Week ending 27th October 2009 www.tourmakeady.com
The time has changed. The nights have got longer. Temperatures drop. Leaves float down from the trees as if in no hurry to reach the ground from which they will never rise. And then a little excitement comes to help us deal with the darkness. It is called Halloween and it is there to help us poke some fun at the greatest darkness of them all, the one we call death. All around the world next weekend masks and strange costumes and customs will help people celebrate the time we feel in a special way that the dead walk among the living.
Despite the masks and skeletons Halloween is not a macabre time and it is only scary in a fun sense. For those who believe in an after-life it is a time to celebrate the belief that the living and the dead belong to the same family, that love does not end with death, that if anything love magnifies and concentrates on the ones that are gone before us. We bring them to life in memory and imagination. We see them as we remember them in the eyes of our minds. We wish them well. We want them to be at peace.
I have often felt that peace and contentment must be among the deepest desires of the human heart, because that is what we wish for those of our loved ones who have pre-deceased us. We lost the term suaimhneas with a lot of other concepts when we lost our own language, but it seems to sum up what I mean even better than terms like contentment and peace and happiness. There is a being at ease about it, the way we feel when things are going well for us in this life, when we have no anxiety of any kind. To have such a feeling for always and forever is one of our deepest desires for our loved ones.
Such thoughts will of course rightly be far from the minds of children as they dress up to trick or treat, to duck for apples, to play games, to try and scare parents and friends. Halloween is a fun time. Old customs engaged in by older ‘children’ could have an element of cruelty in them, stealing gates, moving farm equipment, breaking cabbages on the road often made life difficult for older people on whom such pranks were played. Another common one was to climb a thatched roof and place a wet bag on a chimney top so that the house would fill with smoke. One of the most bizarre I have seen was an ass-cart perched precariously on the chimney of a school as I made my way to the Mass of All-Saints the following morning.
Christians put a special emphasis on what is called ‘the communion of saints’ at this time of year. This is the belief I have mentioned already that living and dead continue as part of the same great family and can help each other by prayer and good wishes although separated by death. In the Irish language November is called ‘Mí na Mairbh’ the month of the dead, and it has a number of feasts, All Saints (Nov 1st) All Souls (Nov 2nd) All the Saints of Ireland (Nov 6th) all concentrated on remembering and showing our love and affection for our dead. People also visit family graves more than any other time of the year. The ghosts we meet in mind and imagination are not scary, but quite the opposite. They are ones we love.
Despite the masks and skeletons Halloween is not a macabre time and it is only scary in a fun sense. For those who believe in an after-life it is a time to celebrate the belief that the living and the dead belong to the same family, that love does not end with death, that if anything love magnifies and concentrates on the ones that are gone before us. We bring them to life in memory and imagination. We see them as we remember them in the eyes of our minds. We wish them well. We want them to be at peace.
I have often felt that peace and contentment must be among the deepest desires of the human heart, because that is what we wish for those of our loved ones who have pre-deceased us. We lost the term suaimhneas with a lot of other concepts when we lost our own language, but it seems to sum up what I mean even better than terms like contentment and peace and happiness. There is a being at ease about it, the way we feel when things are going well for us in this life, when we have no anxiety of any kind. To have such a feeling for always and forever is one of our deepest desires for our loved ones.
Such thoughts will of course rightly be far from the minds of children as they dress up to trick or treat, to duck for apples, to play games, to try and scare parents and friends. Halloween is a fun time. Old customs engaged in by older ‘children’ could have an element of cruelty in them, stealing gates, moving farm equipment, breaking cabbages on the road often made life difficult for older people on whom such pranks were played. Another common one was to climb a thatched roof and place a wet bag on a chimney top so that the house would fill with smoke. One of the most bizarre I have seen was an ass-cart perched precariously on the chimney of a school as I made my way to the Mass of All-Saints the following morning.
Christians put a special emphasis on what is called ‘the communion of saints’ at this time of year. This is the belief I have mentioned already that living and dead continue as part of the same great family and can help each other by prayer and good wishes although separated by death. In the Irish language November is called ‘Mí na Mairbh’ the month of the dead, and it has a number of feasts, All Saints (Nov 1st) All Souls (Nov 2nd) All the Saints of Ireland (Nov 6th) all concentrated on remembering and showing our love and affection for our dead. People also visit family graves more than any other time of the year. The ghosts we meet in mind and imagination are not scary, but quite the opposite. They are ones we love.
