‘In the summer we’d go out cycling with Ita’s friend, Noeleen, and her boyfriend, Jim Algar. We went out to Lucan, to the Sarsfield Demesne.§ We’d bring sandwiches and have tea. Or we’d go to the sea; it could be Blackrock or it could be Portmarnock. We had our bikes, and distance was no bother at all. We’d generally talk and cycle out there.
‘The bicycle was central to civilisation. If you hadn’t got a bicycle, you were like a cowboy out in Arizona walking along the dusty road. The bicycle got you anywhere and everywhere. It was sixpence into Dublin from Tallaght on the bus; people didn’t have that kind of money. And you weren’t confined to any particular road. I remember Tom Lee; he cycled eight or nine miles to work every morning, with his shovel tied to the crossbar – he worked for builders. He got to his work every day, hail, rain or snow. He couldn’t have done it without his bicycle. I did the same. I cycled seven miles into Abbey Street, from Tallaght, and seven miles back, against the wind and the hill. My memory is that it was raining, nearly always. I had one of those slicker things on me, like a cape, to keep the rain off, and it caught the wind as well, and it was like a sail. And leggings, to cover the trousers. And then, of course, I was wet inside from the sweat, as well as outside from the rain. A rather unpleasant experience, when I come to think of it, but it was everyday life. There was a great scarcity of bikes, generally, during the War, and just after, and your bicycle could be put out of commission by a badly burst tyre. A new tyre wasn’t easily bought. You had to talk to people who knew people who knew a shop that might give you a tyre. In the meantime, my three sisters were reduced to one bike. So they worked out a strategy. They went off, and one would ride the bike for a mile and then get down, and the next one had a go; they more or less piggy-backed the bicycle all the way. Then, when Breda and Nancy started going down to Templeogue Tennis Club on Sunday nights, Aileen wouldn’t have any of that nonsense; she’d take two or three magazines and a bag of sweets to bed, and she looked at her sisters as if they were right half-eejits going out in the terrible weather – but there was still only one bicycle, so they went off to Templeogue, in their high heels and all, half-riding the bicycle and half-trotting beside it.
‘It was a fortnight after we met that we first kissed, outside Ita’s front door, or maybe it was three weeks. It was probably about three weeks – you couldn’t go rushing into these things. I just liked Ita more and more. Not long after I’d met her, actually, I made up my mind that I’d like to make it a permanent arrangement. I was standing at her door, saying goodnight to her, and I decided that I wanted to make my intentions clear. I think I said something or other, but, for the life of me, I can’t remember.’
* Annamoe Road is in Cabra, seven or eight miles from Tallaght.
* Ita: ‘He said I broke him eating cakes. I always had a sweet tooth.’
* William Martin Murphy(1844–1919): born in County Cork; Home Rule MP, 1885–92; founded the Irish Independent, 1904; refused a knighthood, 1907; leader of Dublin Employers’ Federation up to and throughout the Lockout of 1913; spoke on British recruiting platforms, 1914; opposed Partition.
† Rory: ‘Among the fans of Curly Wee was Ita’s father.’
* Rory: ‘Cut time was the term used to describe a short break for a meal in the early hours of the edition. Everybody headed for the canteen, lights were covered and an almost eerie silence descended.’
* Released 1945: the life of 20s night-club queen Texas Quinan; ‘It runs its noisy but high-minded course through steamy emotion, painful misunderstanding and dramatic self-sacrifice, winding up in the snow among the blood of dead gangsters’ (Halliwell’s Film Guide).
† Released 1942: an English housewife survives WWII; ‘That almost impossible feat, a war picture that photographs the inner meaning, instead of the outward realism of World War II’ (Halliwell’s Film Guide).
‡ Released 1954: ‘a factory girl marries a soldier, and is strangled by him for infidelity. Black American updating of Bizet’s opera, not really satisfactory but given full marks for trying, though the main singing is dubbed and the effect remains doggedly theatrical’ (Halliwell’s Film Guide).
§ Patrick Sarsfield (d. 1693): commanded James II’s Irish forces in England, 1688; returned to Ireland; expelled the Williamites from Connaught; defended Limerick; fought and defeated at the Boyne, 1690; created Earl of Lucan; sailed for France, with Irish Brigade, 1691; died at the battle of Landen. His home was the Demesne, Lucan, County Dublin.
