I Discover The Murdocks

 In the year 1910, the village of Cullybackey boasted three blacksmiths. These days blacksmiths are thinner on the ground and, as far as I know, they tend to concentrate on shoeing horses. Am I wrong about this, Corinne Robb?

The painted backdrop suggests spacious country houses

My family tree searching (snooping) has thrown up one blacksmith. His name was Patrick Murdock and he was Bert's great-great-grandfather. I don't know where he plied his trade but it seems he lived in Dreen which is only a step or two down the road. The thing about Bert's family is that they didn't stay put. If they weren't heading off to Australia or Canada they were flitting back and forth from Scotland. Mostly they avoided England which was very sensible of them. When I first met Bert I thought him short of blood relations but my research (snooping) has proved me wrong. 

I happened to mention to him the other day,

Y'know there are more people on my side of the family got murdered than on yours.

Oh.

But on your side there seem to be more criminals.

Really?

Your lot aren't very religious. We've got a good scattering of priests and nuns and a really big family of Independent Fundamentalist Baptists in Iowa.

Will you be visiting the Iowa crowd?

Wise up! Although I'm sure they'd make me welcome.

Nice lacquered cabinet in that picture. Photographer's own I should think.

Perhaps the worst thing I discovered so far is that one of his (same name) Scottish second cousins married a woman from Florida who is a fervent Trumpatorian. She's got the hat and everything. I haven't discovered one of those on our side. Yet.

There is always a chair with barley twist spindles.

I've still to establish who the mutton-chopped man and the serious child are. The lovely woman in the first picture is Bert's maternal grandmother. And I'm still working on the Murdocks and haven't got any further than 1911. They're leaving blacksmithing behind so I may be losing interest in them. 

Empty Streets and Dry Garages

When Lizzie was here yesterday we got talking about a photograph of Pearlie taken as she cycled through Cullybackey when she was in her early twenties. Lizzie claimed that it had been made into a postcard. No one could recall where we'd last seen it.  So today when Bert and I called in at the Cullybackey Historical Society Open Day we were pleased to see that very picture. We cannot be certain it was Pearlie but the timescale fits and it looks like her. According to Bert his father didn't own a car back then so cycling or walking would have been her only option. I'm sure that's not true. Johnny is bound to have owned a car in the 1950s. How else would he have got to Portrush? And he was always in Portrush. Bert asked me if my father had a car back then.

Of course he had a car! He might have had to share it with his six brothers but they always had cars. Sure they had a petrol pump. They'd have looked well walking or cycling when they had access to free petrol. And how could they have courted girls on the far side of Randalstown without wheels? Not like your lot who wouldn't have walked the length of themselves for a woman. Folk who thought three fields away was a big distance!

And speaking of modern day petrol stations I have sad news to report for one of the guys in the garage has been rather dry with me these past couple of weeks. Normally he's all friendly banter which  I thoroughly enjoy. The first time I noticed he was a bit 'off' with me I thought he was distracted, maybe having an off day. He's been 'off' with me for a couple of weeks now and I think I must have offended him in some way. Perhaps because a couple of weeks ago I couldn't recall receiving change and when I queried it, it turned out I had. I should have been embarrassed but I wasn't and maybe that is the problem. Ah well. I hope he gets over it soon. I miss his banter.

Interesting Is As Interesting Does

Another beautiful day and I managed to spend a good part of it at the seaside with Miss Hannah. Leitrim Sister here this evening and we've been chatting all evening so this blog post must be a speedy one.

On to the Big Flickr photoshare, on this day the eighth April, 2015,

Eight most viewed picture today, me and an unknown and very pretty lady, somewhere in Larne in the mid 1950s. I know very little about this picture. Did someone say she was a priest's housekeeper or did I imagine that? Matty might have cleared it up but far too late for that now. There was building work going on in the background and those houses look new. Wish I knew more. 1,316 views.

Cullybackey riverside walk. 193 views

That is my eighth most interesting picture. I like it very much, and the walk too but don't think it is that interesting. Flickr has other ideas.

Goodnight all.

Three Little Pigs In The Big Bad World

So there were these two little abandoned pigs wandering the fields and hedgerows of deepest, darkest Cullybackey. Bert and I went out this morning to fetch them out and feed them finest kind pig food with a view to their rescue and rehabilitation. We took one dog only, our Jess for she is good at sniffing out pigs and, unlike Judy, she does not hate the porcine race.

