine traditional Irish traditional music.

Catholic Charlie Mack's:
My sister Carmel was a great lady for the dances and for a time favoured Charlie Mack's in Victoria or Bayswater. It had a reputation as being a very Catholic establishment with the possibility of having to pass some test to prove your religious ethos, to the supervising 'matriach', to get in. This presented no problem to us at that time! I remember it being close to New Scotland Yard with its rotating geometrical sign and to a street named Strutting Ground!

The Galtymore:
As the Carlsberg ad might say, the most famous Irish dance hall in London and a survivor of sorts, was 'probably', 'The Galtymore' in Cricklewood. It was, I was told, originally a Bingo hall, owned by a Mr. Beirne, who turned up in some respect at one of the Dublin Tribunals. It was located in one of the most identifiably Irish areas and close to the famous drinking emporium called 'The Crown'. I was rarely in the Galtymore, which I recall as having twin halls like Dublin's Mansion House. There was a common admission, with one being a Ceili dance hall frequented by mostly west of Ireland people but not me.
What is now Sainsburys of Kiburn was once 'The Banba'. In the 70s' on Kilburn High Road there was 'The National' run by Kevin Flynn from Sligo. I also heard of one called 'The State' in Kilburn.
Generally I never knew or cared who owned these places and my challenges were, to get in with the even greater one of making my way 'home' to the 'room' of the time. The London Transport system had little sympathy for the late night reveller and 'taking a girl home' often posed insurmountable logistical problems. So, one had to attempt to compromise desire with London City geography. Few seemed to have cars and the using of a taxi was only for emergencies or when a full shared load presented itself. There were odd times when the irregular night buses or even 'the Green Line' was resorted to. Like many, I tramped many a long mile home, in the late night, without much anxiety, in innocent immaturity.

'The Buffalo', Camden Town:
'The Buffalo' was an apt name for Camden Town's Irish 'dance hall'. This was a 'lively', sometimes explosive venue, usually 'packed to the rafters' and with a decent variety of artists. While London's Irish dance halls may have a legendary reputation for being rough or being fighting venues I rarely encountered this. One of the occasions I did was in the Buffalo and it was wild-west stuff as the Victoria Line miners from Donegal and Mayo (the elite of the labouring Irish in late sixties London) tried to 'sort out' some intractable insult by an unfortunate 'wee gobshite'.
The pre-dance foundations in Camden town could be laid in 'The Mother Red Cap', having escaped the labyrinthine exits and odours of Camden Town's black tube line and past the walls polished by the eternal queues of Ireland's youth as they waited to be selected for the 'shtaart' (sic) to board 'the Green' or 'the Grey' Murphy wagons to be transported to the outer regions of London to pour concrete or for the big cable pull.
Not far from here was a less contentious and later hall called 'The Forum' in Kentish Town, opposite Murphy's yard, which was re-named 'The Town and Country'.

'The Gresham':
In the pecking order of stars the number one hall was 'The Gresham' at the top of Holloway Road at The Archway. 'The Gresham' had illusions of grandeur (as its name implies) with an imposing foyer and modernism (if such was possible with these establishments), a fussy dress-code (ties could be rented for the night) and fussier 'bouncers'. The main night appeared to be Monday night, which presented a many- faceted challenge. Was it that 'the tubes' ran later on Monday nights? If one could gauge accurately the last intercepting Central Line train at Tottenham Court Road it could be worthwhile. Monday nights had a reputation of having present, to use the terminology of the time, the classier Irish ladies or those who thought themselves to be such. Near 'The Gresham' were the Whittington and Royal Northern Hospitals with their population of Irish nurses and their English colleagues. On Monday nights there was a special concession on admission to these ladies, so, if one could cope with the Monday night aspect of things it was an acceptable experience. Saturday nights there was a free-for-all in a very different sense!
Generally before The Gresham I found myself in the adjacent 'Archway Tavern' or 'The Half Moon', a cheque-changing bar, with an acceptable piano-playing Dublin entertainer, some way down the Holloway Rd. Like in Ireland, if one required 'Dutch Courage' before the dance encounter (and many did not, being pioneers), one had to visit the nearby or strategically located bar, which rarely presented a difficulty.
A couple of the rare surviving 'snaps' from this period of my life in London, were taken by the Gresham's resident 'snapper'. One is a group of us bar 'men' from the Queen Adelaide, on The Uxbridge Road, near Shepherd's Bush, who had made the odyssey in our mohair suits and ruler width ties. We were united by a camaraderie of innocence as we waited for the County names of Roscommon, Longford and Leitrim to come around on the green neon strip- light in the mineral bar. I had remembered these halls as not having bars but after discussion with a fellow enthusiast discovered I was wrong. Not all of them had bars but The Gresham had two bars one upstairs and a smaller one downstairs for the inner circle. One would have thought these would have added to their volatility.
'The Gresham' 'imported' the best bands from 'back home' which necessitated more expensive door charges but still resulted in packed houses. Some dance-hall owners owned a string of halls in London and in other English cities like the Reynolds brothers did in the Midlands of Ireland. Thus 'big' bands were restricted or contracted to play in their halls only, which left the smaller 'Independents' with the crumbs.
Despite my best efforts in The Gresham, I was puzzled that I was not more appreciated in its precincts! Perhaps it was my profession of 'shovelist' in response to the lady's 'typist' that let me down! One of the small pleasures of these halls was the occasional meeting of someone from home as when I met Jimmy Coyne a barman in The Gresham around '66.

Lesser Dance Halls:
By way of diversion and research on my way home to 'the room' off Camden Town Road I once or twice found myself in an undistinguished hall, called 'The Round Tower', at the junction of Holloway Road and Seven Sisters Road, where, if I remember correctly, there was a major pub called 'The Nag's Head'.
Once, on a prospect, I made the long journey to, and longer journey back from, 'The Harp' in New Cross; Peckham country, made famous later by Del Boy. I was no Del Boy and South of the Thames held few rewards for me. Near here too was 'The Shamrock' in The Elephant and Castle.
My cousins hung out for the most part around Leytonstone, which had a small hall called, I think, 'The Inisfail'. This was an interesting place as nearby was the large Whipps Cross Hospital, which, like all hospitals, had a considerable Irish nursing population. Near this was the landmark bar, 'The Green Man', standing in splendid isolation as a lighthouse to the weary!
In Wimbledon was the simply titled 'Wimbledon Dance Hall' where the out-of-towners made their way to meet their city-domiciled cousins.
In South -West London, in Balham was the 'Aranmore' and at the opposite end of the compass was 'The Shannon' in Finsbury Park near Stroud Green Road. ...These latter three I only heard of!
Not far from The Jubilee Clock in Harlesden was 'The 32 Club'. John Grehan told me of it having a previous Irish name which I did not record. He may have said 'The Tara'. This reputedly had a Kerry, Dublin clientele but I remember being there with Cork people, it being near their first disembarkation station, Paddington. There was often a whiff of danger about 'The 32 Club'.
I have been told of a 'St. Olives' hall at Manor House though I've heard this referred to as just, Manor House Dance Hall and also reference to a 'Four Provinces' hall in the same area, with mention of another hall in Ilford. In Tooting Beck there was another Saint represented, was it 'St. Barnaville'?
In Romford there was an Irish Club, which people like Pat Carton, working down near the Thames estuary, frequented. It, too, was near another hospital with a big Irish nursing population. Pat mentioned a Glacamorra Club as well but while I'm familiar with it in Finian's Rainbow I never heard of it in this context. It sounds like an apt dreamy, nostalgic name though, for a London-Irish hall of the time.
I'm told of another Carlton, the Carlton Rooms, in Willsden, with many Irish dances but know nothing of them. Later many Churches had adjacent Church clubs but I suppose they were of a different hue with a clientele more settled and mature, long after their 'Buffalo' days were over. These Church halls were there for a number of reasons including the financing of Church buildings. These halls too are in decline.

Decades On ...the Legacy:
In the mid 80s' there was another surge of emigration and new names appear such as 'Dicey Reillys' in Neasden run by Kevin Flynn from '89 to '98. In Hamstead in the early 70s' was the more exotically titled 'The Purple Pussycat'.

These represent a cultural sea change from the 'The Harp', 'The Garryowen', 'The Emerald' and their contemporaries, which proved such magnetic attractions and distractions for that generation of young Irish who flooded England's capital city in the 50s' and 60s' They are now part of a kind of folk history for their patrons but whether they deserve to be or not they are remembered with nostalgia and fondness by thousands of their patrons for whom they provided an invaluable social and emotional outlet.

