Happy Scary Halloween

Raheny, Oct 2010

End of an Era

Click any image for a larger version
I went down to my local cobbler this morning with shoes for soling, but he wasn't there.

The place was locked up and the notice below was displayed on the door. Sad story.

Michael Yeates was a native of Clontarf and had been in the cobbling business for 70 years, 50 of them in these premises, in Churchgate Avenue, at the bottom of Vernon Avenue. Michael was 87 last year.

I had many conversations with Michael over the last 30 years. My own great-grandfather was a cobbler in James's Street, but way before Michael's time.

Michael used to cycle from his present home in Drumcondra to his lock-up premises in Clontarf every working day. He was a cheerful, if resigned, man whose work was as much an opportunity for a chat as it was a source of income. He took great pride in his work.

He has now been driven out. A victim of "progress", a mews, no less.

You can hear him in Natalia McCarthy's radio documentary, when he was still fighting his threatened eviction. Clearly he lost.



Update 16/8/2016

I was down in Churchgate Avenue the other day and was surprised to see no sign of development and Michael's shoemaker's looking just like the day he left it.

Except his farewell note is unsurprisingly no longer there.

How cruel.

I wondered what had become of him.

Update 26/4/2019
I had an email from Michael's granddaughter Avryl today to say that Michael passed away yesterday.

My sympathy to Avryl and to Michael's family.

He was a lovely man.

Rest in Peace

Model Railway

The sign above caught my eye as I passed by St. Paul's College today.

I had a model railway when I was young. The standard of the day was Hornby which took its power from a middle rail, much as the London Tube does these days. Hornby had been around for ages and was the quaility product on the market.

Then Triang, known for its tricycles, decided to enter the market. Its innovation was a two rail system, just like the real thing, and it also brought some new features not then available in the Hornby system.

I got a Triang set. Among the newer features were: the pantograph - an overhead electric feed like the trams or today's DART or LUAS; a mail carriage which picked up mailbags suspended alongside the track; remote controlled level crossing gates and semaphore signals.

So I went in to the exhibition expecting to relive a part of my youth. I must say I was disappointed. Today's model railways are on a much smaller scale - tiny little sets. There is much more attention paid to what I would call the off-track elements - roads, fields, houses, animals etc. The layouts were quite boring. Much of the emphasis was on the sale of components - fine for the enthusiasts but a bit much at an exhibition which charged a €6 entry fee. Also, the atmosphere was one of adult aficionados obsessed with accuracy, often of American models.

A saving grace was the man I met who was building his own miniature rolling stock and his colleague who had a huge enthusiasm for steam and who explained to me the extent to which the model locos had embedded chips and were capable of very sophisticated remote control. These two guys were my kind of enthusiasts.

Water

While it is clear that there are huge benefits from purifying water in the developing world, we should not forget that systems in the old world, and particularly in the cities, need constant renewal.

The photo below was taken today, showing that Dublin city, at least at the Leeson St. bridge over the Grand Canal, is almost two years into the current phase of renewal.



Participating in Blog Action Day 2010

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The Blair Stock Project

This poster for Blair's book is from the window of my local bookshop.

I wonder what "out of stock" means?

Did they sell loads?

Did they order very few?

Or, have they still got them in stock, but on the crime shelf, and have not noticed?


Update:

Just checked back on the window and the poster is gone.

Now, what does this mean?

Stock has come in?

They discovered the missing stock in the crime section?

They are sorry they drew attention to the fact that they stocked the book in the first place?

Update:

I enquired in the shop and apparently the wholesalers (Easons) are out of stock and can't get any more.

Strange.

Further Update:

The poster is back in the window and the book is back in stock.

Arachnophilia

Very often all we ever notice about spiders are their long legs.

This guy had a web on a tree in my front garden and he really was something to behold. Sort of between a crab and a tortoise. And that is just looking at him from (his) above.

What about (his) below, below.

Crois Bhríde

Many readers will recognise this urban palm tree. They are quite commonly used to put a Mediterranean finish to new housing estates: you can pretend you're still on your annual Spanish holiday all the year round.

