I had nothing in my mind when I tossed this topic into the pile for the LBC, a very long time ago.

NOTHING

Sitting tapping my fingers on the edge of the keyboard hoping for inspiration to strike, a couple of words from a song came into my head and there they stuck like sh*t to a blanket.  Nothing would shift them. 🙁

‘Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could….’

With them I was back in the year 1966, sitting in the Savoy Cinema, on O’Connell Street in Dublin, with all my siblings and my parents watching The Sound of Music.  It was the first time any of us had seen a film on a wide screen.  The occasion was a late celebration of the 25th Wedding Anniversary for our parents and it was to be followed by dinner in the Gresham Hotel, a couple of doors away.  But I have gone off on a tangent…

“What have you got there?”  was the question that caused me to hesitate in my tracks as I ran down the garden.

“Nothing.” I replied without turning, holding tightly to my oversized jumper.

I was on a mission and I needed to keep going as fast as my little legs would carry me.

I didn’t actually find what I needed on my fast foray to the kitchen.  A hand or tea towel would be missed and anyway I would never get rid of the evidence.  Never stuck, in time of need, my solution was stuffed up my jersey!

I was actually surprised that there was no noise coming from the area where I was headed.  At my tender age, it did not ring any alarm bells for me.  In my book at that time, the less said the sooner mended.

You see, it was not really my fault.  SERIOUSLY.

There was nobody in front of me when I lifted the triangular headed hoe above my head.  I needed a good sharp blow to make a cut in the hard compacted soil that I wanted to clear.  My younger brothers were well behind me and I had told them to stay there.  That of course was as silly an idea as hoping a dropped slice of jammy bread would land sticky side up as it reached terra firma.

I didn’t hear or see the youngest one move.  He was magically there as the hoe descended full force to land on his forehead.

I had accidently split my little brother’s head open with a garden hoe!

So, as I arrived on the scene of my crime there was blood streaming down his face.  I had seen blood before, and I knew what to do.  I needed to wipe it off and I was ready!

I produced a bundle of paper bags and proceeded to mop up the blood.

It worked.

Yeah… for about two seconds, so I tried again.

And again!

“Holy Mother of all divine race horses; what is going on here?” It was mammy.  That sentence was not exactly what she said, but you get the idea.   I froze on the spot.  Partly with fear and partly with relief.  Not satisfied with my scurrying reply, she had come to investigate.

Mammy took in the situation quickly and called on a neighbour with a car to drive her to the local children’s hospital.  There were not many cars about on our avenue at that time, and daddy was at work.  She took my other brother with her…. I wonder why?  I was left in charge of the house in case anyone phoned.

The house was quiet at first, but then all the ghosts and devils of the Universe began to shout and taunt me for nearly killing my brother.  He could have been lying dead on a cold slab at that very moment for all I knew.  I couldn’t hack it any more…

I packed my bag and went in search of a new home.  There was no point in waiting until mammy came home and threw me out.

I left by the back door bag in hand, and walked slowly down the garden, dragging my feet with every step.  I crossed the fence to the house next door and asked our neighbour if I could live in her house!  She brought me in to sit by the fire and gave me a cup of tea.  She chatted away to me for quite some time.  Eventually mammy arrived to bring me home.

I wondered how mammy knew where I was?  Our neighbour had no phone, computers and  internet were unheard of then, never mind twitter; but those women had ways of communicating and they watched out for each other and all the children of the neighbourhood.  If any parent chastised us we took it on board, and in turn we could ask any of them for help.  There was no such thing as fear or inappropriate behaviour.  We were very fortunate.

Did you say something?

You want to know about my little brother?  Oh yes, his head healed, but he has never let me forget it.  Of all the four brothers, he is the only one to sport a monks haircut so the scar is visible every time I see him.  Mind you, that is usually on Skype.  He moved to Australia, well out of the reach of the garden hoe!

Active LBC Members are:

• Anu
• Ashok
• Conrad
• Delirious
• gaelikaa
• Grannymar
• Magpie 11
• padmum
• Ramana
• The Silver Fox Whispers

Some may be distracted by work, play, love and or family, so their post may be late in appearing.

Good King Conrad had the chore of picking the topic for today.

Sanity

Part of being sane, is being a little crazy ~ Janet Long

Sanity is a madness put to good use ~ George Santavana

“Is that ‘Mad Granny’ you are talking about?”

This is a question that I often hear Elly ask.  It usually follows some tale I have told about my childhood.

Mad Granny (MG) was my maternal grandmother and I loved the bones of her.  I was not alone, my siblings and all the neighbouring children round about us, loved to see her come and visit too.  She lived off the South Circular Road in Dublin from the day she got married.  She came every Sunday for lunch and stayed until well after the evening meal.  Although she had seven children, ours was the house where she felt most at home. In the latter years she would arrive several times a week and on occasion would stay over night.

MG talked of the ‘coal hole’, although all fuel for the fire was kept in a shed built for that purpose in her back garden.  Mentioning it now, tells me something about myself, and my asking a young Elly to bring me (insert product name) from under the stairs…. The madness runs in families they say!  This house has no stairs and the house I remember MG living in had no coal hole.

The house where MG was born was mid terrace, all the houses were built by her father.  In the street outside there was a circular manhole cover in front of each dwelling.  Once lifted it allowed the coal man to drop the weekly order down into the cellar.

MG was a woman before her time, wearing bright yellows when many women her age wore the widow’s black.  Her Lisle stockings* were frowned upon by my other granny.  She had her troubles in life – found her husband dead in bed one morning – leaving her with a family to educate, yet she did not let her grief overtake and hinder the enjoyment of her grandchildren.  There were with time 27 grandchildren for her to spoil.

My eldest brother was the first of his generation on that side of the family.  A quiet child with a mop of blond curls, he did not like to get his hands dirty.  One summers day MG arrived (so I was told) and the young toddler was sitting in the playpen half way down the garden.  Down she went to say hello and handed him a bar of chocolate.  Leaving him to discover the pleasure of it, she returned to my mother in the kitchen.

The kettle had hardly boiled when she looked out through the window and began to laugh.  My brother was looking at his hands in horror, they were covered in chocolate.  On more careful examination he was covered in the stuff, on his hair, face and all down his front.  MG laughed and laughed.  She had never seen him with a hair out of place or with a speck of dirt on his clothes until that day!

If you were sitting beside her at table, she might tap you on the furthest shoulder and as you turned away to see what the tap was for, she would use her other hand to lift the last treasured bite of a sweetmeat from your plate!  With MG we could not be cross for long.

When we as youngsters had cleared the dining table and were running the hot water to wash the dishes, granny would appear, pushing up her sleeves and donning an apron from the back of the kitchen door.  As she reached the sink she would pause and say “I don’t fancy washing up tonight, will we just chuck them out the window?”

We loved her fun and to this day I miss her.  I only hope I inherited her madness, because if I did, I know I am quite sane and can come to no harm.

* Lisle was a fine, smooth, tightly twisted thread spun from long-stapled cotton. The fabric knitted of this thread was used especially for hosiery and underwear.

Active LBC Members are:

• Anu
• Ashok
• Conrad
• Delirious
• gaelikaa
• Grannymar
• Magpie 11
• padmum
• Ramana
• The Silver Fox Whispers

Some may be distracted by work, play, love and or family, so their post may be late in appearing.