Jimmy Murray

Jimmy Murray was laid to rest on Thursday January the 25th in Gailey Cemetry on the hill overlooking Knockcroghery village, next to the football field he had graced in his prime.

So passed to his eternal reward one of the legendary heroes of Roscommon. I was proud to have known him pretty well and privileged that I was well thought of by him also. Jimmy was the touchstone of the Roscommon GAA through the decades. He was an inspiration and a constant reminder that the ultimate goals could be achieved by Roscommon. It was a nice irony that on the night of the All-Ireland Minor win the team stopped off in Knockcroghery and the team-captain David Flynn and the St. Dominick's Clubman Mark Miley took The Cup in to Jimmy symbolising the respect held and the duty owed by Roscommon football to try and emulate his deeds of over sixty years ago.

Eldest Son takes responsibility:
He was born on May 5th 1917 and so was just over three months short of his ninetieth birthday when he died. His father had established a business in the village of Knockcroghery, a village which became synonymous with Jimmy and a place he held dear. He was a member of a large family of ten, eight boys and two girls. They did well. Two brothers were doctors, two engineers, one a priest, another a shopkeeper and the last a farmer. A sister married one of the 'Garage Caseys'. In his own family there are five, three boys and two girls. Jimmy had stayed in the business with his parents and helped the younger members of the family reach their goals, a point noted by his brother, Canon Paddy, in his respectful and touching homily.

(I do not intend to try and write a long biographical piece here and now. Perhaps I will attempt to do that at another time. In any event a lot has been written in a fine Supplement in The Roscommon Herald and in The Roscommon Champion and elsewhere. Here I wish to touch on my own memories of him).

A font of knowledge:
An attribute for which people like me will be forever grateful was his willingness to take time to talk and share his knowledge and memories. I did lean heavily on him in the preparation of the GAA History of Roscommon published in 1990. When Patsy Brennan gave me the first few copies 'off the presses' in The Roscommon Herald Printing Works I immediately drove to Knockcroghery to give Jimmy the first copy. I felt he deserved it most as his help and achievements were the centre-piece of the publication. He gave it his imprimatur and I was relieved, for Jimmy was no shrinking violet and it was most important that it got his seal of approval.

'Snaps' and cuttings:
His bar was a veritable GAA museum. The walls were decorated with team photographs from every county. He had important panels of photographs of the great All-Ireland victories of '43 and '44. Since he was a non-drinker he rose early after those Finals and went to the National Newspaper offices on the Dublin Quays and collected copies of the pictures from them. These became central to those iconic collections. He added to this with his enduring 'scrapbook' which included newspaper clippings, 'snaps' and memorabilia. These he stored and transported in a traditional brown leather suitcase which acted as a humble reliquary for its rich contents.

Nights of Song:
He loved his own County, 'God's County' as I heard him refer to it once. He was one of its great ambassadors and travelled far and wide to functions representing it. It was well represented. Often when I called, and I rarely passed through 'the village' without calling, if he was not in the bar he would come from the kitchen and engage warmly in conversation. This was more often than not on football and the fortunes and prospects of Roscommon. If I had a visitor with me I would ask him to step into a photograph, 'a snap' as he called them, and he never demurred. He had great patience. Not long ago after a National League game in Tullamore I met Danny Burke and he asked if we were stopping on the way home. We agreed to meet up in Jimmy's. So Frankie Feighan, Gerry Emmett and I joined Danny and Christy Glynn there and a memorable session of song and fun ensued with Jimmy a willing participant. He had no inhibition when called on to perform. A night I remember fondly was in Wynne's Bar in Boyle when I had invited him to help us launch a 'Singers Night'. He had just recorded a fine CD of his favourite songs, recorded as he would emphasise in just 'two takes'. In Wynne's he sang many of the songs from that CD. His final song that night, as it was on so many occasions, was his rallying call 'The West's Awake' sung with a leader's passion. There were many fine singers there that night and as he left he assured me that, 'ye'll have no problem with a Singers Night'.

'The Autograph Collector':
A little over a week later I happened to be at a function in the King House with 'the great and the good' when Jimmy strode across the large open floor of the big reception room. I just shook my head at his resilience and joined him. 'Is that Matt Molloy, I'd like to get his autograph', he enthused. I did the groundwork. 'Matt, Jimmy Murray wants to say hello and he would like your autograph'. 'Indeed' responded Matt 'I would like his autograph'. So the exchange took place between two stars of Roscommon. Later Jimmy asked me to confirm the presence of John McGahern. 'I wonder would he mind'. 'I'll ask him' .I was happy in being thus employed by my hero. ' Excuse me, Mr McGahern, but Jimmy Murray would like to get your autograph'. ' Well I would be honoured and maybe I will get his' he answered and smiled. I stood back in a kind of reverential way but got my picture for the record. I wonder if this meeting reminded Mr. McGahern to include a reference to Jimmy in his fine autobiography 'Memoirs'.
So Jimmy could add another two illustrious names to the countless number who had called to his Bar down all the days. Decades ago he had begun collecting autographs, in a robust account book, of people who called to his Bar. 'Did you sign the book' he always enquired from the visitor. His first book went astray, borrowed but not returned by some vandal. The second book fell foul of the flames which engulfed the bar one night. The hanging football of '43 got singed but survived. Like Bruce of Scotland Jimmy began again and the third book is a testament to the regard in which he was held as the names straddle the country and beyond the seas.

Forever the Captain:
Jimmy's team of the forties were like a band of brothers with Jimmy always the leader. He led Roscommon in the Croke Park parade on five occasions, '43 draw and replay versus Cavan, '44 versus Kerry, '46 draw and replay versus Kerry. He captained his Club St. Patrick's to five County titles. He was a non-playing captain of a Connacht team in his later years. As members of the team passed it was Jimmy who spoke on behalf of the team. At Dr. Keenan's funeral Mass he saw John Joe Nerney arrive in the back of the church and beckoned him forward to join with his team mates of decades earlier. All those players, strong men and personalities in their own right, respected his leadership to the end. "If anyone called asking me about those years I'd send them to Jimmy" John Joe told me. At his Funeral Mass Canon Murray talked of the family man, the man who gave time to all, of a Christian man, of a good man. Canon Lavin tri gaeilge spoke of the man of courage and conviction a figure almost from the epic Gaelic tradition. Bishop Jones recalled the joy of listening with neighbours, as they crowded around the 'wet' and 'dry' battery radio, as Micheal O'Hehir painted pictures in sound of 'the men of the West led by their Captain the fair–haired Jimmy Murray'. Dermot Earley in the graveside eulogy emphasised his leadership, example and inspirational qualities.

Before his Funeral Mass I watched the great Liam Gilmartin take his place in the Church. Then the powerful Brendan Lynch joined him. 'The great man is gone' Lynch pronounced later to a reporter. Jon Joe sat discreetly nearby. The fourth survivor, Dr. Hugh Gibbons was unable to attend but was represented. The Roscommon hero of the decade and more after the forties team, Gerry O'Malley, said simply, " I'm not so much sad as lonely".
That loneliness was shared by Roscommon people in many and distant places.

However Jimmy would not want us to be downcast. So maybe it would be more appropriate to end this journey on a positive note and celebrate the long life, legacy and memory of a great Roscommon man.

Paddy Perry

Paddy Perry: the shining light in Boyle’s Golden Age of Handball. There may be similar parallels in other sports that I am not aware of but in the decade of the 1930s' Boyle was the heartbeat of handball in Ireland. This was due to the efforts of one John Casey who ran his ball-alley, Casey’s Alley, in St. Patrick’s Street, Boyle. From it came one of the great champions of any sport and I contend Roscommon's greatest ever sportsman. His name was Paddy Perry. With Perry in the lead there was a supporting cast of other fine handballers, such as, Paddy Reid, the Gaughran brothers, the Clarkes, Kennedy, Devine, Dooley and Gibbons. (Hopefully I will return to this supporting cast in the future).

A succession of titles:

Perry won his first All-Ireland, a Junior Softball Singles, in 1929 and accompanied by Tommy Gaughran, he also won the doubles, at the Horse and Jockey alley in Tipperary. In 1930 Paddy won the first of 8 All-Ireland Senior Softball titles in a row, 1930 to 1937 inclusive. For a long time it was felt that this would never be equalled but it has been by Kilkenny handballer, Duxie Walshe. Perry with Austin Mullaney, a teacher from Glinsk, Co. Galway, won the Senior All-Ireland Softball Doubles in '32 and '33. In '36, Paddy, with his friend Paddy Reid of Tawnanaden, outside Boyle, took the Doubles title in the All-Ireland Senior Hardball.
In nine years Perry won 13 All-Ireland medals along with a host of Provincial and Garda honours as well as the prestigious Tailteann Games Singles and Doubles (with A. Mullaney) in 1932. He was awarded the G.A.A. Golden Jubilee Year Trophy for 1934.
There is a reference to him being selected for an Irish handball team to participate at The 1932 Olympics at Los Angeles and of the team being unable to travel due to lack of funds. While a case is being put to have handball (as we know it) included today I was not aware that it was part of an Olympic programme previously.

