JOHN'S STORY

Why I Enjoy Life at 92

(By John Jucey)

From my age of ninety-two I hope to be able to look back with a clearer vision, because, as the poet puts it:

"The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,

Lets in new light through chinks that time hath made."

I was born in Cahireen near Macroom. It is a rather hilly part of West Cork, just beside the birthplace of An tAthair Peadar Ó Laoghaire whose 'Mo Sgeal Fein', now published in English by Mercier Press as 'My Story', outlines the district.

As an infant I was puny and delicate. My earliest memory is of one fine spring morning when, picking cowslips on the river bank, I fell in and was carried down by the current, but was picked out just in time. Very soon afterwards I was attacked by a gander in our own farmyard. He faced me with head down, attached himself to my little gansey, and flaked me unmercifully with his bony wings. My father came along and rescued me in the nick of time. In this way I grew up, all the time getting used to hard knocks.

Going to School

Our school was at Carriganima, about four miles distant by road but only three miles across the hills. We had to cross a river on stepping-stones, which were crooked and slippery, so that we often fell into the flood. But where was the use in complaining. We just trotted off to school and said nothing. I think now it was part of the hardening process.

At playtime the girls would slide down the polished surface of a large rock, where a comfortable groove was worn, through the agency of many years of operators, the owners of whose shapely quarters would never now admit to having ever taken part in such an unseemly practice.

The senior girls also played 'gobs', a variant of stage juggling. It was played with five or six marbly stones that were flung together into the air and caught coming down on the back of the hand. The game is now almost obsolete, but it was highly skilful.

The boys whipped tops, played marbles, or swam in the river. But above all else they preferred running and jumping, which they practised regularly on the way home from school. Thus they became almost as hard as the rocks they travelled on. I surely owe my steady improvement in health at this stage to the practice.

The Place Where I Lived

Our farm was on high ground, almost centrally situated between four parish churches: Clondrohid, Carriganima, Ballyvourney and Kilnamartyra. It was sometimes possible to hear the bells of all four places ringing at the same time. I append [see below] a sketch map of the district. Coolea lies nearby. Local people claim it as the most virile part of the Gaeltacht; and it certainly runs an active School of Irish Poetry, contributed to entirely by local farmers. I don't know of any other such school.

About our Local Poet

In my early youth we had a local Robert Burns, named Michael Twomey, who lived just across the road from us. He had scarcely any education but could compose poetry at will. His poems were good, but sometimes a bit mischievous, as when once he captured his mother and an equally irascible old lady who lived next door, in a highly entertaining barging encounter.

An tAthair Peadar got some of the poems published in the Munster papers about seventy years ago.

Sunday Amusements

In my early days the crossroads dance was ahead of all other Sunday afternoon amusements. Some of the men preferred football and athletics; and indeed Clondrohid parish played a Kerry team in Clonturk Park, Dublin for the All-Ireland Final, in one of the earliest years of the G.A.A. A man from our townland at that time too came seventh in an International Cross-Country Race in Glasgow.

Bowl playing was at that time a very popular pastime. It was played by a swing of the arm casting a twenty-eight ounce iron bowl. It required strength and great accuracy of aim.

Going to Another School

I went to school to Macroom for a finishing year, for extra subjects and because the Mahonys and Warrens were noted teachers. The Warrens were also well-known newspaper men.

It was seven miles each way, but I had a speedy little donkey, equipped with a saddle won in a road race. On my way home the town boys brought out their animals to race me, but I could always hold them off.

This was well and good until one morning some horses came on wildly behind me, being chased by dogs. And as a donkey's shoulders are not fashioned to keep back a saddle, it slipped forward and underneath the animal, and I along with it. My feet were caught in the stirrups and I was dragged for about 100 yards before I could stop the donkey. The palm of one hand was badly skinned, as were also some nether regions. But I did not tell them at home, because I would not let it be said that I could be thrown by a donkey.

At School in Cork

The next year I went to Cork City to school. My lodgings were beside the Bells of Shandon, whose chimes livened my days. After a few months I went for a Civil Service examination and was sent to Manchester as a Telegraphist.

Life in Manchester

Manchester would not take any prize as a health or holiday resort, but what a large and friendly Irish population it sheltered! The Gaelic League was strong, with all of us learning Irish from Ó Growney's books for dear life. There were four hurling clubs, so that with the additional three in Liverpool we had an excellent chance to practise.

We ran a sports meeting for the Lancashire Irish each year and, to my great surprise, I went home from Liverpool one August Bank Holiday with three firsts in running. I felt greatly heartened: I was then twenty and found myself a weakling no longer.

Rumblings of Change

After a few years I was transferred to Cork. It was while I was on loan from there to a wireless station that I picked up the announcement of the 1916 Rising, of which I had previously heard the rumblings. What a glorious bit of news, and what heroic bravery!

Events moved rapidly after this. The 1917 Election in Clare was a testing time. Another young chap and myself motor-cycled from Cork to Dennis to cheer our candidate to victory.

From then on the Imperial Power was rapidly on the wane. There followed the Truce, the treaty and finally our own Government.

Under Native Rule

When our own Government took over I was sent to Dublin, where I worked in the Castle for some years before being transferred to Mayo and Galway. This change I welcomed very much, as I wished to study the temperament and outlook of the people of a province that I knew very little about. 'Gentle Connacht' it has been called, and rightly so, for the quality persists in may other spheres besides their flowing native Gaelic tongue. What I learned during my years in 'Gentle Connacht' was truly inestimable.

Retirement

I retired in Galway 27 years ago and lived there until very recently. After I retired I was delighted to be able to give full time to my hobby of gardening. I think the enthusiastic gardener cannot well avoid having a long and healthy life. As a spare time occupation I took part in social action, and did some reading when I had any time over.

Meanwhile I have reached the age of ninety-two, in good health and with a continuing happy outlook. For this I give constant thanks to the Great God of All Goodness. I am a firm believer, however, that the individual must do everything he can to help in the matter.

So, if I may be permitted to set down my own experience it would be:

Learn to drive yourself without using force.

Suffer minor inconveniences with a smile.

Keep physically active at all times, and

If you have not got a hobby adopt one now and follow it lovingly.

It All Adds Up

To sum up I believe I am a happy person because I'm still an optimist at 92. And I couldn't be that if life hadn't been a rich experience for me. I like to dip occasionally into the treasure-chest of memory and to recall life as it was, especially when I was growing up more than eighty years ago on a farm in West Cork. Many another reader would have enjoyed similar experiences, but perhaps not too many live long enough to look back so far.

Sketch Map (At the beginning; not to scale)

Along here is the district of Gougane Barra, the source of the river Lee, Glengarriff, Bantry, and many delightful inlets with seaside hotels range along this south coast.

Seán Ó Luasaigh

(All statements are factual)

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