As requested, this is a thread for TFK’s octogenarian crew to exchange stories about the Ireland of long ago.
This was a country that was happy, vigorous and spiritual, the home of a people who valued material wealth only as a basis for right living – a land whose countryside was bright with cosy homesteads, whose fields and villages were joyous with the sounds of industry, with the romping of sturdy children, the contest of athletic youths and the laughter of happy maidens, whose firesides were forums for the wisdom of serene old age.
I’ll go first: the best day’s craic I ever had in the Sem was a big snow day when the whole school went mental throwing snowballs all day. We also pelted all the teachers when they were driving in and then trying to run into the school.
Afterwards a Maths teacher known as Snotty (@Chucks_Nwoko) made us stand up in Maths class. In a very grave tone of voice he told us he could remember the old days when once a student threw a snowball at a teacher’s car driving out the gate. The teacher stopped, got out, walked over to the student and “put him on his back”. Then the teacher got back in his car and drove home, no questions asked. Snotty missed the old days.
There were a lot of stories around Monaghan town when I was growing up about primary school kids getting broken arms and the like from angry teachers. I remember hearing about one time in the old days a student and a teacher in the Sem were having an argument in class so all the other students pulled back the desks and had a boxing match in the middle of the classroom, which the teacher won and made sure the student wouldn’t fancy a rematch.
Padraig Duffy, later Director General of the GAA was a good principle and cleared a lot of the problems out of that school. It had a bad bullying problem before he came. Now the Gael Scoil would be considered to have worse problems.
As an aside to my grumpy comment about WFH I’m reminded about my first serious job.
It was a prestigious position paying annually £592 which equated to approx £10.10.06 a week.
The WFH dude (son) informs me that he charges €640 daily on an 18 month contract.
Have we lost our fucking minds… in short of 60 years…
the pity was that most of his reforms revolved around ways that poor ould alan had been slighted in one way or another.
couldnt sit in the silks chair because he wasnt a silk: make solicitors silks
got bad press because he charged over half a mill for an unfinished divorce and was castigated by the taxing master: makes family law taxation in camera.
the legal services regulation bill could eaily have been called the alan shatter (settling scores) bill
It was simply “the phone”. There was none of this 07196XXXXX either. You dialled the operator and requested whatever exchange and number you needed.
Mar samplá, the AI office was Ballinamore 46.
Another memorable number was Cootehall 5. I won’t expand further on this.
Mid to late 80s. Albert Reynolds on becoming Minister for Post and Telegraphs in 1979 made himself a bit of a laughing stock by promising that every home that wanted a phone would have one by 1984. It was such an outlandish idea.
Having a phone in a house made that house much more saleable. You could be on the waiting list for years. The lads in the P&T didn’t give a tuppeny fuck. What’s the slowest thing in the world? A P&T van on overtime.