Week ending 20th October 2009
I have not been sleeping well since returning from the last couple of weeks of my annual holidays. My bed is not very comfortable with the Oireachtas Literary Award mentioned a couple of weeks back in this newspaper beneath my mattress. I did not want to risk putting it into what might turn out to be a bad Bank. I am told by those whose turf failed to dry because of the summer rain that deposits placed in soggy turfbanks are not a good idea unless wrapped in a keg of butter. Even then they are not usually found or withdrawn for a thousand years or more.
I had no idea when planning my break that it would coincide with the Oireachtas Awards or that I would be on their list of winners. Literary competitions are a bit like the lotto. If you are not in you can’t win, but there is always the likelihood that someone else will have written something better. I have won or shared a few prizes in recent years and have been unable to attend the presentation. It made it all the sweeter to attend the reception in Croke Park to collect my own little All Ireland, even it its name was not Sam. Not many of All-Irelands of any kind have come to Mayo in recent times.
As it happened one of the other winners was Tourmakeady and Mayo woman, Aine Treasa Ní Dheirg from Leitir Fhinín. Married in the Meath Gaeltacht, Aine Treasa and another woman from the same area, Máire Ní Ghealbháin shared a prize for a drama :” Fathach na Sróine Móire” (The Giant With The Big Nose) Another winner with connections in this county was Caitríona Hastings, wife of former Church of Ireland Rector in Westport, Canon Gary Hastings. They are now based in Galway but have not left Mayo behind them. Caitríona’s prize was for fiction (in Irish) for children between thirteen and fifteen.
My own prize was for light fiction (Fiscean éadrom) and I make no bones about the fact that I do not write heavy fiction. The simple reason for that is that I am not able to do so. I do not and never will have the depth of Irish for such a task. I have often felt that the biggest mistake made by many would-be writers of Irish is that they try and compete with the greats such as Máirtín O Cadhain, Máirtín O Direáin or Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill. It is like an English language writer trying to compete with James Joyce, Samuel Beckett or Kate O’Brien. The most important thing for any writer is to have their own voice, even if that is not very loud or deep.
I have taken a particular interest over the years in the dramatist John Millington Synge because of the time he spent in the Aran Islands and North Mayo. I was always interested in his observation that he only used two words in his dramatic writing that he had not heard from the mouths of the people. Don’t ask me what those two words were, but I think that it a good guide for any writer. OK, if you want to impress, go on and use the big words. If you want to be read, use words and sentences that people can easily understand.
I had no idea when planning my break that it would coincide with the Oireachtas Awards or that I would be on their list of winners. Literary competitions are a bit like the lotto. If you are not in you can’t win, but there is always the likelihood that someone else will have written something better. I have won or shared a few prizes in recent years and have been unable to attend the presentation. It made it all the sweeter to attend the reception in Croke Park to collect my own little All Ireland, even it its name was not Sam. Not many of All-Irelands of any kind have come to Mayo in recent times.
As it happened one of the other winners was Tourmakeady and Mayo woman, Aine Treasa Ní Dheirg from Leitir Fhinín. Married in the Meath Gaeltacht, Aine Treasa and another woman from the same area, Máire Ní Ghealbháin shared a prize for a drama :” Fathach na Sróine Móire” (The Giant With The Big Nose) Another winner with connections in this county was Caitríona Hastings, wife of former Church of Ireland Rector in Westport, Canon Gary Hastings. They are now based in Galway but have not left Mayo behind them. Caitríona’s prize was for fiction (in Irish) for children between thirteen and fifteen.
My own prize was for light fiction (Fiscean éadrom) and I make no bones about the fact that I do not write heavy fiction. The simple reason for that is that I am not able to do so. I do not and never will have the depth of Irish for such a task. I have often felt that the biggest mistake made by many would-be writers of Irish is that they try and compete with the greats such as Máirtín O Cadhain, Máirtín O Direáin or Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill. It is like an English language writer trying to compete with James Joyce, Samuel Beckett or Kate O’Brien. The most important thing for any writer is to have their own voice, even if that is not very loud or deep.
I have taken a particular interest over the years in the dramatist John Millington Synge because of the time he spent in the Aran Islands and North Mayo. I was always interested in his observation that he only used two words in his dramatic writing that he had not heard from the mouths of the people. Don’t ask me what those two words were, but I think that it a good guide for any writer. OK, if you want to impress, go on and use the big words. If you want to be read, use words and sentences that people can easily understand.
