While deliberating whether Patrick Kavanagh would be acceptable as a ‘local’ poet to our readership, the great irony struck me: that Kavanagh himself, from the black hills and sour fields of Monaghan, struggled to demonstrate the universality of man in his verse and indeed celebrated his people, their time and their landscape to encapsulate the problems of mankind, and of the artist through all regions and ages. We got to Paddy Woods of 35 had a daughter Patsy who married Arthur Ruddy ex-Councillor for the SDLP. There was another daughter Peggy. And a Lily and a Harry (RIP). Long ago and for many years in Newry we had the pleasure and indeed excitement of an annual visit of a Travelling Fair that was more popularly referred to by locals as ‘The Hobbies’ or ‘The Hobby Horses’. The allocated site was the Market in Hellos, Cheerios…………. and in between – a myriad of salutations, warmest of welcomes, generosity of hospitality, people, weather and scenery. Everyone remembers the shop at the corner of childhood– the mullioned window within which all manner of sweets clamoured for our penniless attention: sherbet dips, flying saucers, liquorice pipes, lucky mines and white chocolate mice. That winter night round the blazing turf, The children on the hobs, the talk ran on Most from the farmer and his sister Kitty His wife not holding much with superstitions, To rhyme and ramble through familiar stories Of ghosts and fairies, witches, blinks and spells. I sat aloft on Slieve Mor hill Watched in silence the valley round Slieve Gullion rising to the sky The Cowans sweeping to the ground. Our regular contributor Carmel Goodwin offers this synopsis of the life of her mother, the famous Rose Watters, who taught Irish dancing to among others, our own Arthur Burns and his brother Tommy. When they found out that it was a cod, like They wouldn’t admit they’d been had! They built a big plant outside of Turnin’ out Steam Traps like mad! My black hills have never seen the sun rising, Eternally they look north towards Incurious as my black hills that are happy When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel. Now the ship was the finest ever seen An’ they sent it away off to the Turks An’ they toul’ them, that Steam Trap’s a secert We’re the on’y ones know how it works!’ John O’Hagan, Young Irelander, was of course, like John Mitchel and John Martin, from Newry and like them he was incensed with Ah, sure you remember them!! Indeed occasionally you’ll get Gerry or one of the other Morgans playing the odd gig yet. Deirdre was of course Madge Murphy from Dromalane. She married Johnny Bagenal and lives now on High Street. Indeed you might see her any day, for she works in Elmore’s Store on the top of the hill. I’m not certain I’m right but I think there are four Morgan brothers here: Gerry, Ray, Cyril and Tom, along with Kevin Hayes. So who’s the last guy? One clue: the guest artist with her arm around ‘Deirdre’ is of course the famous Mary Dean. Kavanagh: The Green Fool
In short, he feared lest he be seen as just a ‘local’ poet!Linenhall Square: Resumed!
The Hobbies in town
Hello and Cheerio
Henry Curran, Shopkeeper King
Fairy Thresher
On Slieve Mor Hill
Rose Watters: set dancer
Diagonal Steam Trap [end]
Shancoduff
Diagonal Steam Trap [3]
from Jail Journal (and O’Hagan)
Deirdre & the Defenders
