Walter Macken

by Ultan Macken

  One of her best friends was a woman called Mrs Spellman (possibly the wife of the tailor Spellman to whom Tom Macken had been apprenticed when he came in from Letterfrack). Mrs Spellman became a life-long friend and told me how they always went around together. Mrs Spellman worked in the Great Southern Hotel and she and Agnes would meet up and go for long walks out to Salthill.

  Walter Macken asked her out many times before she agreed to go out with him. There was an age difference of six years between them, with Agnes being the elder, and this probably explained her reluctance to go out with him. However, once they began to go out their romance flourished and they were married in May 1911 when Walter was twenty-two and Agnes was twenty-eight. My grandmother was an extraordinary woman. She was a wonderful storyteller and there is little doubt that her story-telling ability was passed on to my father, who spent a lot of his early life listening to her every day. My grandfather, Walter Stephen, also had talents which were obviously passed down through the genes: his ability to sing, to act and to write. This is one of the reasons why I have included substantial extracts from his letters to my grandmother, as they seem to me to demonstrate his writing ability.

  Before my grandmother died in 1964 at the age of seventy-five, she sent my father the letters her husband had written to her from the beginning of their marriage, with the comment: ‘They include the letter that broke my heart.’ These letters are a wonderful resource and give us a real insight into what my grandfather was like. They also give us an idea of what their life together was like before he joined the British army in 1915. The first letter was written shortly after they married in 1911, when Agnes had gone to Ballinasloe to spend Christmas with her father and brother. The address given is Eyre Street, where the couple obviously lived with Walter’s mother:

  Eyre Street.

  Xmas Eve

  My dearest Agnes,

  Your letter and Xmas present arrived today, many thanks for your kind thoughts and wishes. You are looking forward to a long letter no doubt but I fear that I’m going to sadly disappoint you, owing to lack of news or something to say, for as you well know, I’m a man of few words. I would, however, say something of what’s in my mind only that I’m afraid you would laugh at me for saying what you call silly things, for as you know we agreed to put no love in our letters [Author’s italics].

  I’m sorry and thankful at the same time. I’m sorry that you dearest are or rather feel a bit lonely but remember Aggie what I told you before you went, that yours is a labour of love and charity. I think I can safely classify it as one of the eight beatitudes. Only think to yourself what would these two poor men do without someone to care for and bring some small bit of joy and comfort to their poor hearts this blessed Xmas. I only wish my pet that the time was come when I had someone to work for and comfort but please God that time is not too distant. I’m thankful at least that you have someone like Flossie [a friend of Agnes] to keep you company.

  And now Aggie, I think it’s time to bring this nonsensical scrawl to a close, as I’m lost for anything more to say. Don’t be in a hurry back, make your dear father and brother as happy as you can, give them my best wishes, let you all enjoy yourselves as well as you can and that God and His Holy Mother may watch over, protect and send you all blessings this Xmas, the prayer of one who is yours Aggie until death.

  Walter xxxx

  My grandfather’s desire for children ‘to work for and comfort’ was soon satisfied: Eileen was born in September 1912, Noreen was born a year later in December 1913 and Walter Augustine arrived in May of 1915. During those years, my grandfather earned his living as a carpenter working for Emersons. Something of the flavour of his work pattern is given in this the second letter from the collection. Walter was sent to Labane, beside Ardrahan, about fifteen miles from Galway with other men from the company to repair a house. They travelled to and from Galway by train – the train line ran from Galway to Athenry and from Athenry to Ennis and then to Limerick. At this stage the couple had two children so the letter was probably written in 1914 or 1915:

  Labane,

  Ardrahan.

  Dearest Aggie,

  Your letter received this morning. I was more than delighted to receive it, you made me feel very lonely telling me about Eileen and darkie [Noreen], the poor little kids, isn’t it a blessing they are so good, for God’s sake Aggie, don’t let them run too much about in the street, it would drive me mad if they caught the fever, you cannot be too careful in a case of this kind of thing.

  Well Aggie, I hope that Joe Lydon went to you early yesterday with the few shillings. I hope you will not be too vexed with me for not sending you the £1. I had a day off last week because of the rain. The weather is something fierce. I daresay we’ll have broken time for the next month or so; there is not the least bit of shelter where we are working.

  Indeed I had made up my mind to go straight home last Friday, if it didn’t stop raining before 12 o’clock struck.

  Working on the roof last Wednesday and I can tell you, it would take a cat all his time to hang on, so Aggie, if you do not get the £1 for a while, don’t be too upset, I’ll send you all I can. I told Dick Emerson yesterday to give Jack Connelly 15/– for you, early Saturday, so you can be sure to have it by two o’clock. I will send you whatever I can then on Sunday. The nights here are terribly lonely, the only comfort we have is Joe Dolan, the mason, and he has an old fiddle so we generally manage to have a dance or two nearly every night. I went to Gort yesterday evening to get my light boots repaired.

