Greyhounds, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night

Fabulous photo - Great context. 

I saw this photo on the Facebook page 'Mount Talbot - A Journey through the ages'. It totally piqued my interest for one reason... Ghosts!

'This is and extraordinary photo of Matthew Dolan of Cloonlaughlin, Mount Talbot who was born in 1842. It is not everyday one can see a photo of a person who lived through and survived the Famine in Ireland, the population of Cloonlaughlin was halved as a consequence of the great hunger, the largest drop of any of the townlands in our parish. This photo dates to the 1st or possibly second decade of the 20th century, the dress of Matthew is very different to what was worn even a few years after this time, the suit jacket is longer and a very unique shape, made no doubt by Tailor Kelly of Corrocot. He stands tall and proud, his white beard and large hat hiding a face that had witnessed enormous changes in the country. He lived through the famine, land war, Boer war, the rise and fall of Parnell, the lesser famine of 1892, the Plan of Campaign, the passing of the final Home Rule Bill, World War 1, 1916 Rising and possibly the War of independence and Civil War too. (special thanks to Matthews great grandson John for photo).'

His living memory of the Famine era and the Land League agitation would have been extraordinary. He looked quite the dandy in that three-piece suit. The waist-coat looks quite contrasting. The long swallow-tail coat style is unusual. Ironically, just such a coat was described to me by my father in a story he told me about the time a ghost terrorised his greyhound in a stable beside a ruined estate house near Killimor. Turned out that a man had hanged or shot himself, (I disremember which) in that very same stable in the 1880's and his ghost had been seen there many times, ensuring the locals gave it a wide berth. 
My father was teaching in Raheen, between Killimor and Lawrencetown in 1938, staying in 'digs' in Killimor and had just started kennelling his greyhound (which he raced in Galway) in the old two-storey stable, at very little cost!. He couldn't understand why the dog was off form and one winter's evening he went down to walk and feed the dog after teaching school. He described how after galloping the dog on a misty evening, in the fading light, he was drying and brushing the dog before locking him up for the night. 
He was just brushing the dog's hind-quarters, when the dog became terrified, backing into a corner whimpering. He looked around to see an old man, 'dressed in an old-fashioned swallow-tailed, frock-coat, hat and breeches' raising a stick and coming down the stairs towards him. Needless to say, he wasted no time running for the door, followed by the dog, and no doubt the ghost. He never went back there, but he told me that story maybe twice over fifty years. Until now I was picturing a gentleman, in a dress suit, with swallow-tail dinner jacket, but now I see that it was the style for the country folk. 
You see, even in folk-memory there are little telling details that substantiate or anchor a tale, a minute observation or aside, without which the story could be dismissed as just another story to pass the winter evening around the turf-fire.
And who said there's no such thing as ghosts!

#Ghosts #Ghosttales #Ghosttours #Haunted

If you are on Facebook, you can find my page on 'Galway Walks'  @WalkingtoursofGalway

An Easter Tale from County Galway

Nine million chocolate eggs were consumed over Easter in Ireland. Watching the children searching the garden on a Easter Egg Hunt this weekend reminded me that Easter Eggs were not always chocolate or dyed, or even common. In fact, eggs were a commodity, that most households sold, not ate. That brought me to my grand-father's shop in Killimor, County Galway, which he opened exactly a hundred years ago this year.

M. A. Brody and Co, Killimor, County Galway. C. 1914

My grandfather, Michael Brody, and his family, operated a general store, offering grocery, hardware, builders providers, drapery, apothecary, as well as glass, timber, fertiliser and fuels in Killimor, near Portumna, Co.Galway, for nearly eighty years. He was also a master tea-blender having trained in Liptons in London, and finally, for over fifty years, he also traded as a licensed egg wholesaler. 

