Down Memory lane: A sad day etched in memory

By John Hughes, native of Cappavicar, Castlebar, now resident in Cobh, Co. Cork, who grew up in Mayo in the 1940s

PART THREE

WE had lots of happy times growing up on our farm in Cappavicar. My brothers Seamus, Larry and Tom, and my sister Margaret, and myself, of course, we were all expected to help, especially with my dad working in London.

Every day, as sure as eggs is eggs, the same things had to be done…from feeding the pigs and the calves to milking the cows, getting water from the well, getting turf to keep the fire going all night, locking in the hens, to protect them from the fox.

And then would come the time you got the heavier jobs…saving the turf, and getting it in from the bog. There were no lorries around for transporting it at that time, it was all done by donkey and cart or pony and cart, whatever was available. Then there was cutting the hay, saving it and turning it, digging the potatoes, and all the other vegetables which were being cultivated.

This might seem like a lot of hard work, but there was a contentment about us. There was nobody cribbing or moaning. When we had our jobs done, we would go fishing in a lovely lake quite near us, about 10 minutes’ walk away. There we used to assemble until dusk, when we could no longer see the spot where we had cast out to try and catch those elusive perches. They weren’t a big fish but there was great enjoyment trying to catch them.

And so, life went on, and dad eventually came back to Mayo in 1945. The war was over and jobs were just beginning to become available.

There was a plan to build six cottages on the outskirts of Castlebar, in Moneen, and there were also plans to build a new school in Manulla. The contractor was Jack Mulkeane, from Claremorris. My Dad did a lot of the blockwork in those projects. Unlike today, they used to actually make the blocks on site and he had Martin Finnerty, a neighbour of ours from Cappavicar, Billy Ralph and a few more working alongside him. But once again, the fickle finger of fate reared its ugly head. They had finished building the cottages at Moneen and were moving on to build the school in Manulla. My Dad was very adaptable and versatile and was a qualified bricklayer at this stage.

One day, he was doing the blockwork on a chimney of the school and he had some blocks beside him on the scaffolding. Suddenly, the scaffolding gave way and he fell from the height of the chimney and, of course, so did the blocks. One block struck him on the head and it looked to be serious. Instead of being brought straight to the hospital in Castlebar, he was brought home to the farm in Cappavicar. Unfortunately, Mam wasn’t there and neither was I.

On that same day, in 1950, Mam and myself had tacked up the pony and cart to go into Castlebar for a bag of flour. We were travelling through a place called Windsor bog, and whatever frightened the pony, I don’t know, he took off… a runaway pony, it was a frightening thing to witness. And we were both in the cart. I thought that I would get out and catch the bridle, but in doing so I was thrown out of the cart.

I was on my knees on the road watching our pony run off into the distance, knocking sparks off the road. There was a man cutting turf there and he saw the spectacle. He ran out and luckily he managed to stop him. My mam and I were both so frightened because it had just come out of the blue.

We continued on into Castlebar, to O’Connors, for the flour - a 10 stone bag it used to be at that time. We bought the bag of flour and headed back home.

We arrived home a while later to find my dad lying in the bed, with a bad head injury. He was taken immediately to the hospital in Castlebar, where he was well cared for, but I think it’s fair to say that accident had a negative effect on his health from that day on. It’s a day that is etched in my memory.