A Clonmel Exile Remembers

I remember … the Oisin, Ritz and Collins Hall, duding orchards, the decline and fall of industry … yet friendships remained on an even keel.

I remember… the Boulick, “Flats “ and Frenchmans stream, catching “brickeens” in jam-jars… how we’d idle in daydreams, the confession-boxes down the Quay … where I kissed you, and if  I was lucky , you kissed me.

I remember… the Wilderness, when it was just that, Maggie Bulberts shop… old Beanos, Dandys…Korky the Cat.

I remember… the Railway station of my youth…Jackie Dalton with his basket, “Chocolates and fruit!” … “ Scorchy” McGrath on the steps of the Ritz….Blowing his imaginary trumpet, in his imaginary band.

I remember … Irishtown, the West gate and Main Guard…with Cromwells ghost knocking to come in.. the river Suir with its gentle flow… stories in its bosom. We’ll never know!

I remember “Frosty” Kennedy… on the Convent Bridge…”Babs” Foley, with his big black dog… smoking butts, and babbling talk… of Albert street and Gravel Walk.

I remember… the Presentation, Loreto and Little Black Nun… strolling down Parnell Street, past the “Cider and Bun”… the Ragwell, Sandpit and Gashouse Bridge… holding your tiny hand… how cold it was!

I remember the Third Bridge and Powerstown Park… walking you home, romance in the dark… you told me you loved me… we laughed… romantic eejits we were… in those days.

I remember… a girl called Mary… her heart as bit as the county Tipperary… tall, blonde and beautiful she was, with eyes of a mellow grey… Ah! I wonder if she still remembers me… even though I’m far away.

As I stand here in Boston Harbour, New York or Beverly Hills… in faraway Perth, Adelaide or Alice Springs… I can still smell your fragrance on the wind as it sings… the Comeraghs are your Guardian Angel! Standing here I can taste the waters of Patrick’s Well … Hark! I hear the mystical Angelus Bell… there’s a tear in my eye… Oh! God how I miss you… me auld pal… me darlin’ Clonmel.

I remember… “Whispering Grass’s”, the ‘Spanish Arms’ and ‘Emigrants Rest’… the beautiful Old Bridge, with its friendly people… the Friary, St. Mary’s, St. Peter and Paul’s… their bell chimes and towering steeples.

I remember… The Old School, High School, St. Mary’s… the Christian Brothers… screaming mothers…little Brother O’Grady, tall, gentle Brother Moloney… standing in the line… for a slap of the leather.

I remember… a dark-haired girl, Ann… who lived on the top of the Heywood Road…or …was it Garrymore!… that Clancy Brothers’ song, “She’s the girl I do adore” …I read some place in the papers… that, sadly, she’d gone to God!

I remember… River Street, Duckett, Kickham Barracks… “Hannah the Duck”, “Molly the Black”… pushing empty carts… bags on their backs… the woman collecting slack up the railway… giggling and laughing… poor, we all were…but happy!

I remember… Patrick’s Terrace, and na Greine, the New Year Cross… standing in cold graveyards, mourning a loss… Tony Wall coming to school with the ‘Liam McCarthy  Cup’… that voice at the foot of the stairs…”you’ll be late for school… come on now… get up!”

I remember… Annie Swift… in the old Post Office… dancing at the casino… hops at Hillview and South Tipp… cycling to Marlfield and Sandybanks, to swim in the river… Brrr!… freezing cold it was… how we’d laugh and shiver.

Leaning my shovel… here  in Camden Town… I remember a little white-haired woman sitting by the fire… beads wrapped around her gentle fingers… snuff on her apron… God! I must write that letter soon… send home a few bob!

The lads on the site… they understand when they see my tears… “Big Joe” from Connemara hands me a mug of tea… he knows… hard man that he is… he has a mother too!… God I hope after Sunday Mass… Mother’ll light me a candle.

The hooter goes… daydreaming over… back to work… for a moment I can smell the lilac on the Wood Road… those tears are coming again… I can feel them well… Oh! God how I miss you… me auld pal… me darlin’ Clonmel.

 

 

Photo courtesy of Tipperary Photos