“Oh, indeed it is,” said the trainer. “And, I’m hoping you’ll see an improvement tonight and, if you’re a betting man, keep it small.”
So, Darkie, or On the Level, as his racing name was, turned out to be a pretty useful dog, not breaking records but just useful. His one great asset was that he was out of the traps first every time and that meant he was never troubled on the first bend, where the hare would suddenly go to the left and this could bring a pile-up as the outside dogs would cut across the others. This happened quite often, but On the Level benefitted another two lengths when it did.
On the night in question, Brendan introduced me. We had a nice chat and he told us that the trainer said he had a chance, but a dog from Dungannon called Cool Kill was running and he was going to be hot favourite so be careful. Then we heard that another dog had come from Dublin who was also fancied, so poor Darkie’s chances became slimmer, as was reflected in the betting, as Cool Kill and Palm Beach opened at even money, and On the Level drifted to 9-1. It was obvious what the bookies thought about it.
Well, I had a bet on it at 9-1 and Brendan thought I was a fool. The race started and On the Level was out in a flash with a two length lead going up to the first bend. The two favourites, who were slowly away, were eating up the lead ominously. At the bend they were only a length behind when the outside dog suddenly cut across them causing a terrible scramble and crowding them all onto the rails.
On the Level had now three lengths lead and the two favourites were after him neck and neck on the straight. They were catching up the lead so fast that it looked only a matter of time. As they came to the top bend they were nose to tail and both were passing him on the outside when the outer of them, who had his head just in front, tried to cut across and baulked the inside dog and they lost another length.
On the Level, which was on the rails, was heading for the line on the back straight but the other two dogs were closing rapidly again. They were at his shoulder with a couple of lengths to go, but he had his head in front as he crossed the line. Brendan and I went for a celebratory pint.
We used to go upstairs to watch the races so that we could stand and look down on the finishing line. If there was a photo finish we could see the winner if we were directly over the line, even if it was just a head in front. One night a fawn dog and a black dog were in a photo finish. The fawn dog won by a head, I could plainly see. Brendan said the fawn dog and I agreed. The bookies were shouting 4-1 the black dog and 1-8 the fawn one. I said to Brendan, “We know the fawn dog has won. Why don’t we go down and collect a pound for nothing? That’s a good bet for the next race.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Well,” I said, “I either believe my eyes or I don’t, so I’m going down.” And I went and found I had £16 and the bookie said, “£2 to £16,” gave me a ticket, and the next minute I handed it back and collected £18. If that wasn’t a certainty, surely nothing was.
I will never forget that fine sunny day
The day of the sports at the Washing Bay
The sun was shining on the water so blue
And the pipe band was playing O’Donnell a Bu
The water lay warm on the smooth silken sand
As we splashed and caroused
to the strains of the band
Then we had ice cream and minerals and buns
And lay on the warm grass to dry in the sun
At one we ran in the three legged race
Until we tripped up and I fell on my face
So we ran in the sack race until you broke your lace
And then you came third in the egg and spoon race
When the cycle race finished we went over the field
And watched our big sister dancing a reel
Then Granuaille’s wife came looking for pennies
Singing her song but we didn’t give any
But slipped away to where the high jump was on
And sat on two chairs as their owners had gone
It was there that I think we both closed our eyes
For when we woke up we got a surprise
Lots of people were going so it must have been late
So we both jumped up and we ran for the gate
Mammy stood there looking around
We ran up to her and fell on the ground
“We thought you had gone and got such a fright.”
She put her arms round us and just held us tight.
I’ll never forget that beautiful day
We went to the sports on the banks of Lough Neagh
Chapter Sixteen
We had an inland holiday resort, or it could have been, called The Washing Bay, about two miles from our house. It was just a little bay on the lough shore. The ground around it was a mixture of sand and peat, soft and dry in the summer months, and the lake had a smooth sandy bottom, which was ideal for children to play in as it was only one foot deep for about fifty yards and then it would get gradually deeper. The water in it was like a warm bath when the sun shone and the little kids revelled in it.
Sports meetings were held by the parish each year and there was a cinder bicycle track for racing, as well. When I was about twenty the parish gave up having the sports meetings, so our football club, the Derryloughin Kevin Barries, took over. As secretary I had the job, with the help of my very able committee, of running the sports meeting.
That was quite an experience the first time and I would have been completely lost, except for a few very experienced men. For example, the first race was the 100 yards sprint and I was surprised to see the turnout from the towns, such as Dungannon Harriers, all in their whites and looking very professional.
I had an old boy from the Academy helping me to organise it. He was a high jumper called Jack Quinn from Stewartstown. I didn’t know he would be there, but we had been together at the Academy and he gave me instructions and advice.
He said, “When we hold the tape at the finish of the 100 yard sprint, don’t bother trying to see who’s won. Just look at me and when they break the tape and I point to the man that wins it, you point, too.”
How lucky I was to have Jack, as three or four men broke the tape together and I wouldn’t have had a clue. Jack walked over to the winner and I followed. He knew their names and, I suppose, he got it right. There was no protest.
It wasn’t such a good day, weather wise, but the club made a small profit after prizes had been paid for.
On the Sunday morning of the Washing Bay Sports I went down early to measure the course for the races. Everything was simple enough until I started measuring the circular track for the bicycle races.