Perry-v-his heir apparent, John Joe Gilmartin:

Perry was to be succeeded by another great champion whose father came from Boyle but was domiciled in Kilkenny, John Joe Gilmartin. They met in October 1937 at Clogh, Co. Kilkenny. Noted handball authority and referee, Tom McElligott, wrote evocatively, in his 1984 book on handball, on this game:
"Like the meeting of two great players in any sport, while the match did not answer all the questions, it was still a memorable occasion. It showed Perry at his masterly best. It showed Gilmartin with still a bit to go to attain similar mastery. Perry was then a commanding figure, fast-moving with a deceptively easy way of hitting a decisive 'kill'. His beautiful service which ran only inches below the board at the top of the side-walls meant that Gilmartin rarely put him out in his return of service. Gilmartin, only coming on the scene, showed breath-taking speed and rapier drives down the side- walls. Perry came out the winner by the odd game in five. On the homeward journey none of us had any doubt but that we had seen a match that would not be surpassed in our time".
Paddy went down to John Joe in 1938, with the most disappointing feature being, that the game was in Boyle.
"I didn’t mind losing as much to John Joe, because he was one of the greatest I ever played but to lose in my home town was naturally disappointing" Perry later recalled. They remained friends and long afterwards discussed with admiration and envy the quality of the new glass courts of Croke Park.

Unique Achievement:

That Paddy Perry remained in Ireland at all was a close run thing. He was due to go to an uncle in the States but was persuaded by General Eoin O'Duffy, the then chief, to join The Garda Siochana. This was in line with O'Duffy’s policy of getting prominent sportspeople to join the Garda Siochana.
Membership of the force led to a unique accolade for Paddy Perry and one that will surely never be equalled. In 1934 he won three Dublin Senior Championships on the one day representing the Garda. In the football final they defeated St. Joseph’s. He was persuaded to play in the hurling final against Faughs, which they also won. Paddy sustained a badly injured ankle and rib and was strongly advised not to play for some time. However on that evening he defeated Peter Berry (a prominent Civil Servant in the early 70's) in the handball final. Berry had refused to have it postponed. This made his injuries worse but he later felt the uniqueness of his achievement made it worthwhile.
With the Garda he won Dublin Senior Championships in '33, '34 and '35. He won a Leinster Senior medal with Dublin County in '34 and was on the Dublin panel which disposed of Kerry convincingly in the Semi-final at Tralee but were defeated by Galway (Connacht's first Senior Football win) in the All-Ireland Final. Paddy played Gaelic football for Boyle and Roscommon and also played soccer for Sligo Rovers under the name 'Mickey Rooney'

Hall of Fame:

In recalling his most memorable moments he nominated his 1929 return to Boyle after his victories in the All Ireland Junior singles and Doubles with Tommy Gaughran in 1929.
"They laid rockets on the railway track which announced our homecoming. There were bonfires blazing and we were carried shoulder high down the town accompanied by the town’s Brass and Reed Band. We were young and really enjoyed it all."
Paddy Perry was the second person to be honoured with a Hall of Fame award in Roscommon in 1969. (The previous year Tom Shevlin from Strokestown was similarly honoured).
He served in the Garda from 1931 until retirement, on his birthday March 17, 1972, with all his service being in Dublin. He was born on Patrick’s day 1909 and died in April 1983 aged 74 years. His daughter has returned to live in Boyle where there are also a number of his nephews and nieces.
His life-long friend, fellow Boyle man and also a handball champion, Paddy Reid, paid him this tribute;
"During his time as Champion he met many very great players throughout Ireland but none of them could compete with the brilliance of the great Champion that Paddy Perry was. I have witnessed many great games during and since that time and I can truly say that his superiority and brilliance have never been and are never likely to be equalled. He was a credit to his county and country and to the Garda Siochana in which he served with distinction for forty one years."

This great sportsman, Paddy Perry, deserves to be remembered and honoured in some tangible way in his native place. Neither should we forget his impressive supporting cast. What a time it must have been to be a supporter in that golden age of handball in Boyle!

Cricket: First Test

I happened to be zapping through the TV channels on Saturday night and I thought that the election must have started with people begging for votes (at premium rates) in a show called "The X Factor" and then a group of people, I didn’t know, lost in the Australian Bush and not a cricket ball in sight. Mentioning cricket the Aussie’s really gazumped the Poms in the opening days of the first Test at The Gabba (Why is it called that?).
The English bowler Harmisson’s first ball which headed to second slip like a sliced Gerry Emmettt tee shot, set the tone. Then came a magic 'knock' from the Aussie skipper Ponting (once questioned as the real deal) and the Australians reached over 600 declaring for nine. There followed a dispirited response from England (leaving Flintoff's bowling aside) reaching 159 in their First Innings due to superb bowling by the veteran Glenn McGrath. Surprisingly Australia went in to bat a Second Innings and did not make England follow on and eventually declared at a further 202. It was really game over despite a good effort from England’s Peterson in their second innings.
The First Test should end on Monday and it really looks like a mis-match at this stage but England have lost First Tests before, even as badly as this and come back. The Aussies will go for the clean sweep as nothing they like more than beating England …like a few more.

(The above piece was inspired by Brian and Michael, two cricket fans and it is the policy of realboyle to treat minorities favourably!). I saw someone who looked like Ciaran Conlon indicating a Ponting boundary! I’ve failed to get the buzz word ‘ripper’ in until now so that’s sorted. Also look out for ‘hawkeye’ the computer which gives an idea on Billy Bowden calls. He used to be the character in MASH. (Australian papers please copy!)

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Summary of the Second Test in Adelaide:
If one wished to witness many of the emotions and nuances as to why cricket is regarded, by its followers, as one of sport’s great games, then the Second Test between England and Australia at Adelaide was an exemplary provider. England had little time to recover from their bruising encounter at ‘the Gabba’ in Brisbane. Yet batting first it looked as if one of their few successes from the First Test would provide the platform for an unlikely challenge. Paul Collingwood ended the first day (Thursday) on 98 and continued on Friday to 206 and a 310 stand with Kevin Peterson (158), the fifth highest in Ashes history. This helped England to ‘declare’ on an impressive 555 for 6 wickets. The idea of declaring is to ensure that the game of two inninings each team gets a chance to reach a conclusion for if it did not ‘a draw’ would be the result. Australia batting closed the second day (Friday) at 29 for 1.

Crucial Drop:
As in many sports a mistake proved critical. Here it was the ‘dropping’ of a pretty straight-forward catch by England’s Ashley Giles of Australian ace and Captain Ricky Ponting when he was at 35. He was to go on to score 142. Despite the fine bowling of Matthew Hoggard Australia ended the day at 312 for 5, 243 behind. England were still in the driving seat but needed early wickets on Sunday.
This did not happen however and Australia brought their total to 513 just 43 behind. Then it was England back to bat their Second Innings. Their objective was to put on either a respectable number of runs, making their total uncatchable and also to reduce the number of bowling ‘overs’ on the last day, Monday. The situation for England had come down from a strong winning position, after their big First Innings total, to a certain draw, barring disaster of course, as time would run out and the game would not run its full course.

Collapse:
However disaster did strike as the English batting collapsed. Reaching a tolerable 69 for two wickets the wickets then tumbled with the next six going for 36 (3 for 8 runs) with Peterson 2, team Captain Flintoff 2, Jones 10, Cooke 9, Collingwood not out 22. The destroyer was one of the other great players in the history of the game ‘seam bowler’ Shane Warne who took 4 for 49.
Even with this incredible collapse a draw seemed the likely result if England restricted the Australian run rate below the required total and got through the allocated number of ‘bowling overs’ for the day. However the Australians played aggressively scenting the wilting of English confidence. They needed 168 from the 38 overs remaining for the remainder of the day. Time was a critical feature. When Australian openers Langer (7) and Hayden (18) went, things looked reasonable but once again an aggressive Ponting pushed the score along with 49 and Australia were narrowing the gap at 3 for 116, 52 behind. Just to show where the gods stood Australian batsman Hussey ran for three and the ball being returned by the fielder was overthrown to a boundary realising 7 runs for the one strike (hardly ever happens). The Australian supporters were waltzing in Utopia. Hussey brought in the runs required (61) for Australia to win by the 6 wickets (batsmen) they had left standing and three ‘overs’ to spare. Ricky Ponting even edged out history maker Collingwood for the ‘Man of the Match’ award.

