Even on Days when it Rains (11 page)

Granny gave a little smile. ‘Well, good God, I knew that Hughie Green could see me,' she announced.

Margaret glanced over at me but kept a straight face.

We both laughed inside. Poor Mother.

I remember the first time I saw a television, I had been married for many years. John Phil, a neighbour across the road, got one in his house. And it became a great source of interest among my own children, particularly John Bosco and Margaret, who used to sit on a grassy hill and look in John Phil's window at it. In due course, we rented one ourselves. In those early days there was nothing on the television during the day. You'd turn it on and
all
you'd see was a test card. It wouldn't come on till the news at 6 p.m. My mother, when she was with us, would always watch the news. She'd tidy up her hair and sit in a chair in front of the television. A man called Charles Mitchell was the newsreader and he'd come on and say, ‘Good evening.' And my mother would say, ‘Hello!' It was so real to her.

A lot of older people at the time couldn't figure out television at all. We had a neighbour called Joe Doalty and one night while he was visiting us there was an ad on the television for floor-cleaning liquid. A woman known as ‘Supergran' was showing a girl how to use it. The ad came on three times while Joe was in the house. Shaking his head, Joe remarked, ‘Isn't that a stupid young wan there. Three times that woman is after showing her how to use that floor cleaner and she still doesn't know how to do it!' Margaret was doubled over laughing in the corner. It was the funniest thing ever.

It was the same with the telephone when it eventually arrived in Kincasslagh. It was a turn-handle phone and it was operated through the local post office. After 10 p.m. you had to go on to what they called a ‘party line'. Several people shared the same line and each house that had a phone knew by the number of rings whether it was for them. If it was
five
rings it was for us. A neighbour called Pat Neil Pat, who was on our line, had three rings. One night the phone rang five times, but when I answered it I could hear Pat Neil Pat on the line and the operator talking to him.

‘How many rings did you hear, sir?' the operator was asking.

‘I heard five, but it should only be three,' Pat replied. He'd been expecting a call.

We laughed, thinking of Pat sitting by the phone and getting all hot and bothered when it rang five times.

As time went on, Margaret became more and more popular. She went on to popularize a new form of music generally referred to as ‘country and Irish'. Indeed, she would become affectionately known as ‘Margo, the Queen of Country and Irish' by her fans and the music critics.

Everything was now going so well for Margaret that my concern for her welfare had eased. It was time to let go of my child. She was now a young adult making her own way in the world. As hard as it is to do, especially with a daughter, you have to cut the strings and let them off sometime. Margaret herself had long since made the break, but now I had to do that in my own mind. Of course, you never
stop
worrying about your children, even when they do become adults. And sometimes those concerns come to haunt you, as I would discover.

One day in the early 1970s, as I was busy making pancakes in the kitchen, John Bosco arrived. I knew immediately by his expression that something was troubling him.

‘What's up with you, Bosco?' I asked.

‘There's been an accident,' he said.

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. ‘What's happened?' I asked in a state of panic.

‘It's Margaret. She's been in a crash,' Bosco said quietly.

‘She's not dead?' I asked, gripped by fear.

‘No, no, but she's in hospital,' he said.

‘Hospital? Oh, Bosco, Bosco. What's wrong with her?' I cried, realizing that it was serious.

‘I don't know. But she's not going to die, I know that much. She's going to be all right. As soon as you're ready we'll go to Galway,' Bosco said, trying to calm me.

Margaret had been driving to perform at a carnival in Corofin, between Tuam and Galway city, when the crash happened. A car drove out from a pub and went straight into her path. It happened in a flash, giving Margaret no chance to avoid a collision.

It was the kind of news that every parent dreads. We got to Galway as soon as we could. Margaret was in intensive care. It was serious. She had a lot of injuries. They included head injuries, which gave us the most concern. My heart was pounding against my chest when I saw the reality of the situation. Would she be able to walk and talk and do all the things she loved, including singing, ever again? We were reassured by the medical people that, although Margaret had a long, hard road ahead of her, she would make a full recovery.

It was a terrible time in her life. Although she was eventually released from hospital, she had to return as an outpatient every week for a full year. I'm sure it felt like an eternity to her. It must have seemed like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. She became very depressed. Her life at that moment seemed so bleak. There seemed to be no end to her suffering.

After her accident Margaret suffered a series of blackouts. She was put on a course of medication to counteract them. She was on the medication for six years.

She went back touring with the band after she recovered, but Margaret tells me today that she has no memory of being on stage, or of any of the happenings in her life, during that period. ‘I don't
remember
six years. They are wiped out,' she confessed to me.

