Town and Country
An evening with Cassie and Sarah Frances Quigley. (Sincere thanks to Margaret Farren who carried out this research)
When my sister and I were children, still at primary school, we’d often walk from Straid to Gortnahinson to visit our cousin Helen, who moved there when she married Neil Francis Gibbons. Probably because it was the furthest we were allowed to travel unaccompanied by an adult, and because every hundred yards seemed to be guarded by an ever more ferocious “cross dog”, Gortnahinson to our imaginations was a strange and distant land. Arriving safely at Wee Helen’s always seemed like the end of an arduous adventure, the reward being tea and biscuits and the freedom to run around the hills and along the streams, chasing rabbits. Being up in Wee Helen’s was closer to nature, we thought. You were actually in the hills, instead of stuck at the foot of one, and that was so much more exciting.
But as I said, getting there was nerve-wrecking. If Mackey’s dog didn’t get you, then the Pound Brae would, and if the Pound Brae didn’t get you, then Jimmy Bouton’s dog would. You only heaved a sigh of relief when you reached Cassie and Sarah Frances Quigley’s house. You were safe by then.
It’s a long time since I walked to Gortnahinson. Wee Helen and Neil have since moved closer to the Cross, and anyway there are a lot more cars on the road. Cassie and Sarah Frances are still resident on the crest of the Pound Brae, but I doubt if they are often disturbed any more by the sight of two wanes coming tearing up the hill with a large, brown hound of hell snarling at their heels.
This time I arrive on their street in style, having got a lift from Neil. They have kindly consented to be interviewed about their memories for this publication and it soon becomes apparant that they need no persuading as to the importance of knowing about your birthplace. The take the collection of local history very seriously, their only misgiving is that they might not remember events as accurately as they consider necessary .
To allay their concern, we start with a subject they are bound to be experts on: Themselves.
Cassie and Sarah are sisters. Cassie was born at the Cross on St Patrick’s Day, 1905. Her mother was originally from Tirhoran and her father, a shoemaker, was from Gortnahinson. He was a shoemaker until 1920 or 21. “He made laced-up shoes, laced to the ankle. ‘High-lows’, a pair of low laced shoes were for a Sunday. Men wore low shoes too, but their winter wear was hob-nail boots. He got the leather in Harper’s in the Waterside in Derry.” Cassie was reared at the Cross until she was twenty years of age. Around then, the shoemaking trade ceased to be a reliable source of income, their father started a farm, where he kept a cow and a few hens. He could still turn his hand to the few odd jobs as a shoemaker, but the way of life necessarily became more agricultural.
Although they are sisters, Sarah Frances’ story is a little different. As was often the case in those days, Sarah Frances went to live with relatives on a farm not far from where she and Cassie live now. It was not unusual for siblings to be brought up in different houses. The result of this is that Cassie and Sarah Frances are perfectly placed to relate the differences between the “town” (the Cross was even smaller then than it is now!) and the country.
Cassie’s lasting impression of life at the Cross is of the handiness of everything and the liveliness of her social life.
“You could run into any house for half an hour. Any house was an open house really. You could go and ceilidh and play cards. If there was an old melodeon there’d be singing and dancing. I remember trying to learn The Charleston. Eventually it would get late and you’d be chased out for making too much noise and you’d be home by 10pm. Some of the houses you could go into were Kate and Minny Harkin’s, Eddie Devlin’s and Liza Ann’s”.
Cassie also remembers getting up to the odd bit of mischief. “We’d be shouting into Wee Hughdie, and playing up on him. At Christmas he’d have drink on him and we’d be shouting at him ‘Hughdie! You’ve the cap on the wrong eye!”
Cassie has such a gleeful glint in her eye as she tells me about taunting Wee Hughdie {the owner of a shop where the Keg 0′ Poteen is now) that for a second you catch a glimpse of a younger, sprightlier Cassie, and can imagine her skipping off down the Cross street, giggling with her friends.
But it wasn’t all gadding about town. Cassie had to be in school from 9am to 3pm, the same as everyone else. Lunchtime (dinnertime) was at 12.30, at which time she could come down home for her meal. Sadly their mother died young. Their father would take a break from his work to make the meal for the scholars.
“We would have to go up to the spout for clean water for the tea, which my father would make. Of course there would be a row about who would wash the dishes and tidy up. The dinner would be something like roasted herring, roasted on the coals, or whatever was handy. I remember having to learn how to make scones.”
The house where they lived is better known to us these days as Snowflakes, or Cleary’s, and Cassie and the family lived in one half of the house and Nurse Dowd lived in the other. She was the maternity nurse. It was when the house came to be sold that Cassie’s father made the move to the country. “It was a change. Everything seemed a wile distance away. You couldn’t just run out to the shops if you forgot something. You had to think hard when you were out to make sure you got everything you want.”