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Third Test, Perth:
So England went through the floors with a very laudable recovery from the First Test and a winning position after their First Innings score to a certain ‘draw’ to a humiliating defeat. Now it is on to the Third Test in Perth starting on Thursday 14th. This will be the ultimate test for the badly bruised lions against an Australian team which includes, in Ponting, Warne, McGrath and Gilchrist, some of the great players of the modern era. It looks like 'Advance Australia Fair'.

Maureen O'Sullivan

Hollywood's Jane was born in Boyle (Maureen O'Sullivan, 1911 - 1998): What famous Hollywood Film Star was born in Boyle? This question, in a Boyle pub quiz, in the early eighties, received a puzzled reaction. My memory seems to suggest that it was not answered. Such was the veil that time had drawn over the name of Maureen O'Sullivan. Yet in the 1930s' this beautiful woman, born in Boyle in 1911, was a major Hollywood star and will always have a place in the history of film.

While Maureen O'Sullivan starred in many different and highly regarded films, such as 'David Copperfield' with W.C. Fields, she will be forever associated with the portrayal of the original, iconic, Jane, in the first series of Tarzan films. In these she co-starred with the great American Olympic swimmer, turned actor, Johnny Weissmuller.

Miss O'Sullivan was born in what is now Sheerin's shop in Main Street, Boyle. Her father, of Cork background, was an officer in the British army regiment The Connacht Rangers, based in the nearby imposing military barracks now known as King House. Her mother's family were Frazers of Scottish background.

Riversdale:
With the onset of the Great War her father was away on service for long periods. The family moved to the maternal home at Riversdale, Knockvicar, four miles from Boyle. This is an impressive house lying in beautiful countryside on the banks of the Boyle river and Lough Key. "My memories of those days will never leave me", she wrote. She attended Catholic Convent schools in Dublin and at Roehampton in England where a schoolmate was Vivian Leigh who became famous as Scarlett O'Hara in the classic film 'Gone With the Wind'.

Jane and Tarzan:
In the 1920s' the family settled in Dublin where the beautiful, blue-eyed, eighteen year old was seen by the American Film Producer/Director, Frank Borzage. He cast her in a film called 'Song of My Heart', a vehicle for the great Irish tenor Count John McCormack. McCormack helped her adjust to the hectic life of Hollywood and the big star environment which made the young lady initially and understandably pine for home. Then Maureen was cast in the role with which she will always be associated, that of Jane in the Tarzan series of films. The first of a series of five was titled, 'Tarzan The Ape Man', in 1932, which also introduced the swimming hero Johnny Weissmuller in the title role. This pair became the most enduring of all the Tarzan and Jane pairs. Her last 'Jane' film was 'Tarzan's New York Adventure' in 1942.

Among Hollywood Legends:
Miss O'Sullivan featured with many of the great stars of a golden period of Hollywood film. She starred with Charles Laughton, Norma Shearer and Frederic March in "The Barretts of Wimpole Street"; William Powell in the classic film, "The Thin Man" and with the master comic film makers 'The Marx Brothers' in, "A Day At The Races" and also with other greats such as Henry Fonda, Laurence Olivier and Greta Garbo.
She always insisted on being referred to as coming from Boyle; "No, I wasn't born in Dublin, I was born in Boyle, Ireland", she corrected a Canadian interviewer in 1934.

Marriage and Family:
Miss O'Sullivan met and married the Australian film producer/director, John Farrow and they had seven children. The demands of raising a large family meant few film appearances until much later. One of their daughters Mia Farrow was to become particularly well known. She starred initially in a popular television melodrama series of the 1960s', 'Peyton Place' and later in feature films. Mia became associated with Frank Sinatra, Andre Previn and Woody Allen.

Tragedy and Renewal:
Miss 0'Sullivan's husband John Farrow died suddenly in 1963 adding to the tragic loss of their son Michael, who was killed in a plane crash, at the age of nineteen. In 1985 romance blossomed again for this formidable lady and she married James Cushing. Her film and stage career had also revived. In 1979 she starred in a stage production of Shaw's 'Pygmalion' among others. She also starred in films the most notable being "Hannah and Her Sisters". In this film, directed by her then son-in-law Woody Allen, she starred with her daughter Mia and Michael Caine.

Triumphant return to Boyle:
The response or lack of it to my quiz question in 'The Ceili House Bar' in 1981 prompted a train of events that was to lead to a memorable festive day for the North Roscommon town. Sunday, August 7th 1988 was a day the sun shone and Hollywood came to Boyle. Miss O'Sullivan responded to an invitation to revisit her hometown initiated by an energetic local committee headed by Frank Geelan. The star paraded through the town in a vintage mobile, led by the Mullingar Marching Band. It was like a film scene itself as the cameras clicked and rolled. The crowds, recognising a unique occasion, got into, and helped create, an atmospheric welcome which surprised and delighted the star guest to the point where she was visibly overcome on reaching the home of her earliest years. The speeches of welcome were many and creative and Miss O'Sullivan responded in poetic and emotive terms:

"My life has come a big circle. Today the circle has kind of closed and I am home again where I was born and my happiest days were spent.
Whatever poetry is in my soul, whatever goodness is in my heart, whatever love I have of God, whatever it is, comes from here".

She endeared herself to the autograph seekers as the formalities proceeded.
A plaque was unveiled on the home of her birthplace. A commemorative tree was planted with a coin placed at its roots for luck and a leaf taken as a memory. Local ladies gave a spontaneous rendition of; "I'll take you home again (Maureen)". An evening of music, song and dance followed in The Royal Hotel with Jim Casserly leading the dance. Memories of a day full of nostalgia, emotion and of the happy jostling crowds come tumbling forward and what memories there are.

Monkey Puzzle:
On Monday the main event took place at the Riversdale House, home of the Burke family where Maureen had spent part of her childhood and now was an honoured guest. Friends and neighbours were entertained and made welcome with the star planting another tree, a monkey puzzle this time, emblematic of her early film associations. Then it was a tour of the hills and vales meeting long-lost relatives in Ballinafad, the dignitaries of Boyle town Council and being presented with a portrait of her father in the offices of The Roscommon Herald. The party returned to Riversdale by boat, across storied Lough Ce with its islands and history, disembarking at Clarendon Lock below the house.

And so it passed as all things do but I will not forget the two days I spent in the company of a Hollywood film star, Maureen O'Sullivan.
She was from Boyle, and hadn't forgotten.

Political Mouse

A political mouse for a day! (First published in The Roscommon People, 13th April, 2007)
In the late sixties I was, for a short time, a ‘Pony Boy’ on the construction of the Victoria Line underground tube line. Last Saturday afternoon I was akin to a ‘mouse in a political laboratory’ which had been set up in King House in Boyle.
I hardly know how all this came about. I got a call from a friend, Barry Lowe, that an agency was recruiting an audience for an RTE political programme which was to be recorded in Boyle. I agreed to his passing on my number to the agency. Subsequently I got a call and was asked almost too many questions, on various aspects of human life. Apparently two political activists had got into the panel of a previous programme and had (arguably) skewed the supposed objectivity of its findings.
One of the questions I objected to, was: “Who did you vote for in the last election?” While many of my acquaintances seem to be able to tell me the answer I am rarely sure! After giving a muddied response to this call I was inducted. We were to be paid a reasonable fee for our leisure. With my own vision of the format being ‘The Questions and Answers’ style, things rested so.
A couple of days later I got a call from the Red Sea which surprised me as I do not know any people in the region but it resolved itself when it transpired to be Red C Recruiting Agency.

