Barna in Autumn of 1981: The Caravan
Upon returning to Barna we no longer had the option of staying long-term with old Sean. Festy and his wife Barbara were now permanently entrenched. We would need to find our own place to live. Money was tight and after some searching around the village, Mom managed to secure our next place of residence.
She had spoken to a Mrs. Donnelly who had a small caravan to rent not far down the road from Sean’s. For the price of 18 pounds a month, we had a deal. This would have equated to roughly $25 USD a month at the time. Real estate is about location, location, location so the cliché goes. In that respect, we were in a good spot. We were close to the main road, the two local stores and the seaside. That is probably the best that can be said for our new home.
Our yellow caravan was small. When you’re little you remember physical space being much bigger than when you revisit it as an adult. Well, I can tell you that as a 6-year-old, I thought that the caravan was small. It did manage to have separate areas including a small kitchen, a very modest common area and a tiny toilet with a mini shower.
Thankfully, since it was late summer and the weather was still reasonable, we spent a good deal of our time out and about. Mom always enjoyed walking and would take me for long journeys. It was common for us to walk into town from Barna. In Galway, we would peruse the shops, have an ice cream, spend time in Eyre Park, and then either take a bus home or sometimes walk back to the yellow caravan. It was a scenic route along the coast road where the beauty of the land meeting the sea was on full display.
Another activity that I quickly embraced was heading down to the seaside. We were little more than a half mile away from Barna beach. While it may not quite have the buzz of Miami Beach or Saint Tropez, it is a lovely spot in its own right. When it was a bright day, the sunlight would sparkle off the ocean water. While the water was cool, it was no worse than Lake Michigan in Chicago. Truth be told, it was probably warmer. On those sunny days, there would be loads of people at the beach and a buzz of activity.
Mom would have bought me a plastic pail and spade from Clark’s, one of the two small shops in Barna. Bucket in hand, I would explore around the beach. There would be jellyfish that the tide would push up onto the shore. We called them Portuguese man o’ war but who knows if they were. I don’t think they were, but we were always warned by adults to mind the jellyfish, so we didn’t get stung.
It was also common to see porpoises leaping out of the water not too far from the shoreline. No one called them dolphins. They were porpoises. However, both dolphins and porpoises can be found off the coast of Galway.
I was enamoured with looking for marine creatures amongst the rocks nearby the sea when the tide came in. I would squat down and lift them up to see what I would find underneath. There were so many discoveries to be made! Small crabs, fish, and eels would quickly scatter when I disturbed their abode. The crabs were the easiest to capture. As they fled, they would often raise their claws in defiance to beat an honorable retreat. However, that did not deter me from scooping them up and placing them in my plastic pail.
The small fish and eels were not as easy to secure. But I was patient, focused, and persistent, and soon my collection would begin to fill with a variety of Barna marine life.
I would proudly bring back my haul to where my mom was on the beach to show her my prized collection. Her reaction was authentically plain. There was no pretending that this was some sort of marvellous accomplishment. It is easy to imagine a mother trying to placate their child, ‘Oh, very good Jimmy! What do we have here?! Oh, little fish and eels? Are we going to have a fish dinner tonight?” None of that. Mom would shudder a little, maybe express a mild aversion to the bucket filled with tiny sea creatures, and then tell me to put them back.
Inevitably, I would want to take my bucket of small sea friends home. Mom would not hear of it, and this was always a sore point for my 6-year-old self. Reluctantly, I would return my bucket full of sea creatures to their rightful place.
The beach was divided by a large pier built out of rock. There was no shortage of stone in the area so raw materials would not have been a problem whenever the pier was built. It functioned as a divider between the beach on the right-hand side and the harbor on the left side. The large pier jutted out a good 100 meters out into the ocean. As you walked out along the grey and black flecked stone, there was a wall alongside the walkway that narrowed and then curled to the left. Eventually, the walking space ended into the rock and there would only be the dark stone wall of the pier running vertically up from the ocean. Whenever I walked out that far, I was always slightly uneasy when I looked down. It was a good 20-meter drop to the sea where loads of jagged rocks sat just below the water. There would be no one cliff diving off this pier.