As she wasn't living at home when she returned to the stage, I had no idea for some time that Margaret's life had taken a turn for the worse. I was delighted that she was able to return to performing. She was still one of the biggest singing stars touring Ireland. But, despite the fact that she had become a much loved singer all over Ireland, Margaret now felt insecure going on stage in front of a crowd, and she fretted over how a new album would be received by the public and the critics. In moments like that she would get into a terrible black state.

Margaret loved singing, but she despised the business side of her career. By all accounts it wasn't a very nice industry. I know from Margaret that some people in the music industry used and abused her. They took advantage of her, particularly when she was vulnerable during times when she was struggling to cope with life. As one of Ireland's top female stars, she should have been a millionaire. But she never got what she was entitled to.

Margaret managed to keep her singing career going because she wasn't feeling down all of the time. A year would go by without any great trauma, but then something would happen and she'd fall back into a deep, dark place. As a mother it was
terrible
for me to see her going through this torture. It was nearly as hard on me to see Margaret going through such turmoil in her life as it had been losing Francie. There wasn't a night would go by without me praying for her, praying that the light would come back into her life. And there were times when I cried myself to sleep with the worry, fearing that something terrible would happen to her.

Her own determination along with counselling helped Margaret to eventually find peace in her life. Thank God she came through it in the end.

Despite the clash of personalities and the many rows we had, Margaret and I became very close as the years went by. I think that because she spoke her mind during our arguments and because I defended and explained my position, we got to know each other better than if we had not been involved in that kind of communication. It was definitely a learning process for both of us.

Today I have the most wonderful communication with Margaret. No matter what I have concerns about, I will pick up the phone and talk it over with her. That's not to say I don't have the same relationship with my daughter Kathleen, who has been so close to me through all the years. I do. But I'm so glad that I have that respect and friendship with Margaret after all we've been through.

I didn't realize we had become so united until Margaret turned to me one day and said: ‘You know, Mother, I haven't got a closer friend today than you.'

I burst into tears.

LOOKING AT DANIEL
standing by the grave of his daddy in the lonely country graveyard, my heart was torn to pieces at the thought of him growing up never really knowing Francie. He was too young to lose such a wonderful man from his life. Too young to appreciate all his daddy's fine qualities. Too young to learn from him. So many years had already been stolen from Daniel and his daddy through emigration. They'd had such a short time together. Really it was only snatched moments that Francie enjoyed with all of the children. And then, just as he was making plans to retire from those long and lonely trips in search of employment, God called him. Sometimes it is hard to accept the hand of God, but it is a part of our journey through life. There will always be trials and tribulations.

At just six years of age, Daniel had no idea of this great loss. He knew, of course, that Francie had gone to God. But then, as far as Daniel was concerned, his daddy was always coming and going. This time,
naturally
, he would not be coming back. But at such a tender age, Daniel didn't really understand all of this. I yearned for his innocence so that my own pain would go away, and I know he sensed my terrible heartache. I never let him out of my sight after his father died. I was always worried that I would lose him too. Even though I love all of my children equally, I have to admit that Daniel was always a bit special.

Daniel was a very comical child too. I remember how on his first day setting off on foot to school, with his teddy bear under his arm, he stopped to chat to some council workers who were digging a water drain down the road by our house. He told them that he was starting school and said that he wasn't sure whether he was going to like it or not. The journey to the schoolhouse was 2 miles, and I went up to meet him on the way home. Spotting Daniel as we walked hand in hand down the road, the council workers called him over. ‘Well, Daniel, did you have a good day at school?' one asked.

‘I did,' said Daniel.

‘And what's the teacher like?' the man enquired.

‘Oh, she's lovely,' said Daniel. ‘She has a miniskirt on her.'

The council workers leaned on their shovels and roared with laughter.

I have only one memory of being really angry with Daniel when he was a child. And that's because I was distraught with fear that he had been drowned in an accident. He went off to play without telling me that he was leaving and where he was going, and when the tide came in below our house Daniel was nowhere to be seen. I went out searching for him around the area, shouting his name. There was no reply. He had disappeared. I grew more frantic as the time went on. Had the sea taken my Daniel?

There's a tower near our house, and that's where I eventually found him. He had gone up exploring inside the tower. I was in a terrible state by the time I eventually got him. I gave him a right good telling-off for being away like that without letting me know. It was one of the few times that there was a cross word between us.

