It's a rainy Sunday afternoon in Birmingham and the Feria (Annual Fair and Festival) in Álora will kick off in a few days. The temperature there is 38 degrees and rising, except for in our neighbours' back garden in Calle Benito Suarez where it is 43 degrees, apparently.
Usually, at this time of the year, when Mrs Sánchez and I are in voluntary exile at our summer residence in Birmingham, England and after the usual 8 weeks of typical English summer weather (cold, rainy, cloudy, windy etc) our thoughts turn to sunny Spain. But not a bit of it! Quite the contrary. The arrival of rain has come as a great relief to every man Jack and Jill throughout this sceptred isle- except to Tommy and Monty who can't have a walk till it stops.
It started off as a 'heat wave' (ola de calor) but after 8 weeks of unrelenting, merciless good weather, warm sunny evenings in the open, barbecues and glorious holidays around the UK coast with record temperatures of 37 degrees being recorded, talk of Armageddon is in the air. It's further proof of climate change and we're all doomed - throw Brexit into the mix and we can despair at will.
Today The Sunday Express (motto-'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story') has the headline; 'RAT ON YOUR NEIGHBOUR!' (for using a hosepipe). Nothing like a bit of good weather to bring out the best in people.
Faithful readers of this venereal organ may recall that Mrs. S and I had a bit of bad luck with our limbs before leaving Spain (see previous issue) so the journey back was a bit tricky for us.. Luckily for us the crew of the good ship MV Pont Aven pulled out all the stops to help us. We got a 'wheelchair friendly cabin' (lots of room and a telly at no extra cost), a parking spot next to the lift and the loan of a wheelchair. A big thanks from us to them. The only hitch came when I tried to take the dogs back down to the car as we pulled into Portsmouth. Apparently there is no known route from the dog kennels on deck 10 to our car on deck 4, door D. A very nice French chap who worked in the duty free shop tried to help but gave up after half an hour roaming the labyrinthine corridors and stairwells in the belly of the ship. Finally a small boy came to the rescue. Thanks, sonny.
Mrs.Sánchez is now walking without crutches and has only fallen over once. On Wednesday I'm going to return the wheelchair we hired from The Red Cross and put her 'robot boot' away in the loft, in case we need it again. The Traumatology consultant at the New Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham said that she can put her weight on the broken leg now. Yippee!
“The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.”
― James Joyce. Ulysees.
As if we hadn't had our fair share of the rolling Atlantic Ocean, we'd only been back in Blighty a few weeks when the time came to set sail for The Emerald Isle. (Ireland)
We were heading, with two long suffering old friends, Jim and Marian, for Baltimore, West Cork at the insistence of Graham and Mary Gosling, some good friendswe know from Álora and who live in Castlefreke, near Clonakilty (Cloich na Coillte), home of the world famous Clonakilty Black Pudding and birthplace of Michael Collins, the Irish Republican revolutionary. Also I have reason to believe that a not inconsiderable number of readers of this blog live in the area and may well be willing to part with the price of a pint of the dark stuff in exchange for my autograph.
The last ime Mrs. Sánchez and I went to Ireland was in 1984 and it rained for two weeks so this time we went equipped for bad weather and made sure there was decent heating in the apartment . Our accommodation 34 years ago had only an peat burning fire and a bottle of Jameson's to keep us warm and we spent much of the holiday trying to buy the peat, which isn't called 'peat' but 'turf'.
Little did we know that this year Éire (Ireland) is experiencing its hottest and driest summer since St. Patrick drove all the snakes into the sea. There was a hose pipe ban in place even though nobody has to pay anything for water there (except in plastic bottles). Of course, nobody would dream of ratting out their neighbours in the friendliest country in the world.
As soon as we'd unpacked our luggage and food supplies (we'd heard things were expensive in Ireland) we were whisked away to visit the Michael Collins House in Clon (as Clonakilty is affectionately known), in Emmet Square.
