The East and the West [continued]
By Alex McDonnell

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We know that when these holiday cottages say they sleep up to six they really mean they have only four beds because they always have a double in the master bedroom and sometimes a bed-settee in the living room. Which was why we booked four by four so as to have every one in a bed of their own, even if two would have to share a room they would at least have their own bed. You can’t ask middle aged or elderly men who have just met to share a bed, except very occasionally. By now Margaret had rang me back and we were in the right number houses but there was nothing she could do about the beds. The company didn’t supply any extra bedding or mattresses. And so I said that it was unusual to have so many doubles and wasn’t it a bit inflexible, after all, as even in families, siblings wouldn’t want to share. Hadn’t anyone complained before about the limited accommodation?
‘Oh no, we often have groups and parties and people don’t complain, they’re happy to share. They manage fine’.
I felt a bit of a prude then, but we were still left with a dilemma. Who could we turn to? Of course, Dr. Cowley is your man in a crisis. I called him and by the time I got back to St. Brendan’s village the nurses there had got mattresses, bedding and pillows ready for us.

Some of our lads were off the booze, others didn’t drink problematically and others were very much on it. Our main priority was to keep like with like. We don’t want to risk someone’s recovery or make their stay uncomfortable by putting a sober person in a house full of drinkers. In most cases we know our clients pretty well, but in some cases we are only taking their word for their lifestyle. And often people can make unrealistic assessments of their own drinking habits. Joe and Avril took the quieter, more sober group into their houses while myself and John had the known hard drinkers. We did a bit of shopping but didn’t cook that first evening. It had been a long day and we’d been well fed and most of the group drifted down the village for a drink later in the evening.

Aside from blatant cases of employment discrimination and exploitation, like in Irish Ferries, it soon became clear that one of the great dividends of the expansion of the European Union has been the recruitment of attractive Eastern Europeans into the service industries in Ireland. It was apparent in McLoughlin’s bar that labour relations were not what was on the minds of the farmers and fishermen crowding the bar that night. Asha had arrived from Poland a couple of months previously, recruited by an agency in Kracow. She came to Ireland expecting to be working in a city or at least a large town. She landed up in Achill, one of the most beautiful parts of Ireland, but also one of the most remote. Tall and blonde, she attracted a lot of attention, but didn’t seem to be too aware of it.

She certainly caught the attention of Mick. Mick and his brother Jim were ex-jockey’s from the Curragh, who after getting too old for the saddle and too fond of the drink ended up homeless in London. They had been in Arlington house about 15 years ago and were then moved into a shared house in Hackney, which became notorious for drinking sessions. They have since moved into separate flats next to each other. Charlie assessed them both for the Sligo trip in September. And as Jim was off the drink it was felt best to take them on separate trips. Jim came with us in the Summer and he has made a great change in his life, doing a computer course and going to the gym every day. Mick had reduced his drinking quite a bit, as far as we knew, after a bout of pneumonia a couple of months ago. Mick was pretty smitten by Asha and if anyone of us spoke to her or even looked at her, he’d object,
‘That’s my bird! What are you looking at?’
It was only partly craic, although he’d spend most of the day in the bar.

Gerry was another social drinker who spent too much time in the pub. Gerry was to have come with us last year on our trip to Donegal in May. He got cold feet and legged it when we were parked outside Arlington House [hostel]. I thought at the time that it was the House that had scared him off, but he told me one night in McLoughlin’s that he had a panic attack, thinking of going back to Donegal. He felt that he may be able to handle it in Mayo for the first time back in 27 years and would hope to come to Donegal with us in the spring. Gerry is from Inishowen in the far north of the county but if he had been from the nearby southern end, we would have taken him, just to get him out of the pub. It seemed as though our quiet steady social drinkers were on a bit of a bender. Fellow returnee Tom kept an eye on Gerry, though. They were old mates and although they were from opposite ends of the country, as Tom is from Kerry, they always hung out together around Shepherds Bush.

On the Monday, Jerry Cowley held a party for us at St .Brendan’s, all the residents were there, with many people from Mulranny and we got a great reception. The lads were overwhelmed with the welcome. We sat down to a sumptuous Christmas dinner. Jerry had rung to ask could he give the lads a hot whiskey as it was such a cold day and I agreed - but limited it to only the one. We didn’t want a big session.
‘Oh God no, nothing like that,’ said Jerry, ‘only the one, to keep the chill out’.
The whiskeys came around and they were more whiskey than hot water. Not being a drinker, Jerry is very heavy-handed with the measures. There were bottles of wine on the tables and most of the lads declined but Mick got stuck in.
‘But Mick, you don’t even like wine’,
‘What can I do? If it’s there I have to drink it’.
We had a great time, though some more than others. While in Mulranny I took our minibus to the local garage out on the shores of Clew Bay to look at the brakes, which I felt were catching and heating up. If they ever make a TV programme about the 100 most beautifully situated garages in the world, which they surely must some day, it would win hands down. It would also be the cheapest. After an hour and a half working on the brakes, Cathal only charged me 10 euros. He could have charged me that just for the view.

On the Tuesday, we bade a tearful farewell to [Aisling worker] Avril at Ballaghadereen, where she was to spend the night with her uncle before flying back to London the next day. And then we picked up Charlie [another Aisling worker] at Knock airport. She’d had a tortuous time getting on the plane at Gatwick because her passport had been through the wash [literally] and looked a bit threadbare. Obviously today’s terrorists cunningly launder their passports to get clean through immigration. Charlie had more trouble at Knock, but she had lost all patience by then and walked on through, challenging the officials to detain her. As we drove away the airport staff were gathered at the terminal, looking around and scratching their heads.

We did make it to Donegal, at least to Bundoran on the southernmost edge of the county, on the way to Leitrim. Henry had decided that he would like to visit his family in the Leitrim mountains near Ben Bulben, and Terry came too as he was from that area also.
On the way we left Steve with his brother near Tobercurry in Sligo. We met him in the car park of the Yeats Hotel. His brother was delighted to see Steve while Steve himself looked a little shell-shocked. As we were leaving, Steve was heading in to the bar with his brother following, waving to us as we hit the road.
We stopped for lunch at the Bay Hotel in Mullaghmore, looking out over Strandhill and the Mountbatten’s castle. Terry was wandering around the place looking here and there and I asked if had he been there before. He told me that as an apprentice plumber he had put the central heating system in here over 30 years ago, and it looked as good as new.
We arrived at Kinlough in the afternoon. After leaving Terry in the town to look around we drove out with Henry to find his home place. We traveled deeper into the mountain country and the roads kept getting narrower and rougher. When we got to where grass was growing in the middle of the tarmac, Henry told me to pull in beside a bungalow. We got out and were walking up the drive when the kitchen door opened and a man came out looking at us curiously.
Henry asked him, ‘I don’t suppose you know me Kevin, do you?’
‘Henry,’ he said, ‘There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think of you’.

We left Henry with his cousin and his family for a few hours and went back to Kinlough. Henry hadn’t been back for 27 years and he had a lot to say to his cousin Kevin. We waited in the pub drinking tea. The barman had to go out for teabags and then he realised he had no milk and off he went to the shops again and finally had to go out once more for sugar so we killed a lot of time with our tea. Then Joe arrived with Henry and we said our goodbyes. Henry couldn’t be persuaded to stay a few days but he did promise that he would come back in May with us.
As we were leaving, Kevin recognised Terry and asked what he was doing with himself these days.
‘Are you still at the plumbing? You had one of the best plumbing businesses around here.’
‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ said Terry.

And indeed it is.

continued in part 3 of Aisling in Mayo, Christmas 2005 >

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