The year after Francie's death was a special time in the life of young Daniel. That was the year he made his First Communion, which is one of the big events in the Catholic church. It should have been a day of great joy and celebration; instead, there was a dark cloud over the family as their daddy was missing from the gathering. Francie had always made the effort to get home for occasions like that. I put on a brave face that day so as not to spoil it for
Daniel
, who was so excited about receiving this sacrament, but I was heartbroken.

Daniel looked very smart as he joined the other young people in the church when they went to receive Holy Communion. The suit he was wearing, with short pants, looked good as new on him. Yet it had been serving the boys in the family for many years; John Bosco had first worn it 13 years earlier when he'd made his First Communion. Then it was worn by James on his big day. The jacket was a wee bit long, but it did the job. Nowadays people book restaurants and hold lavish family parties on the day of a First Communion. Daniel's treat was an ice cream in the village on the walk home from church. Later, we went up to the graveyard to visit Francie's grave and to say a little prayer to him. I still have a photograph of Daniel and myself at the grave that day. It was a very hard day for me.

Daniel was prepared for confirmation by his teacher Mrs Logue. She was obviously a very good teacher because he had high expectations of what was going to happen on the day. He thought that he would physically feel something. On the day Daniel was dressed to the nines in a smart suit that Margaret had bought for him with the earnings she got for singing. The suit was too big for him, but Daniel didn't mind. All he could think about on the
morning
of the big day was how confirmation would change him. He told me afterwards that he watched the other boys and girls going up to the Bishop who administered the confirmation and he was thinking, ‘He's got it! She's got it!' He was very apprehensive as he went up himself, but after his high expectations it turned out to be a big let-down for Daniel. He was so disappointed that there was no electricity or anything like that going through him.

Daniel was very popular as a young child, and he was always in and out of our neighbours' houses. He spent a lot of time next door at Josie McGarvey's. Josie's daughter, Annie, doted on Daniel, and he was very fond of her too. She was an adult and treated him like her own son. Annie had a cow, a donkey called Johnny and hens. Whenever Annie was sick, Daniel would put Johnny in the shed in the evening, take in the eggs and turf for the fire, and get her groceries.

Annie was a lovely person and a very popular member of our community. Her big hobby was photography, and she took many of our family snaps, including Daniel's First Communion. Annie had photographs dating back to 1937, the year she first got her camera. We all have fond memories of our dear Annie, who passed away peacefully in 2005.

Daniel loved animals, and he had his own pets around our house, including a pigeon called Jacko, a
lovely
little, white rabbit, cats and Rover the dog. There was harmony among all the animals. I'd look over at the fireside at night and see the dog, cats, pigeon and rabbit all huddled together as they slept. It was a lovely, warm sight.

When Rover died there was terrible sadness in the house. We all loved Rover. By a strange coincidence, our James arrived home from Dublin an hour and a half after Rover's passing with a wee, white Scottish terrier. He hadn't known that Rover had died. Out of everyone in our home, I think James was the most upset. He might seem like a devil-may-care type, but our James is a big softie really. We put a blanket around poor Rover, and James and Daniel were sent off to dig a grave for him. When they were halfway down the road, James started to cry. He returned home, and it was left to Daniel to dig the grave! We of course then called the new arrival Rover, and he quickly became the centre of attention and a great distraction after the loss of his namesake.

Every now and then I'd give Rover a haircut because he was always going through the fields getting mucky and wet in the ditches. He would sometimes stink like a skunk. Rover didn't like having his hair cut so he used to get very agitated, which made the job very difficult. Eventually I got
tablets
from the chemist to make him sleep while I trimmed his hair. One time he woke up in the middle of the job, and I had to abandon the grooming, leaving him with long and short bits.

I then sent one of the children to the chemist for something a bit stronger to knock Rover out the next time I was shearing him. When the day arrived, I gave Rover his tablets and they worked a treat. I finished the haircut and he was still asleep, so I put him into a basket in the scullery. The next morning when I got up, I went to check on Rover and found him still sleeping away.

Later again I went to look in on him, and he was still sound asleep. I went over and shook him, and to my horror I realized that he wasn't in the land of the living. The tablets had obviously been too strong for him. I'd given him an overdose. I didn't know how I was going to tell James. I didn't tell him that I'd given the dog some tablets. It was years later that he learned about that dreadful deed. Daniel was devastated that day and wouldn't speak to any of us. I felt terrible, but sure it was an accident. In time, Daniel got over his heartbreak, but there were no more dogs in our house after that.