Chapter Thirteen – Ita
‘He was extremely thin and he had a very thin face, but he’d lovely hair. Black curly hair, very, very nice. I rather liked his face. He was a very pleasant man, very easy to get on with. He was grand. We used to talk from the time we’d meet to the time we left. He was always very witty and funny, and he got on very well with people. And another very important thing was, my father took to him very quickly.
‘The first time I brought him home to be introduced, he was invited for tea. That was the usual thing. Most people had their dinner in the middle of the day and then their tea in the evening. He was invited for tea one Sunday, and I’m sure he was feeling a bit awkward in himself and my father was actually a very shy man. But when Rory arrived my father was doing a crossword – he was a great man for crosswords – and there were a few clues he couldn’t work out. He handed the paper to Rory, I suppose as a way of covering his shyness, and Rory managed the clues and, I think, from that day he was elected. They got on very well and there was also the fact that Rory worked in the Independent. Printing establishments of any description held a great attraction for my father; having started his career at the Echo in Enniscorthy, I think some printing ink got into his veins. But I think the two combined – the job and crossword – meant that they got on very well after that.
‘“Going steady” was the phrase. We used to meet every week. The following summer, I went to Kilkee with Noeleen and Rory went off on a walking holiday around Cork, and I think it was after that that we decided we were what you’d call a steady couple. But I don’t remember the first time he kissed me; I’ve no recollection in the world. Terrible – I’m a dead loss really. He did ask me to marry him, I think he did, but I can’t remember that occasion either. I should; it should be hugely romantic but, I must admit, I don’t remember.
‘My stepmother took to him very well. Pearl was a very smart lady and anyone my father took to, Pearl automatically took to. And anyone my father disliked, Pearl automatically disliked, very often without any reason. But, I must say, my father didn’t dislike many people. He was a very easy-going kind of man. She took to Rory very well and she was very pleased that he drank whiskey, an important part of her life. I can remember one Christmas Eve – we were engaged by then – and she kept giving him hot whiskeys. It was a very cold night, and every time he’d take one, she’d say, “A bird never flew on one wing.” The words came out very slurred, and it became a family joke between myself and Máire. But Rory missed the last bus to Tallaght, so myself and Joe took my bicycle out. The traffic was very light, and I put Rory up on the bike and away he went, down the hill and off to Tallaght. It was a good three miles away but he lived to tell the tale. He fell into a ditch and woke up sometime on Christmas morning, and managed to get home; nobody ever knew. He told me a man bent over him as he lay in the ditch, and said, “Are you alright, son?”
‘I remember being very nervous before meeting his family and, really, I had no need to be. They welcomed me immediately. Rory was the eldest, so it was quite an occasion, for the first one to bring somebody home. He had five sisters and two brothers and they were all living at home at the time, and I discovered that I had actually been in commercial college – Skerries – with one of his sisters, Aileen, although, naturally, I didn’t know who she was at the time. They all gave me a great welcome and, after that, there was no problem. I was asked out regularly, to a groaning table. It was always food, piles of food on a groaning table.
‘His father was a very gentl
e man, and a small man. Rory’s mother ran the whole shooting gallery; he was just a quiet man in the background, but she had great respect for him. He was a very gentle, quiet man and he seemed to be delighted with everything in life. Rory’s mother was a marvellous woman for organising everything. She was a tall, big woman, a very stately woman, with a straight back, and she used to dress very well. She was like royalty coming down the street, with her straight back and, what was very much in vogue then, an edge-to-edge coat.* She used to wear picture hats, wide-brimmed hats which only the likes of her could wear. And she looked terrific in high heels; if they were to cripple her, she’d still wear the high heels. A very strong woman too. She had a lovely face, very soft and very generous – a very generous woman. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble for her.
‘And Aunt Lil was great. She was a little stout lady; she always seemed to be in good humour. From the day I arrived she treated me like one of the family.* I didn’t see much of the Uncle Bob. He was a bit shy of me. He was very polite and he used to call me “Mam”. He was a man who admired big ladies. He admired Jackie Doyle’s wife, Delores, because she was lovely and tall. In trying to relate to her his admiration, he really upset her when he said, “Be gob, you weren’t behind the door when they were handin’ out the size.”
