Originally posted by Fr Murphys Ghost:
Just been reading the Galtymore thread and it got me thinking. I remember being in primary school back in the 80s, I was in senior infants or 1st class and im 31 now so ye know the timescales. Anyway I remember my father having to work in London, he was a builder but had no work and went to work with my uncle. He used to come home once a month for the weekend. My father never drank but he loved the Galtymore, as he loved his diddly eye music as I use to call it and the few times we went over we more or less spent the weekends there.

It got me thinking that will probably never happen again in this country. Emigration to London while still supporting the family back home, so I thought what else from that time in Irish history might we never see again, lets call them the mass emigration 80’s. Ill start the ball rolling:

1. We might never see Sunday morning masses with the church actually full again
2. Walking the mile and a half to primary school, yourself and the lads.
3. Going to hurling training on the bike with the gear bag on your back and the hurl sticking out the top of it.
4.   (a total wexford thing  )   Bargaining with the tinkers in the Strawberry fair, getting them down from £20 to £5 for a walkman and then saying ye didn’t want it.
5. Being sent off at 10 years old to pick the said strawberries as soon as school finished.
6. Spending every penny of the strawberry picking money in the slot machines in either Curracloe, Courtown or Tramore.
7. Reading a copy of shoot magazine your mother bought for ye in Bray for the 3 hour plus trip from Croke Park after another Wexford defeat
8. Wondering if the seats were any better in the Cusack stand, my father always insisted on the Hogan Stand, still does.
9. Smiling as the auld fell cursed as we were stuck in arklow for and hour, swearing he will never go to Croke Park again, and knowing it wasn’t true

Anyone have any more?

Originally posted by Fr Murphys Ghost:
Just been reading the Galtymore thread and it got me thinking. I remember being in primary school back in the 80s, I was in senior infants or 1st class and im 31 now so ye know the timescales. Anyway I remember my father having to work in London, he was a builder but had no work and went to work with my uncle. He used to come home once a month for the weekend. My father never drank but he loved the Galtymore, as he loved his diddly eye music as I use to call it and the few times we went over we more or less spent the weekends there.

It got me thinking that will probably never happen again in this country. Emigration to London while still supporting the family back home, so I thought what else from that time in Irish history might we never see again, lets call them the mass emigration 80’s. Ill start the ball rolling:

1. We might never see Sunday morning masses with the church actually full again
2. Walking the mile and a half to primary school, yourself and the lads.
3. Going to hurling training on the bike with the gear bag on your back and the hurl sticking out the top of it.
4.   (a total wexford thing  )   Bargaining with the tinkers in the Strawberry fair, getting them down from £20 to £5 for a walkman and then saying ye didn’t want it.
5. Being sent off at 10 years old to pick the said strawberries as soon as school finished.
6. Spending every penny of the strawberry picking money in the slot machines in either Curracloe, Courtown or Tramore.
7. Reading a copy of shoot magazine your mother bought for ye in Bray for the 3 hour plus trip from Croke Park after another Wexford defeat
8. Wondering if the seats were any better in the Cusack stand, my father always insisted on the Hogan Stand, still does.
9. Smiling as the auld fell cursed as we were stuck in arklow for and hour, swearing he will never go to Croke Park again, and knowing it wasn’t true

Anyone have any more?

Originally posted by Bodach an Cóta Lachna:
Mikasa for the gloves

Summer holidays Leaving the house at 0800hours to dam the local stream. Return 1230 hrs lunch of banana sandwiches Depart house 1300hrs to play soldiers/football/break windows/set barns on fire/help stacking bales and get a kick up the arse for your messing until 2100 hrs no questions asked

Those uberflimsy crepe paper hats on sale outside Croker with a peak made of No6 cigarette boxes whose die ran in the rain leaving you looking like Mel Gibson in Braveheart

Or the lovely furry numbers beloved of Kilkenny fans, especially huge big lads with a gap between their front teeth and a soiled white shirt

A game like Cross fire at Christmas time which contained two launchers that fired umpteen ball bearings at high speed - suitable   for ages 3+

Originally posted by Bodach an Cóta Lachna:
They were just for hanging off the front of your shorts anyway because after a couple of weeks the elastic would give at the wrists.

Originally posted by like:
Putting old pennies on the railway tracks to flatten them

Those chololate coconut bars   (forgotten their name  )  

Originally posted by Bodach an Cóta Lachna:
That`s hilarious OLD - used to do something similar with Lemonade bottles when on holiday in Monaghan with cousins.

