‘Don’t Tell Your Mother’. #100DaysOfOldDays

Posted on May 21, 2022 by Gloria

Day 87 #100DaysOfOldDays

For today’s post I decided to do a bit of research in order to determine what style of parenting I was raised with.

Bear with me…this is not a boring lesson on parenting psychology. Sure who am I to lecture on parenting styles?

In the 1960’s, phychologist Diana Baumrind worked on developing ‘parenting styles theory’. She categorised them into four styles; authoritarian, authoritative, permissive and neglectful. The model was later redefined by Maccoby and Martin in 1983.

After inspecting each model, I’ve put my parents into a category!

Here’s what each one means (Just in case you’re not in the know).

Authoritarian; strict rules, harsh punishment if rules are not followed, little or no reasoning for the rules and punishments, high expectations, unsympathetic, unaccepting, cold, demand respect.

Authoritative; warm and nurturing, reason instead of demanding, encourage independence, consistent with enforcing boundaries, earn their child’s respect rather than demand it, encourage independence, teach about values and moral behaviour.

Permissive; set very few rules and are reluctant to enforce these rules, few boundaries.

Neglectful; they don’t set firm boundaries or high standards for their children, uninvolved in their childrens’ lives.

Going by this model I can safely say that my mother was an authoritative parent.

My father falls into a completely different parenting style category. One that’s called, ‘Don’t Tell Your Mother.’

I’ll explain…

While Mam was the rule maker, Dad was the rule breaker. We only broke the rules when Daddy Dearest encouraged us to.

When Mam would be getting ready for bingo he’d say to her, ‘Now Mam, get these to bed before you go because they won’t go for me.’

She’d have the supper in us, the jammies on and we’d be all tucked up in bed as she was leaving. She’d walk across the terrace to get the bingo bus to either Kells, Tullyvin, Shercock, or Kingscourt. Different towns on different nights.

As soon as she was out of sight, Dad would come up the stairs, ‘She’s gone,’ he’d cheer. We’d get up and the fun would begin. On the bright summer evenings he’d let us get dressed and go outside to play. ‘Don’t tell your mother,’ he’d warn.

On dark or wet evenings he’d let us watch telly, or play games. He’d sprinkle sugar on the floor (we had linoleum) so we could slide up and down in our socks. He’d give us weetabix spread with Golden Syrup or butter and sugar. He’d be a donkey and let us ride on his back. He’d play hide and seek with us…letting us hide in Mam’s wardrobe where we were totally banned from.

He’d always have us back in bed before Mam would get home from bingo. ‘Now, make sure you don’t tell your mother,’ he’d remind us.

One night she missed the bus and came home to find us all outside playing. He was in the doghouse for a week after that.

Sometimes he’d take us to work with him instead of school, especially if the weather was good. ‘Don’t tell your mother.’ Of course we didn’t tell!

He’d give us money for Mrs Fulton’s shop. ‘Don’t tell your mother, or she mightn’t buy sweets for yas tomorrow.’

When we’d get into trouble with Mam, he’d comfort us. If she said no, he’d say ‘Go on, but don’t tell your mother.’

We’ve always laughed and joked about his style of parenting down through the years. Mam knew rightly what he got up to behind her back. Their opposed views on child raring didn’t cause any issues. They had a high regard for each other and worked it all out between them. Their zest for a fun-filled family life made everything okay!

Having said all that, Dad had limits too. He didn’t let us away with bad manners. We had tremendous respect for him and we knew the boundaries. He didn’t demand anything from us or lecture us…we just knew not to cross the line. I think my parents had the balance right!

***This was my Dad’s favourite photo!***

Comedy Concerts #100DaysOfOldDays

Posted on May 19, 2022 by Gloria

Day 85 #100DaysOfOldDays

We snaked off on a wee holiday so we’re a bit behind on our #100DayProject posts. I checked with the project police and they assured us that it’s not a punishable offence, so we’ll carry on where we left off!

The photos alone could tell today’s story, but I will explain. In the 80’s our concerts and comedy sketches were like no other. They were unusual, colourful, true to life, and best of all, hilarious!

If I remember rightly, the director of these shows was local man, Peter McConnell. We always called him Petesy. He was the chief organiser and wholly responsible for interviewing the extremely talented actors for all his shows. He went to great lengths to source the perfect cast for each sketch! His actors were so skilled at their job that forgetting their lines was never an issue…they just made up new lines as they went along!

The ladies in my first photo were the cast of the ‘Exercise Class’ comedy sketch. Back row; Ann Burmiston (Martin), Mary McCabe, Moira Tully, Ann McIntyre, Shirley Millar, Bertie Murtagh – the class instructor. Front row; Mary Burmiston, Veronica McEntee and Pauline Fox.

***The middle character got caught eating sweets during class.***

Next is a photo of ‘Snow White and the seven dwarfs’. It was difficult to find seven men with the specific qualities needed for the role of the dwarfs. But, Petesy found his men!

Back row; Martin Hannigan as Dopey, Phil Fox as Bashful, Hugh Tully as Happy, Josie Deignan as Sleepy, Micheál Bird as Sneezy. Missing from the photo; Bill Fisher as Grumpy and Jimmy Gilsenan as Doc. Front row; Me as Snow White, James McConnell as Prince Charming and Linda McCluskey (McDonald) as the fairy godmother.

***The Modern Day Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs***

I can’t remember the name of this sketch, but I do know that Phil Fox is on the toilet and Jimmy Gilsenan has his back to us. Veronica is in the bed.

The photo below is the same sketch – I think – but possibly played on a different night because there’s a different woman in the bed. (Although, maybe that was part of the story.)