Until, that is, the night of the big wind. Every autumn, once there is the least breath of wind, you will find your driveway littered with the fronds from this tree. And that goes on for months.

It would not surprise me if people had lost their minds trying to cope with onslaught of the fronds. Never mind Hitchcock's Birds, these things can really drive you mental. Shades of Sisyphus.

I normally collect them into little bundles and tie them with one of their own before consigning them to the brown (organic) wheelie bin.

Then one day, feeling in need of a little occupational therapy, I wondered if they might not make good raw material for Brigid's crosses. They are already dried out when they fall from the tree, so no problem with shrinkage. No need to leave them for a few weeks to dry out. And, they can be split into narrow bands which give a very polished Brigid's cross (see below).

Sixty-Six

Passed this guy in the window of Sixty-Six the other day. I should explain that Sixty-Six is a restaurant in South Great Georges Street on Dublin's (barely) Southside.

In the first two decades of the last century it was Redmond's jewellers and pawnbrokers and my grand-uncle Andy worked there before he opened his own pawnbrokers at 96 Gardiner Street (now Gandon Hall) on the perimeter of Monto.

He accepted many odd items in pawn: a loaded revolver which he promptly dumped on a relative for fear the Tans would find it in a raid on his shop; Daniel O'Connell's teapot, which my uncle subsequently shattered in my granny's house.

Anyway, that's why I always look in the window of Sixty-Six when I pass by. So I saw this man staring at me. He looked so much like a customer that I didn't like to stare back so I passed on and snuck back for a sideways glance. Turned out to be a very realistic figure of Winston Churchill. And then, when I got the courage to stare the waxwork face on, I saw the inscription on the window, below.

Dublin is always full of surprises.

Park your Attitude

Two attitudes to parking, observed on the same day and within an hour of each other.

The first illustrates the inconsiderate and anti-social parker.

The car above is blocking the exit from the carpark in front of Raheny Supervalu. Much to my amazement, I saw the woman park it there and then calmly head for the supermaket entrance. It was not long before those attempting to exit the carpark realised they were bottled in and started leaning on the horn.

Now, I hate this sort of arrogant in your face parking and I had seen the culprit. So I sought her out in the supermarket. She wasn't hard to find, well dressed, short skirt, arrogant and disregarding manner.

"People are trying to get out of the car park" said I.

"Oh?" and off she went at speed. Job well done thought I.

As I rounded the corner of the next aisle, there she was, calmly continuing with her important shop.

"You are blocking the exit", said I.

"I am in the middle of a shop, what can I do?", implying that she could hardly rush past the checkout with her half filled shopping basket.

"You could leave your basket here, go out and move your car, and then come back in and continue your shop"

"Have you nothing better to do than (mutter, mutter)?", and flounced off towards the checkout.

"What you have done is inconsiderate and anti-social", I shouted after her.

Minutes later I saw her calmly queueing at the checkout. I restrained myself from giving further vent to my feelings. I didn't fancy a man(scuse)slaughter charge. It was only afterwards that an alternative strategy struck me.

My messsage here: You know who you are. I know who you are. An apology to the motorists you kidnapped in the carpark would be in order. Or maybe a contribution to your favourite charity. Oh, but that would be you, wouldn't it. Forget it.

Moving on, I then came across another piece of apparently inconsiderate parking. A large van had parked in a space measured out for a normal car. I have come across this before and it limits the adjacent car driver's ability to get into the car through the driver's door. And I'm sure most drivers know what it's like trying to get into the driver's seat through the passenger door. Ouch.

But, wait a minute. A closer look showed that the van had not fully backed into the parking space and left the other driver a perfect exit, even if it did mean climbing a small incline to reach the footpath.

A wrong, and a wrong wrighted. All in the space of an hour.

Parking is life, life parking. But that's another post entirely.




UPDATE
17/9/2010

Here's another one. Within a few yards of our gallant Wright's parker. This one is obstructing access to the rubbish bins in an apartment complex. NO PARKING is clearly painted on the ground - half of it under the car. A furher notice on the door itself, and, ironically, and not noticed at the time, that notice reflected in the driver's window. Be nice if the great big bin lorry came along and butted him/her out of the way.