  The first person I met at the station [railway station] was Maisie Cooke. She nearly dropped; I was the last person she expected to see. I left the boots with her father. Birdie is as big a devil as ever. They all thought you were sick or something when you hadn’t written. I was annoyed with them asking me – how is Aggie? I told Birdie that her shift [her dress] was all right and that I would be getting you to send it on at once.

  I’m afraid before I leave here, I’ll have to get a pair of hob-nailed boots as the roads are in a terrible state. Well Aggie, I haven’t much more to say to you, only that you’ll scarcely know me when you see me; the food in the house is better than I could almost afford in Galway. Soup three or four times a week, mutton, pork and plenty of eggs; so even if we are paying high itself; we are getting the worth of it.

  I don’t know yet when I’ll take a run home. I don’t think I’ll go home before Saturday week at the earliest; because I don’t think it’s worthwhile. So until then, Aggie, goodbye, take care of yourself and the children, don’t let Eileen run out into the street too much. Kiss them for me and keep a big one for yourself.

  Your fond husband,

  Walter

  NB. Tell Paddy Naughton that I’ll send home the plane next Saturday by Jim Dolan.

  Life can change dramatically in a short period of time and in my grandfather’s case it certainly did. My father was born on 3 May 1915 and only weeks later, in June 1915, my grandfather’s employer, Dick Emerson told him that he had no further work for him. At that time the British army had launched recruiting campaigns all over Ireland. (My father gives a very good description of the kind of campaign in his historical novel – The Scorching Wind.) For someone like my grandfather, who was now suddenly out of work, with a wife and three children to support, there was little choice – he joined the British army for economic reasons, to earn money to support his family. Moreover, British propaganda was so powerful it convinced thousands of young Irish men that by joining the British army and fighting the Germans, they were helping to stop men, women and children in the smaller countries being raped and pillaged. So he went to Renmore Barracks and joined the infantry regiment, the Royal Fusiliers.

  Within a month, he was sent to Dover to begin his training for trench warfare. Like many other Galway women, Agnes accepted that her husband had to go. Just three weeks after he signed to join up, his employer offered him his job back, but by then it was too late, Walter’s future was sealed. It is fr
om the training camp in Dover that many of his surviving letters were sent home to Galway. The first letter was sent to a family friend called Ivy. She seems to have been a close friend of both Agnes and Walter:

  Duke of York School 18092, 8th Company, 6th Battalion,

  Dover Royal Fusiliers.

  10th August 1915

  Dearest Ivy,

  Forgive me for not acknowledging your kind letter and parcel sooner. I partly guessed you would be a bit busy last week between the work in the bar and looking after some nice fellows. I dare say you were pretty well kept on your feet. I suppose the Bazaar was a great success. I had a letter from Agnes on Saturday; she didn’t say anything about it; she said she would be writing on Monday, you can tell her I will not answer until I next hear from her, tell her also she forgot to mention anything about the kiddies.

  I’m afraid Ivy that my furlough that I was looking forward to about the middle or the end of September is to be put off for a longer period, all through a crowd of crabs of Home Service men who they want to send off to Africa or India to relieve soldiers for active service.

  My squad were due to go on firing next week as we had passed our test for drill and gym but a new order came out that those old crabs who had done next to no drill were to be taken on the rifle range immediately and go through a course of firing. That means we will have to remain at our daily drilling for a few weeks longer and get into trained quarters about the end of September, unless something turns up to take them out of our way.

  October is a bad month for the Irish channel crossing, but I don’t mind that so much as we are pretty decently clothed. It is having to wait for those old cripples to get out of our way that gets on my nerves. There was a rumour last week that we were to be sent to a station just outside London but I have heard nothing further about it.

  I felt terribly homesick all last week, it was the first touch of homesickness I felt since coming here. I suppose thinking of the Bazaar and the Races made me feel that way. So I went out to Jerry’s son-in-law’s house on Tuesday and spent a few hours with them.

  But the feeling of homesickness returned again on Wednesday and to make matters worse, I had no letter from anyone until Aggie’s came on Saturday. Then again, my chum went home again, you couldn’t imagine how I put in Sunday fooling about all day. I could not get myself to write a letter.

  Now thank goodness, a new week has come, I have left my loneliness behind me and I feel all right again. I daresay that you feel a bit disappointed that Johnny [Walter’s brother] did not get to Galway before going to France but cheer up we may all be there for good before Xmas is over.

  Bye, bye for the present, dear Ivy,

  Give my best to all at the Racquet,

  Kiss the kiddies and Aggie for me,

  Yours as ever,

  Walter

  There are often references in the letters home remembering his friends at the Racquet Court, where Agnes was still working.

  The next letter I have is a fragment of a letter he wrote to my grandmother, probably in or around the same time as the one he wrote to Ivy:

  Dearest Aggie,

  Your welcome letter came this morning, also the two stamps and many thanks for those. My reason, Aggie for not saying anything about my homecoming is simply I’m not sure when I can get my furlough, you see we have to wait until we get off the drill square and get into training quarters, it’s while we are in training quarters, we get our furlough, we only stay in these training quarters for about a month, before going to the front, the soldiers here call it, their last home.