From the time he opened the shop in 1914, each day his 'travelling shop' or a lorry went around the countryside, from country story to village shop, all over the Sliabh Aughty mountains, in south Galway and north Clare, buying eggs from the local shops, who in turn had bought them from local farms, almost exclusively from the womenfolk, whose responsibility the farms' chickens were. The women earned their 'pin-money' from the eggs, and that was so important for funding the daily necessities of the farming household, before the advent of 'The Childrens' Allowance', which was introduced in the 1950's

Back in Killimor, 'Boss Brody' would have the thousands of eggs washed, graded, checked for freshness, dated and stamped with his 'Egg Dearer's registered number', packed onto cardboard trays, and then layered carefully in wooden crates, each crate holding several 'gross' of eggs (a gross was 144). When he had a full load, his lorry would be driven, carefully, to the Port of Dublin, for onward shipment to Liverpool or Hollyhead via the mail-boat, from where the eggs would be brought by train to the 'Egg Exchange Market', at Covent Garden, in London, to be sold. 

It was a good business, but with plenty of hassles, including getting paid by his London agent, which often left my grand-father in a precarious financial position, especially during The Emergency, during WWII. Cash was king during the war, but Grandad's cash was already spent, paying the smaller shops for their eggs, while his dealer might take 30 days or even more credit before paying him. My mum told me this was a regular difficulty for Grandad. 

That wasn't the only problem with eggs. You could be 'had' too, as lots of eggs were already 'off' when bought by the shops, as back then, hens laid their eggs under hedges or in outhouses around the farmyard, so sometimes the eggs might be old, or less than fresh, by the time they were found, or they might even be half-hatched. Buying fresh eggs was an art. Grandad had to suffer a government 'Egg-inspector's' visit each week, whose job it was to ensure standards were adhered to. As chickens don't lay eggs much in the winter-time, and owing to a lack of refrigeration back then, in order to keep eggs fresh for use over the winter months, eggs were preserved before shipping, by coating them in a Vaseline solution before packing. Yes, eggs could be a messy business indeed.

Grandad loved to spin a good story to us, his grand-children. He often told me the story of how back in the 'forties, his truck took a bend near Eyrecourt, just a little too too fast and ended up tipping over into the field, with egg crates tossed everywhere, though miraculously, hardly a one broke. They heeled the truck back on its axles, reloaded the eggs and took off for the boat. 

Another time he got an urgent call to bring eggs to an American liner in Galway Bay. He was delighted with the wind-fall order and hurriedly loaded the new lorry that he had just taken delivery of. It was a little bigger than the old one and a little higher, and a little shinier and my grandad was really proud of it. So proud was he that he decided to drive the lorry to Galway himself, though with very little time to spare to catch the ship before she sailed with the tide. He took off at a mighty pace, in through Gurtymadden to Loughrea, on to Craughwell and Oranmore, then in by the old Galway road behind Merlin Park, under the railway bridge, for which the truck was just 8 inches too high. The bridge took the top row of egg crates clean off the top of the truck, leaving the biggest omelette in Galway in the middle of the road. Despite the mishap, and his embarrassment, he made the ship, and then hit straight over to to Athenry to have a new creel made or the truck, one that was a foot lower.

This little story posted by a friend of mine, Karin Joyce who lives in Boston, about her mother's memories of Easter eggs in the 'thirties, brought a smile to my face, and right back to Grandad's shop in Killimor. How different things were back then, our children cannot even imagine what austerity was.

'Happy Easter to you all. I think of my mother on Easter as she loved to have an egg and especially on Easter morning. Once she was in the hospital and was delighted to tell us that all the patients got a dyed egg that morning. It stemmed from her childhood. As a child in Ballacurra, Co. Galway, she never had a whole egg except on Easter. Being one of 17, her mother sold the eggs to Glynn's shop. Her granny was the only one to get an egg during the year. Granny would give the children turns and give them the top of her egg. I told my mother she must have had to wait her turn for two weeks. My mother, Katie Monahan and her sisters were so happy and proud to have an egg on Easter morning that they dribbled the yolk on their chins and went to mass to show everyone they got an egg'.

An Easter tale from County Galway, one you might hear on my walking tours of Galway, or on the shortest walking tour of Ireland, 'the fifty foot tour of O'Connors Bar Galway.'For more on the Walking Tours of Galway or to book a tour, see www.galwaywalks.com