I don’t know now how long the course was but I had a long tape which I pinned to the ground then walked along letting it out to its full length, then giving it a sharp pull and the spring brought it back to me. I repeated the process until I reached my marker again but instead of keeping a note of the number of tape lengths, I carried it in my head and in the end I wasn’t sure what the number was. I don’t remember now what the exact figures were but let’s say it was either twenty or twenty-one tape lengths and if each tape was twenty yards that would mean that over twenty laps, the course could be about 400 yards short.
I looked at my watch and I hadn’t much time, so I took the shorter length as I was more convinced that was right. During one of the cycling races it was announced that this race was for the Ulster Championship and as the cyclists were all flying around the track, I was away attending to something else, although I was listening to the commentary on the loud speaker. I heard the commentator say, “This track is very fast today and records could be broken.” I felt sick but eventually the race finished and no record was broken. Thank goodness for that, I thought.
We had a mile race confined to the parish and our local lads were a bit shy, and in spite of much persuasion refused to take part. But someone had to race so I and two others from the football team did start the race. One dropped out and I ran on with the other lad who was left.
We were jogging around and chatting but when we came to the final bend he took off like a greyhound and was about ten yards away before I got after him. I overhauled him but when I went to pass him he dug his elbows into my ribs a couple of times and I was going so flat out that I was unable to move away sideways. So I tried again to pass him and out came the elbow again. As we crossed the line I was about six inches in front. I couldn’t believe it but it didn’t matter as there were no prizes.
At that time there was a great runner from County Cork who was in the news called John Joe Barrie. He was making a big name for himself in running and was nicknamed the Ballanacurrie Hare. Our sports’ dance was held in the evening after the sports in the Brocagh AOH hall. When I arrived at the hall there were two chaps standing near the ticket collector and I overheard one of them remark, “There goes the Ballanacurrie Hare.” Fame at last!
Chapter Seventeen
When Kathleen qualified as a nurse and midwife she went to a job in Glasgow which she found, on arrival, was in a slum area of that city and from what she told me it resembled the recent programme on the BBC, Call the Midwife.
The police and everybody were very protective to the nurses, as the area was not very salubrious or safe to travel around, especially in the dark winter evenings.
One night she was called out to a tenement flat. The patient was a young black woman who gave birth to twins – two boys.
She said to Kathleen, “Will you choose names for them?”
Kathleen replied, “Peter and Arthur,” after her boyfriend and her brother.
Kathleen only stayed in Glasgow for about a year and then went to Roe Valley hospital in County Fermanagh which was as complete a contrast as one could get.
I often wondered what became of little Peter and Arthur.
Peter, Kathleen’s boyfriend, emigrated to America. On the Sunday night before he sailed we were all in Mahery, as usual, at the dance. Near the end the band played the waltz, “Now is the hour for me to say goodbye, Soon I’ll be sailing far across the sea”, which was a hit tune at the time and was made famous by film star Gracie Fields. After that, Kathleen would be in tears when she heard that tune. Kathleen took over the shop after that for two years or maybe more, until one day Peter returned and all was well.
They were married and settled down as proprietors of a central hotel in County Meath. It was in the middle of the farming area and, apart from market day, trade was slow during the day. Like farmers everywhere, when they have finished their milking and feeding their cattle and pigs, they are usually ready to go out for a pint about ten o’clock, so from then on trade would be brisk.
Once, when Shamey and I were staying there for a day or two, we were upstairs in their private lounge with Kathleen, when Peter called up, “Arthur, Shamey, come down.” He was trying to put a man out who was causing trouble in the bar – a big hefty man who wouldn’t budge and Peter was shoving him through the door where the man had wedged himself.
Shamey, Peter and I managed to push him through the doors and close them, then opened the big outer doors and shoved him out onto the street.
When we went up to Kathleen she asked who was it and when I told her she said, “Oh, glory be, he’s a justice of the peace.” I could hardly believe my ears and then she added, “And we are appearing before him next week.”
I asked what for and she said, “For serving drinks after hours.”
We were leaving the next day, but she told me he came in the following day very contrite, had a brandy and apologised. I believe when her case came up, it was dismissed.
Arthur (around 1990) in the Brilla
Photo shows the Brilla in County Tyrone on the left, the Blackwater River, and County Armagh on the right.
Like Kathleen, I also moved ‘abroad’ and arrived in England in 1954. I got off the boat in Liverpool at about seven o’clock in the morning and looked around for a café or restaurant to have some breakfast. I saw a policeman and crossed over the road and asked him about the nearest café.
He put his arm around me, “Ah, Paddy, how are you? Come with me and I’ll take you to a good breakfast.” And off we went with his arm still around me. He was really pleased to see me and I found out soon enough that, at that particular time, to be Irish would have opened doors in England. If you were Irish then you were going to be full of fun, make everyone laugh and, probably, sing a song, as well.
Arthur, standing, with his cousin Joe Magennis, whose father, Joe, emigrated to America.
Unlike Kathleen, I didn’t move back to Ireland but stayed in England and made my life here…but that’s another story. Maybe, I’ll tell it to you later.
End
Arthur Magennis is a retired pharmacist who lives in Southport, England with his wife, Noreen, and has two daughters, Marie and Nuala. He is a keen crown green bowler.
For more great books, visit Beaten Track Publishing.
Table of Contents
Poem One
Chapter One
Poem Two
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Poem Three
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Poem Four
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Poem Five
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
Living in the Past: A Northern Irish Memoir Page 13
