Millstreet.ie

Dia is mhuire diobh go leir a cairde and welcome to my weekly Report.

It looks like January is going out like a lamb.  You never appreciate the good day until you’ve had  bad ones and as we have come through a long period of rain, storms, snow, plus thunder and lightening, these few fine days never tasted so sweet. The fine dry bright day fills you energy and leaves you rearing to go, regardless of how old or young you are. People who have homes of their own are blessed moreover these days because having your own space you are free to wander out on the nice day and find something to do. A lick of paint can turn an eye sore into a thing of beauty in a very short time. Perhaps nobody will see or notice it but you and if it brightens your day then the whole world is a better place. There is nothing as handy as having some paint left from before, paint rollers are a Godsend so that you can start the job as soon as the notion takes you. If you have to go through the rigours of going to town for your supplies, you’re sure to meet someone, get delayed and the job at home is put back for another day. Meeting up with people is the nicest thing ever, but not on the day when weather and mood are in tandem. Sometimes I think we recycle almost too much because if you want old clothes to wear in the garden or maybe a cardboard box or a plastic bag etc. you won’t have the likes because they’ve all been binned. As long as they are neatly kept I think it wise to hold on to a few. Paints are great today, they are mostly water based and they dry very fast, also brushes, rollers etc can be cleansed under a running tap. Another throwback from the war comes to mind when we talk about paint. The paint we got back then was very poor quality and was a nightmare at the time of the Stations. Out in the country only farmers were compelled to have Stations. They were held twice a year. Townlands were brought together to form a group of maybe twelve houses, in such a case  a person would have the Station every six years.  Needless to say in that length of time the house didn’t get much attention. Bare floors, damp walls, all the importance was in the out of doors where the money was made. Everybody knew when it was their time to have the Stations, there was a rota and it was followed to the letter. If right was right people should or could be all prepared well on time, but that never happened. Well in advance the Bean ‘a Tighe would be asking himself to do some work indoors, the parlour nearly always needed a new floor, or a wall to plaster, all  rotten with the damp. But he always had some more pressing things to do outside.  Eventually it did get done, and it was time to paint. The tins of distemper arrived, a different colour for every room and white for the ceiling. It was slapped on with little time to spare and the people filled in on the day. Everybody including nonfarmers were entitled to attend. They sat around on long seats, usually borrowed among other things for the Stations. The Parish Priest would arrive accompanied by his Curate and the parish Clark called Jack the Clark.  In my youth he was a rather weird looking man ,with matted hair always dressed in black and I thought he was a priest even though he lived just across the street from the Church with his wife and family. The entrance gates and walls would be whitewashed at the last minute and the sow roaming free around the yard rubbed herself off it and some of the white came away on her, and the Canon was heard to say to his Curate, look, they painted even the sow. There would be confessions before and during the Mass and when it was over the Canon would put his ledger on the raised (Alter) table and call the names of the Farmers to come and pay their dues. So much per cow and there was often a rather heated debate as to how many cows he had. The dues settled, the men often went out in the yard  to smoke and chat and I can always remember one man who always asked for a sip of water in case he hadn’t swallowed the host properly. The Clergy always had breakfast in the parlour with a nice fire burning in the grate and it was always the big worry in case everything wasn’t right or to their liking. Once they were finished and gone the feeling of relief was palpable and the house filled with friendly relaxed chatter. But for those who sat by the wall there was the shock on being told on leaving that their ‘good coat’ was destroyed with paint and even though it came easy off the wall it wasn’t so with their Sunday best. TG the paints today are so much better.

[read more …] “Eily’s Report – 31st January”