The Show’s the thing
On a sunny Saturday, I arrived at King House and aligned with a couple of equally bemused Boyle friends. Things began to shift somewhat when it became obvious that it was not just a Boyle audience and our confidence was dented when we saw people with folders and question sheets. Should we have done some homework?
Former Fine Gael supremo, Ivan Yates, and astute political commentator Noel Whelan breezed through the Long Gallery paying no attention to us -- shades of things to come. Media Consultant Terry Prone was also a participant. A cameraman took some shots and we did our extras bit by paying no attention as if this was routine stuff. After humble pie we were herded to the end of the corridor.
“You will be going up in a short while” we were assured after nearly an hour’s wait. Then an American gentleman with little personal introduction began a process of ‘organising’, as it turned out, his audience. “All those who voted Fianna Fail form into a line”. Nearly half the group fell in line. “You all go up”. It then transpired that there were more audience present that the required number and that some would have to be ‘cut’ -- but were assured of payment which assuaged the pain of dismissal.
I was more curious about the process and joined the next list whether it was mine or not. I was not going to let a principled stand get in the way of education!
On entrance to the ‘saloon’ as it is called in The King House, where the show was going to be recorded, I was just amazed at the amount of technology involved. This was no humble production.
The American gentleman, who, on later enquiry, was a Mister Frank Luntz, began organising his audience with Fianna Fail devotees on one side and the ‘rainbow coalition’ on the other side of the auditorium. I was surprised that a ‘Presenter’ was so ‘hands-on’ in the detail of arrangements but realised why this was so as events unfolded.

The Dial Meter
After a brief warm-up it was down to business with Mr. Luntz cracking the whip like a ring-master. Those with notes and prepared questions were informed that props were out of the equation. It is they who would be answering the questions. Very soon we realised this was no casual show where one could relax and smell the roses. We were going to work.
Questions, political images, audio clips and advertisements were hurled at us like tennis balls and it seemed we were expected to respond like an honours mathematics class. As usual in these situations, a minority were willing to contribute on many of these topics, and the rest of the audience were happy to let them do so. However when a member of the audience was not appropriately responsive the presenter found it hard to accept. By the end of four hours or so in ‘the saloon’ it was a chastened audience that retreated to the evening sunshine.
The purpose of it all was to gain a snapshot of the opinions of a ‘focus group’ of people who were not members of any political party. The problem here was that some of the group did not have much interest in politics anyway and their knowledge was in line with their interest. Indeed the recruiting agency went to such lengths to ensure that the audience was unaligned that they ended up with an audience that verged on the politically apathetic. It was expected that at least some of the audience would have seen the previous transmissions but few in fact had. This meant a hard day at the office for Mr. Luntz.
The images and messages of the six political parties were presented in their various guises with excerpts from their Ard Fheis speeches. During this process we were introduced to the ‘smart technology dial meter’ which you manipulated as you reacted to the varied political comments or even words.
Another scenario proposed was “Which of the six political leaders (Messrs. Ahern, Kenny, Rabbitte, Adams, McDowell, Sargent) would you like to be caught in a lift with for six hours? The Taoiseach seemed to do well, being readily identifiable. Mr. Kenny introduced the idea of ‘A Contract’ with the electorate which apparently is a part-creation, in the American political arena, of Mr. Luntz himself.

Frank Opinion, A Week in Politics Special
Apparently at the two previous shows in Dublin and Clonmel the audience was more vocal, politically aware and incisive. This was in stark contrast to our perceived political indifference. The issues that came across in Boyle to the behind the scenes analysts were: the significance of local factors and candidates and the fact that the rising tide of The Celtic Tiger hadn’t raised all boats, especially in this region. The process lasted over four hours with us and apparently the analysts spent another hour commentating on what they had observed. This will then be edited down to forty minutes for transmission on Sunday night after ten or so. So we look forward with a degree of apprehension to the final cut but then again I could be ‘airbrushed’ out of it and not get my Andy Warhol fifteen minutes of fame!

Mr. Frank Luntz
Oh yes who is Mr. Luntz? To my innocent surprise it took very little time with the internet ‘google’ to find a Mr. Frank Luntz, he being a man of substance and standing in the United States. Born in 1962 he is listed there as a “corporate consultant, pollster and political consultant (then) to the Republican Party. Mr. Luntz’s speciality is testing language and finding words that will help his clients sell their products or turn public opinion on an issue or a candidate.” An example of this softening process is referring to ‘Global Warming’ as ‘Climate Change’. He has worked with former Republican Speaker (Leader) of The U.S. Senate, Newt Gingrich, when he was seen as the primary opponent of President Clinton. Apparently he had a similar ‘focus group’ programme in 2005 for the top BBC current affairs show Newsnight which was said to have a big impact on David Cameron becoming Leader of the Conservative Party in Britain. It is very unlikely that our contribution will have such a dramatic impact!
So here we were, a humble audience in the presence of a real political scientist of international stature. I am afraid a good deal of his efforts, with us, got lost in translation and Mr. Luntz’s frustration was visible. He may not have appreciated the nuance that the BMW region is a different country to Dublin.
Personally, I took it all with a degree of stoic amusement but the clever contributions that I have thought of since rankle. As I said many times in a different environment: ‘Could have done better’. So if you ever get a call from the Red C find out more about what’s in the tin. Otherwise you might unwittingly end up as the subject of an experiment and be a mouse for a day.

Victoria Line Pony Boy

Navvying in the Victoria Line tunnel. I was once a ‘Pony Boy’ on, or more accurately in, the Victoria Line tunnel, London.

In the late sixties the construction of this new tube line was the great Civil Engineering project in London. London’s and the world’s first underground transport system began in the late eighteen sixties and no new tunnel had been ‘cut’ under Central London since the early nineteen hundreds. The London underground is one of the great city transport networks of the world. Its distinctive classic-design map and station symbols are iconic features of that great city. The workers on the Victoria Line project were the crème de la crème of the Irish construction army in England at that time. Their ruggedness and courage combined with a swaggering attitude combined with the wages they received, achieved the status of folklore among a wide range of commentators at the time. They were used as subjects for media features and television advertisements. I, however, was but a youthful minnow in this pastiche.

Pit Boss and Pony Boy
The tunnel workers were mostly drawn from two Irish counties, Mayo and Donegal. Tunnels and ‘headings’ were their speciality. I, a teenager, had the temerity to join this group, albeit on the bottom rung of the pecking order, following in the footsteps of my older brother.
There was a definite hierarchy to the work-force in the actual tunnel. The overall co-ordinator was the ‘Pit Boss’. Next came the ‘Leading Miner’. He led ‘a gang’ of around half a dozen workers. The numbers depended on the dimensions of the tunnel. These specialist gangs travelled the country. They were marvellous workers who pursued their craft with, what appeared to be, reckless abandon in a most dangerous environment. Next to the ‘leading miner’ were the ‘miners’. They worked ‘at the face’. Their tool was the pneumatic drill or ‘air spade’ as it was called. The miners ripped the tunnel face with these spades and great lumps of London daub were levered onto a wooden gantry or stage. The next group in the hierarchy were the ‘miners’ labourers’ who shovelled this spoil into ‘skips’. Since our location was, technically, ‘a heading’ for a station area, there was no locomotive to pull these skips to the point of exit. This was done manually by the next group, the ‘pony boys’. I was a ‘pony boy’. This was for the subterranean session of my two sojourns on the line.

‘Banksman’
While these were the main bodies consigned to the depths there was a formidable backup on the surface, one of whom, ‘The Banksman’, was the link between the underworld and the surface. It was he who guided the ‘crane driver’ who otherwise worked in the blind.
The surface of the site had its varied group of construction huts for engineers, surveyors, agents, administration and a ‘rough and ready’ hut used for ‘tea breaks’ and ‘togging out’ to go down. The ‘Gov’nor’ was the General Site Foreman. One of the main Civil Engineering companies involved in the overall project was John Mowlem. The Warren Street heading, where I served my time, was being developed by a company called Mitchell.

Since I did two ‘tours of duty’ at Warren Street I covered a number of portfolios. I imagine the ‘Pit Boss’ was somewhat surprised when he first saw this whipper- snapper of a new recruit, there on my brother’s recommendation. The boss was an old time ‘Cockney’, hard as nails, with a face like well-worn leather. He did not suffer fools lightly and though he had this tough exterior I could not fault him in his dealings with me. I think his name, not unusually for a Cockney, was ‘Fred’ and I can still remember that weathered, older than his age, face.
My introduction to The Victoria Line was on the surface as the ‘Banksman’. Today this necessitates one of those ‘Health and Safety’ courses and a certificate but around the construction sites of The Victoria Line, ‘Health and Safety’, as a specific concept, had no more than a token hold. A number of basic hand-signals such as, ‘take the weight’, ‘raise’ and ‘lower’ were necessary for communicating with the crane driver high in his cab where the yardarm jib met the tower. There was no course required for these basic instructions.