Sometimes, I would look down from the pier and my eyes saw what looked like a massive crab sitting below the surface. When I say massive, I mean about 2-3 feet across from one side of its shell to the other. It may have been just a rock, but I was far from certain. It added to my leeriness when I looked down from above. It was also the sort of sight that my youthful mind would imagine as something more than what it was.
On the other side of the peer were the boats, mostly small trawlers used for fishing. The thick fishing nets were coloured green from the algae alongside numerous lobster traps. I didn’t come over to this side of the pier often as there wasn’t as much to see or do. It was the working side of Barna beach.
Another prominent feature of the beach that stays with me was the seaweed. As the tide rolled out, massive amounts of seaweed would remain stranded on the beach. On warm days, the kelp produced a strong stench. There was a type of bug that made its home in the seaweed. If you jostled the seaweed, the tiny creatures would come hopping out. They were kelp flies, technically a type of crustacean. They were harmless, but a complete nuisance, and loads of them would jump out if you moved the seaweed.
When the weather was warm and sunny, the beach added vitality to the village and created a lovely spot for recreation and relaxation The road leading to the beach is just a stone’s throw from the coastal road. That intersection represented the center of activity in Barna. There were three restaurants in close proximity: The Twelve Pins, Donnelly’s, and a restaurant right next to the beach, but the name escapes me.
Donnelly’s doubled as a shop and a pub that served food. At the time, I had no idea a pub was attached to Donnelly’s. It was kept separate. The shop was a regular stop for us as it was only a short way from the caravan. I would just about always get a treat at Donnelly’s, usually a pack of pastilles. Pastilles were sugar-covered jelly gums and I loved them. Once in a while, mom would give me a50 pence piece to go off to Donnelly’s myself.
I remember the silver coin with a stork on it or some type of bird. It wasn’t a hawk or an eagle or your traditional bird of prey you might expect some countries to use on their national coinage. No, in Ireland it was decided that we’d use a woodcock. Anyway, it was a great-looking, seven-sided coin with real heft to it.
One of my preferred purchases with my 50p was a litre of Coca-Cola. Coke tasted different in Ireland than in the US. Honestly, it tasted better. Maybe the Coke in the States was already using corn syrup as opposed to cane sugar. So, it would be a litre of Coca-Cola and whatever else I could get with my remaining change, usually cola-flavored gummy bottles or a Carmello.
As for the other restaurant, The Twleve Pins was diagonally across the road from Donnelly’s. The handsome white building with black accents was the more eye-catching establishment. Walking in the front took you immediately into the red carpeted sitting area adjacent to the bar. It was a traditional setup that you would see in most pubs. The Twelve Pins also functioned as an Inn with rooms available toward the back, behind the pub. The Twelve Pins was class.
Across the road from the Twelve Pins was where we would catch the bus into town. What made the bus stop special was the meadow next to it. In the field were two horses that would graze and occasionally come to the stone wall for some attention. There was a stream in the meadow as well, and it made for a storybook setting.
As we settled in, Mom began to get to know more people in the area. We already knew the Faherty’s who lived on the farm just up the road from Clarks, but now we were meeting other families. Mom immediately got on very well with Martin and Mary Cooney. They were a well-travelled couple, having spent time in Australia and the UK. They were good company and the right mix of easy-going but never boring.
Mom had a connection with Martin through the Irish language. Mom spoke Gaelic and Mary didn’t, as she wasn’t a Galway native. Mom has always talked about how one would say something in Irish but it would lose its charm or punch if directly translated into English. She and Martin would launch into animated conversations that usually ended in a good laugh. To her credit, Mary was very good about letting them have a few minutes to go on a bit in Irish. Mary was good craic herself and projected what Americans might call ‘A tough broad’ persona’. That’s exaggerating it slightly, but she came across as someone who could smell BS and didn’t suffer fools. Truth be told, beyond that façade, she was very, very nice. The no nonsense exterior effectively hid a kind person with a tender heart.
We would walk over to the Cooney’s who lived a good way west along the coast road. It was a least a few miles from our caravan. Mom usually brought a tin of biscuits or a carton of Silk Cut cigarettes. Mary was a regular smoker of Silk Cut. Once we arrived, the tea would be made, the package of biscuits opened and the conversation would go on for hours.