‘There was an awful lot of walking. We went to the pictures alright, mostly in the Classic, in Terenure, but we used to go for walks, all over, around the Dublin Mountains; out to Rathfarnham, passing St Enda’s, and way up – it’s all built on now – and there was a place called the Bottle Tower in Rathfarnham – it’s still there but it’s completely surrounded by houses – and there were fields and fields there, and we used to just keep walking. Sometimes we’d get the bus to Bohernabreena and walk on further. I’d have a bag of sweets and he’d have his pipe. That was it; we’d walk and talk. There was no such thing as going out to dinner. The nearest to that would have been an odd time we’d have tea out. I used to love rashers and eggs. That was the kind of tea you could have, or cold ham and salad – lettuce, tomato, hard-boiled egg and salad cream, that kind of thing. Rory’s favourite was eggs, beans and chips. The waitress would kind of look at him, because beans didn’t normally go with egg and chips. But he always looked for the beans – he was ahead of his time.’
‘We both had our own Post Office accounts. I can’t remember how much a week I put by. I was being paid £4.10s a week, and I handed up ten shillings at home; Daddy said that was enough. I’d started work on twenty-five shillings, which wasn’t a bad salary then. And then I was put up to thirty shillings; I was on that for a few years. While the professors were paying out the money, I think, strictly, they weren’t really aware of how much each person got. My boss, Miss O’Toole, decided that we should all look for a rise, and her way of looking for a rise was to get me, the junior, to go into the professor, and ask him. So I went into Professor O’Kelly, not feeling too happy about it, because in those days you were very much in awe of your boss, no matter how well you got on with him. Nevertheless, I asked him for a rise. He was a smart man; he knew I’d been sent in. He said he’d consider it. So, out I came and I told the others that he’d consider it. We were paid every Friday, cash in a little envelope. The following Friday, my pay had been doubled, to £3. Now, the others didn’t get a rise at all, and there was a little bit of a to-do about it. Professor O’Kelly said, “Nobody else asked for a rise,” and raised his little red eyebrows and walked out. I was absolutely thrilled, and I guessed it was because he knew I’d been sent in. The next week, everybody got a rise. And then, later, it rose to £4.10s. I managed to save £100, towards a deposit on a house. And Rory saved £100. From the time we got engaged. I had put a little bit by, and so had he.’
* * *
‘I remember Rory called for me, and he was dressed as Sir Walter Ralegh. We were going to the Arts Ball. He had silk stockings and a velvet thing to his knees, and a velvet coat. He’d actually cycled in from Tallaght in his Walter Ralegh outfit.* I can’t quite remember, we may have got a taxi the rest of the way but, certainly, he cycled in from Tallaght. I made my own outfit. I made a long dress in black taffeta. I made an old-style bonnet to match, and went as an old-fashioned lady. I was able to wear the dress afterwards, so it served a dual purpose. The College of Art dances were great. There were so few things like that in those days. The affair began with a formal dinner, and then dancing to the music of a big band. I always wanted to dance every dance. You could talk if you wanted to; the band didn’t drown out conversation. It was great fun. I remember once, going to a dress-dance with a fellow – this would have been before I met Rory – a small fellow, not much taller than myself. Normally, I wouldn’t have looked crooked at him, but his friend had asked a girl I knew then to go with him – I can’t recall her name – and then this fellow asked me, and I can’t remember his name either. It goes to show how impressed I was, but the chance of going to a dress-dance didn’t come so often that you could turn your nose up at it.’ So, she went. ‘Mrs Fry made my dress, blue taffeta with blue net over it. And I thought I was the belle of the ball. I had a very good night. He was quite pleasant and mannerly; we had a great night, but that was it, as far as I was concerned.’*
‘I had done work for Cyril Fry.† He worked as an engineer at Jacob’s biscuit factory, but he was also an agent for Meccano and I used to work for him at night. I just typed a few letters for him but, again, I nearly became one of the family. They were very nice to me, and there’d always be a dish of sweets beside the typewriter. Cyril and his wife, Nancy, brought me for a lovely picnic on my twenty-first birthday; they picked me up after work. And I used to go to them every Christmas. I’d eat at home and then I’d cycle over to them; they lived in Church-town. Mrs Fry was a great cook, and had great taste about everything. They lived in a bungalow, which I loved. I thought that, whenever I got married, I’d buy a bungalow. An odd night, if we went out anywhere, I’d stay overnight. They had a young daughter, Patricia, and I used to stay in Patricia’s room with her.’
