Discovering my old life in Ballybay, Co Monaghan via Facebook

I don't know if you ever check the OTHERS option on your Facebook messages. I don't check it that often but did so today at lunchtime and I found a message there from a girl I have not been in touch with for 35 years.

Her name is Maria Cosgrove and she is from Ballybay - a small town in Co Monaghan. I used to live there with my family until we moved away in 1978 after my dad, the local Garda, was transferred, as was the custom in those days.

We had great friends in Ballybay. I started primary school there. We had a gang called The Hall Street Gang. We had adventures like those kids in The Goonies, or the Famous Five or Secret Seven had. The Hall Street Gang was the gang of kids who lived in a cluster along Hall Street. We met in the lanes and the fields and sometimes in the Garda shed.

The Drumms, Maguires, McMahons and the McItaveys were the main members of the Hall Street Gang (I hope I am remembering the names correctly).

A photo taken sometime in the mid seventies, captures us in colour, outside the Garda Station which was really in our front garden, underneath the three big Cherry Blossom trees that adorned the grass verge on the way up to the door of the station.

There was no email, text, Facebook or Twitter in those days and the house we moved to did not have a phone. I recall a lot of tears the day we left as we hugged and promised to keep in touch and I do remember a few visits back for different things. Some of our friends from Ballybay also came to visit us too in our new home.

But time passed and we grew up in a brand new town and made new friends. We sadly lost contact with our friends from Ballybay.

But I have never forgotten Ballybay and the gang of friends we had. I remember happy times in the house we had behind the Garda station. I remember being outdoors in all weather, getting lost in the fields on purpose, collecting blackberries and selling them to local shops - sometimes the money went to the nuns in the Convent of Mercy and other times it went to buy sweets for the gang.

I remember plays we used to stage in the garden and in the Garda shed. We would charge people 10p to come and watch a variety show which was never very good, but which people (well other children) came to watch.

I remember Community Games in the big park. Relays, hurdles and my breath being almost taken away with the exertion.

I remember the teachers we had and moving from the small school to the brand new purpose-built school with the new carpets, the new desks and chairs that were proper chairs and not old benches with ink wells.

I remember Sister Philomena, who was small and gentle but very capable of keeping things moving. I remember a few year's ago learning of her murder and trying to understand how something so awful could happen to someone so gentle.

I remember swinging and balancing on the bars and railings and my sister breaking her arm. I remember being run over by my Dad's car in the school yard and all the visitors to the house who I bet could scarcely believe I had survived - what 4 year old survives being knocked down, trapped under a car and driven around a tough tarmac school yard ? I remember our postman and Miss Salmon chasing the car and shouting STOP before it pulled out onto the main road.

I remember swinging on the gate and getting that little scar under my lip when the gate slammed shut. I remember walking the walls on the way up home.

I remember the embankment at the back of the corner shop where we disturbed a wasps nest and where my sister was stung several times. I remember the smell of vinegar on the stings.

I was part of an Irish dancing troupe in Ballybay. The costume was cream with purple Celtic designs. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the Irish dancing school. I remember my dancing partners Damian and Catriona Carragher. We were a great group for the three-hand reel.

I do remember the sweet shop at the top of Hall Street, conveniently located on our route to school. The shopkeeper Mrs Daly always seemed old to me in those days. She had a counter with a glass front filled with trays of sweets. Depending on how much (or little in my case) money you had, you asked for the corresponding tray and knew that everything on it could be bought for halfpenny, a penny, two pence or five pence. I am not sure if there was a ten pence tray. Katie Daly was her name and through my conversations and subsequent connection with a Facebook page called BALLYBAY AND ITS PEOPLE, I found out that she is alive and well and in her 90s. How I would love to sit down with her for a chat.

I have been hanging out on this Facebook page for the past few days and I shared this picture taken as I mentioned earlier, in our front lawn adjacent to the Garda Station.

The Hall Street Gang sometime in the 1970s

Since posting the picture I have chatted to three of the people in it. I have not spoken to them since we left Ballybay in 1978. 35 year's later and it's all come back to life through the power of social media. It's been great.