Danger:

Building site management often played loose with safety and sites were often dangerous. The tunnels always had the whiff of danger about them.
Warren Street was close to the heart of London .The service shaft was about one hundred feet deep. The skips, with the mined earth, were pushed along the rail lines to the base of the shaft. They were then attached to the crane and the skip was raised from the shaft and raised over a gantry and tipped. On one occasion the tipping of the skip was nearly my undoing as it came off its tenuous clips tumbled down the face of the mound taking me with it. Apart from a few scars and wounded pride I survived. My other near serious encounter resulted from a misunderstanding with the mechanics of a large cement mixer and its mechanical shovel. There was a fatality once in our section, on an opposite shift, when a young labourer slipped off a tunnel gantry and was killed after his head hit the base ironwork, though the fall was not more than ten feet or so. While there was an investigation it was a short, sharp affair with little obvious reform resulting. On another occasion as the gang were hoisting one of the heavy cast iron plates into position in the ring the assisting air compressor ‘cut out’ resulting in the weighty iron crashing onto the platform close to the working gang. Two labouring colleagues, of just a few hours, looked at each other and without further adieu beat a hasty exit up the maze of ladders into the London haze feeling that the risks were not worth the reward. Their retreat was accompanied by a chorus of boisterous derision from the hardened gang for whom danger was but a harlequin. These rings were bolted together and a sealing grout, which contributed to the distinctive smell, was pressurised into the gaps.

Streets of London

The Banksman sometimes doubled as the humble tea-boy. This necessitated getting provisions from a nearby store. With muddy wellington-boots and a donkey jacket, showing the scars of wrestling with spoil skips, these daily trips presented moments of amusement as the bowler hats and office ladies steered a delicate evasive course on the sidewalk. Once, being short of some necessary provisions, on the night shift, I attempted to secure them in a very fashionable adjacent West End restaurant. My appearance in the doorway was met with a flurry of defensive activity as if an angel of recrimination had appeared. Bearing the label of a Victoria Line worker allowed for a tolerance of these diversions.

Enamel tea bucket

The tea-breaks were something of a rough ritual similar to the experiences of miners of much earlier times. A boiler, maybe a Burco if it was around at the time, heated the water. An enamel bucket was the improvised tea-pot with a similarly organised spout. Indeed improvisation was a key asset around the Line. The ingredient measurements were pretty clear cut. It was usually a straight quarter pound of tea. It was one pint or two of milk with the sugar measurement of even dimensions also. While it now sounds incredible these ingredients might be stirred with a new pick-axe handle. The food the workers brought to this party was similarly roughly apportioned including generous portions of cooked chicken. During these tea-breaks the gang would visit a nearby pub where they ‘skulled’ pints of bitter with speed, determination and appreciation. The pub landlord had to balance income from these muddied Celts with a possible reaction from the more theatrical clientele of The West End. Having slaked their thirst they returned to the hut for the tea and sustenance before descending to their underworld.

Diversion

Most of the workers lived in the Irish enclaves of Kilburn, Cricklewood, Camden Town or The Holloway Road. Here they got suited and booted for the week-end diversion which began in the pubs which became central to he lives of so many Irish labourers at that time. In Camden Town it might have been The Mother Redcap. On the Holloway Road there was a necklace of Irish bars from The Nags Head to The Archway Tavern including The Half Moon. Cricklewood had the famous tavern called The Crown. Then it was on to the dance halls, The Galtymore or The Gresham. Occasionally a very well dressed miner would arrive at the Warren Street hut much too early for his shift after such diversions.

Not Invited

The Victoria Line was officially opened in sixty nine by the Queen. The joke in The Archway Tavern was that our invitation cards to the opening must have gotten mislaid ! By then many of the gangs had progressed to other ‘big jobs’ as rumours began to circulate about an even bigger project which involved restricting the tidal flow of the Thames with a barrier. The piece de resistance in terms of this work, the Channel tunnel, lay in the future. I have not seen any account of its construction but I am confident that the miners of Donegal and Mayo were well represented.
Though it is nearly forty years ago I still retain a clear picture of those labyrinthine tunnels and particularly their odours, a much too polite a word for that experience. Occasionally in tube stations they return.

Most of all I, the pony boy, remember those cavalier miners adorned with the four-cornered knotted handkerchief as headgear and they swapping stories of Glenties, Ardara and Gweedore amid the din and the danger of the Victoria Line.

St. Patrick's Day - 2007

A Crowded Day: St. Patrick’s Day turned out to be a busy day for me with quite a number of items of interest happening. The fact that they were running concurrently made it somewhat difficult to fully embrace them all. The weather was something of a spoilsport but the schedule still prevailed. My first ‘event’ was attendance at 9.30 Mass. The special programme, with a St.Patrick’s Day theme of course, including traditional music and Folk Group renditions set the day off to an appropriate start. The lack of shamrock and the national colours being worn was disappointing. I must do much better myself in this respect next year.

The Dublin Parade on Television acted as an early backdrop but it was really a day in which a pot pourri of participating in the town parade and a feast of T.V. sport made it a memorable day. First out to bat were the Irish Rugby Team in the sunshine of Rome. When I had to abandon this game Ireland had not gotten out of the lower gears, Ireland 13 Italy 12. ( The Final result Ireland 51 Italy 24)

Part Two, The Parade:
I was on official duty as M.C. for the Boyle St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I received the ‘running order’ of The Parade Floats from my liason officer of the day, Sean Daly. At Carty’s garage, as the bleak weather tried to rain on the parade, I tried to do some background homework talking to some of the float and parading groups, Lena McLoughlin of The Family Life Centre, Kathleen Hanmore, (A Lady For All Seasons), Sarah-Jane Daly and The Arts Workshop Group. It was then back to the reviewing stand having made some last minute sound alterations with the effervescent and finely bedecked Richie Burke. The Committee seemed to have such confidence in the M.C. that they made no serious intervention at the reviewing point. Soon it was time for a coalition of V.I.P.’s to assume their reviewing- stand positions.

'A' Coy of the 56 the Battalion led the parade with their usual aplomb and took the salute from Commandent Pat Bruen and Captain Danny Tiernan. My printed schedule got a quick test when item number two ‘A Donkey and Cart’ turned out to be ‘St. Patrick leading a Lhama’. From then on improvisation ruled. Cartys ‘Men in Black’ theme was fetching and Bertie looked well cast in the shades. Item number 13 on the pre-parade list was titled ‘ Apostolets’ (C. Brady). This had many possibilities. Christy turned up on ‘The Mobile Bar’. What connection this had with ‘Apostolets’ only Christy could translate. McGovern Plant Hire displayed an almost science fiction looking machine. The Family Life Centre went to a lot of trouble with a fine and overall prize-winning float, ‘bringing colour and support to the community’. The basketball group included a number of personnel from Lithunania, Latvia and Poland (as jack Charlton once said ‘those Balkan countries’!) with veteran coaches Geno Mattimoe and Joe Kennedy. Boyle Music Fest were there, already advertising their August Festival. The Fishing Club continued their traditional strong float entry. There were Elvis Presleys, Pink Elephants and St. Patricks (one with two dodgy looking angels). Boyle Marching Band did their colourful thing as the Conroy Family from Forest View turned up in several guises. The kids were out in force with Community Games, Scouts, Brownies, Cubs, Guides and footballers. D.J. Richie with his dancers did a twirl in front of the reviewing stand. A serious message was conveyed, in a stark symbolism, regarding the closures of various employment opportunities in the town. A fine crowd had come to town and despite the weather the humour and atmosphere were upbeat. The photographers, Mary, Christy, Sean, Donie and company snapped busily away while ‘moving picture’ impresario Peter Hanberry worked his medium. The prizes were presented to the winners; ‘The Family Life Centre’, ‘The Arts Project’, ‘Ladies U 14 Football’, ‘The Mobile Bar’ with ‘Brogans’ scooping the ‘Best Window’ display.
One of the objects of the exercise was to ensure that the town was ‘alive’ for the day. When I visited Daly’s Bar after the official duties this was very much in evidence and this was replicated through the town and is endorsed in the realboyle Guest Book. In Daly’s I saw the highlights of Ireland’s champagne performance against Italy and the dodgy French try which meant that Ireland were denied the Six Nations Championship.

Part Three, Later on the Home Couch:
While I could not avoid hearing the results of The All-Ireland Club Championships in Croke Park I had to wait until 8 o’clock to see highlights on R.T.E. as Crokes drew with Crossmaglenn and Ballyhale Shamrocks, with King Henry (Shevlin), overcoming Loughrea. In the interval I paid a distracted attention to the Wales win over England but never got ‘into it’. Paddy Ryan on his Shannonside traditional music programme ‘Green Groves’ rightly lamented how R.T.E. had given so little attention to Irish traditional culture on the National Day. I do not know if I can say too much in that regard following my reaction after a Nine O Clock News alert on the positive progress and dramatic possibilities of the Irish Cricket Team in Sabina Park, Kingston, Jamaca in The Cricket World Cup versus thoroughbred cricketeers Pakistan. I hotfoot it to my neighbours, O’Donohoes, to watch the climax of one of the greatest sporting achievements by an Irish team. Despite a few wobbles and an abysmal Pakistan performance Ireland emerged victorious, a bit like Boyle Celtic defeating Manchester United.

