Through Rose-Tinted Specs
Memories of Balbriggan in the 50's
Copyright 2005
By Roger Turner

Part 11: Things to do, Places to see...

When you are little, as I was back in the fifties, the walk to the harbour was a long way. And if they suggested that we went up to the Sailors Grave, then that was like walking the far end of Ireland to my little legs.
I have already told you about our trips up to Stamullan, and that too was one hell of a way away. But when I got up one morning to be told that we were off to Dublin, that didn't seem so bad, for they were going to take us on the train.

Don't you just love that train journey from Balbriggan to Dublin? All those towns with such wonderful names: Skeeries, Rush and Lusk, Some other place my memory is keeping from me, Malahide, Howth... And then on to Dublin. Oh joy, and what wonderful scenery too? But I don't have to tell you what a wonderful journey it is. You who still live in Balbriggan can take the train to Dublin and see for yourselfs. But I suppose it's the leg from, er, where? Oh yes, thanks Guardian Angel, Donabate to Malahide that sticks in my mind for it takes us via a long bridge thing across the water.
Water has always fascinated me and coupled with my other childhood love, railways; this trip was the highlight of my day.
I could have spent the whole summer on the train to Dublin but the train trip was just supposed to be a means to an end, for we were "...Off on a walk up to Phoenix Park, to view the Zoological gardens."
I suppose nowadays Zoos are not the done thing, but back in the late fifties it was probably the ultimate day out for us kids. Far enough away, but not too far.
I can't remember if once we left Amiens Street station, we got the bus up the Phoenix Park, or our mothers made us walk it. Looking at the map now, I would think the bus.

We had a very memorable day and I took some photos, and do you know, I can't find them. One I remember taking was of a huge hippopotamus with his mouth wide open. I can only remember it because it reminded me of our Pat in full rage shouting at me. She tries it now, but I'm bigger than her, so it doesn't have the same effect.
Nan and Stevie Calow also enjoyed Phoenix Park and in the old 30's photos I have, are some taken in the Botanical Gardens. Haven't got a clue where they were, so I'll have to check with my Guardian Angel.

Nan and Stevie were always going on trips here and trips there, and I have an account of a trip they made to Guinness in 1937. Not only that but I have their original hardback guide book and this is written in the back:

Sept 25th 1937. Caught the half nine bus to Dublin arriving at 20 past 10. The weather couldn't be better. Went around Guinness 11 to 12.
Beautiful day with warm sunshine so went into Phoenix Park and sat surrounded by Dahlias, Fuchsias, Geraniums. Watched the kiddies playing ball then went to the zoo to see the fine collection of wild animals. Back to Balbriggan after a glorious day.

But it is the Guinness guide book that I take pride in owning for not only does it give some interesting information, but it contains many black and white photos of the period.
You know it's amazing how one single photo can bring the memories flooding back. In fact it was finding a box of old photos that started me off on writing my memories of Balbriggan in the 50's. And I am not ashamed to admit that I have shed many a tear whilst writing these memories for they brought people who died many years ago back to life.
But let's get back to the day trips.

During the summer we would make several trips to Dublin, and the odd day trip to Drogheda. Now I must admit to not being fussed at Drogheda for after Dublin I found it dull and boring. Dublin was more like Sheffield, a busy and bustling city, full of interesting characters.
When my dad came over for the last week of our stay (with much needed money in his pocket) we would be off to the big shops to stock up with clothes for the winter.
I can remember one year Mother bought me a huge thick and overly big mackintosh and told me in that voice that only mothers use: You will grow into it.
Oh yes, I grew into it! Only took three years.

In Dublin clothes were plentiful, reasonably priced and good quality, whereas back home in Sheffield we were still suffering shortages in the aftermath of the war, so shopping in Dublin was a godsend.
Now here is where I come unstuck again for I have to delve deep to remember the names or ask my Guardian Angel to help me out. Isn't life full of decisions?
Clery's and Dunne's come to my mind, but there must have been many more that Mother dragged me round. I say dragged, for I was never one to willingly go clothes shopping. Mother always had to bribe me and we would have dinner in the shops' restaurant. And thereby hangs a tale.
Back in the fifties we kids were forced to dress correctly and for a trip to town then that meant a jacket and if the weather was inclement, a top coat and hat or cap.
So let's set the scene: Auntie Eileen, Rory and Rita, along with me, our Pat and our Mother and Father, all settle down to eat in a nice clean and busy restaurant. The treat is a three-course meal consisting of soup, roast beef and two veg and a pudding.
The waitress brings the soup and places it down in front of me. I stick me spoon in to try it and, and ouch! Too hot!
'Mum. This soup is too hot.'
Now we have a saying in Sheffield when something is too hot: 'Well, waft it with your cap,' Dad tells me, jokingly.
So without further ado, little Roger fishes his school cap from his jacket, hanging on the back of his chair, and proceeds to waft it over the steaming soup, much to the disgust of onlookers.
God, my mother almost blew a fuse!
'Well,' I tried to explain to her, 'Dad told me to do it!' So my dad copped it too.

