A walk on the wildside

MEMORIES OF MAURICE GEANY

This week we will leave the wildside behind us for a while, and take a little stroll into the past in Fermoy as recalled by Maurice Geany. Maurice and his wife, Nell had a little shop in Cork Road near our house, Maurice had a great knowledge and also a great love of the town of Fermoy and its people. He wrote many stories and poems which were published in the Cork Weekly Examiner.

In the 1970s he wrote a piece for the ‘Fermoy Newsletter, titled Fermoy Tales of Long Ago’. I have taken the liberty of recalling some of those stories which Maurice told so well. He writes about a priest called Father Casey, who in Maurice’s words was; a fiery little man, he proved this one night during The Troubles, when while walking near the old rowing club one night. He was attacked by three British soldiers. The little priest gave as good as he got for a while, but he was on the ground and being hit when three locals came to his assistance, the Marquis of Queensbury rules were abandoned and the three soldiers returned to their barracks, very much the worse for wear.

Maurice recalls making his First Confession to Father Casey, the poor boy in the other side of the box had a bad stammer. Maurice in confusion began to tell his sins to himself when the slide was pulled across with a bang, what’s wrong?, said the priest. I came to make my First Confession, Father said Maurice, did you said the priest, pulling back the slide, well, wait your turn. Finally his turn did come and when he was heard Father Casey said; Is there many of you out there, meaning were there more for Confession, three brothers and one sister said Maurice.

On his First Holy Communion day, Maurice recalls that one of his pals broke the fast by eating a few Cleeves toffees and who had to wait to receive his First Holy Communion the following day from another priest of the Parish, Father Sheedy. In those days Maurice recalls that many adults also received their First Holy Communion, most of them were converts. What a treat awaited them all in the Chapel Yard afterwards. Maurice Herbert and his wife Ellen would set up a table, covered with a white sheet, with piles of apples, oranges, sweets, rock cakes and sticks of brown rock made by Maurice himself.

Then it was off down to Stritches to get a photograph taken, with the hair sleeked back with Brilliantine at a penny a bottle. In the days prior to this a visit to the barber was required, the cheapest haircut in town was Christy Smith in King Street (now MacCurtain Street). Here you got a haircut for three pence, but you would be entertained by Christy’s brother playing ‘The Wind That Shakes the Barley’ or ‘Danny Boy’ on the violin. Christy’s machine was not always on edge and Maurice recalls often going home with a sore scalp.

A man called Sam Mullins was the barber at O’Shea’s in MacCurtain Street, he had the reputation of being the best barber in town, but he cost six pence. This was during the period of the First World War and Maurice recalled seeing British soldiers, dressed in blue uniforms, some minus a leg or a hand, left behind in the trenches at Flanders or Gallipoli. Though Maurice has been dead for some years now, his stories will live on.