Miceál O'Callaghan (1923-1986)

Miceál was a representative of time and place. Occasionally a person comes to represent his own area or county and is known by many within that county and many more beyond it. For the most part people are happy that this is so and feel a confidence that when represented by this individual they are well represented. For many years this was the case with Miceál O'Callaghan. He epitomised Roscommon in varying ways and at different levels. I think that it can be confidently claimed that there was no one else who knew his own County, its townlands, geography, history, highways and byeways, sociology and people as well as he did. This, also, in a very real way, extended to the Roscommon Diaspora within Ireland and across the seas. Long before I came to Boyle in 1972 I was aware of Miceál. There were plenty of reasons for this, the main ones being his involvement with the G.A.A. and the Roscommon Herald.

C.B.S.
Miceál O'Callaghan was born in September 1923, the central son in a family of ten, to two national school teachers Miceál and Annie O'Callaghan of The Don School, Cloonbonniffe, Castlerea. He went to secondary school at Roscommon C.B.S. where he was a contemporary of many of the great footballers of Roscommon's Golden era such as Bill Carlos and Phelim Murray.

Roscommon Herald.
He joined the Roscommon Herald in '43 and represented the paper in Mullingar and Ballinasloe before returning to Boyle in '52 becoming Editor in '54, a position he held with distinction, until his death.
In 1965 The Herald Works was tragically burned and he supervised the production of the paper in Ballina and later in Longford. In later years, along with being Editor, he wrote a long column titled, 'A Look Around with the Editor', in which he touched on a multitude of everyday issues and demonstrated his knowledge and feeling for his native county and gave voice to it.
An aspect of great people, that for me mark them out, is their range of abilities. A person may be an expert on one element of life, which is fine, but this gives a one-dimensional figure. Micheal was involved in a myriad of organisations and events and unlike some who make a living just attending meetings and functions he was willing to take his jacket off, roll up his shirt-sleeves and lead from the front. Indeed it can be taken as a positive and a negative in him that he was most comfortable out front in any organisation. The adage 'if you want something done ask a busy man' certainly applied here.

Many Associations.
He was most associated with the G.A.A. and arguably this was his first recreational love. He was County Secretary in 48/49 and County Chairman from 1973 until his death in 1986. Indeed I firmly believe that he would have gone on to become another Roscommon President of the Association had he lived.
He wrote long and vigoursly about G.A.A. affairs and his views were highly regarded. In 1945 he published a fine record of Rocommon's great years on the Gaelic football fields, 'Six Glorious Years', an invaluable source for that time and happily reproduced by his brother Colm in '93.
He was interested in promoting all things Irish and was a fluent Irish speaker and a member of the various Irish Language promotional organisations. He was central to the scripting and producing of the much-loved Pantomines in Boyle for fifteen years. He was a dedicated member of The Pioneer Movement and was a critic of the 'drink culture'. He was a deeply Catholic man and a supporter of his parish in all things. Indeed he was the only lay - person I heard give a homily, on one occasion, at a Sunday Mass, an interesting concept.

The Great Fleadhs.
One of his great loves, and I feel his best times, was his involvement in the promotion of traditional Irish music as a founding member of Comhaltas Ceoltoiri Eireann in the County and especially in Boyle. He held many official positions here again and was national President for three years. He was deeply involved in the great All –Ireland Fleadhs in Boyle in '60 and'66. He was to write vividly about these 25 years later, in '85, under a great picture of a crowded town and a headline “Will Boyle ever see the likes of this again?” he wrote “….the memory of it is still fresh in the minds of thousands… and what memories they are…To try and sort them out is almost impossible for they come crowding into the mind in a confusion of sounds and faces and incidents that prevent the pictures from coming sharply into focus, the skirl of the pipes, the lilt and lift of the dance tunes, the ballad singing and dancing on the pavements, the laughter and noise of the happy laughing crowd seem to hang over the streets of Boyle”. I quote this as representative of his feeling in his writing.

Tourist Promotion.
Micheal O Callaghan was actively involved in the promotion of the area in Tourism and was Chairman of the regional Tourist Board, Lakeland Tourism and other related organisations. He was thus central to the great tourist boom of the sixties and seventies. As I have already stated he was not averse to rolling up the sleeves when as a member of Boyle Development Company, with his friends Jimmy Flaherty, Jimmy Sheeran and Anthony Martin, they cleared footpaths in Lough Key Forest Park which they negotiated for the people of the area and the country. Though the same park is well below par today we owe them a great debt for its acquisition and if Micheal was alive and well much of today's nonsense would feel the wrath of his pen and energies.

Political Interest.
Micheal could be regarded as a consensus Nationalist with Fianna Fail sympathies. This despite the fact that his father was a Cumann na nGaedhael Councillor in the '20s'. He was Chairman of Boyle Town Commission for a decade. He did seek a Dail nomination in the '70s' but he was not a grassroots politician or amenable to the compromises involved. He was unsuccessful in this and in a Senate bid, which forum would have suited his wide- ranging talents.

In Print
In 1964 he wrote an important account of the War of Independence in Roscommon which was also been republished by his brother Colm. This resulted from his interviews with old I.R.A. people, for The Roscommon Herald Centenary Supplement in 1959, itself an important County Historical Document.

Opponent.
Micheal was a formidable opponent, being in a strong position as a newspaper Editor. I remember once the Herald's court- reporter being asked to leave by the presiding Judge, for a particular case, which was, apparently, improper court procedure. Micheal buttoned the legal people at lunch-time and whoever or whatever was to benefit from non-reporting, suffered a stronger headline the following week.
There was an ongoing saga with the irascible Roscommon T.D. Jack McQuillan in which the paper's motto of 'audi alter am partem' (hear both sides) was questionable.

Travel.
He travelled widely abroad especially keeping contact with the Roscommon community in Britain and the U.S. who he never forgot in the paper, and for whom he provided a very tangible link with their homeland in times of more limited communication. He was a great supporter of Roscommon Associations at home and abroad and they returned that regard and respect. He was a man of great patience as exemplified when he was so often called from his office in The Herald to talk to people at reception regarding their roots or a myriad of topics. For a writer this must have been trying. He is remembered with fondness by The Herald staff and the many visitors to his Greatmeadow home where tea and good conversation was abundant.

In writing I cannot bring to mind weaknesses as I would not like to just give a view of him as without blemish, as some sort of local Renaissance man. I suppose his self-confidence, stubbornness, his angst when wronged as when the R.T.E. Authority, of which he was a member, was fired in the early seventies, in controversial circumstances, are these weaknesses or just jealousy?

Family and Friends.
Nearly always by his side was his wife Nellie a character in her own right with an acerbic tongue and impish curiosity. Nellie died in August '93. Miceál's daughter Christine continues the G.A.A. tradition while her son, Micheal's grandson, John Tierney is an accomplished footballer with Cavan. They would be a proud grandparents had they seen this. While there were many great players to whom he was close his favourite player and friend was Dermott Earley. He had many great friends none closer than Phil and Mae Gannon of Castlerea, Dr. Hugh Gibbons of Keadue, his Greatmeadow neighbour Barry Feely, Sean Young, Pat Lavin of Tibohine and New York and the Lawrie family in Birmingham.

Assessment.
Micheal was first of all 'a newspaper man' in the classic mould reminiscent of those of the late 1800s' who played such an important role in the political struggles of their time. He could have gone to work with great possibilities at national level. He chose, very deliberately, to stay in his own county and this was demonstrably evoked in the award-winning R.T.E. programme of '75 titled 'My Own Place'. Roscommon was much the better for that in its representation and recording.
On his headstone, over the quill and inkpot symbols of his profession, are lines of his own song in praise of his favourite place Lough Key:

“ Far away from the Country in a new land to toil
God be with you Lough Key near the old town of Boyle”.

In his graveside oration, his friend and former President of the G.A.A., Dr. Donal Keenan ended by saying; “ is feidir linn a ra, nach mbeidh a leitheid ann aris”.

Though it is now coming towards the twentieth anniversary
of his passing, the truth of that summary is all too evident,
regarding this great Roscommon man.