According to Sarah Frances, she was reared more “in the country style”. She lived on a farm with her uncles and helped with the cattle, sheep, horses, hens and geese. There was never any extra help. In Sarah’s own words, she was “inside woman and outside man”, meaning she could prove herself equally useful in either capacity, whether she was outworking in the fields, or inside cleaning the house and preparing the meals. She remembers also getting up at 6am to go to Carn Fair, which was the biggest fair in Inishowen. But as hard as she worked, she – like Cassie – has fond memories of having the crack in the neighbours’ houses. “Mary Sweeney’s was an open house. The young people were all Scotch and they were great singers. There was always a rush to get everything done so that you could get down to their house. If there was someone there with a melodeon or a fiddle, and if you had enough people, you could have a dance. “You never went to the dance if you could go to the open house instead. After they all scattered, you’d be lost down at the dance in the hall.”
Unlike Cassie, Sarah Frances thought nothing of the walk down to the Cross. She made the journey every weekday to school and it apparently didn’t take a flutter out of her. She recounts her memories of her schooldays with an enthusiasm which suggests she was an eager scholar. The original school at the Cross was pretty much on the same site as it is today, though a little bit further back from the road. That school was built in 1834, and renovations began in 1924. While the school was being renovated, (or substantially rebuilt, giving us the school we have today), Sarah Frances tells us that classes were held instead in the wee hut at the chapel glen. So, as she explains to me, Sarah Frances attended three schools in Clonmany, concluding that she must have been very well-educated!
“The principal was Miss Doherty, (she’d be one of the Browns of Annagh). Miss Meegan was teaching there too. She came just before I left and taught algebra and geometry. I left when I was in 7th class. There were seven of us in it including, I remember, Bella McDonald. We had a party, with a gramophone, and Fr Maguire was at the party. He wanted to see the One Step danced and Master Kavanagh and Miss Meegan danced it for him. We all clubbed together and got presents for Miss Doherty – hankies and chocolates.”
While Cassie exhibits a particular fondness for remembrances, Sarah Frances is busier with the historical details of the parish. In fact, I am astonished to find that she has actually taken the time to write out all the information she can remember, that would be of interest to the Summer School. While she goes off to get her material, Cassie an I chat generally about the interviews and how they are progressing.
I mention to her that Charlie Owen spoke of the murders of the Black ‘n’ Tans in Clonmany – an incident that is well-known in Clonmany, but only ever talked about as an episode from our remote past. Imagine then my amazement when Cassie casually announces: “Oh aye, Clarke and Murdoch, I knew them boys.” “How?”, I enquire.
Seemingly, although it was frowned upon for a Black’n’Tan to enter a pub by the front door, they were tolerated as long as they went in through the back. Cassie’s house was next door to the pub (probably Eunie’s, if Cassie lived in Snowflakes) and one had to go through Cassie’s kitchen to get out to the back yard to get to the pub. Clarke and Murdoch therefore became familiar to the family and would sometimes stop for a chat. “I thought they were very nice fellows. One of them in particular was very nice. I think he said he was from London. I had a photograph of them here one time, but I think I’ve lost it.”
As I’m pondering how much I would love to see that photograph. Sarah Frances returns with her manuscripts, and I am deeply touched by the care she has taken to record the information in her beautiful, flowing script.
As testimony to the centrality of the church to the community in days gone by (and particularly appropriate to the theme of this year’s Summer School), Sarah Frances devotes much space to the history of the church.
“Sometime before 1912, work started on Clonmany chapel, the roof taken off and the walls raised. A committee was formed and the parish ran dances and big nights every week. A bazaar was held, where each committee had a stall.
An appeal went out to the Irish in America and there was a great response. Ann Doherty donated the two stained glass windows behind the altar. Rodger Harkin donated the altars, the altar rail, the Mosaic inside the rails and the passages in the aisles. Italians came and did all that work.”
“Italians laid those marble aisles and they are all ripped up now”, Sarah Frances bemoans as I read aloud this passage.
I continue reading:
“Rodger Harkin lived in Cleagh and had a shop and factory. He had another shop on the site of the present Strand Hotel. McGragh supervised the work on the chapel. He also designed the round window behind the altar. The large beams supporting the roof came on the railway. Two carts with the bodies removed were used to transport them to the site. Local masons and carpenters did all the work including the pulling up of the roof and the ceilings as well as the making of the seats. Eddie Grant (Paul) made the hearing boxes. He also cut out with a chisel the crosses at the ends of the seats. Some of them seats are still in the side aisles. The work on the tower was done by a man from Belfast named Dean, a stone cutter by trade. He dressed the stones and then built them. He married a girl from Bohearna and they went to live in Belfast. When the bell came it had to be carried up the steps inside the belfry and put in ‘position on top of the tower. ‘Two of the strong men of the parish, Phil Briney and Paddy Donal Fad (Annaugh) were picked for the job. Their promised wages were that when they died the funeral bell would be rung for them free of charge. At that time the sexton was paid a shilling for ringing the bell.