Michael Collins ('The Big Fella') is held in great esteem in West Cork and especially in Clonakilty (Woodfield) where he was born. After a full day on the MIchael Collins trail I am reasonably confident that I could now use 'Michael Collins' as my specialist subject on Mastermind.
You can see his picture everywhere you go around Clonakilty, especially in the places we visited which included Michael Collins's birthplace, his local pub, 'The Four Alls', (where I met his closest surviving relative) (honest), the place where he was ambushed and killed (Béal na Bláth) and where he went for a walk on his last Christmas Day on this Earth.
(Skip the next bit if you don't like history, we'll wake you up up when it's over.)
Michael was born in 1890, the youngest of 8 children of a farming family -a family with strong republican connections.He was a bright precocious boy who left Ireland to work in England in 1906 where he became involved with The Republican Brotherhood.
He returned to Ireland in time to fight in the Easter Rebellion of 1916 and was captured by the British in the famous GPO building on Sackville Street (now O'Connell Street).
He was a relatively minor character among the rebels at the time so escaped execution and spent a few months in Frongoch internment camp in Wales.
Following the execution of many of the Irish Republican leaders Michael took advantage of the Republican Brotherhood Accelerated Promotion Scheme to rise very quickly through the ranks of The Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin.
When the republicans declared independence and formed the the First Dáil (Irish Parliament) in 1919 he was made Minister of Finance.
In the Revolutionary War that followed he was Director of Intelligence for The IRA and gained a reputation for organising guerrilla war against the British, the Royal Irish Constabulary and their Auxiliaries. He had a network of spies that went to the heart of the British administration. He was responsible for organising The Irish Volunteers into an effective military force. In 1920 he carried a price of £10,000 pounds on his head.
On 21st September 1920 his assassination unit 'The Squad' killed several British intelligence agents in Dublin which resulted in the 'Bloody Sunday' reprisal later that day when British led forces opened fire on a crowd watching a football match killing 12 people and wounding 60..
In July 1921 a ceasefire and truce were declared after pressure from the United States and major figures close to the British government. Michael Collins was sent to London to negotiate a settlement. It was a disastrous decision. He was reluctant to go but Éamon De Valera, the 'President of the Irish Republic' and a highly skilled negotiator, after a secret meeting with the British Prime Minister Lloyd George, insisted that he should go.
When Collins signed the Anglo- Irish Treaty on 6th. December 1921, dividing Ireland and demanding an oath of allegiance to the British Crown, he remarked that he was signing his own death warrant. And he was correct.
The purist republicans refused to comply with the terms of the Treaty and the Irish Civil War began.
Michael Collins was made Commander-in-Chief of the Irish Free State National Army.
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| Commander-in Chief of the Free State Army. |
'They won't shoot me in my own county', he had insisted. How wrong can you be?
Our guides for most of our Michael Collins Experience were Mary and Graham Gosling and Sonny O'Leary who is a great Collins enthusiast.
Sonny made his fortune as a cow inseminator and now owns the land where Michael Collins walked on Christmas Day 1921. Sonny very kindly gave me some 'cow inseminating gloves' for my birthday a couple of years ago. They have long sleeves, are made of transparent latex and come in several colours. Sonny says that he prefers the pink ones because they give more sensitivity. It would be fair to say that Sonny has had a hand in most of the cow pregnancies from Cork to Clonakilty and from Baltimore to Bantry.
Sonny and Claire (Mrs. O'Leary) invited us up to their house for a barbecue and drove us up the rough track that Michael Collins used to use, where there is a spectacular view down to the sea.
The insemination gloves came in very handy this year when Mrs.S. and I had broken limbs and had to keep our plaster casts dry in the shower. We have full colour photographs illustrating this showering technique which can be obtained under plain cover by sending a cheque for €25 and a stamped addressed envelope to the usual PO Box number.
The Great Hunger
This is a drawing which appeared in my school History textbook to illustrate The Irish Potato Famine of 1845-50. It is also part of an exhibition called 'Coming Home. Art and the Great Hunger' which can be seen at The West Cork Arts Centre in Skibbereen.