Sean Young

Still Young At Heart:

With an enthusiasm undimmed by a lifetime's involvement, Sean Young continues to train under-age teams with a passion, dedication, skill and optimism which few could equal. There are few also who could equal his G.A.A. Curriculum Vitae which has stretched through the decades and through three provinces. These are his native Ulster, Leinster and for over thirty years now, here in Boyle. In that time he has tasted the sweetness of victory and the bitterness of defeat, praise and cynicism in their various measures. Yet as he recites from the old Kipling monologue;

"If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same
You'll be a man my friend"

Derry Roots
Sean was born in the townland of Ballymaguigan on the shores of Lough Neagh in County Derry. While the occupation of his working life, Bank Official, has brought him to many towns his anchor in life has always been his native place. This is reinforced by his family and the circle of friends which emanated from his boyhood GAA Club St. Treas.

Sean was greatly influenced by his father 'The Master'. He went to the great nursery of Gaelic Games, St. Malachy's in Belfast. His first Bank placement was in Ballinamore, County Leitrim. This was followed by a period in Castlewellan County Down where a playing colleague was the great Down player Pat Rice. In 19 and 55 (as he enunciates it himself) he Captained the Derry Junior team to an All-Ireland title over Mayo at Charlestown. He played in two Ulster Senior Finals in the 50s' and was on two McKenna Cup and a Lagan Cup winning sides.

After a spell in Meath it was back to Ballymaguigan for a great Senior Championship victory in '62 in the company of his great friend, the legendry Derry player Jim McKeever. The well-travelled inter-county manager, Eamon Coleman, was also on the team. Sean had a great football spell with Seam Mac Cumhalls of Ballybofey winning two County Senior Championships and disappointingly losing out on an Ulster Club title. Sean married Anne in 1962 and pays tribute to her patient tolerance of his sporting passion.

Boyle's Abbey Park
The distinctive Derry accent was first heard in Boyle GAA's spiritual home, the Abbey Park, in the summer of '72. He had just been transferred to Boyle as Manager of the then Northern, now National Irish, Bank. He was soon involved, with John McGowan and the Boyle team as a player and trainer as they reached a Junior and two Intermediate County Finals. His talents were quickly noted at County level. On the instigation of Micheal O'Callaghan, then County Board Chairman, he was appointed Coach to the County Senior team in '73. This policy was then in its infancy but about to blossom. He introduced an innovative training regime and a tactical dimension which brought success and laid the foundations for the County's great period of the later seventies.

League Final of 1974.
Future success was not immediately evident in his first game in charge of Roscommon in which they dispatched a lowly Dublin to Division Three. If anyone had suggested that Dublin would win the '74 All-Ireland (beating Galway) and that Roscommon would miss out on a National League title after a replay against Kerry, they might have been shown the way to the local hospital. That avoidable League Final defeat is one of Sean's deep disappointments. John Egan's late Kerry goal, in the drawn game, with the Roscommon goalie injured, is etched in his memory.
Sean speaks glowingly of that Roscommon team of '74 and puts them ahead of the All-Ireland finalists of 1980. The names jump out; Lindsay, Heneghan, Regan, Kerrane, Earley, Kelly and Freyne and always the one he rate best of all, Harry Keegan. Sean was succeeded in late '75 by Tony Whyte. This transition could have been dealt with more diplomatically. The more things change the more they stay the same.

Moulding Youth
Sean did not sulk on the sidelines but took over and moulded a talented Boyle under-age team which included, McLoughlin, Fitpatrick, Nerney, and Sean's own son Liam. In this he was assisted by the writer. Double acts were very popular then, even in coaching! It is said that Sean is at his best in this under-age coaching context. This side had many fine tussles with strong teams such as the Clann na Gael of McManus, Nicholson and Pettit; the Roscommon Gaels side of Hession and McNeill; the Elphin side powered by Kelly and Glancy and Michael Glaveys with their stars Paul Earley, Morgan and Doorey. These Club rivals combined to enable the Roscommon Minor team to reach the All-Ireland Semi-Final where they were beaten by a great Cork side. The Boyle youngsters helped in Sean's next Club success with a county Junior title in '81 followed by a memorable Intermediate victory over St. Ronans in '83 at Frenchpark. That team was; John Finn (ably substituting for Gerry O'Dowd who was away),Gerry Carty, John O'Dowd, Dessie Mcloughlin, Gary Wynne (Capt.), Christopher O'Connor, Peter Bolger, John Finneran, liam Young, Sean Daly, Vincent Flanagan, Kevin Young, Gerry Nerney, Colm Loftus, Paul Beirne, with John Joe Carty and Kevin Mahon.

County Calls Again
It was back to the front lines of inter-county coaching in '86 and another bitter pill. The gods did not smile on Sean's Roscommon in the Connacht Final when a late Stephen Joyce goal 'robbed' Roscommon after an injury to Harry Keegan. A strange below-par performance and the curse of the late goal struck again in '87 in Sligo and heralded the end of Sean's Senior involvement with the County. The margin between the elation of victory and the dejection of defeat can so often be minimal. "Ironically", reflects Sean, "these teams did the business after I had done a good deal of the ground-work!" Since his initial involvement in 1973 he has been involved fifteen years with Roscommon teams at under 16, Minor, U 21, Junior and Senior levels allied to a greater number of years involved at Club level.

Return to the Abbey Park
Still Sean soldiered on with Boyle and in '94, the Intermediate team, with a blistering display, captured a second title, defeating St.Dominicks. The team; J. Conroy, G.Wynne, V. Flanagan, M.McGovern, S. Bohan, G.Cregg, F. Costello, P.Carty, T. Ryan, N. O'Donohoe, M. Smith, E. Cregg, O.O'Donohoe, S. Kerins, M. Tormey, with N. Casey, A. King, D. McLoughlin, J. O'Dowd, R. Nerney, B. Shannon, A. Lavin, B. Kennedy, J. Sweeney, D. Kelly, P.Flaherty, and J. Beirne. This was one of the town's best ever teams with power players in abundance. Boyle returned to Senior status and were still a force there when Sean passed on the reins of management in '98.

A creaking hip kept reminding Sean to take time out which he found difficult to do. Eventually he acquiesced. The creaking was attended to and he returned to various under-age teams in the Club and schools. His new squads having won U 12 and U 16 at Division 2 these are now competing in division 1 at Minor level. He has extended his activity to assisting voluntarily at Boyle Primary Schools.

GAA Friendships
Sean was part of a very active and successful Scor (GAA social programme) in the seventies. Accompanied by P.J. and Maureen Keane, Rosaleen Moran and Una Beirne he participated in the All-Ireland Final of the Ballad group. They did not win out due to flawed adjudication but they were selected for an R.T.E. highlights programme. He is a talented singer whose anthem is, appropriately, 'The Town I Loved So Well'. He regards the GAA as a great organisation despite its top level bureaucracy. He sees friendships in every Club in the County, some formed in the furnace of sideline argument. "Talking to Micheal O'Callaghan was like talking to my own father", he recalls. No finer tribute could he pay. "I must mention Barry and P.J., Ernie, Michael Costello and John McGowan and…" Once a list starts it can take on a momentum of its own.

He admits his passion and regard for so many players he has been involved with through the years; "I'd like to thank all the players (Club and County) whom I have coached and are still friends. Indeed now some of my 'students' are young ladies which is an interesting challenge for an old timer!"

In answer to my query regarding the future he answers with optimism; "Hopefully we'll get a Senior Championship so that the major ambition will be fulfilled. Do you know something, if Ryan's shot had hit the net instead of the crossbar, against Clann , '96 could have been our year. I hope to continue to give ye a wee hand with the under-age. I couldn't be passing the Abbey Park without going in anyhow."

He is proud of his family, wife Anne and children Aileen, Liam, Jody, Sean, Paul and Catherine and now the next generation, his eight grandchildren. Paul is heavily involved in the creative arts as co-founder of 'Cartoon Saloon' based in Kilkenny. Sean retired from the Bank in '97 and was feted at a memorable night, in the then Forest Park Hotel, by the local business community and Boyle GAA Club and uniquely by Mac Cumhals of Ballybofey and Ardagh of Longford.

In the enveloping gloom, of a late evening, in the Abbey Park, in the Spring of 2006, while most of the panting figures are indistinguishable, Sean's distinctive voice marks him out. This voice has echoed across all the Gaelic fields in Roscommon, and many beyond, in exasperation, in disagreement but most often in encouragement.

I, a friend also, marvel at his youthful enthusiasm and reflect on how lucky Boyle GAA Club and its youth has been to have benefited from his spirit, for few, if any, have given as much to its cause.