UPDATE
1/11/2010

And yet another. This one had me freaking. I was just about to pull into a space in my local library car park when this cretin drove in front of me, parked his car longways across three spaces, jumped out and ran across the road to the ATM at Bank of Ireland. After 4-5 minutes he was back, jumped in the car and whizzed off.

The library car park is reserved for those using the library and it was virtually full at that point.

In the past the library, as a public service, used to leave the car park open overnight as a facility for the general public. Unfortunately this was abused by DART travellers who parked there in the early morning on their way to town and deprived the rightful users of the facility. The car park has now had to be closed overnight to ensure access for library users during business hours, and the general public is deprived of a very useful facility out of hours. Nevertheless the library still tries to facilitate the bona fide public by leaving the car park open on Friday evenings.


UPDATE
5/11/2010

Here's yet another one. At 5pm on a Thursday, parked in almost exactly the same three spaces as the miscreant above. Is there no end to this anti-social activity?



UPDATE
12/11/2010

Another case of disregarding the parking rules. Hardly likely to be antisocial, though, unless it is left there after 10pm when the store closes.




UPDATE
27/7/11

Back to the library. The car park was full. This guy swept in, parked on the yellow lines while obstructing the disabled parking space, crossed the road to the bank, came back ten minutes later and swept away.




UPDATE
16/9/11
This was on private property, but the spaces are rationed out between the various enterprises in the business park. It did mean that a space that would have been available to me in the allocation of the firm I was visiting was needlessly blocked. Careless at best, anti-social at worst, particularly if it was indicative of habitual behaviour.




UPDATE
17/9/11
This is the Tesco car park at Clare Hall. This parking is probably best described as careless, as there is no great pressure on space here since the very popular Total Fitness health club, which shared the car park, closed.



UPDATE
17/11/11
So what's wrong with this piece of parking in a private carpark? No misalignment on any ground markings, nor any other violations on the face of it.


The answer is on the passenger window. Overstaying its welcome and perhaps should not be there at all. A serious case of parking with consequences?


Update 3 December 2011: Since doing the above update I learned that the car had been there for about a year. The critical date of 21 November 2011 (14 days after the posting of the notice) came and went and the car was still there. I wondered if the Management Company had funked it, but I noticed today that the car is now gone.




UPDATE
26/1/12
Blocking the entrance to the car park at Raheny Shopping Centre.




UPDATE
27/1/12
Blocking the parking space reserved for "Shop & Drop" at Raheny Shopping Centre. This space is supposed to be left empty for people who need assistance in bringing their shopping to the car. These would normally be the old and the infirm. There is quite a steep hill down to the rear car park and it is very easy to lose control of a loaded trolley on the way down.

This trailer is obviously involved in repairs/decoration in the complex itself, so the sin is all the greater. I am happy to report that on the following day it was parked in one of the conventional spaces.

I particularly noticed this one as I had recently heard stories of elderly people driving to the library and being very upset that all the parking spaces were taken. They then had to return home as they were not able to access the library from the nearest alternative parking.



UPDATE
9/6/12
This one was parked in the AIB carpark at the Supervalu shopping centre. It was there for at least 10 minutes and was seriously obstructing cars attempting to enter and leave the car park. An out of town registration is no excuse for anti-social carparking. I waited around a while to tackle the miscreant, but when they didn't return after 10 minutes I decided they'd added enough to other peoples misery for the day without me allowing them to add any more to mine.



UPDATE
17/8/12
This car is casually parked across part of the access road to the rear car park at Supervalu, Raheny. It is obstructing cars entering from the main road and causing queues back out onto that road and thereby blocking normal main road traffic. In addition it is obstructing the view of those attempting to exit the small car park on the left.

As it had obstructed me entering the rear car park from the road, I hung around to see who was responsible. I had to wait a half an hour for the woman who had parked it to appear. Once she reached the car, she was in like a flash, did a three point turn and pissed off, casual as you please.

My First Car

My first car was an R4 (blue). My second car was an R4 (yellow). Great little car. A tin can with loads of space that ran on hardly any petrol at all. And an off-the-floor gear lever that gave more space in front (courting couples please copy) and the operation of which baffled all but the imaginative.

