Many’s the time as a youngster, I’d muse as Mam would recite her mother’s order of rule. This would stretch back to the 1930s/40s Ireland, and the words she used would “crackle” of stern sincerity as they emanated from her. God dare anyone question the absoluteness of this ceremony! The only thing missing was a massive marble altar and maybe the odd ‘loud-hailer’.
As she started dating my father in the late 1950s, sexual activity was as plentiful as — “Space Walking,” according to Mam, anyway. All her friends were travelling in the same “Noah’s Ark,” of going out, dancing, mingling with the ‘forbidden’, with no idea why or where this untetherable urge came from. While dancing with Da at the very start, she’d keep her right elbow down between them, just in case, ye know! At this juncture, Mam had a 100% vacuum of information about how the human body actually operated. The education curriculum of that time didn’t include anything even resembling ‘sex’ – ah leave us alone will ya! Ma even commented that the nuns ‘taught’ mathematics through Irish! “Sure what hope would I have, I couldn’t understand it through English!” – let alone Irish! “Sher I was always pushed to the back with all the other ‘stupids’ so we couldn’t contaminate to ‘good ones’!” “Anyway I only wanted to walk Dad’s greyhounds and play the piano for Mrs Dempsey every Tuesday and Thursday after school” she’d exclaim.
How Women Became Pregnant
Information surrounding ‘human reproduction’ was, back then, akin to the ‘Cuban Blockade’ or a bad “dial-up” Eircom.net internet connection in about 1999! (patience required in copious amounts). So how women became pregnant was a mystery to her—can ye believe it at the age of 26 years!!!
She was very interconnected to her mother, Johanna Byrne, in so many ways, kinda like looking into a bowl of freshly cooked spaghetti. That said though, there must have been ‘TABOO’ subjects between them that were obviously dripping with the silence of “Area 51!” “We know of its existence, but don’t you even dare to go there” – right, yeah – like that’s going to work well.
They always lived together — married, divorced, separated or single, it made no difference to these two Siamese twins. Even when Da got promoted to Garda Sergeant, her mother left her own house, just to come live with us, as Da was transferred. If we moved in under a white sheet in the Gobi Desert, she’d have been right in there, like an Alabama tick!
Mam often explained to me, in no uncertain terms, that in the 1950s and decades before and indeed after, if by chance she’d become pregnant—hypothetically speaking—she would have not one but two Hobson’s choices:
One — Mill River after dark!
Two — England and never come back!
(Above we have my maternal grandmother, Johanna Byrne along with Ma about the middle 1960s. I donno what the great hats were all about, but sher, “if the hat fits?” and all that lark! Just notice the lovely net gloves on Ma – surely these two were en route to some type of ‘Mission Impossible’ here. Da used to call Ma’s make-up, “War Paint!” – funny man!)
Mill River
On a confidential level, I quizzed her in depth on this delicate subject. (To most people of this age, everything seems to be a delicate subject – JOKE !!!) “Did yer mother really mean this? Really, with her own daughter?” Mam replied, “100% yes, that was the way that time, Brian—no question.” She said loads of people left Gorey around that time for differing reasons and were never, ever heard of again. Even when their own parents passed away, they were still a no-show at the funeral. Her mother was as stern as the rear of the Titanic, with Liverpool inscribed on it The dull black colour of it complimented her attitude of that time. “Don’t you ever bring that ‘shame’ to my front door, God help us” she would exclaim to my young mother.
The Mill River was identity-less such was its position in Gorey. Gutter-like in appearance, it spent its life accumulating social garbage of the day. Like it was present and accounted for and everyone knew of the poor creature’s existence, but it lacked endearing beauty of any kind, just part of the furniture that was unused or not particularly needed. So its name became synonymous with ‘below the belt’ culture of that time in Ireland.
Did anyone ever drown in the Mill River? Your guess is just as good as mine, no clue. My thoughts on this is that not even a mouse drowned in it, maybe a dragon fly in late autumn at best. It was more of a dark cloud than a river, that the hierarchy clung to as the youth of the day became somehow more audacious in their thinking. By God, if there was even a smell of a drowning there, Ma’d be the first ‘bugle’ to sound on the parade ground at dawn.
A Great Authority?
Now I sound like a great authority on this subject, like who died and ‘made’ me God? My arse wasn’t the size of a peanut at this juncture of time in Gorey or anywhere else for that matter. I’m only running on the fumes and NOx emissions from the great souls that came before me. Basically I’m full of my own shite here, but sher if it keeps me off the streets, happy days!
Something else confidential: she told me she had no idea what sex was all about. It was all pure instinct. She’d never seen a man in the ‘nip’ before. She told me, “I loved Da very much, and I was willing to jump at any adventure with his hand in mine.” Oh my goodness, she continued, “I knew about the ‘stick’ he could get, but I never knew about the ‘coconuts’ hanging down. I just thought there was something wrong with him, or what—I donno!! I wasn’t asking too many questions anyway, Brian. I’ve six beautiful children that I love, each one uniquely.” They resembled two frogs in a pond that had never met before mating season, and then the powers of Mother Nature took over!
If she was alive today, ‘she’d – ‘be turnin in her grave’ with a ‘go boy’ like me talking about her private life, let alone broadcasting it, but I want her to be seen completely. Even if it is at her expense, I’m trusting everyone here because I just find people incredibly understanding as a collective.
My parents on their honeymoon in July 1961 -somewhere in Dublin City and I can tell ye it was far removed from Tenerife or Barbados dem times, honeymoon or no honeymoon!
(c) Brian Gilhooly
Read Part 2 of Mill River here.
Read more from Brian on Writing.ie here.