It depicts the 'funeral' of a child who has died from starvation during what is named 'The Great Hunger' over there.
Over a million people died in Ireland from disease or starvation during the famine, 10,000 of them lived in or near the town of Skibbereen (An Sciobairín), which is about 8 miles from Baltimore. Another million left Ireland.The population of the country fell by 25 %.
The role of the British Government (Ireland was under British rule at the time) and the landlords was at best one of shameful neglect. The British 'Corn Laws' and absentee landlords have been rightly blamed even in English History textbooks and although some aid was given by organisations all over the world, including the Choctaw Native American Nation, by 1857 the people were left to die in their hundreds of thousands.
The Skibbereen Heritage Museum is dedicated to remembering The Great Hunger and I challenge anyone to spend more than an hour there without being overcome by emotion and ashamed that this terrible tragedy was allowed to happen where wealth and prosperity existed side by side with unimaginable poverty.
Surprisingly for me, after being taught that the British were largely to blame for the economic conditions which gave rise to the famine, neither the Heritage Museum nor the 'Coming Home' Exhibition seemed inclined to apportion blame - only to criticise the lack of support and aid which could and should have been given to the suffering people. There was not a trace of anger evident. It was almost as though the victims themselves were being blamed for their own 'holocaust'. A museum worker even implied that if alternative food had been offered it would have been refused!!
A local visitor commented that there was plenty of food around if you had the money to pay for it.
The Hunt for the West Cork Pie
On a lighter note, I had hoped to find and sample a West Cork Pie during our holiday. Our hosts and guides, Mary and Graham brought a couple down to Álora for me to try a couple of years ago, knowing that I had an interest in pies. I was impressed, but after a week in West Cork and having scoured every butcher's shop and plausible pie provider there was no sign of this delicious delicacy. Graham and Mary were puzzled.
Indeed, there was hardly a savoury pie to be found anywhere in Skibbereen, Clonakilty, Ross Carbery, Bantry or Glengarriff. The Black Pudding dominates the savoury scene here along 'The Wild Atlantic Way'. Clonakilty is the home of 'Clonakilty Black Pudding and White Pudding'. They have a big modern 'processing plant' on the town bypass. They may have used their economic muscle to drive out all the pies from West Cork. I don't believe the story that St. Patrick was responsible.
Eventually I 'googled' it. Here's the bad news........
No More Pies :-(
What follows is a passionate, harrowing and tragic story of a successful pie company gone bad. Everything was going well until they moved the factory from Schull to Skibbereen.
The owner is 'devastated'. Apparently it's all to do with 5% margins but I suspect foul play.
Perhaps the pleasure of the pie will never be allowed in a town associated with hunger and starvation. I'm only saying.
Meanwhile Clonakilty Black (and White) Puddings are going from strength to strength.
Walsh's on Bridge Street Skibbereen are selling a perfect example of East- West (Cork) fusion food. Black Pudding Spring Rolls. Naturally I bought some and will be putting them through their paces tonight. Mmmmmm.
How's this for fusion? Poachers Pies were selling these at Moseley Farmers' Market on Saturday. The black pudding element is from Bury, Lancashire (arguably the best black pudding in the Northern Hemisphere). I'll tell you how the pie tastes next time.
And finally I had this verbal exchange with a young woman on the checkout at Lidl in , yes, you guessed, Skibbereen (I love writing that word almost as much as saying it.) 'Skibbereen'
I was buying some seafood for a risotto and noticed a cheap bottle of white wine which would do for the stock. i put it on the moving belt.
(Spoken with a marked Russian accent and as she removed my bottle of wine and put it by the till,)
Lidl Person: You can't have this.
Me: Why not?
LP.: You not know Irish law? (pointing to a notice) You can't have till 10 o'clock.
Me: Why not?
LP: What country you from?
Me: England. Why not?
LP: Because Irish men drink lot.
Juanito Sánchez July 30th. 2018