I am looking forward to having more memories refreshed by these new old friends from Ballybay. So do check that OTHERS folder on Facebook and if you are ever in the area do give Ballybay a visit.

It seems it has always been the place where everybody knows your name!

THE STAR IN A LOSING SKY

I watch you through the window of my soul 

Angel of nameless grace

Through the twisted tangle of my heart
I will wait for you beyond

Summer fingers dapple on my shuddering shoulders 

The lines that time has forgotten
Leaves whisper your voice into my ears as I cling
To the chandelier of my life

I am as a changing day, wanting in all aspects
But that of blissful hope
The burst of cherries on the tongue of a waking hour 

When I will sleep
Spread out on a bed of clouds, staring
Across the spaces
As my body spills onto the world below
And I am nought but rain or snow
Forgotten words on aging lips, a memory of a day Full of hope and raining death. 

Emma Tobin 2013 

Copyright @ Emma Tobin 

New Year Resolutions

I don't do New Year Resolutions at all. Instead I make wishes. I used to make these wishes quietly to myself and then last year someone introduced the idea of writing the wishes onto Chinese Lanterns and sending them skywards. 

I attempted to do that last year but the rain and wind saw to it that the lanterns and my wishes never left the ground. 

My wishes were: 

1. To be loved

2. To stay Myeloma free 

3. To be published 

4. To make my first radio documentary 

The two most important ones were granted (1 and 2) and I am grateful to be starting 2014 having celebrated another year being cancer free and having celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. 

Wishes 3 and 4 are still under development and the ball is firmly in my court on those.

This year's wishes are:

1. To stay myeloma free 

2. To have a year of health and happiness in our home 

3. To stay employed 

4. To rekindle old friendships and not allow myself to be taken for a ride by people masquerading as "friends" 

5. Wishes (3 and 4) from last year

So here's to a year of dreams and wishes coming true for me and anyone reading this. 

Giving Thanks

"Ah there's yer wan again going on about her hospital appointment - JEEZ enough with it!"

Now I can understand people saying that about my Twitter and Facebook posts - another hospital visit post = YAWN!

I don't blame you, any of you for saying that, for thinking that because the reality is that I do post about my hospital visits a lot and that's for the simple reason that I am in hospital a lot.

I am under the care of the Renal Team and the Haematology Team in Tallaght Hospital and I also see a Dietician from time to time - being sick is almost a full time job, but I already have a full time job and loads of interesting hobbies so at times, it's hard to find the time to be sick.

Those of you who know me, know that I was diagnosed with Myeloma in January 2007. Myeloma is an incurable cancer of the bone marrow.

I am kept on a very short leash by the hospital - kidney clinic every six months and haematology every two months without fail. There are sometimes in between visits for issues and minor complications. I have lost count of the number of times I have been an out patient and inpatient.

A friend said recently that when she told a work colleague about all my hospital appointments, the colleague said: 'That's like a death sentence". A wee bit insensitive you might say but sometimes people say and do strange things when they learn of your illness and circumstances.

For me, it's a very small price to pay for being well.

So the reason for my post is that I recently had a scare when some proteins were found in a sample I gave at the renal clinic. Proteins are the villains in my Myeloma story - they are like the Lex Luther or the Joker to my Myeloma Superman or Batman! They are sooooooooo not good. The renal team admitted to me that they were being super cautious but at the same time proteins are proteins and so I was called in for a repeat test.

I  had to wait for a week for the results. Needless to say during that week every possible worst case scenario went through my mind. The Myeloma is on the march again and I will get the news just in time for my birthday and Christmas. Lovely!

• What if I have to be in hospital for Christmas - away from Bryan and the kids? 
• What if I have to have another Stem Cell Transplant? 
• What if I don't respond?
• What if there are complications and I can't have new treatment? 
• What if.......? 

Myeloma is a dead weight that I carry around all the time and the what ifs are there all the time but in the last week they were magnified and in High Definition just sitting there in front of me.

Since my diagnosis and treatment in 2007, I have really gotten my life back and my diary is full of wonderful stuff. In the next month I am going to turn 45, I am going to be a judge for the new Oliver in the local Musical Society, I have Christmas parties and dinners, I have Santa stuff to do, I get to be a radio head twice a week now in KFM the local radio station where I get to interview so many wonderful people. I have plans in my diary all the way through to next Spring at this stage and the idea that the Myeloma might have come back means that all of these plans might have to get scrubbed out.

