Jean's Journal: Pubs had 'a lovely aroma of manly sweat'

By Jean Farrell

I enjoyed reading Gearóid O’Brien's recent article in the Westmeath Independent about Foy’s emporium.

It reminded me of our magical Christmas toy shop, on the Connaught side of town and of handsome Billy Walsh. Billy and his family had a newsagency and toy shop, in Connaught Street. The above photograph, of Connaught-side businessmen, was taken in the 1950s.

In it are, L to R: Joe Lyster, Michael Heavey, Tommy Kilroy, Jack Kenny, Christy O'Meara and Michael Coyle. Seated: Billy Walsh, Paddy Flynn and Harry Naylor.

My memories of Walsh’s window are of Meccano sets, cowboy suits, guns, dolls, dinkies, Airfix, roller skates, guns and holsters plus much more. I remember crowds of boys standing staring, as they shouted, “I’m getting that and that and that.”

Their wild expectations far exceeded the realities of those Christmas times. Garrick’s and Patsy Murray’s shops also sold toys at Christmas.

Dear readers, even if you weren’t living in Athlone, as a child, I’m sure that there was a magical toy shop near you too.

What I loved best of all were the Christmas annuals. We read every page of the Bunty, Judy, Beano and Dandy ones, as well as the Topper and Beezer annuals. Everyone in our house got an annual at Christmas and we all read them all, many times.

I was also interested to read, in this paper, that our first shopping centre opened in 1974, in Irishtown. We all bemoan the fact that our main streets are dying as a result of shopping centres.

One wet cold dark day, recently, I was minding my young granddaughters. My friend was also minding younger grandchildren. We arranged to meet to go shopping and have a coffee all together. We met in the Towncentre and had a lovely time.

Here, for the first time, I realised the great appeal of shopping centres. We were dry and warm. The children weren’t on the edge of footpaths, they were safe inside. All the shops we wanted were side by side and great.

I know, to many of you, I am stating the very obvious. However, I hadn’t appreciated how child-friendly (and everyone-friendly) shopping centres are until I was there, that day, with six young children.

No wonder it’s to these that crowds of shoppers now flock.

Most of the men in this photograph were shop owners. They would be appalled and dismayed to see Connaught Street now. How very surprised they would be, also, to see how few bars there are on it.

This street had loads of little pubs when I was young. These were full, every night. They were full of husbands who had to ‘escape’ from the many children they fathered.

I read that, in the past, pubs had a lovely ‘aroma of manly sweat!’ An aroma of Jeyes Fluid is all I recall!

A publican told me the following tales. Drink ‘on tic’ was a big problem, in the past. As pay-day approached, many a customer had run out of money. They’d ask for a few pints ‘on tic,’ promising to pay as soon as they got their wages. Then, when they did get their wages, the last thing they wanted to do was hand over precious cash for drink already consumed. They just went to a different pub instead.

However, they’d eventually return to their ‘local’ and pay their debts. The publican told me that if you refused to give them ‘tic,’ they left and never returned.

The publican told me, too, that some fellows would be desperate for drink and would do anything to get a few bob.

One day, one such customer came into his pub. Putting his hands into the deep pockets of his (filthy) overcoat, he threw a pile of silver cutlery onto the counter. “How much will you give me for them,” he asked, adding that they belonged to his landlady. “She’ll never miss them. They were in a drawer she never opens,” he assured the publican!

All publicans could tell sad stories of finding turkeys and bags of toys left behind on Christmas Eve. These belonged to useless husbands who were sent up town to collect them, earlier in the day. On their way home they’d drop into their local ‘for one.’ At closing time, they’d too drunk to remember the toys and turkey under their seat.

We are told, nowadays, that we mustn’t suppress our emotions. What did wives do with all the anger, rage and frustration they must surely have felt?

Was offering it up for the Holy Souls enough? Or, did it eat away inside them?

I know that there were many good husbands in the past, and a great many wonderful mothers. It was only when we became parents ourselves that we realised all the work involved in making Christmas happy and memorable for our children.

If you are completely worn out, be consoled by the following:

‘It will be you. They don’t know it yet, but when they’ve grown and are starting their own Christmas traditions, you will be their mirror. Your family recipes will grace their holly dressed table. They’ll play the carols that feel like home, that feel like you. Their children’s handmade snowmen and reindeer will be hung with pride, just like theirs were. When they think of Christmas it will you they copy, you they remember, you they want to be for their own children. You are their memories, you are their magic, you are their Christmas.'

* ‘Jean’s Journal 2’ is on sale in The Athlone Book Shop at Burgess, and in other local shops, or by contacting me at jeanfarrell@live.ie