I have read many little stories from the beautiful writers of Limerick, sure
enough, some are maybe my school mates whom I have little recollection of
now since 60 odd years have been like a slow drawn blotter on the blackboard
of my life, erasing,erasing with that terrible screech every now and again
as the chalk falls like snow onto the well worn wooden floor at Creagh Lane.
It started in the island field in 1935 where I was the first born on the
island at 76 St. Itas Street, next door to the Fitzgeralds with the Kellys
on the other side. With workmen putting cement paths in, that was my first
recollection, my handprints and those of my dogs paws would bear witness
that a two or three year old and his tormented dog had themselves laid claim
to the island, Seanie Morrissy, my real name was (John Morrison) I learned
that when I was about 13 years old in 1949 as Judge Gleeson, the hanging
Judge, rest his poor soul, sentenced this, thorn in the side of "Guard
Whites", to almost three years in St. Josephs Industrial School, Glin.
I have also read stories about poverty from many noted writers, I have often
wondered what poverty was, indeed If I had no friends I would know poverty.
If I was not an Irishman, I would definitely have been impoverished. If my
sence of humour deserted me, then poverty would surely place her hand on my
shoulder. But the lack of money, food and clothing and fuel for the fire,
was not poverty, but an unfortunate circumstance for us in those far off
days. They were the happiest days of my life, God forgive me for saying
that.
I begged (have you a piece of bread or a penny, please) I always said please,
that was my lament, whilst mooching from Gerald Griffin, along my favorite
road, the Ennis road.
I had three sisters and a brother to feed. My old man
had long ago left for England as had many others and it wasent long before
my Mother wasn't receiving the couple of quid from the telegram boy. Sure
the rent for the council house had risen to seven and sixpence a week from
five and sixpence. We were eventually evicted for unpaid rent and off we
trundled to No 10 Robert Street, next door to Mossy Reidy,s coal yard.
It had been a butchers shop before we moved in under the cover of darkness, the
rats as big as cats would pay us a visit now and again at night, coming down
the chimney. In the one room which had the old grey blanket covering the
shop window, was our bed, with the straw mattress which seemed to be
infested with fleas even though we changed straw quite often. That was
Rosaleens job, getting the straw from the Irishtown.
Upstairs,was a one room
where my Mother and Joe would be, I suppose she was lonely, God love her.
Breeda, who was the eldest girl looked after Michael, (Mutt) and Francis
(cod eyes), Rosaleen was the (bag of nails) and independant, whilst I (40
boots kayli) took over as the father figure.
Stealing became a way of life.
There wasn't a bread van in Limerick safe. I remember one in particular, it,
as well as all the others were horse drawn and they all tilted back, they
would have a wooden peg in the doors. I had fallen out with my Mother and
had run away, I hid out in the bushes, where?. on the Ennis road of course.
I put newspapers down and pegged them with little sticks and slept on them
for a couple of nights. I had to rob a bread van to get some food. I ran
after the van pulling the wooden peg out and Jesus, Mary and Holy St Joseph,
trays of buns and bread showered me, a tray landing on my barefooted toe
causing me to let out a yell, (*^x#). I grabbed one cottage loaf or was it a
pan loaf? and was off like a hare.
I have never forgiven myself and the
trouble I must have caused that poor driver, he must have lost all his bread
and buns along the road. My toe throbbed all night under those bushes but I
had a full stomach, for milk to drink and wash down the feast I begged a
penny and bought an ice cream, found an old condensed tin can, went to the
zink bath that the cattle drank from and filled it with water adding the ice
cream and, Walla, instant milk, it tasted a little rusty though.
After being kicked out of Gerald Griffin, no one would have me, only
Leamys. I had heard that a couple of rich yanks had been or were also pupils
and now presume that the McCourts must have been them. I dident really care.
I wasn't there long before laying eyes on His Honor. I had taken an old bike
left lying against the railings outside Barringtons and with my leg between
the bar rode it for 35 miles,running away again for the umteenth time, to
above all places, Tarbert, just about three miles past Glin. Fate indeed had
charted my course and a course that would be tempered by travels across the
globe as a special forces commando. Some ignorants called me a mercenary,
but would Patrick Sarsfield (if this were only for Ireland) have been labled
a mercenary also, when he fell in the fields of France, (enter, feelings of
granduer). The SAS embraced this son of Limerick and I, in turn, thanked
God.
On a return to Limerick a couple of years ago I had the pleasure to meet Ger
Hannan. We had a little chat and he was kind enough to invite me on to his
radio talk show. I balked at the invitation, I was really unprepared for
that exposure, and promised Ger that on my next visit I would honour that
request. I love his one book in particular, Bards to blackguards, it is very
good.
I am writing a memoir for my childrens sake, and I have put a name to
it ( my psychiatrist will kill me). Damaged Goods. The reason that I am
writing is that all through my childrens growing up I was terrified that
they would find out who their father really was, a Glin inmate. I hid all my
history from them until one day my son Michael, he is 44, said to me over a beer,
Dad, we know nothing about you.
A terrible injustice by my lack of education. I went from studying at home
to attending colleges at every opportunity and eventually having three
trades certificates under my belt was accepted into the University of
Victoria to study "project management" which was not completed because of
other commitments.
I further studied and trained to eventually become a
Private Investigator and started my own company, Secure Active Service Ltd.
SAS for short, which is presently flurishing. A long road from Glin, many
tears shed, a lot of wrinkles from smiling, but ask any limerick man what he
would have done under my circumstances and I'm sure you would get the same
positive responce, "If this were only for Ireland".
To be continued.