Sometimes the trips took us to places like Powers Court, but I couldn't have been impressed for I remember little or nothing about this.
Now this might just be my mind playing tricks on me, by I seem to recall going up inside old Nelson's pillar. That's sort of ages me don't it for they blew the thing to bits in the 60's and quite rightly too, for I knew not why he was ever built there. The only down side I can think of is where do lovers now arrange to meet in Dublin?

No, visiting large stately houses was never my thing, I preferred a good picnic, or a day playing in the rock pools or making sandcastles. In fact all the things that kids did back then. I can remember walking up a lane at the top side of Craoibhin Park and along with loads of other kids helping a farmer get his crops in and riding back on the long steel spikes at the back of the tractor. My mother would turn in her grave if she ever found out about that for I suppose that it was a very dangerous thing to do. But at ten, well, you don't think about such dangers do you?
It was a bit like that when someone stopped to give you a lift and about six or seven of us all crammed into a little four-seater car, when we had missed the bus from somewhere.
It was the same when Uncle Raymond was offered a ticket to the all Ireland final at Croke Park.
Can I come, I asked?
Sure, why not, came back the reply.
The fact that I didn't have a ticket did't worry me or Uncle Raymond because that was not important back then.
One of Raymond's brothers, or maybe both of them, were also going with a few more, so we all piled into the back of a smelly old van and rattled onwards to Dublin, singing as we went to drown the noise.
At the turnstile Uncle Raymond explained that I had come all the way from England and had never seen an All-Ireland Final and he could pay for me.
Well, no payment was exchanged and I was lifted over the turnstile and into the ground. I think I may have been about nine at the time and can remember every wonderful minute of it except who played and who won.

It was a party atmosphere with bottles of Guinness, Whiskey and some clear liquid in a clear medicine bottle that tasted like paint stripper. Oh yes, I had a nip and spat it out to the laughs of the grown-ups around me. That was the way of things back then. Someone said it was some special mountain dew. Tasted more like sheep dip to me.

Talking about sheep dip, once I had learnt to drive and was able to hire a car for the very first time, I started to discover that there was far more to Ireland than the 20-odd miles of coast from Dublin to Gormanston.
My guide to discovering Ireland was Rita who delighted in showing me the sights. 'Roger,' she would say over breakfast, 'lets go and visit...' and off we would go. No maps nor any idea of where we were heading, I just followed her instructions.
Down narrow country lanes, over rustic bridges, up steep hillsides, down leafy glens and past fields full of cattle and sheep, Rita McKenna took me all over the place, and a rare good time we had too.
Calling for some food on the way, or taking a picnic, she showed me towns and villages I had never heard of. And all the time we sang or chatted the while away.
I even remember Rita persuading me to let her have a drive... The fact that she couldn't drive, had no licence or insurance didn't come into it...
Gese, didn't we laugh too?
I have told you many times that I have always been shy with girls, but not with Rita, for she was different. More like a sister than a girlfriend.
Like all Balbriggan girls at the time, Rita had the capacity to enjoy herself at the drop of a hat, and always ensured that when I was over, I too joined in. Not, would you like to... but, you are going to... Yes, she had me well under control. And believe me, that was not easy back then.

But it wasn't always about going out visiting places, for I can remember one year something special happened in the guise of the Old Crocks Race.
Dozen of old clapped out vehicles came lolloping though the town and we kids stood in clouds of smoke as they flashed past at a leisurely 10 miles an hour. No I can't remember which way they went except they came along Skerries Street.
Do you know, when ever I see the film Genevieve, with Kenneth Moore, I can't help thinking about the Old Crocks Race... Oh happy days...
To be continued...