So I was thrilled to see a working model still on the road some thirty-five years later. And look at the condition of it. Gleaming. And NCT'd an' all.

Magnificent. "Lift up your hearts".

Support your local Alien

This is the scene that faced me when I left the house this morning. Our local green space had been visited during the night. I looked around. Nothing else strange. Gone to ground? ET took exception to the new nearby apartments and pissed off back to whence he came?

Should I tell the Bishop in case it had the makings of another apparition? Should I tell the Garda in order to apprehend the vandal? Should I warn the local psychiatric services in case we needed to communicate with the visitor if, and when, it appeared?

I opted for the safe option and did nothing. So I'm just telling you - between ourselves, you understand. And, in any event, I'm sure the green will grow out of it in time.

Meanwhile we have our own teenage equivalent of a crop circle. Enjoy.

Avatar

What sort of a bloody avatar is that, you might ask? Who does this guy think he is, one of the Gods? And why can't he just keep his mouth shut?

Well, the story of my avatar is as follows. I was using the avatar you can see at the bottom of this post, but there seemed to be a feeling that in the current climate, and me not being an arab and all that, this avatar was not appropriate. And this despite it actually being me and the Fez actually coming from Fez, a gift from my son.

However, never being one to stir up unnecessary political controversy, I abandoned it and had to find another. This apparent contretemps actually proved to be a boon because the one I am now using has even deeper resonances in my family history.

It is taken from the fountain in James's Street, Dublin 8, and has been there since 1790. It sits below what must be one of the very few remaining sundials in Dublin, and it has a beneficent history of bringing water to the common people. It also has the dubious distinction of having kept an eye on my great grandfather for almost half a century. And so I have become very attached to it and intend to keep it. So there.

Dicky Bird

Still browsing Doisneau's photos. This one is a detail from the Arc de Triomphe in 1954.

I love visual humour and so will not post the tsunami of words that are crashing through my head at this moment.

The King of Castlebar

I have been a long time observer of the antics of one Pee Flynn. He of the difficulty of maintaining three houses when the country was on its knees. The imperious air, the swagger, the almost God-like confidence, the apparition on the Late Late Show, the cult of fanatic followers, and so on.

I just happened to be perusing a book of photos by Doisneau, the brilliant observer of Parisien life over many decades, when I came across a shot he took of de Gaulle's victorious entry into Paris on 26 August 1944. And who do I see at the right hand of the Almighty?

Nuff said.

Fergie Flogs Favours

The great-grandfather was a gentleman, resident in Belfast. The grandfather was a Roman Catholic master-confectioner who had to flee the sectarian bakery of his day. The mother married my uncle. And the cousin showed me a very elaborate looking family tree which purported to relate him (and by implication, me) to Sarah Ferguson.

I must say the family tree was less than convincing. But I always had a sort of in interest in Sarah Ferguson. Plain looking intelligent girl marries Prince. Steep learning curve. British royal family sampling the proletarian gene pool.

Exciting stuff. Not put off by divorce or toe sucking or any other minor aberration.

But what about the latest story. This is just plain corruption.

And I never got a copy of that elaborately drawn up family tree.

Guess my chances of a copy have just bombed.

Seek and ye shall find

The Roman Catholic Church today is the pits. It is sinking in a quagmire of child abuse; it is denying the spectrum of sexuality originating in the Creation itself; it is promoting a rigid top-down hierarchical structure; and, it is stubbornly clinging to a pre-atomic scientific view of matter. The daily news from this quarter must be depressing for all but the most enthusiastic aficionados.

By way of contrast, I would like to bring a small ray of family history sunshine to bear on this apocalyptic corner of existence. I have to declare at the outset that, while brought up a Roman Catholic, and, having been an enthusiastic advocate of the views of Pius XII in my day, I am completely disillusioned with the whole package. My interest is now simply in observing how the RC Church attempts to extricate itself from its own internal contradictions.

So, to my quest. I was trying to find the baptism records of my grandfather who was born in 1870. They were not available in the microfilm records of the National Library of Ireland and the genealogical service of that worthy institution advised as to the relevant parish church of the day for that area. So I rang the PP, lovely man. “Give Joan a ring and she'll sort you out. Don't ring on Thursday, she'll be busy with a funeral.”