These plans are great to have but they all pale in insignificance when it comes down to it and what it would mean for my family. I don't want to be the Mom who is sick [AGAIN], too weak to walk up stairs, too weak to drive, too sick to get out of bed, so sick I have to be in isolation for a month in hospital and I don't want to be a sickly wife who places the burden of care and work onto my husband. It's unfair.

I had imagined the worst - that's what we do, that's what I do. I was preparing myself for the absolute worst case scenario. In a way I am constantly preparing myself for THE worst case scenario because it will be the case someday. I just don't want that SOMEDAY to be any day soon as I have so much left to do.

I have so much life to live and I have so much of my kids lives that I want to be here for. We have great plans for our retirement, Bryan and I, and I want to be around to be an outrageous old dear who wears purple and dyes her hair!

I was very relieved to get the news last week that the proteins are behaving themselves. It must have been a blip or something on the particular test. If only the people in the labs knew what these blips do to patients like me!

Thankfully I am still in remission. I have made it through another year of living with Myeloma. I missed some of my targets - I had planned to get through the year with no admission to hospital but that didn't happen thanks to a serious infection in March. But it's another year notched up. 7 years and counting......

I can look forward to my 45th birthday on November 29th, to Christmas at home with the family, to our 18th wedding anniversary on December 29th and to a New Year of great plans and resolutions.

I have a lot to be thankful for and I don't take any of the time I have for granted. I don't take the wonderful moments everyday for granted, the little things, the memories made are all so precious. That's a gift that serious illness gives ......... every cloud and all that .......

So next time you see me posting about yet another hospital visit, perhaps you will understand the significance for me of getting through each and everyone of these visits with a clean bill of health.

Brenda
xxxxxxx

He made much of the time he was given

A piece I wrote for the Irish Catholic Newspaper in memory of Father Martin Clarke RIP who passed away on 23 October 2013: 

I met Father Martin Clarke for the first time at my interview for the job of Communications Officer with the Catholic Communications Office back in the Summer of 2000. I was nervous about the interview panel but he immediately put me at ease. I came to learn this was one of his many human qualities. I was successful with my application and began work as Communications Officer with the Catholic Communications Office 13 years ago this month, in November 2000.

At that time the Catholic Communications Office (CCO) was in many ways being established in Maynooth as a result of the merger between Father Martin’s office as Principal Spokesperson and the Catholic Press and Information Office in Booterstown. This movement and change was part of a much wider restructuring of the Councils, Agencies and Offices of the Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference that was taking place at the time. We had a small team of three people, so I had to very quickly learn the ropes of what was and still is a very busy office.

I joined the CCO just before we entered into a very challenging time for media relations and the Catholic Church in Ireland. But Father Martin was a wonderful teacher and mentor. He was patient and kind in the way he dealt with people. He had great attention to detail which he honed during his time studying and then practising law as a solicitor. When Martin gave me a project to work on, I could always follow the details because he had laid them out so meticulously.

Martin always had a wonderful rapport with young people and this obviously came from his work with Catholic Youth Care and Saint Kevin’s Young Adult Community in Dublin. I was always struck by his energy and positivity concerning all his pastoral responsibilities.

A late vocation, Father Martin was a happy priest and he was always willing to share his vocation story and journey as a way of inspiring others to seize the moment, to aim high. He was prayerful and spiritual and always took great care in his pastoral duties.

Martin had a great sense of humour and some of his puns were often just what a particular moment needed. He also had an amazing recall for quotes which he used to great effect in interviews with the media.

I worked with Martin from November 2000 to November 2003 in the CCO. Some of the big issues we worked on in those days were: Child Safeguarding, Policing in Northern Ireland, the 2002 Abortion Referendum, the establishment of Day for Life in Ireland and the 2002 meeting between the Northern Ireland Church Leaders and the then British Prime Minister Tony Blair. It was under Martin’s stewardship that the CCO began to embrace new communications and established the first website for the Bishops’ Conference. While times were challenging they were also exciting and Martin was always very encouraging to his staff when it came to additional learning and training.