‘It was Christmas Eve,* and Rory gave me the ring in the sitting-room, our sitting-room at home. It was just the two of us and it was freezing cold but that didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. Then we told everyone. My father knew already; he was well-pleased – he was very fond of Rory.
‘We’d bought the ring in McDowell’s,† about a week before Christmas.‡ We bought it together, but he was paying. It had three diamonds, at kind of an angle, and two arms with little diamond specks in them. I was keen to have one with five stones across, but I have very small hands and they looked ridiculous. But this one suited me better. It didn’t take very long to choose. There were a fair number of rings but the prices were on them, and I knew what we could afford. It cost £17.10s.§’We could have had a cheaper one, but it was what we could afford.* The most important thing was to save the money for the house. The engagement ring was to be worn, but it wasn’t going to rob us in the process.
‘So, on Christmas Eve, we’d been out, just walking around, buying things, up and down Henry Street; you could hardly fit, it was so crowded. And then we went back to the house, and the ring was put on my finger, and I went flashing it all around.’
* Ita: ‘It was, literally, an edge-to-edge coat. The front of the coat met edge to edge, no lap-over, no buttons. It was very popular, but it wouldn’t have been too useful because, the first gust of wind, it blew open. So you had to grab it and hold it. But part of the effect was the way you held it.’
* Ita: ‘We were always told that the 15th of August was Lil’s birthday and every year, up until she died, we’d give her a present. We only discovered when she died, the 15th of August wasn’t her birthday at all. I suppose they just picked on that date; people didn’t really bother with birthdays then.’
* Rory: ‘In the case of Sir Walter Ralegh, I didn’t cycle from Tallaght. I dressed in Juverna Press, and walked down O’Connell Street, to the usual remarks; it was daylight. And then I got a taxi. I’m sure
I did cycle from Tallaght in fancy dress, but I can’t remember the costume. And it wasn’t Sir Walter Ralegh; it was Sir Francis Drake.’
* Rory: ‘The Urney factory had a dinner dance every year, in the Metropole or Savoy. And one of the lads brought this lady along. Thomas Stynes was his name; I went to school with him. He had a slight stammer. Anyway, Tom said to her, “What would you like to drink?” and she said, “A Tom Collins.” So, he said to the waiter, “We’ll have two Tom Collinses.” So, the waiter brought the two Tom Collinses and said, “That’ll be three-and-sixpence.” “What!” said Tom. “F-f-fuck you and the T-t-tom Collinses.” Three-and-six was an enormous amount for two drinks, when you could buy a bottle of stout for sevenpence.’
† The original owner, and creator, of the Fry Model Railway, at Malahide Castle, County Dublin.
*1950.
† On O’Connell Street – ‘The Happy Ring House’.
‡ Rory: ‘There was an initial difficulty, because I thought this ring was a total waste of money. It wasn’t so much a row as Ita being a bit disconcerted and upset, and I didn’t realise I was doing that. I just wasn’t thinking, that this ring was essential. So off we went and bought the ring in McDowell’s; we bought the ring that Ita wanted.’
§ Rory: ‘It was £27 – a slight difference.
* Ita: ‘It was £17.10s, but we told everyone it was £27.’
Chapter Fourteen – Rory
‘We were dancing and Ita asked me would I mind her keys for her. So I put them in my pocket and, the next thing – we’d said goodnight and I’ll see you again – I found the keys in my pocket. So, the next morning, I had to turn around and bring them down to Terenure. I knocked at the door, rang the bell, and this very unprepossessing woman came out. I said to myself, “Oh-oh.” I’d always heard the good advice that before you get involved with any woman you should always look at her mother, and, working on that principle, I was a little bit shook – until I’d made a date with Ita, and she told me that she was actually a stepmother. Well, that kind of solved that matter; she couldn’t be held responsible for her stepmother – otherwise, I was on my way for the hills and over.