I wrote this shortly after the death of the Irish actor Mick Lally. Mick was best known for playing the part of Miley in the TV dramas Bracken and Glenroe. Miley's catchphrase was "Holy God!". However Lally himself was an atheist who regarded religion as "codology".
A Quatrain for Miley
by David J McDonagh
Holy God! Poor Miley's passing
Shocked the nation when it came.
How ironic too that Mick thought
Holy God was just a sham.
Friday 22 April 2011
Saturday 16 April 2011
The silent city...
Scene: A computer centre in Dublin in the year 2000. IT programmers and specialists of every sort wander by, deep in thought about their latest projects.
A sixty-something painter, a working class Dublin man, tries to say hello to one or two of them but gets no reply. He turns to me, a mere receptionist and general dogsbody, and says:
"There's a city in Malta called Mdina. They call it the silent city. This place reminds me of it. They wouldn't say hello, goodbye or kiss me arse...I've never seen anything like it!"
A sixty-something painter, a working class Dublin man, tries to say hello to one or two of them but gets no reply. He turns to me, a mere receptionist and general dogsbody, and says:
"There's a city in Malta called Mdina. They call it the silent city. This place reminds me of it. They wouldn't say hello, goodbye or kiss me arse...I've never seen anything like it!"
Saturday 2 April 2011
West Cork railway: the torn cords incident!
News of the fiftieth anniversary of the closure of the West Cork railway reminded me of the torn cords incident.
As a child, I lived in Glengarriff Road in Bantry. The entrance to the nearby Boys' Club was at the place where a railway bridge had crossed our road in the days of the West Cork railway. There was a sloping wall separating the grassy embankment from the road running through the Boys' Club.
One afternoon in the 1970s I spent a pleasant hour or so using the slope as a slide. To use a Cork expression, I didn't have much "cop on" at the time and I was sliding in my brown cords on rough concrete! Needless to say, I tore a hole in the seat of my cords!
I walked home in a panic, wondering how my mother would react. I decided to postpone the inevitable by hiding the torn area. This necessitated sitting down as much as possible. When I had to fetch something for my mother I would sidle around the house with my back to the wall.
I really thought I had her fooled but she must have copped on because she sent me down the road on an errand.
Since backing along the fronts of the other houses would have looked silly, I had no choice but to run as quickly as I could from our house in the hope that my mother would not notice my rear end! I was barely (no pun intended!) past the second house when I heard her call me back.
I froze and then slowly turned around, Frank Spencer style, to see my mother beckoning me back to our door.
I think she was more amused at my vain attempt to deceive her than annoyed about the torn cords.
Naturally, she had a solution. The next morning I was sent out wearing the same brown cords with the two back pockets removed and sewn into the seat to cover the rip.
A decade later in Dublin, I had a guitar playing friend who sported a pair of faded denims with quilted patches sewn into the seat. I realised then what I had not realised on that morning in the seventies: instead of being embarrasssed about my patched rear end, I could have turned it into a fashion statement.
As a child, I lived in Glengarriff Road in Bantry. The entrance to the nearby Boys' Club was at the place where a railway bridge had crossed our road in the days of the West Cork railway. There was a sloping wall separating the grassy embankment from the road running through the Boys' Club.
One afternoon in the 1970s I spent a pleasant hour or so using the slope as a slide. To use a Cork expression, I didn't have much "cop on" at the time and I was sliding in my brown cords on rough concrete! Needless to say, I tore a hole in the seat of my cords!
I walked home in a panic, wondering how my mother would react. I decided to postpone the inevitable by hiding the torn area. This necessitated sitting down as much as possible. When I had to fetch something for my mother I would sidle around the house with my back to the wall.
I really thought I had her fooled but she must have copped on because she sent me down the road on an errand.
Since backing along the fronts of the other houses would have looked silly, I had no choice but to run as quickly as I could from our house in the hope that my mother would not notice my rear end! I was barely (no pun intended!) past the second house when I heard her call me back.
I froze and then slowly turned around, Frank Spencer style, to see my mother beckoning me back to our door.
I think she was more amused at my vain attempt to deceive her than annoyed about the torn cords.
Naturally, she had a solution. The next morning I was sent out wearing the same brown cords with the two back pockets removed and sewn into the seat to cover the rip.
A decade later in Dublin, I had a guitar playing friend who sported a pair of faded denims with quilted patches sewn into the seat. I realised then what I had not realised on that morning in the seventies: instead of being embarrasssed about my patched rear end, I could have turned it into a fashion statement.
Welcome to my blog!
Welcome to my blog. My name is David J McDonagh and I live in Tuam, County Galway in Ireland.
I live with my wife, Linda, and my twin sons, Theo and Fionn (born 11th June 2008).
I am not sure exactly why I have set up a blog. A journalist friend suggested it when I told him I wanted to be a professional writer. He said I would find it useful to write for an audience on a regular basis.
I hope you will become a regular part of my audience.
I live with my wife, Linda, and my twin sons, Theo and Fionn (born 11th June 2008).
I am not sure exactly why I have set up a blog. A journalist friend suggested it when I told him I wanted to be a professional writer. He said I would find it useful to write for an audience on a regular basis.
I hope you will become a regular part of my audience.
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