So what was I doing while they were visiting? The Cooney’s had two children, Kieran and Roisin. Kieran was a year older than me and Roisin a year younger. We got on well enough. Kieran had plenty of toys and I loved playing with the Legos. I would see the Lego packages at Roches, but they were too dear for our modest budget. At the end of the evening, Martin would be good enough to give us a ride back in their red Ford. I don’t know if it was a Cortina or a Granada, but it was a four-door red car. Before we left, I’d usually try to pocket at least one Lego man.
The Cooney visits quickly became an established part of our routine. We stopped by their house far more often than anywhere else. Martin worked in construction and one of his hallmarks was the big, yellow, JCB digger that he drove around in. Martin was squat and solidly built, standing about 5’9 or so. He was darker in complexion with black hair and could have easily passed as a farmer from Galicia or a Portuguese fisherman. When he was on the JCB he typically wore a dock worker’s hat, the same that Horst the German liked to wear. Martin was friendly, charismatic, energetic, and smart. Festy described him as having a twinkle in the eye that gave away a mind for business. The Cooney’s would remain close to us for the entirety of our time in Barna.
During one of our late summer journeys into town, Mom took me to the cinema. ‘Star Wars’ was playing. I had never seen the original film nor the follow-up, ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ which had come out the year prior in 1980. I find it odd in retrospect that the theatre was playing the original Star Wars film more than 4 years after its initial 1977 release. However, as a 6-year-old, I had no awareness of these trifling details. I was well familiar with Star Wars through the toys, and I was excited to see the film.
Mom bought my ticket and off I went to go watch the film, by myself…..in the theatre…… as a 6 year old! Mom left to do a bit of shopping or who knows maybe grab a pint in town. It might come across as casual parenting, but Galway was a safe place. At the time, Mom was with me so much of the time in general. She hardly ever had any time for herself. She didn’t give a toss about Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Darth Vader, or the future of the galaxy.
I settled into my seat and as soon as the theatre darkened, the opening theme music triumphantly began – I was captivated. What an incredible experience. As a little boy, it was as close to magical as it gets. The basic story of a struggle between good and evil, the fantastical, strange worlds and alien creatures, the music, the spaceships, the sounds, the exotic, futuristic laser guns and most of all the lightsabre duel near the film’s conclusion. The film struck very basic chords of adventure and adrenaline that left me buzzing with wonder. In truth, watching the film by myself added to the purity of the experience.
After the film, I stepped out of the theatre into the daylight and could barely see as my eyes adjusted from the darkness of the cinema. There was Mom to collect me and off we went.
This wasn’t my first experience at the theatre in Galway. The year prior Mom and I had seen Empire of The Ants starring Joan Collins. I loved monsters. The premise of giant ants that terrorized and ate people was right up my alley. Looking back at the trailer, apparently, the ants also exercised mind control over the humans by emitting smoky pheromones that came out of their backside. Really, what more could you ask for? Empire of The Ants was released in 1977. Yet here we were, and it was 1980 when we watched the film in Galway. I don’t know why that was. They couldn’t have possibly been getting the films distributed overseas on a 4-year delay?! Who knows…..maybe they just showed whatever they could get their hands on.
The summer of 1981 was loads of fun. The beach, the movies, trips to town and the visits to the Cooney’s. Everything was coming into clearer focus. As for my schooling, I would attend Barna Primary School. It was roughly a mile from the caravan. Departing from our yellow abode to the coast road, I would turn left to go on a gradual incline, passing Clark’s grocery shop. The school would soon appear on the left-hand side. There were a handful of school sheds that housed the different classes. I hesitate to call them buildings because they didn’t seem as sturdy as the homes and other buildings in the area.
The school had a large asphalt area out front where students would gather and play before and after school. The ground angled upwards so the school sheds were higher up from the road. A stone wall surrounded the front of the school. One of the more popular games at the time was marbles. The boys were absolutely mad about playing marbles out on the asphalt. The way I remember was there would be two players. There was a hole, just a divot in the asphalt where the players would attempt to roll their marbles into the hole by flicking their thumb against the marble to send it on its way.
The marbles came in all kinds of shapes, sizes, and designs. Usually, they were the size of a modest-sized gumball. The marbles would be clear, with designs of various colours weaved through them. Some would be larger, the biggest being the size of a rubber ball you might find attached to a wooden paddle. Marbles were highly valued. I was captivated by their variety and drawn in by their allure. I must admit it always felt more exciting to win someone’s prized marble than to buy it. Netted bags of them were available to purchase at Clark’s shop.