There was one cat, however, that neither Daniel nor the rest of the family had a fondness for. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that we hated the living sight
of
him. He was a big, red, wicked tomcat who had strayed into our home and refused to go away. I did everything to get him out of our house, but he was defiant. Even when a car ran over him, he still survived despite losing half a leg. Talk about a cat with nine lives!

One day I dropped in on a visit to my neighbour Mary Hugo, and I was surprised to find her in floods of tears. ‘What ails you?' I asked.

‘Och, me poor cats. Me poor cats,' she wailed.

‘And what's the matter with your cats?' I asked, trying to calm her down.

‘I'll tell you what's the matter. They're all after dying on me. Dying I tell you,' she wailed.

‘And what happened to them?' I enquired.

‘I'll tell you what happened. There was whiskey poured into the cats' milk and they all died after drinking it,' she sobbed.

My eyes lit up. I couldn't wait to get home and order a bottle of whiskey for the red tomcat. But do you think it killed him? No, he thrived on it! It was some time later before he eventually took the hint and went off to find another family to annoy. He just disappeared, and we never laid eyes on him again.

As I reflect on his antics during his young days, I can see why Daniel went on to become an entertainer.
He
always enjoyed being the centre of attention. Many were the times he would put on fancy dress, and then he'd be away through the houses of our neighbours having a bit of fun with them. I recall how one time he went out wearing a wig and sunglasses. He looked for all the world like a young lady, as his outfit also consisted of a dress and shoes with stiletto heels. Daniel called on one old lady in the neighbourhood with a bunch of necklaces and told her that they were for sale.

‘And where are you from?' the neighbour asked him, not recognizing Daniel.

‘I'm from Japan,' Daniel replied, putting on a foreign accent.

‘Have you any children?' the women enquired.

‘Six,' said Daniel without hesitating.

‘Oh, God save us, give it here to me and I'll buy the lot from you,' the poor woman replied. She went off and got her purse to give him some money.

Daniel then confessed to being in the dress and the wig. Our neighbour, far from being annoyed over Daniel fooling her, thought it was a great joke.

Although he never had to do hard labour, Daniel wasn't totally idle as a child. He did make his contribution to the family by going out to do part-time work in the Cope, which was the local store in Kincasslagh. Everything the community needed
could
be found in that store, from home-grown produce and tins of food to animal feed and wellington boots! From about the age of nine that store became a part of Daniel's life. I think it really helped him to grow as a person because it brought out his personality and got him used to dealing with people before he went out into the world himself.

Daniel started from the bottom, sweeping the floor and weighing the corn, layers' mash, chick mash and corn cake for the cows. As he gained some experience, he was promoted to a helper on the Cope's delivery van, which went around the highways and byways selling goods to people in remote areas. Daniel would come home and tell how people had invited him into their homes to share their food. Betty Doogan was one of the women who'd always have something tasty on the table.

‘Och, I got lovely fish fingers in Betty's today,' he'd tell me.

Biddy the Butcher was another woman whom Daniel would mention after his day out on the Cope van. She would often give Daniel and the driver their dinner.

‘Och, Mammy, you should taste Biddy's Arctic roll. It's absolutely delicious,' he'd say. It was a sponge cake with ice cream in the centre.

Another day Daniel came home and told me that he had met Protestants.

‘And were they nice people?' I asked.

‘Oh, Mother, they were lovely. They were just the same as you and me.'

I don't know what impression Daniel had of our Protestant neighbours, but he was very impressed with this particular family called the Boyds when he met them out on the Cope van. I suppose in those times there was no real contact between Protestants and Catholics in the area. Both sides of the religious divide kept to themselves. So that was a good experience for Daniel, to realize that, black or white, Catholic or Protestant, we are all the same.

The Cope employed Daniel part-time throughout his school days, and he really blossomed there. It wasn't hard labour, of course, which suited my Daniel.

Today, he would tell you that one of the chores he hated as a child was working in the bog, when the family set off to cut turf for the fire. He didn't like the labour involved, and there were always midges that would sting. The only part of that day he enjoyed was the lift on the tractor and the lemonade and sandwiches.

At school Daniel was a bright child. I always got good reports about him from his teachers. When he
went
on to secondary school, I had high hopes of him doing well and going on to get a proper job in life. He often talked about becoming an accountant, which I was delighted about. But I never put any pressure on him to go in a particular direction. I did know, however, that whatever the job would be, it certainly wasn't going to be manual. He couldn't turn his hand to anything manual.

Daniel came home one day and told me that his teacher in woodwork class, a man by the name of Cundy, wasn't too impressed with his handiwork.