- 8

i remember: ireland

there are a few things you need to know about me: not a great traveller, not a great family person and i am a klutz.

when i was a kid we didn’t have too many family holidays. at one point it was because my parents were too busy being publicans and then it was because they were too poor (though in hindsight i suspect it was more to do with the fact that they liked to have their barneys* in places they were comfortable). to be fair i can’t remember ever feeling deprived by the lack of holiday trips, but i suspect it has meant that the lust for travel isn’t in my bones.

one year i went with my mum to visit her family in ireland. her dad had a farm on the west coast of ireland. in it he had raised 14 children and countless cows. the farmhouse was old and traditional and to my young eyes it was going to be hell: no tv.

i didn’t fit in with the local kids and i didn’t really get on with my cousins. i was in the middle of nowhere.

there was a night we went into town; on the long walk back down the dark country lanes my granddad told horror stories. i didn’t sleep that night.
then there was mad uncle peter (big families always have the mad uncles), one night he stayed in the farmhouse to baby-sit me, he told more horror stories, but some how being next to the roaring fire it didn’t seem so bad. when i fell asleep he put me to bed fully dressed, including my dirty shoes. this went down well with my mum when she came back from her night on the town.
mad uncle peter also took me to the coast, a few minutes walk across the fields or a longer hike if you went exploring. we went exploring and ended up going through nettles and brambles. no problems for him, but i was in shorts… mind you he made a phenomenal mashed potato dinner with plenty of butter and fresh from the cow milk.

ah the cows. there i was in my little converse ankle high trainers (they may not have been converse but of that style) running around the fields. running like the wind, galloping freely (alright i wasn’t going that fast) and then bish bosh one foot goes into a cowpat. cow shit all over the trainer and down inside of it. i am not ashamed to say i cried. it was horrid.

still it was when i was over there i learnt of my uncle mick, he was blind but didn’t play the blues, however he did catch a leprechaun and kept hold of the little fella all night long. his reward for this amazing feat was the golden shoes of the leprechaun. which he wore proudly on his watch chain.

i only met the granddad the once. when he died the place just became a home for the family. i never went back; i never kept in touch with that side of the family. i don’t really miss it.

but that one trip allows me to say musha musha wira wira and mean it.



*for the american readers a barney is an argument and not a dinosaur.