Clark’s had a different feel from Donnelly’s. The shop was larger in size, more brightly lit, with more variety on offer. Aside from an expanded food section, they sold marbles and basic beach toys. The shop seemed more modern than Donnelly’s, which probably had the same décor and products in 1981 as they did in 1961. However, each shop had their own distinct identity as well as their place in Barna.
School was now in session and my 1st grade teacher was Mrs Thornton. She was young, likely under thirty. She had stylish, short brown hair parted in a way that seemed very sensible and easy to manage. She was short in stature. Her skin was not dark per se like Martin Cooney, but she had more color than most milky-skinned Irish people. Her skin was dotted with freckles, and she wore her makeup in a tasteful manner. In my memories, Mrs Thornton wore a blue ensemble that resembled an airline attendant. In fact, that was how her energy came across. She was pert, helpful, organized, and kind, just like the good airline attendants are!
She was a very good teacher. The Irish schooling system was not renowned for progressive, kind educators. Mom spoke about how frequently students were slapped and abused during her days at school. Mrs Thornton represented the new generation of educators who did not believe in teaching through fear.
I adjusted to school easily and quickly befriended some of my classmates. Ciaran was a year ahead of me, so I didn’t see too much of him at school. There would be a handful of new kids: Patrick Noone, Martin Cavanagh, Olivia and Michael Brosnan, Angus Nee, Sheela Faherty, and Stephen Corbett. Sheela, I already knew from visiting her farm, but the others were new faces. There were the Clarks and the McTigue’s. We even had a continental presence in Marco Magnetti and his older sister Daniella. Of course, we called him Marco Spaghetti. Yes, they were Italian, but with strawberry blond hair and light skin.
Little Michael Brosnan is in the photo above wearing the red shirt and looking quite confident next to the donkey.
As summer moved into fall, Mom and I spent more time in the caravan. One of my favorite pastimes was to play with my toy soldiers. Back then, you could go to Woolworths or Dunne’s and in the toy section, there would be packs of army soldiers in plastic packages. But not just your ordinary dark green soldiers. Three different nations were represented. The American soldiers were the traditional dark green. Then there were the British soldiers that were khaki in color. The British soldiers also had the helmets with circular brims. Finally, you had the bad guys, the Germans, who were blue.
Not only were there soldiers, but also tanks and artillery cannons. The little plastic artillery cannons were great because they had a spring mechanism. You could load a little plastic shell into the cannon, pull back the lever and release devastation on the enemy! Ok, at least you’d knock out a few opposing soldiers. Each package came with the country’s flag as well. Although I have to call out the manufacturers for a lack of authenticity on this front. The German army soldier pack came with a flag displaying the black, red, and yellow colors of the country. I don’t think that is what the Germans were flying as their flag in WW2…..It would have been pretty wild if the package had come with a Nazi flag. Maybe it did at some point and people complained. There were no Soviet army packs available either. I guess the Cold War made it awkward for Western toy companies to produce anything acknowledging the USSR.
WW2 loomed large over popular culture, even in the early 1980’s. The old diarrhoea rhymes you learned as a kid found a way to make a WW2 reference, “There’s a German soldier in the grass with his finger up his ass, Diarrhoea! Chirp. Chirp. Diarrhoea!” I don’t know why bird sound effects were included, but they were. We thought nothing of it at the time. I don’t imagine that would go down as well today.
I would set the soldiers up all over the inside of the caravan and make war. Mom must have thought those soldier packs were one of the smartest purchases she ever made. They kept me occupied for ages. I’d also set the soldiers up for battles outside behind the caravan in the grass and rocky area. There would be lots of sound effects and agonizing yells as casualties mounted on both sides. I still had the cowboy and Indian packs so sometimes they would get involved as well. It was total mayhem as Indians jumped on the tanks and Cowboys manned the cannons. I would also take the few plastic dinosaurs that I had and add them to the field of battle. The dinosaurs would always inflict a high casualty count on both sides 😉
On Sundays, we attended Mass as 95 percent of the population in Ireland did at the time at the Church of Mary Immaculate Queen of Barna. It doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, does it? The church building was rather modern as it had been built in 1977. One can find similar models all over Chicago as well. Inside, the church had benches of light wooden color that looked straight from IKEA and a strange type of wiry, rough carpet. The priest was an older man, Father Tully.