Bob Wilson made the top big gates going into the chapel. There were no lower gates then or no path up the graveyard to the aisle door. Bob’s son, Matthew, made those gates much later. Bob came here from Bridgend around 1900. His father was a Protestant and Bob ‘turned’ and married a Catholic and his people disowned him. He was a very good blacksmith and in time he built his own two story house, and a forge, in Cleagh.
“The present parochial house was built about 1913 or 14 by a man named Patrick Diffley. He came from Culdaff and rented the Square Bar as his own house was being built. When war broke out the British troops were stationed in the Glen House field. They took it over as a First Aid hospital. There was always a horse-drawn ambulance parked in the Market Square. After the war, Diffley set up a drapery shop there. Cigarettes were first introduced into this district during the First World War (by the British soldiers). Soon the shopkeepers had their placards up:- Wild Woodbine, 5 for 1d and Park Drive, 10 for 2d.
“The school was a low, slated, tip-roofed building with a small porch at each end. A path about 3ft wide led to each door. There was a movable wooden partition between the boys’ and girls’ apartments. Master McCluskey was the first teacher. Master Maloney succeeded him. Miss McCarron was the teacher in the girls’ school. She lived in a thatched roof cottage with Miss Flanagan in Gaddyduff. Her uncle, Fr James Devlin built a two storey house beside the cottage when he retired. “Fr Fox was totally against drink, and all the wemin were terrified of him. I remember him scattering a wedding party one night. Fr Fox was transferred to Buncrana later. Then he made a rule that all sick call requests had to be in before l0am. A dealer named John O’Kane lived in Buncrana at that time. He used to go round the country selling delph and collecting scrap of an sorts. He occasionally took much drink. His wife enlisted Fr Fox’s support. Fr Fox accosted him in the town. ‘Where are you going now?’
No answer. ‘You are going to the public house. Do you not know it’s the devil is leading you?’ ‘I don’t care about the devil,’ says John, ‘and I’m not a bit afraid of him.’ ‘The church never changes,’ said Fr Fox, ‘it is the people who change.’ ‘Well’, said john, ‘I was taught as a boy that death comes like a thief in the night. If the church hasn’t changed how is it that nowadays if death doesn’t come before 10 in the morning, it won’t come at all that day.”
Sarah Frances has sectioned the paper according to different subjects and one which captures my attention is entitled White Horse. When I enquire as to what this is I am told that it is a tradition performed at weddings which has completely died out now. According to Sarah Frances the last one was performed in Cloughfin. Her manuscript describes it as follows:
“Weddings took place in the evenings. All the young men and girls from the townland of the bride escorted the couple to the chapel. The bride and groom were in front, followed by the best man and maid. After the wedding ceremony, they went to the public houses and there’d be singing and dancing. Everyone went to the bride’s home for a meal. The next night was a bottlenight and many of them took a pint of poitin. The Best Man stood at the door and treated the whole company.
When the wedding was in full swing the White Horse appeared as a lucky omen. It was led by a man in disguise, dressed up in all the gear. Two men draped in a white sheet formed the body of the horse. The front man on a broomstick formed the horse’s head. The head was fashioned by some local artist from a bag stuffed with straw, decorated with eyes, ears etc. Hung round the horse’s neck was an empty pint bottle, which the best man filled with poitin. The White Horse was led to the Bride and Groom, and after performing a few antics would leave, led out by the leader in full gear.”
Thus put to shame by the thoroughness of Sarah Frances’ research, I decide to accept the offer of a cup of tea and we sit for a while chatting about the neighbourhood and the changes these two women have seen over the years.
One of the biggest changes is that the feast days are no longer celebrated. They described to me the procedure for August 15th and Bonfire night (“There’d be a bonfire at the head of the glen and we’d stay ’til three in the morning, dancing. There was no Mass. It wasn’t a very holy affair out at that lane!”)
Sarah Frances also remarks that the farmwork is so much easier these days.
Sarah believes that it is a lonely time of life, and that one is never so lonely as when one is in a crowd of strangers. “If you go out, you meet no one you know. I remember sitting at McCauley’s one time during the festival and everyone was rushing by. As time goes on, you have no one to fall in with.”
But they both seem to agree that although the younger generation has more freedom than they had, it doesn’t seem to have done them any harm. In fact, Cassie thinks the young people today are politer than they were when they were youths. Perhaps she’s having pangs of guilt about the ribbing they used to give Wee Hughdie!
As they’re talking I wonder to myself what kind of impression my sister and I made as we went haring past on a fortnightly basis. I find myself hoping we at least stopped to say ‘Hello’. While we’re chatting, the light begins to fail, and before long Neil arrives to bring me back to Straid.
As we say goodbye I notice how little they’ve changed over the past twenty years and can’t help remarking how time flies. Considering it could be another few years before I’m back in Gortnahinson, I was glad I took the time now to stop by to make Cassie’s and Sarah Frances’ acquaintance. Resolving to take them up on the offer of another cup of tea in the near future, I head back down the Pound Brae.
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