On another occasion I came upon a group of British soldiers busy digging in my back garden. I identified myself and enquired of a sergeant whether they had received intelligence that something was buried there – arms and explosives or whatever.
Reminiscence
Towpath: Hickey’s Lane
Directly behind Fearon’s cottage was St Coleman’s College with its extensive grounds and football field. This was the place of many a pitched battle between ourselves and the college boys, who objected to our rite of passage across their field.
John Haugh’s Carlingford 1
You may not be familiar with the man, but you are well-versed in his work! You see, John Haugh of Carlingford is the sculptor of most eminent religious statues about the town, especially the Christmas Crib figures. These are his reminiscences.
Alice McKay
Each Saturday night throughout the eighties and nineties one happy, select little group of us haunted St Catherine’s Club on Merchant’s Quay – now the site of the Canal Court Hotel. Nostalgia for those times reigns.
The rear lounge could take up to twenty-five couples – we were mostly early middle-aged couples – and a variety of groups would entertain there. One hour would be given over to our in-house singers. All were equally welcome and applauded, regardless of their talent. ‘One singer, one song!’ was Kevin Quinn’s catchphrase, and Jimmy Magee’s too when he became Master of Ceremonies.
By common consent one exception was allowed. Everyone was charmed, if not a little in love with Alice McKay. I can still see her now; in that ever-familiar stance, one hand on hip and head held high she rendered in quick succession the old favourites -‘I’ll be your sweetheart’, ‘Heart of my Heart’ and ‘Too Young’. Her husband Terry grinned broadly with pleasure, but bent his head to conceal his pride.
Through all of those years of their ever-growing family this great young couple, with their loving, carefree and outgoing attitude, was an inspiration to us all.
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So it is with no small pain that we remember the devastation and misery we felt, in common with every other soul in town, when we learned that this exceptional lady and mother had contracted a fatal illness. When Alice went to her eternal reward it was difficult to accept that we would never again know that pretty face, that ready wit, that friendly greeting with its charming smile. We couldn’t begin to guess at Terry’s utter desolation, with their seven beautiful children to rear now alone.
But he has done Alice proud. Despite further family heartaches, Terry has proven himself an excellent father and friend and neighbour. You’ll see Terry driving the Board’s School Bus any morning or afternoon. Seems apt, somehow. Give him a wave. Why not?
On winning the Daily Mirror’s Father of the Year Award recently he reacted in typical self-effacing fashion, giving full credit to their children for working together to make their upbringing easier.
Father of the Year is indeed a worthy accolade. Whatever else one achieves in life, one will be best remembered through one’s children. Terry McKay, to me, is a working class hero – an ideal role model. Father of the Decade perhaps. Alice would be rightly proud of him and of all their wonderful children.
The Mill Race
Playing there as young boys we used to marvel at how deep the water was in this Mill Race: and with the aid of a stick cut from one of the many trees and bushes…
Changing Schools
If our garment-mak
If our garment-making at
One day a week, armed with ‘ingredients’ brought from home, we trooped over to the cookery room that was presided over by Sister Immaculata.
Meadow: Derrybeg Drive
Those of us lucky enough to grow up in The Meadow of the 50s and 60s had a number of McCrums as pals – I remember with fondness the late Eamon, with whom we’d play football in the Big Green – then there were Terry and Liam who were of an age with us, class-mates and pals, and there is Martin (altar-boy in St Bridgets) and Finnoula.
The Canal and Towpath
To the people who lived in the
Within a short walk from their front door the canal towpath enabled them to take a leisurely stroll out into the countryside. To parents it was somewhere to take their children for a walk on a sunny afternoon, and to the children themselves the canal and its associated towpath was an adventure playground, albeit an out-of-bounds one to some of the younger, unaccompanied kids.
The good folk of the Square always looked upon the towpath as their own special domain. This mindset was probably brought about by the fact that
To some of the people who lived in Linenhall Square (The Barracks) a generation before me – that is, those folks who lived there during the Second World War – the canal towpath was their escape route following the sounding of an air raid imminent-warning siren. It was the considered opinion of those persons that during an air raid it would be a lot safer to be out in the countryside and away from any built-up area.
This particular belief was made more poignant following the horrific air raids on Belfast in April and May 1941, and also following the alleged radio broadcast by William Joyce (Lord Haw-Haw) that the Luftwaffe might bomb Lindsay Hill (well, at least knew how many steps there were up to St Clare’s Avenue!).
The unfortunate truth of the matter is that free-falling bombs released from aircraft travelling at speed on a dark night are not the most accurate of weapons; so therefore the people who favoured exodus from the Square, to Brady’s field, would most probably have found it a lot safer and more comfortable to endure the claustrophobic confines of the Linenhall Square Air Raid Shelters. Fortunately this was never put to the test as Newry escaped the war free from aerial attack.
…. the weir …