On one occasion, a happy little daschund followed us as we walked to church, all the way to the building! Mom was always very fond of animals, but we didn’t try taking our new companion inside the church. There were two daschunds that lived farther up the road from us. They seemed to always be out and about. I like daschunds but they can come off as the gossipy old lady or persnickety old man of the dog world. They’re not easy-going, laid back and uncomplicated. They’re busybodies that need to know what is going on. That said, I always looked forward to seeing them on our walks.
As the year moved into December, a couple of notable events occurred. First, there was my birthday on December 14th. I was turning 7 years old. Mom must have been paying attention to the WW2 battles I had been reimagining in and around the caravan. She bought me a toy M16 rifle. I was over the moon! The toy gun was green and heavy, complete with the carry handle that made the M16 distinct. You could have put me on the U2 “War” album cover!
The weather became terribly cold that winter. Typical Irish winters are cold, grey and wet. Ireland only very rarely gets anything approaching the harsh, bitter cold that one would find in Chicago. For some perspective, the coldest day in Irish history recorded a temperature of -19C (-2F). We reach those temperatures every winter in Chicago. However, in December of 1981, the temperature dropped lower than normal in Ireland. It was freezing cold.
We didn’t go out much due to the weather, but we did make it to Donnelly’s and picked up a box of Black Magic. No, we didn’t try to conjure evil spirits for a bit of warmth from the flames of hell. Black Magic was a box of chocolates only available during the build-up to Christmas. I remember the elegant black box and the air of luxury that it had. We wouldn’t come across that very often! Mom had a real sweet tooth and we finished off the box in one evening.
If there is one quality I can surely identify as my mother having passed onto me, it is the complete lack of self-control once we taste something sweet that whets our palate. I’m very envious of people who can have just a few chocolates and be done with it. I’m not like that at all. If I don’t touch them, I’m fine. But if I have just one then the gates of gluttony are opened and the package of whatever treat I’m eating is getting conquered. Devouring that box of Black Magic with Mom was fantastic and as Edith Piaf once proclaimed, “Je ne regrette rien.”.
December 1981: The Noone’s Apartment
The temperatures plummeted so low in December that the pipes supplying water to the caravan froze. Fortunately, a lady up the road became aware of our situation. Evelyn Noone offered Mom the apartment adjacent to her home for the same price of 18 pounds a month we were paying for the caravan. Mom quickly accepted and before Christmas, we had moved up the road.
This represented a significant change for us and all of them positive. The Noones had a lovely home on a sizable tract of land. The black driveway led up a relatively steep incline to the house. Our apartment was on the right-hand side of the property. The side entrance led to a small but cozy flat.
What was great about our new accommodations is now I lived next door to my classmate and friend Patrick Noone! Patrick was similar to me as he was the youngest sibling by some distance and had been doted on by his older sisters and brothers. Patrick and I became good buddies, and it was too good to be true having a friend that you could pal around with right next door.
The Noone’s had a dog. He was a Collie by the name of Shane. He looked just like Lassie, and I was stunned to see this type of dog in the flesh. Shane was omni present on the property. He would come running out barking to survey the scene whenever someone arrived at the house. He wasn’t aggressive, but he’d make everyone aware that he was looking into what was happening.
Patrick and I were quite different on the face of it. Patrick was considerably more prim and proper than me. Oftentimes, he dressed like a 55-year-old man who worked at a bank. He often had a jumper pulled over a collared shirt that gave off this effect. At times when he spoke, Patrick would hold his head up with the chin jutted out ever so slightly which further lended itself to a more mannerly and well bred way. I was a bit of a ruffian in comparison, but we got on very well. Every now and then, we’d have a tiff (seems the appropriate word when dealing with Patrick) but it was never serious, and we never physically fought. We ran around the property amusing ourselves. Patrick had a collection of Beano comic books that I quickly became familiar with reading. The adventures of Beano, Knasher, Dennis Menace, and others were a new discovery that I enjoyed. There would be regular weekly or monthly Beano magazines and the annual, which was a hardcover edition. I loved paging through the annuals.