  From what I can see, we may be going there sooner than we expect, as in about three weeks time, there is a whole battalion going from here in the rush I told you about in my last letter. If I have passed my musketry tests by that time, you can expect me about the middle of September. I believe they are only giving four days furlough on account of all the fellows that are overstaying their leave. The four days furlough would only give me one day with you Aggie, if they do not consider my case and allow me three clear days at home, I’ll risk a week’s confinement to the barracks.

  In the following letter there are some very interesting details about his life as a British army soldier:

  Dearest Aggie,

  Your most welcome letter and postal order arrived yesterday. It was like being back with you to read your letter, why don’t you always let yourself go like that?

  Well Aggie, as to the rocking chair, we better not make arrangements in that direction until later on, everything is now in God’s hands and as you say when the war’s over, we’ll think it out. You ask me about Warsaw. I don’t know what the Irish papers say about it, but when you come to consider that before leaving, the Russians removed all pillar boxes off the street, they took down all the church bells, took away all cooking utensils that were any good, and took all the wheels and axles off every car and cart in the place, you may be sure that the Russians did not mean to defend it. The Germans did not even have a square feed to get in it, and the Russian army is still unbroken, you can take it for certain that they have some deeper game going on.

  About my getting home next month, do not place too much hope in it. Did Ivy show you my last letter to her? I explained in it why I’m or rather was inclined to think I could get home before October. But Thank God, things seem to be going all right again as we are detailed off for firing tomorrow week and if nothing turns up to affect our orders, I don’t see why I can’t get my furlough before the end of September. But then as I say, a person is never sure what will happen.

  Talking of Dover, Aggie, taken altogether it is not too much; there is nothing really to be seen in it. Khaki is in the majority everywhere, I’m sure between all there are at least 20,000 soldiers stationed here. Our barracks is about two miles from Dover, about 300 feet above it on the right, on top of the cliffs.

  With the exception of Chrissie Baldwin I have not spoken to a woman since I came here and I do not feel inclined in that direction so far.

  The inoculation we get after coming here takes the harm out of us for three months at least. I am not a bit surprised with John Sam Gough [another local man who had joined up] being fed up with the army, he is not the only one, every day, I’m almost sickened to death listening to fellows grousing, the damn asses. I suppose they thought they had nothing else to do but get a rifle in their hands, learn to shoot, then to knock about and do what they liked for five or six months before going to the front.

  John Sam may thank his lucky stars he didn’t join my regiment or any English regiment for that matter, he’d be dead by this. They are not half as strict in Irish regiments as they are in the English ones, as every little thing is punished in the English regiments.

  All day long we are kept on the move from five in the morning until three in the afternoon, with only an hour or so for our breakfast and another for our dinner, and even then we are not sure of being left alone, we may have to turn out and get into our trenches.

  The furlough did not come as soon as my grandfather hoped, which he reveals in the next letter, as well as talking about the news from home and what was happening with their neighbours:

  Dover.

  22nd September 1915

  Dearest Aggie,

  Your very welcome letter came this morning, many thanks for the PO. Aggie love, don’t worry your head about sending the money for my photos, as on consideration, it would be better to wait until I get home, when we can all be taken together. When you come to consider it, that I am three months from home, six weeks will not be long in passing. It would take a clever man to tell you where I will be sent. I’m inclined to think it will be France. I hope it will be as if I have the good fortune to be wounded, I’ll have a good chance of getting a furlough for a few days, if I’m sent to the Dardanelles, I’m afraid I won’t get home until the finish.

  Yes, Aggie, the war does not look as rosy as it did a month or two back, I’m inclined to think it will last almost into next summer, if not lo
nger, there are hundreds of young men, laughing up their sleeves at us, the only recruits I see coming down here for the past two months are almost cripples or old men, but it’s not want of men that is prolonging the war. You might have seen the papers a few weeks back about those Russian factories that through treachery were blown up. Well Aggie, we are supplying the Russians with ammunition for the past four months, were it not for that, the Germans would be well driven out of France by then. I’ve no idea why mother isn’t writing and I’ve no intention of asking, I mean to pay her back. Although it may seem hard to do so, I’m fully intended not to see her when I get home on furlough.

  The remainder of my upright relatives can sniff as they like; sooner or later they might find out the truth, not that I’m so anxious that she [his mother] should visit my family or write to me, but if she had any heart or conscience, which I’m afraid she has not, she could swallow her spite, once in a while. Is it not lovely for poor Maggie, going to bring another baby in to the world? Tell her I wish her every happiness. I was sorry to learn of poor Ursula, she is unfortunate poor thing, is she in hospital? You never speak of Mrs Griffin or Mrs Bruce; remember me to them when you meet them. Mike has not answered my letter up to this. Aggie, love there is nothing else of any importance I could tell you, only that I’m enjoying the best of good health. I’m having a pretty easy time this week and next week will be still easier, remember me to all at the Racquet.