Week ending 13th October 2009
Some people dread the long nights of Autumn, and especially the changing of the time towards the end of October that will make the dark evenings even longer. I find that it is a time to be enjoyed, a time that I can read more and write more. There is something about daylight that makes me want to be outside as much as possible. There is great comfort in pulling the curtains, switching on a few lamps, lighting a fire, reading a book, or watching TV without feeling guilty about it, something I find hard to do in daytime.
I have mentioned before that I am something of a soapalcoholic as far as television drama is concerned. Rumours that I arrange Masses and other services so that they do not clash with Coronation Street or Fair City are exaggerated. I have to admit that I miss the Fair City omnibus that used to be broadcast on Sunday evenings a number of years ago. It was as good as sitting down for a couple of hours to watch a film, and as most of my Sunday work is done in the morning I enjoyed catching up on whatever drama I missed during the week. If I miss it now I usually miss it again the following day and it remains missed.
I did get to dip my fingers in the soap-opera pie seven or eight years ago when I had the opportunity to script-write for the Irish language soap ‘Ros na Rún.’ It gave me an insight into all the work and organisation that is put into such drama behind the scenes as well as the difficulty in keeping story-lines running over a number of months or years. I look on ‘soaps’ as the people’s drama as opposed to the drama produced in theatres which tends to be more elitist because of the admission cost or the perceived feeling that this is there for a particular class of people.
TV drama seems to me to be more like the public drama staged at street corners in Shakespeare’s time, there for the public and the passer-by to see and to judge for themselves. I am not suggesting that Eastenders is on a par with Hamlet or Macbeth but I like the idea that it is drama available to the public in their own homes at the press of a button. Even though many people disparage the soaps and those who watch them they often provide drama of a very high quality, some of which helps people come to terms with ways of life they find difficult to understand or accept.
I think many people are far more understanding of issues to do with race and gender because of their exposure to television drama. I would suggest that there is less racism and homophobia in society because ethnic and gay characters have been seen on the screen by many people never before exposed to certain realities of life. The good thing about drama or story-telling (Remember the parables of Jesus) is that it helps us form our own views or values by thinking through situations we may find ourselves in at some stage.
“The play’s the thing wherewith to catch the conscience of the king” is a line I remember, and I hope correctly, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. A drama was being acted out to hold up a mirror in which the king might recognise his wrongdoings. The humble ‘soap’ can have the same effect in this day and age.
I have mentioned before that I am something of a soapalcoholic as far as television drama is concerned. Rumours that I arrange Masses and other services so that they do not clash with Coronation Street or Fair City are exaggerated. I have to admit that I miss the Fair City omnibus that used to be broadcast on Sunday evenings a number of years ago. It was as good as sitting down for a couple of hours to watch a film, and as most of my Sunday work is done in the morning I enjoyed catching up on whatever drama I missed during the week. If I miss it now I usually miss it again the following day and it remains missed.
I did get to dip my fingers in the soap-opera pie seven or eight years ago when I had the opportunity to script-write for the Irish language soap ‘Ros na Rún.’ It gave me an insight into all the work and organisation that is put into such drama behind the scenes as well as the difficulty in keeping story-lines running over a number of months or years. I look on ‘soaps’ as the people’s drama as opposed to the drama produced in theatres which tends to be more elitist because of the admission cost or the perceived feeling that this is there for a particular class of people.
TV drama seems to me to be more like the public drama staged at street corners in Shakespeare’s time, there for the public and the passer-by to see and to judge for themselves. I am not suggesting that Eastenders is on a par with Hamlet or Macbeth but I like the idea that it is drama available to the public in their own homes at the press of a button. Even though many people disparage the soaps and those who watch them they often provide drama of a very high quality, some of which helps people come to terms with ways of life they find difficult to understand or accept.
I think many people are far more understanding of issues to do with race and gender because of their exposure to television drama. I would suggest that there is less racism and homophobia in society because ethnic and gay characters have been seen on the screen by many people never before exposed to certain realities of life. The good thing about drama or story-telling (Remember the parables of Jesus) is that it helps us form our own views or values by thinking through situations we may find ourselves in at some stage.
“The play’s the thing wherewith to catch the conscience of the king” is a line I remember, and I hope correctly, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. A drama was being acted out to hold up a mirror in which the king might recognise his wrongdoings. The humble ‘soap’ can have the same effect in this day and age.
Week endidng 6th October 2009
I did not realise that I had lived under the same roof as the grandfather and great-grandparents of RTE’s new ‘Late Late Show’ presenter, Ryan Tubridy, until I saw him featured in the first of the new series of ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ programmes recently. I had often heard of Dr. Sean Tubridy while I was curate in An Cheathrú Rua (Carraroe) between 1975 and 1987, but had never made the connection with his grandson. The house had been a teacher’s residence in their time, which was about sixty years before I was there. It later became the curate’s house. If the Tubridy ghosts were still in the walls, they certainly did not pass me on the gift of the gab that Ryan has.