Patrick’s family were also very kind to me. His sisters, Marion and Linda were lovely. Marion was taller than Linda and had an outgoing personality. Linda was more introverted but very nice. His brothers Kevin and Liam were solid citizens and very decent. Liam the more serious one with glasses and a studious countenance. Kevin had darker hair and was a little more laid back. Patrick took more after Liam.
Evelyn and Mom were friendly and she was always good to me. I didn’t see Patrick’s father as frequently and he was more distant. He was a taller, heavier man, balding with grey hair. He was good enough to take Patrick and myself into Galway to see the circus at some point in early 1982.
Frequently, I would get a lift to school from the Noones. Normally, I would walk home. I liked my walks and strolling up the road. Sometimes, I would pick and eat berries that would be growing off the bushes on the side of the road. There were also red, bell-shaped fuchsia flowers. I would pluck them off and then hold them over my mouth as I squeezed. A few drops of the sweet nectar ran down my throat. It was such a simple pleasure.
There were no sidewalks adjacent to the road going up to the Noone’s. I just stayed to the side of the road and minded the cars whenever I heard them coming. There was a general calmness and stillness with nature. Those walks brought about a genuine contentment. It is nothing you notice as a child but looking back I treasure that tranquillity I had by myself.
In the evenings, Mom and I would watch the telly. We had a tiny television in the caravan but now at the apartment we had graduated to a modest-sized TV. There were a good few shows that Mom regularly watched. Dallas was number one on her list by some distance. Jeez, I remember the fuss over “Who shot JR?”. Larry Hagman, who played JR Ewing still lays claim to having portrayed possibly the most infamous villain in television history. Looking back, a great show would have been to put JR Ewing in Galway and have him deal with the locals. Dallas meets Father Ted.
I loved the theme music to Dallas. It had a great opening montage of images showing the city of Dallas and the surrounding land. The sun shining off the modern glass downtown buildings to the steers being driven across the arid terrain. It was an epic introduction, and the show was extremely popular in Ireland.
Dynasty was another American soap opera that resided on mom’s must-see tv list. I recognized Joan Collins from Empire of The Ants. She played a scheming, nasty lady in the show, always plotting against Linda Evans and John Forsyth. Mom was enthralled with all the melodramatic nonsense these shows manufactured.
There were a few other shows we also watched faithfully. Magnum PI with Tom Selleck driving around his Ferrari and wearing Hawaiian shirts. It is amazing how I can recall the characters that populated that program. Higgins, the overly snobby Englishman who thought little of Magnum but loved his two rabid Dobermans. TC, the black pilot who flew the helicopter and would pop in to help Magnum when situations became complicated. Then there was his buddy Larry who ran a tiki bar. I don’t remember him doing anything very useful. Once again, killer theme music, right up there with Dallas.
So much of what was offered on Irish TV were American productions. American media influence was already hugely significant in Ireland. Aside from the children’s programs that were Irish produced, I don’t recall us watching any Irish shows aside from the news. Honest to God, the budget for a show like Dallas was probably 100 times beyond the budget for the entire Irish media industry.
There was one show from the UK that I remember seeing a few times, “Sapphire and Steel”. This Sci-Fi series was too complicated for my seven-year-old self to stay interested in. But sometimes I’d keep it on because there was nothing else to watch. What was notable was how far ahead the American programs were from a production and budgetary standpoint. Sapphire and Steel looked nearly 10 years behind a show such as “The Incredible Hulk” for example. This was one of the more obvious differences between life in Ireland and the United States. The US was the most powerful economy in the world, the center point for capitalism and entertainment. Ireland was an economic backwater. Even the UK paled in comparison when it came to producing television entertainment.
One of the most memorable evenings of television for me in early 1982 was when “Jaws II” was televised by RTE1 on a Saturday evening. God, I was just riveted by the giant shark who was terrorizing anyone foolish enough to get in the ocean. I realize that “Jaws II” is a weak follow-up to the original classic. At the time though, I had no frame of reference and “Jaws II” was a masterpiece! Mom and I watched the film and it was brilliant being in our own little place together on a cold evening watching Chief Brody find a way to kill another maniacal Great White Shark.
