Léargas

Henry óg with new arrival ‘It’s impossible to get a donkey to pull a cart these days’ ‘Aye. Come to think of it…. when’s the last time you saw a donkey pulling a cart?’ ‘When I was a wee lad that’s all you saw around these parts. Donkeys pulling carts. Carts with creamery cans. Carts with turf. Carts with sea weed. And donkeys pulling them’. ‘The last time I tried to back a donkey into a cart it turned into a bucking bronco. Remember that wee dark she donkey, Susie? As quiet as a mouse until you tried to back her into a cart….. then … There is nothing worse than a donkey with attitude. But you wud know all about that anyway, wudn’t you? With the work you do.’ ‘Don’t talk about work. The holidays is nearly over’. ‘So is the rain. Just in time for the kids going back to school. When’s the last time you saw a donkey cart?’ ‘Ah Wee Boots probably knows where to get one. Wee Boots is a great donkey man. He brought two wee foals up from Galway. One in the back of the car. That was in the day

This blog knows lots of good cooks. In fact with one very honourable exception, most of my friends cook. The one who doesn’t cook, doesn’t cook because he is spoilt. It isn’t that he can’t cook. In emergencies he has been known to fry a steak or even as winter draws in he can put together a moderately good Saturday night–Sunday pot of soup. He also used to pickle red cabbage. He is from East Belfast, which might explain that. When I say this blog knows lots of good cooks I really mean brilliant cooks. Most are men although one woman friend of continental origin is exceptional. This blog could be a brilliant cook. Well a moderately exceptionally good cook. Problem is I don’t have the time. I get the theory ok but somewhere between larder and pot there is sometimes something totally unconnected to cooking to do and I have to rush the process or jump a stage or two to get whatever it is done. When I am not distracted like this I must say my efforts, by my own standards, are very appetis

‘Do you know that An Phoblacht, the Sinn Féin paper, is the longest published political newspaper in Ireland?’ Your man was thumbing his way through the newly launched new look, monthly edition. ‘In the new media age it is a struggle for print publications to survive but republicans have always had to do that’ he continued. ‘Peadar O Donnell and Liam Mellowes kept the paper going in their time during the great counter revolution.’ I looked at him over my glasses. Its not often your man gets preachy at me. Well not about politics anyway. About every other thing. He is more sleekit than preachy about politics.Especially my politics. He calls it the moral high ground. ‘Younger people get their scéal on the internet’ I replied. ‘Nowadays the internet and worldwide web is commonplace and there’s a new Blackberry, iPhone or iPad produced almost every few months’. ‘I know’ he said. ‘ But through the seventies, Daithi, Deasún Breatnach, Eamonn Mc Thomais kept the paper going. Hard work!’ ‘Pr

This blog believes that hurling is one of the best things in life. Of that there can be no doubt. Ever since Gerry Begley and Paddy Elliot introduced me to a hurling stick when I was about five years old and they were young gladiators representing Dwyer’s GAC,the passion for hurley has never left me. The Christian brothers from Saint Finian’s Primary School on the Falls Road, Munster-born to a man, brought discipline and organisation to our juvenile sporting endeavours. Brother Benignus, elderly already by my time and nicknamed the Bore because of his mantra like shouted instruction from the side line, ‘bore in, bore in’ walked the Falls Road until he was in his nineties. Brothers Andrew, Christopher and Aloysius were our main mentors, Saint Galls our main rivals. In the back of our class I idled away the time by fantasizing on how I would play for Antrim. I never did. Now I idle away the time fantasizing about how good I used to be. The older you get the better you seem to have been,

‘Do you know how to deal with bushy eyebrows?’ Your man asked, squinting at me with both eyes half closed. ‘Cut them’ I said brusquely. ‘I had all these wee things sort of flitting across me vision for the last couple of weeks and I wasn’t able to figure out what they were until just there now. It’s me eyebrows. They’re like huge hairy caterpillars, dropping down over me eyes’. He continued to peer at me short-sightedly. ‘Its funny that. The way hair goes in some parts and comes in others. I thought about it last Sunday when we were at the big game. Remember we met wee Seamie? Did you see his comb over? I said to myself I hope I never end up like that. When the wind blew it lifted the hair up off the top of his head like it was a flap. Seamie bocht. He has to walk sideways into the wind and all the time his hair flapping up and down like the wing of a big black crow’. ‘Its in your genes’ I suggested. ‘Baldness. Or the lack of it. Its in your genes’. ‘I wudn’t say that’ he replied, ‘

It was this blogs honour to launch a book last Friday about Eileen Howell, our friend and compatriot in many enterprises. This commemorative project was sponsored by John and Betty. Lorraine and Danny M’did the research and writing and Mark Joyce designed and did the lay out on the book. Jim Gibney, Sile Darragh and Sal Brennan also made important contributions and many of Eileen’s friends and family had an input. Malachy McCann provided the cover photo which is reproduced here. It catches animpishness, an essence of Eileen. It was daunting to speak at this event. It was chaired by Liz Groves in the Falls Community Council at a lovely gathering of Eileen’s clann and comrades. Eileen died suddenly after a short illness in June 2004. It was a deep shock to us all, especially her husband Ted. He had instructed me that the book launch was a celebration not a wake. He was wise. There was always the possibility that we could be sad when we needed to be merry. I for one, wanted this launch to

IRA Volunteer Kieran Doherty TD Our calendar is full of anniversaries. None is more poignant than those for the 10 hunger strikers who died in the Kesh in the summer of 1981. Last Monday, August 2nd, was the anniversary of the death of Big Doc – Kieran Doherty. He was 25 and had spent 7 years out of his last 10 either interned or imprisoned in the H Blocks. Like his friend and comrade Bobby Sands Big Doc stood for election – in his case in the Cavan Monaghan constituency in the general election for the Dáil in June 1981. And like Bobby he was elected. He began his hunger strike on May 22nd and after 71 days he died on August 2nd. On Wednesday July 29th 1981 I visited the prison hospital in Long Kesh to meet the hunger strikers. By that point Bobby, Francie, Raymond, Patsy, Joe and Martin were dead. Kevin, Tom and Micky died later Among those I spoke to was Kieran. He died three days later. I was awed by his dignity and courage, as he lay propped up on one elbow, in his prison hospit

This blog is being compiled in the back of the car on the way to Lissadell in Sligo and a Leonard Cohen concert. What a busy life we lead. Especially during Féile week. Usually this blog doesn’t venture anywhere outside West Belfast during Féile but this year there are two exceptions. Yesterday a gang of us went to the All Ireland Poc Fada in the Cooley Mountains and tonight there is Mr Cohen. Your man reckons the Cooley excursion was a dummy run for the Poc Ar An Chnoc at Stormont next Saturday so it counts as work and tonight’s Sligo adventure is his effort to get Leonard for Féile next year so that counts as work as well. Such a yarn! Leonard got honourable mention during Danny Morrison’s intro to Seamus Heaney’s wonderful tribute to Michael McLaverty last Friday. It was great to see Seamus and Marie Heaney in such good form. I have a little piece half written about that days events and will post it eventually. I am sure everyone was as mesmerised as me at the nation’s foremost poe