Originally posted by Seamusin:
Walking home from school to oxtail soup and 3.01 on the radio.
Wings runners.
Altar rails and kneeling for communion.
Bus conductors.
The Wombles.
Morris Minors and Ford Anglias.
People smoking 80 a day.
Ireland’s Own and Our Boys.
Fr. McCourt’s 20 minute Masses.
Canon Stuart’s 20 minute sermons.
The Beverly Hilbillies.
Overcoats on beds on cold nights.
Ankle high Blackthorn football boots with block toes.
Holidays in Clare.
The smell of wet wool coats at Mass.
NACA badges.
Frankie Byrne.
Frozen condensation inside windows.
Fat American cousins in check trousers.
The Partridge Family.
Wrangler jackets with bleached back panel.
Footing turf.
Lining up for injections.
Bens jeans.
Grey short trousers.
Clackers.
Wanderly Wagon.
Re-leev-i-o.
Alvin Stardust.
Climbing trees.
Bath on Saturday night.
And remember … if you do feel like singing a song … do sing an Irish song.
The pain of an O’Neills ball on the thigh on a frosty December morning.
Days out in the Wicklow hills- cooked chicken, tomatoes, eggs, a sliced pan buttered the night before- building dams in ice cold streams- eating bilberries.
The dual carriage-way.
Heffo’s Army.
Óró sé do bheath abhaile.
Butterflies in the stomach waiting outside the headmaster’s office.
Matches on stone-filled corporation pitches.
Brendan Shine.
Marquee dances.
The endless road from Ennis to Sullivan’s Cross.
Three’n’in or combos?
The Glen Abbey show.
Micheal O Hehir, Micheal O Muircheartaigh and Mick Dunne.
Kilkenny and Cork, again.
The nurse counting your balls- Cags has only got one!
Cummins’s and Hendersons.
May Altars.
Maria E and her Bay City Rollers suit.
The Headmaster hiding his cane up his sleeve as he entered the classroom.
Owning the only sliothar on the road.
Taking the long way home from school with Mary McG.
Flaired knee-high trousers.
The crunch of full milk churns being rolled on concrete.
Jumping from moving buses.
Playing against St Vincent’s and getting Jimmy Keaveney’s autograph.
Catechism.
Gangs of us cycling to Dollymount in Summer.
One Banana, two banana, three banana four …
Collecting the turkey in Heuston from the Limerick train.
Líon na bearnaí.
O’ Donnell Abu.
Being hammered in every fight.
The lid of the black kettle dancing as it boiled over a turf fire.
Turning hay by fork.
Dythane 9-4-5- Spray with it- stay with it.
Flypaper.
My uncle’s Ford Capri.
Mass Missals full of Memoriam cards.
The new money.
The swish of the cane.
Slade and Showaddywaddy.
Mary McG in her cheese-cloth shirt and tight Dingo jeans.
Bacon with more fat than meat.
The pain of the cane and the unsuppressable tears.
Carving initials in trees- mine and Mary McG’s.
Heavy cotton jerseys still caked with last week’s mud.
Getting glasses and being able to read the blackboard.
Driving the grey Massey aged 10.
Nature table  s.
Watching 1974 World Cup on the neighbour’s colour TV.
Being lifted over the turnstiles in Croke Park by my father.
Corpus Christi processions.
Hunting rats with hurleys.
Crowding round to see a deck of dirty playing cards.
Searching for tar bubbles on hot days.

Originally posted by Bodach an Cóta Lachna:


Macaroons

I`m on a roll today. Ask me another

Originally posted by DavidO`Carlo/Wex:
Nicking apples & thinking you were the worlds` greatest thief is it Fr.Murphys` Ghost? As a youngster who use-dta "patrol" our` lower-garden & orchard in the autumn   (thoughts of it now, what must it/my family have looked-like but when ye were touldt te do something in those days, ye did it not like the youth of today!  )  , I`d`ve boxed the ears off ye! Whereas now, I`d chastise ye for not knocking on front-door/ringing beforehand cos I hate the bloody apples. Too many of the fockers. I`d turn it into a business if I was let or give them all away for free.

This message has been edited - 27-may-2008 @ 20:48

Originally posted by Bodach an Cóta Lachna:


Macaroons

I`m on a roll today. Ask me another