Ireland had only two or three TV stations. There was RTE1, RTE2, to be honest, I’m not sure there was another channel! I’m fairly certain BBC would not have been available since Ireland was a separate country from the UK. However, while the US would have exercised a significant cultural influence from a TV and film point of view, the UK still held far greater cultural sway in Ireland. The language, food, and sport were all heavily influenced by the UK. For example, virtually no one in Ireland watched basketball, American football, ice hockey, or baseball. American-style fast food was only in the embryonic stages of infiltrating Ireland. Galway didn’t have a McDonald’s until 1988.
Unbeknownst to me, my vocabulary and my accent began to change. I was acclimating to my surroundings and soon I had a pretty authentic Irish brogue. German Shepherds became Alsatians, trucks became lorries, and pants became trousers. Instead of taking your turn, it was “take your go”. When bargaining during marbles, you would never make a “trade”, you’d “swap”. Expressions like “jeenie mac!” and “man alive” entered my lexicon. The one American speaking trait I kept was my pronunciation of the ‘th’ sound. I very rarely come across an Irish person who pronounces the ‘th’. Instead, they drop the ‘h’ and pronounce the word with a hard ‘t’. For example, the number ‘three’ becomes the number ‘tree’ from the mouth of an Irish person.
There were loads of other examples of how my way of speaking was changing. It was the natural way of things I suppose. It is funny though because I had a very firm identity as an American. I was an American! Even though my parents were from Galway and I was living in Ireland, I was adamant about being American. Interestingly, the older I get and as life moves on, I cling more and more to my Irish influences.
Pop Music
As we moved into the first half of 1982, life continued to come into fuller focus. I started to have an awareness of popular music. There were songs and artists from the end of 1981 that I can readily identify as some of the first sounds and images connecting me to pop music. The Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” was a big hit, and that synthesizer sound would dominate the next couple of years.
Then there was Adam Ant. In 1981 and 1982 he seemed to be a constant presence on the music scene. His image was striking. He wore a military jacket that was fashioned off a British uniform from the Crimean War. Then he donned a type of frontier hat, a cape, and decorated his face with war paint. There was a hell of a lot of thought put into his outfit and image. In his videos he was robbing a stagecoach, swinging off a chandelier, crashing through glass, strutting through odd dances and staring at himself a lot. Tell you what, he must have had a good laugh dreaming up this silliness and bringing it into fruition. But there was more than a fair bit of genius in it. At the time, however, I didn’t know what to make of him. What was he? Was he a pirate? Was he some sort of robber? Sometimes he jumped about with guns, but these pistols were from the 1800’s. There was a lot of dressing up and carrying on. Clearly, there was a market and public appetite for this foolishness. Adam and the Ants were probably the most successful pop act of very early 1980’s Britain and Ireland.
I came across an interesting article from a music journalist at The Guardian who recognizes the audacious creativity in image and sound that led to the band’s ubiquity from 80-82’.
Interesting to note however that Adam and his band of dandy highwaymen never had close to the same impact in the United States. Case in point, their 1981 album Prince Charming hit #2 in the UK and #94 in the US. It is strange how certain music acts travel well across the Atlantic and others don’t. I have to say that looking back he was a bit of a mad genius for what he created and pulled off, if only for a relatively brief period.
Coming back to our reality in Barna, Mom needed to find work. She was hamstrung by the fact she didn’t drive and was the sole caretaker of a 7-year-old boy. Mom did manage to secure work as a cleaning lady for an elderly couple in Salthill. The Doyle’s were quite old and one day a week Mom would come in and clean the house from top to bottom. Salthill is one of the lovelier spots in the area as it sits next to the town of Galway heading west. One can walk from the town center along the coast road as it takes you into Salthill.
Even back in the early 1980’s Salthill was nice and a bit posh. There is a promenade that runs along the beach. On a sunny day, it could pass for a smaller version of a European beach town like Biarritz. There was also what was probably the biggest attraction for kids in the area: Leisureland!
Leisureland was an aquatic center full of colour and vitality. I only went there once. It was Tony Connelly who took me there. I was so excited to go.