Dr. Tubridy, who died in his early forties, was famous in the area for his escapes from British forces during the War of Independence. People often asked me sixty years later was the hiding hole still in the house. If it was it remained hidden from me. I think it had been concreted over in the meantime. Sean Tubridy had hidden there from the Black and Tans and from Pro-Treaty forces during the Civil War. An attempt was also made on his life by leaving the swing bridge open in Béal a’ Daingin while calling out the doctor to an alleged emergency. This bridge was regularly opened to allow sailboats (Hookers) from Rosmuc to sail through with turf to the Aran Islands. The trick did not work as the doctor was tipped off or realised the danger in time.
Dr Sean Tubridy’s first cousin, Freda Gillen Keane lived across the road from me while I was in Carraroe, and featured in a film ‘Budawanny’ Bob Quinn based on my first novel “Súil le Breith.” Their mothers were Waldron sisters from Aughamore who were both teachers in the local school in An Cheathrú Rua. I learned from the ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ programme that four other members of their family of twelve were also teachers. One had married Patrick Tubridy, a teacher from Clare, the other an RIC man named Gillen whose first name escapes me.
Although born and reared in the area and President of the local Fianna Fáil Cumann at the time, Freda always felt she was somewhat of a blow-in as her parents were not from the area. I remember her saying to me as we travelled to a funeral with two local men one day as memories of the past were being recalled: “You and me will always be strangers around here.” She had mentioned to me that her family had some difficulty with their school manager, Parish Priest An t-Athair Seán O hEalaí (Fr. Sean Healy) who was still remembered as ‘An t-Ath Seán’ with a mixture of awe, fear and affection sixty years after his death. The RTE programme had documentary evidence of this priest-teacher confrontation from Education Department records and the stress may have hurried Patrick Tubridy’s relatively early death.
On the other side of the coin, Ryan Tubridy, whose other grandfather was redoubtable Republican Tod Andrews, discovered royal English blood in his veins, descended from kings going back about eight hundred years. Now that should put previous Late Late Presenters, Gay Byrne and Pat Kenny in their places. Wait for the Friday night announcement: And your host is: “Prince Ryan Tubridy.”
Dr. Tubridy, who died in his early forties, was famous in the area for his escapes from British forces during the War of Independence. People often asked me sixty years later was the hiding hole still in the house. If it was it remained hidden from me. I think it had been concreted over in the meantime. Sean Tubridy had hidden there from the Black and Tans and from Pro-Treaty forces during the Civil War. An attempt was also made on his life by leaving the swing bridge open in Béal a’ Daingin while calling out the doctor to an alleged emergency. This bridge was regularly opened to allow sailboats (Hookers) from Rosmuc to sail through with turf to the Aran Islands. The trick did not work as the doctor was tipped off or realised the danger in time.
Dr Sean Tubridy’s first cousin, Freda Gillen Keane lived across the road from me while I was in Carraroe, and featured in a film ‘Budawanny’ Bob Quinn based on my first novel “Súil le Breith.” Their mothers were Waldron sisters from Aughamore who were both teachers in the local school in An Cheathrú Rua. I learned from the ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ programme that four other members of their family of twelve were also teachers. One had married Patrick Tubridy, a teacher from Clare, the other an RIC man named Gillen whose first name escapes me.
Although born and reared in the area and President of the local Fianna Fáil Cumann at the time, Freda always felt she was somewhat of a blow-in as her parents were not from the area. I remember her saying to me as we travelled to a funeral with two local men one day as memories of the past were being recalled: “You and me will always be strangers around here.” She had mentioned to me that her family had some difficulty with their school manager, Parish Priest An t-Athair Seán O hEalaí (Fr. Sean Healy) who was still remembered as ‘An t-Ath Seán’ with a mixture of awe, fear and affection sixty years after his death. The RTE programme had documentary evidence of this priest-teacher confrontation from Education Department records and the stress may have hurried Patrick Tubridy’s relatively early death.
On the other side of the coin, Ryan Tubridy, whose other grandfather was redoubtable Republican Tod Andrews, discovered royal English blood in his veins, descended from kings going back about eight hundred years. Now that should put previous Late Late Presenters, Gay Byrne and Pat Kenny in their places. Wait for the Friday night announcement: And your host is: “Prince Ryan Tubridy.”