When I was diagnosed with cancer in 2007 Martin was one of my first visitors. He sat with me and listened, he prayed with me and offered great support to my family. He encouraged me and assured me that there is life after a diagnosis with serious illness. The way he bore his own illness and the many health setbacks he had, was inspiring not only to me but to anyone who knew him.

I think I am a better person for having known Martin for just a few of his 66 years and the world is certainly a duller place now that he has left it. May he rest in peace.

Brenda Drumm

PS After writing this article I recalled a birthday present he got for me one year 'ABBA GOLD'! I am still playing those tunes Martin. 

There are Reasons

Guest post by my daughter Emma Tobin, age 16 

“Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can't just sit there and put everybody's lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can't. You have to do things. I'm going to do what I want to do. I'm going to be who I really am. And I'm going to figure out what that is”. ~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Everyone is taught to be selfless. It’s something that people value, maybe because if there’s someone who’ll give and give and never ask for anything in return, that might make their life easier. We lean on people a lot, we really do, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, there’s something infinitely right about that, but we have to remember that other people feel things too.

Do you remember when you were a kid and suddenly you were hit with the realisation that every other human being on this planet feels things as strongly as you do, everyone else’sthoughts are as wild and loud as yours? Everyone else has a smile they can use when they’re breaking apart inside, everyone else feels like screaming sometimes. Stephen Chbosky gives one of the most convincing and accurate accounts of growing up that I have ever read, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a book that everyone should read. Even if you’re a grown-up, it shows you that everyone, at one point, feels young and confused, and there’s nothing terrible about the fact that you might still feel like that.

There are so many people who just give and give, whose nature it is to bleed their heart out for other people, and if you’re not one of these people you cannot possibly imagine what it feels like when you’re bled dry and you realise that the people you’ve given everything to don’t give a damn. You cannot understand what it feels like to have someone you’ve bled for shut the door in your face and pretend that you never did anything good for them. I really hope you aren’t one of the people who leave, because it hurts, I can tell you, I know, when someone does that to you.

It makes me really angry when people do that, and it makes me really sad to have to pick up all of the pieces again. Please, don’t do that. Don’t be that person. You don’t want to be that person. Likewise, if you’re a giver, remember that you have a life to lead as well. Chances are you’re talented, beautiful, wonderful; you’re the kind of person people envy. You’re the idealist in a world of cynics.

There’s this wonderful quote that’s been floating around the internet, and it’s possibly the most accurate thing I have ever read, “The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do”.

People have a hard time finding a reason to stay alive today. I refuse to ignore this; I refuse to remain silent on this subject.People. Commit. Suicide. They do it all the time, and most of the time it’s nobody’s fault, but we can all help the people around us. We all have the power to give someone a reason to live. We all have the power to make a difference. Don’t think that there’s nothing you can do. There is no ‘type of person’ who will commit suicide; there are just people, and those with no hope. People are not insane if they commit suicide. They are just in a very, very bad place.

If someone is beautiful, you tell them, just not down a dark street in a creepy manner. If someone has a nice smile, you tell them. If you see something in another person that they should recognise, and realise, and feel good about, you tell them that it exists. Please don’t use people. Be a friend, don’twalk away, don’t hurt people. It is not okay to hurt people. You have no idea what you’re doing when you decide not to care anymore. You may be the only person in the wide world left to care.

This may be difficult to believe, but I care about you. I care. I will always care. If you need to talk, I will talk to you, I will try to help. I will not walk away from you. If you’re having a hard time, talk to somebody. There is always someone who will listen, and understand, and care.

So don’t give up. There is always a reason to live. You just have to find it.

 

Emma Tobin

Copyright 2013 

Two lunches diverged in a wood

TWO lunches diverged in a yellow dining room, 
And sorry I could not eat both 
And having just an hour, long I stood 
And looked down as long as I could 
To where they lay in the canteen; 

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two lunches diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less tasty,
And that made all the difference.
to my waistline.

Boring sambo today instead of roast lamb 

if you want to read the original and the best poem here is the link http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html

Happy lunch munching