She did her work, sniffed them out and over the crest of a hill appeared one pig and the other. Then another. Three of the beggars! Bert emptied out the pig meal and they all tucked in. The way they were scoffing it was obvious that they were no stranger to meal and that it had been more than a day or two since they'd had any. They might be three or four months, all the same age, litter mates for sure and they are all boars. They've been dumped by the person who bred them.

This is a big problem. No one wants boars. If they were to go for pets they'd need to be castrated and that should have happened already.

I'm not sure what is going to happen. But we're not giving up on them yet. Whatever the outcome is they are going to be fed.

So we'll be back tomorrow. Fingers and trotters crossed there won't be four of them standing there.

Here Be Pigs

We were contacted yesterday by friends of a friend to find out if we were missing a pig. An exotic specimen had turned up in the yard of another of their friends. This lady kept horses and her horses were mortally afraid of pigs. This seemed odd to me but it seems that many horses are wary of pigs. Out of curiosity and some concern for the pig we agreed to go check it out.

The pig was in a huge barn and the five of us strolled in. The pig, a potbelly, was in the corner of the barn. It was only a baby, maybe a few months old. Anyway it got spooked and made for the door which was closed but it found a little breach and off it went. Pigs are great escapologists. The last we saw it was haring up the side of a hedge. Bert decided to take to the fields to see if he could find it but had no success. I met him in Clint's yard. This lady's place was a mile or two by road but only a couple of field lengths as the crow flies.

We were cross with ourselves because that time in the shed was our best chance of capturing it. I must say it preyed on both our minds that poor wee thing was out in the open without food or shelter. I was angry too with whoever had owned it because it seemed very likely that it had been abandoned. It was just about the right age to have been small and cute at Christmas time. Perhaps it was a gift that turned out unsuitable. The practice of dumping unwanted pets is common here and over the years I've come across it many times. Our big ginger cat, Fred, was actually dumped from a car in the Doagh Road as I was walking there.

What do people be thinking of when they do that? Do they think that their unwanted pet will be picked up by a kind stranger and taken in? I've been that kind stranger on a number of occasions but, believe me, there are not enough kind strangers to go round. A few years back Bert had to scrape a pulverised dog off the road and bury it. He did this on the off chance that it was someone's lost pet and that the sight of it would be too upsetting for them. But no one came looking and it is probable that the dog was dumped on our road and got hit by a car.

The little pig was on our mind and Bert went out with the dogs yesterday evening to see if he could find it. They had no joy. It wasn't a cold evening and we were hopeful that it would survive to live another day. He and his friend went out again today. Máirtín is a city boy and enjoys the things we do here. Dosing calves, potting up clematis, burning stuff , driving tractors and searching for pigs - Máirtín loves it all. Jess led them to the pig, two pigs! Two potbellies grazing at the edge of a copse, enjoying the late winter sun and not overly afraid of humans or dogs. Still too skittish to be caught. They are only a field length away from Clint's place and he says that if they turn up in his wood they can stay!

I'm glad there are two of them. It will increase their chance of survival but I cannot help wondering what is going on. Two dumped pigs or two lost pigs. Will we ever find out?

First Funeral Of The Year

As it turned out I went to today's funeral (the first of the year) with the Wee Manny. He arrived at our house more than an hour early all suited and booted. In our part of the world, by the time a man is in his middle age he has his funeral rig ready at all times. This outfit will consist of a dark suit, a dark tie, black if the funeral is that of a close family member and, given the Irish climate, a heavy dark overcoat.

It was a battle getting Bert to wear his suit but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The funeral suit is a much easier option than trying to find other items of dark (clean) clothing. And the dark tie is always in the inside jacket pocket.

The reason I went with The Wee was because Bert was picking Hannah up from work and the Wee and I, both being Virgos, are very particular about punctuality. We were there at least half an hour before the proceedings began. The Cuningham Memorial is very close to where I live yet this was the first time I'd ever been inside it. The interior is very traditional, with heavy roof beams and beautiful stained glass. The pews are those old fashioned ones with doors. Ours seated just three people. As always, on entering the church, I had to stop myself looking for the holy water font and in the pew I noted the absence of kneelers. Presbyterians do not kneel. At least I did not attempt to genuflect as I entered the pew. I did that once but I hope no one noticed. That was at Church of Ireland wedding so you'd almost get away with it.