I have to admit I am not a great one for making appointments, so I took my courage in my hands and turned up unannounced at the parish office some days later.

I was very apprehensive. Guilt and baggage I suppose. I was expecting an elderly lady in a knitted cardigan, complete with rosary beads, and I was mulling over my possible defences as to why was I, who had rejected the church, now knocking on their door, and looking for favours, no less? And, by the way, when was I last at confession?

I rang the bell anyway. The door was opened by this gorgeous creature who nearly made me forget why I was there in the first place. “Come in, by all means.” I managed to stammer out my request and was immediately presented with the registers and invited to take photos of the relevant entries and the plush cover of the baptismal registry. Miraculously I didn't muck up the camera settings and eventually went about my way in a daze of divine something or other.

This was an experience totally at odds with what I assume to have been the attitude of the PP of former times who wouldn't let even the National Library of Ireland photograph his precious “confidential” records when that institution was doing its photographic rounds.

Full marks to, and fond memories of, my great-grandfather's parish from 1870.

From my perspective, this beats the apparition at Knock, which also figures in my family history, but which is another story entirely.

Lucky Lumps

I had occasion today to poke around in a box of badges I had hoarded over the years. I was intrigued to find two english thrupenny bits. I had nearly forgotten about this most unusual coin which I had handled as a matter of course for over a quarter of a century.

My main memory was of "Lucky Lumps". These were sweets, about 2" wide and resembling a mini rugby ball. They were made of a substance that would remind you of holiday rock and they had a sugary red coating on the outside. The lucky bit was that they cost a penny and if you were lucky you got a thrupenny bit inside.

The interesting thing about them was that the only thrupence in them was the briefly minted twelve sided brass-nickel coin illustrated above and below.

And it was directly spendable. Irish and British coins circulated together in Ireland up to 1971 when the coinage was decimalised both in Ireland and the UK.

The face of the coin evokes a distant age. The following inscriptions occur on my 1942 coin:

Georgivs VI: George 6th, father of the present Queen
DG: By the Grace of God (Thank God)
BR OMN REX: King of all the Britons
FD: Defender of the Faith
IND EMP: Emperor of India

Some mouthful for its day!

And on the obverse: the thrift plant and the date, in this case 1942, the year of my parents marriage.

I don't hold out any hope for the re-introduction of lucky lumps. No doubt the Health and Safety Authority would see this product as a threat to young innocents. If it didn't choke them they would probably die from the thrupenny germs.

No wonder today's kids have fewer immunities than their parents.

Dog's Dinner

This is a posh abode on Vernon Avenue, Clontarf, Dublin 3.

As I passed by, the main gates were open allowing me to take a shot of the house from the roadway. Normally you would have to climb over the gate to see such a sight.

What caught my eye, however, was the wee sign on the door on the extreme right.

Jesse Owens and Ronnie Delany please note!

Glasnevin Abú

I have lots of associations with Glasnevin, a northern suburb of Dublin City. My great grandfather was a carpenter there, my grandfather was born there, and two of my uncles from totally different sides of the family lived there.

So I was thrilled to see the Glasnevin Youth Concert Band recruiting in one of my local shopping centres, Clare Hall, recently. If you play an instrument and live in Dublin, the band wants you.

They are an enthusiastic lot of young people, even if the combination of instruments, in this much reduced composition, is a little anomalous. Drums, reed and brass will drown out unamplified fiddles, but this is a remediable offence.

Dublin city is crying out for youth activities and full marks to the promoters of the band for offering this opportunity to the city's young people. You don't have to be from Glasnevin to join. All you need is to play an instrument and know where the place is to turn up for an audition and rehearsals.

The repertoire is ambitious and relayed with great gusto, if with some corners that need a bit of rounding. However, that should be an encouragement to likely candidates. You're not joining the perfect band. Don't be put off. Bring your enthusiasm and your instrument and make a contribution.

There is great potential here. Good on them.

You can hear them on YouTube, and contact them through Sandra 086 398 8366 or Ray 086 850 2574.