Next on my list is a sketch I did a couple of times with Josey Deignan. This musical piece de resistance was called ‘A hole in the Bucket.’

We had as much fun – if not more – during rehearsals as we had on the nights of the concerts.

Behind the Stage Antics.

***I don’t know the strange man that Hugh picked up!***

***Mary Carolan, Jimmy Gilsenan, Moira Tully.***

**Jimmy Gilsenan.**
**He seems to be experiencing a wardrobe malfunction!**

The concerts weren’t entirely made up of comical acts. There were musicians and singers performing, including the fantastic singer Teresa Cullivan. Teresa had a strong passionate singing voice and sang ‘Danny Boy’ and ‘Sweet Sixteen’ exceptionally well.

Lucy’s drawing of two friends enjoying an evening of comedy.

Going to Town on a Friday #100DaysOfOldDays

Posted on April 29, 2022 by Gloria

Day 75 #100DaysOfOldDays

I’m linking today’s post to Marsha Ingrao’s WQW #16

I often think back to the days when people weren’t always in a hurry. The days when I went to town shopping with my mam. It was a leisurely event and Friday’s were my favourite because we had lots of shops to visit on Fridays.

It was a 10-15 minute walk to town but by the time Mam would have a quick chat with nearly everyone we met on the way, it took a bit longer.

Our first stop was often Clarkes furniture and hardware shop. Mam was a keen DIY woman and if it wasn’t wallpaper she was paying on it was paint or a piece of furniture. Clarke’s had the wire contraption as their payment method. The customer’s money was put into a small canister, and then attached with a quick twist to an overhead wire that ran from the counter to a little office further down the shop. It went at top speed along that wire. It was great entertainment for the children. There was craic and banter between the staff and customer while they waited for the return of the canister with the change and receipt.

Then we might have gone into Bell’s drapery shop for sewing thread or elastic. Sometimes socks for me. More friendly chat from the ladies in there.

We’d call into Kelletts to pay the rent on our black and white telly. (Read that HERE if you missed it)

The post office was a dark pokey little place tucked into the left-hand corner of Tom Reilly’s grocery shop. It had a high wooden panelled counter, completely different to what it is now. I didn’t like going into the post office because we had to queue sometimes.

I liked the butchers because they had sawdust on the floor. We went to Eugene Farrells and Black’s. Always a friendly chat and plenty of banter from Eugene and Miles Byrne. The meat was wrapped in brown paper tied with string.

I loved going into Angela Kelly’s. She sold ladies clothes. She was a lovely kind woman who always had a smile for her customers. Her husband Donal worked in the front part of the shop where he sold men’s clothes, and you had to walk through his part of the shop to get to Angela’s.

Mam did her main grocery shopping in Moynagh’s, a family run supermarket. Going into Moynagh’s was as good as a night out. Everyone knew everyone and there was always time for talk and craic. The fun and laughter that took place in shops like that made shopping such a pleasurable and sociable event. I don’t think we appreciated the value of the personal and friendly service we received at the time. They knew every customer’s name. If they didn’t have an item you needed, Phil—The Boss—sent one of the shop assistants out to another shop for it. They always packed your bags at the checkout, then carried them to your car. There was never a rush.

You have to be an athlete these days packing your bags in the supermarket. Me nerves sometimes when my melon comes flying at me like a rugby ball. People behind you are generally impatient, or busy, or both. Getting a conversation out of the checkout girl is often like trying to get your cat to bark. Sometimes they don’t even smile and that’s the truth. What has happened?

John Reilly’s was a smaller shop that sold the best apple tarts. In all my travels, I’ve yet to come across an apple tart as good as his. They wrapped the bread in light brown tissue paper, and that paper was always saved as it came in handy when the loo roll would run out! It was softer than the stuff we had to use in the school toilets.

Shopping is a whole different experience nowadays.

The Babby House #100DaysOfOldDays

Posted on April 8, 2022 by Gloria

Day 55 #100DaysOfOldDays

Did you have a babby house when you were a child? Do you know what I mean when I say babby house? It’s what we called our outdoor playhouse. The boys played in a fort and the girls played in a babby house. (Is this only in Ireland?) Occasionally the girls were allowed into the fort and very occasionally the boys were allowed into the babby house—and only certain boys at that!

Here’s the babby house I remember.

It’s built from planks of woods around the bottom of a big chestnut tree in the corner of a field. The roof is a sheet of rusty galvanise. There is one window, made from a panel of tough transparent plastic. The door is a sturdy rectangular flap, also made from hard plastic, hardly big enough for an adult to pass through.

There is a little shuck between the field and the big chestnut tree. A plank of wood forms a bridge for access to the babby house.

The hollows in the tree are shelves, to store old food tins and jars filled with shiny red and green haws. A broken clock hangs on the stub of a branch, and two rusty enamel mugs sit on their stove which is made of four red bricks stacked into a square.

The babby house is well-equipped with chipped plates, warped saucepans with no handles, bent spoons, and empty bottles.

Moldy dolls sleep on a layer of withered rushes that line the bottom of a wooden crate. Dinner is cooked in one of the bent saucepans; cabbage, peas, and potatoes (dandelion leaves, green haws, all sprinkled with white clover petals). Stones are used for potatoes and eggs.

Spiders dangling from cobwebs and creepy crawlies inhabit the babby house and get brushed out regularly only to return in the middle of the night. It’s cold in the wintertime and smells of damp soil. It’s balmy in the summertime and smells of fresh moss and chestnuts.

The babby house was our foxhole, a place for self-expression, a place to unleash our imaginations.