Many a poor soul went to London and wouldnât come back out of guilt of not âmaking itâ.
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That was a mighty send off. Hope Nanny doing ok in the aftermath.
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There is a large family from Mohill, many of whom headed to London.
Unfortunately most of them turned to the demon drink.
One of them decided to come home once.
âWhereâs the old fella?ââ he asked.
âIn the graveyardâ was the response.
The father had died a few years previously and no one knew how to get hold of your man in London.
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The couple of days were a struggle for her to tell the truth. She failed to recognise a lot of people sheâd have known and then in an instant would say âthereâs XXXXâ over the far side of the room and would be bang on but I had to explain the whole situation dozens of times.
Iâve had a series of tests done and am assured that itâs not Alzheimerâs or dementia but cognitive decline due to the brain injury. Iâve seen the scans and had them explained but as they say it is what it is.
I do often wonder whatâs going on but her vision remains top class - particularly when spotting dust or cobwebs.
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You are the closest thing to a Fior Gael Iâve ever encountered. Is fear macanta thu.
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Brilliant. 
@boxyeater ever see the play The Kings of the Kilburn High Road?
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âI dug it out for Wimpy and I tore it out for Mack, but pullinâ Murphyâs cable broke my fucking back.â
God rest their souls.
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I did. An accurate portrayal of so many lives. I actually found it mildly disturbing as I could throw a parishioner in for every one of the characters.
Those type of books, plays, documentaries or plays always get me.
I was in a card game in the pub under Archway tube station 30 years ago and a young lad lost the last of his weeks wages and this was Saturday night. He was from the next parish to us here and he hadnât laces in his work boots.
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The Irish were treated appalling in London. And in many cases by their own. Caught a week in arrears for 40 years, the shame caught many in trap they could never get out of.
There was a show on rte some years back, a Waterford man iirc, came home for the first time in 50 years or more and strolled up the country lane he was born on. His own sister came out to close the gate on hearing him (and the camera crew) approach. She didnât recognise him. When told who he was she was reluctant to embrace him. The shame. Desperate stuff.
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Theyâve a concrete master race
That would keep you in your place
And a ganger man to kick you to the ground
If you ever try to take part of what the bosses make
When youâre building up and tearing England down
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The currach rots on Achill Island,
Tourists walk on the Newport quay;
Mayo boys have all gone roving,
Driving a tunnel through the London clay.
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I only watched this recently on YouTube. Exactly as you say neither the sister or neighbour recognised him. The drink must have taken an awful toll on him.
Without doubt.
You see all these folk lately spouting the likes of âwe all have the same 24 hoursâ and other sound bites.
In addition a lot of the boomer brigade telling younger generations to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and to work harder⌠When they bought houses for a song in the late 70s and early 80s
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My dad told me similar tales from his time in Birmingham as a teen. He had the good sense to come home after a couple of years.
I played Jap in that play many times. It used to take a lot out of me. Out of the 5 of us in fact. Powerful play.
TG4 show âKingsâ the film adaptation as Gaelige now and again.
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Some lads just canât hack the big cityâs.Everything is at your fingertips from drugs to booze to hookers and gambling,if you have the money.I worked with hapes of lads in London/Sydney/NYC who just couldnât hack it,I donât know if it was loneliness or depression or what but they couldnât manage a full weeks work.2 young lads from Armagh would finish work on Friday evening and spend the weekend in the local strip club till monday,back Tuesday morning without an arse in their trousers.A lad from Ballyshannon would spend his week off from the mines in the casino spending every penny he earned the last 6 weeks till it was gone.I could go on and on.Heartbreaking stuff to be honest.Then theyâd get the dreaded phone call that someone at home had died and unless they were loaned the money the couldnât go home.I remember a few people in the early 00âs actually watching funerals on FB cause the hadnât the money to go back.
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London seems to be particularly bad tho, or was, for Irish lads⌠They were cut throat towards each other whereas everywhere else they seemed to have looked out for each other.
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Shocking stuff.,
As well as what youâve said, the sheer adjustment to a big city in terms of the senses must also have an impact.
Youâve spent your life in rural Ireland and then you move to London or New York. Some change and some adjustment required to your everyday life.
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Thing is most lads thrive in them situations tbf.I suppose itâs not as hard being away these days.20 years ago a phone call would set you back 20 pound.
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