Leisureland was indoor, which meant it was warmer than the temperature outside. It was so rare in Ireland that you could be running around in just your swim trunks and feel warm. The décor was brightly coloured and this made such a difference. Ireland can be very grey for much of the year aside from the green fields of grass. The sounds of an indoor, aquatic center were new to my ears, the way the sounds bounced around was an audio sensation. This helped add to the entire newness of the experience. Then there was a water slide. This was just amazing to me. A giant slide that would propel you into the pool? This was one of the coolest and most fun discoveries of my young life. I easily spent hours there running myself into exhaustion going up and down the slide. Leisureland was a real luxury to me at the time. It was very good of Tony to take me there.
For Mom, working one day a week at the Doyle’s was not a financial windfall as you can imagine. We didn’t have much, but I was too young to be aware of that, nor did I want for anything. Okay, I always wanted more toys, but I had plenty to occupy myself.
At school, a good few of my classmates had become my friends. Angus Nee was one of them. His dad was a Garda (police). Angus was soft-spoken and gentle. He had dark hair and dark eyes with a peaceful countenance. There was nothing of a troublemaker about him. My memory always sees Angus in his winter jacket with a hood. As we neared Easter we were being taught about Christ rising from the dead. At recess, we decided to re-enact the resurrection running around the schoolyard as some of the disciples celebrating the good news. Probably my most vivid recollection of Angus is him in the role of Jesus running around that schoolyard in April of 1982.
Later that year I would have attended his birthday party when he turned 8. He didn’t live close by. I remember that quite clearly. He was a good way west of Barna. I was instinctively protective of Angus. There was something about him that suggested a certain vulnerability. I can’t exactly explain where that sense came from but it was instinctual. Even young eople can inherently pick up on certain things. I would be there to look after Angus if needed. No one was going to pick on him if I was around. That is how I viewed my relationship with Angus Nee.
Towards the end of 1st grade, my cousins the Sullivan’s came to town. Anne and her husband Mike, along with their teenage boys Michael and Brian. Anne’s sister Julia and her two girls Maureen and Siobhan came as well. We congregated at Uncle Sean’s where they stayed for a few days. The most exciting part of the visit came when we drove into town to watch “Rocky III”! The theatre was just about full. Rocky’s nemesis was the rough and rude Clubber Lang, played by Mr. T. Well, I loved Clubber Lang. I loved his intensity, his mohawk, and his bad attitude. On top of that, he was introduced by the ring announcer as being from Chicago! When he handed out a one-sided beating to Rocky in their title fight, I was roaring with glee!
Of course, the movie didn’t end there and Rocky comes back to defeat Clubber Lang in their rematch. I was not at all happy with this turn of events.
The seeds for my fascination with boxing were planted. A few weeks later, life would imitate art when heavyweight champion Larry Holmes took on Gerry Cooney. This was the most racially charged boxing match in decades. Gerry Cooney was “The Great White Hope’ and millions of white Americans along with a sizeable number of Irish wanted to see the tall, dark-haired, hard-punching New Yorker win. Cooney played up his Irish heritage and wore white trunks decorated with a large green shamrock. Cooney was only half Irish as his mother was of Scottish and Spanish heritage. But billing yourself as the Iberian Highlander doesn’t sell quite as well in the States as being Irish. Holmes dashed the hopes of many when he stopped Cooney in 13 rounds at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. As a young boy, I had an awareness of the event’s significance and I remember being glad that Holmes had convincingly won.
I do wonder why I rooted for the black man in these contests, both fictional and real. Maybe I was just being a contrarian. I think there was more to it than that. There was a part of me that associated being Black with being quintessentially American. Not just American but the “cool” part of being American.
Then there is the natural human inclination to be drawn to what you are not. The Irish undoubtedly have a fascination for the exotic because while the Irish have many outstanding attributes, no one in their right mind would ever classify us as exotic. There is both a fixation and yearning for what we are not. I think that explains in part the ridiculous spray tans that are so popular in Ireland and the UK ;).
Going back to Rocky III, it was released in Ireland on July 22, 1982. In my memory, I had the impression that we had watched the film in the late spring. Maybe that is because there isn’t a massive difference in the weather going from spring to summer in Ireland. In Chicago, by the time July rolls around the temperatures are hot and steamy, 27 C (82 F). In Galway, the average temperature during July is 16 C (60 F).
By July 22nd, we would have been out of school for weeks. 1982 would be a very memorable summer for me, with impressions that lasted a lifetime.
Ireland 1979-1983 