As we sat in that pew I reflected that The Wee is actually my oldest friend. Not old in terms of age, but old in the length of time we've known each other. I met him nearly forty years ago and I knew of his existence a couple of years before that. The Wee was one of the cool dudes, living mostly outside Ballymena, in London, Amsterdam and other interesting places. I first met him in Dublin while I was visiting my sister who was at Trinity College. He and I had a mutual friend and the three of us went on a pub crawl. Little did I know that we'd still know each other forty years on and that we'd go to funerals together and that we'd have spent the time before discussing our favourite baking dishes and other mundane things. He introduced me to Bert nearly thirty years ago so I expect I'll have to be friends with him forever.

The man whose funeral service we were at was the father of one of my youngest friends. I've known Mel for sixteen years and although I did not know her daddy very well, I know that she loved him dearly and he loved her just as much. His passion was breeding horses which he'd been doing for about as long as I've known The Wee. For the very first time ever in our village we had a horse-drawn carriage carrying the coffin to the cemetery. It was drawn by two black horses and somehow I missed seeing it. The reason? Bert distracted my attention by pointing out a familiar face that he was certain belonged to an old enemy from Ballymoney. I was certain it was not our enemy although the lady did look familiar. It turned out to be our vet from Clough. I'd never seen her in a dress before.

God Rest You John A. You left a fine legacy behind you.

December Daily Post, No. 23

A lot achieved today. And about time. Early morning grocery shopping in the village. Everyone I encountered seemed very cheery and pleasant, no doubt because they weren't in town. I got chatting to a delivery man who was wheeling boxes and more boxes into the local supermarket. Crackers? Mince pies? Trifle sponges? No. Easter eggs! He said he could hardly believe it himself.

Why would anyone go to town to buy bread and Brussels sprouts? All the basic essentials can be found in the local shops and it is far less stressful to get the bulk of the Christmas food shop there. Of course there are always a few unobtainable items. In my case it was mascarpone cheese and proper dark chocolate.

I left the van at home for my jaunt to Ballymena. Went to the cinema to see Paddington with the girls and their parents. It was really enjoyable, even more so because the girls were there too. Martha was very scared of Nicole Kidman's character but Zoe persuaded her to be brave and I promised her that the wicked lady would have her comeuppance. Which she did to Martha's great glee.

After the movie I walked along the river path to Sainsburys, bought a small bagful of exotica and got the train home. I managed 17'000 steps today which isn't bad for Christmas time.

Spent the evening wrapping and receiving presents so not a bad day at all.

And I'm thankful for it. Thoughts cannot help straying to those whose lives are very difficult right now and to those who are facing bereavement. I'm also thinking of those Christmas shoppers killed and injured in Glasgow yesterday. If everyone we love and care about are with us during the Christmas period even if it is only by Skype or phone then we are lucky people.  For this year anyway.

Old Map of Cullybackey

This map was drawn by the Rev. Jonathan Townsley who was the minister for the United Free Presbyterian Church in Cullybackey. Click map to enlarge.

From 'Random Rhymes frae Cullybackey' by Adam Lynn, 1911.

This Is Cullybackey

1. Cunningham Corner, 2. Cullybackey Main Street, 3. Cullybackey River, 4. Cullybackey Main Street, 5. single tree on the granagh road, 6. highlander seen on the granagh road, 7. river flow cullybackey, 8. Sunset, 9. Sunset, 10. Sunset, 11. The cart and the bluebell, 12. The old shed, 13. asses, 14. Antrim Cart at Arthurs Cottage, 15. Cunningham Memorial Church, 16. A swinging time at Galgorm Manor, 17. Galgorm Cottage, 18. The river at Galgorm Manor, 19. The river at Galgorm Manor, 20. An afternoon at Galgorm Manor, 21. Cullybackey Riverwalk, 22. Galgorm resort and Spa, 23. Cullybackey Riverwalk, 24. The Cunningham Memorial Church, Cullybackey, 25. The Cunningham Memorial Church, Cullybackey

For Flick's Sake!

For Sale Sign, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I still haven't discovered why this fairly dull photograph has had the most views on my Flickr photostream. 683 so far.

Google Earthing

I discovered Google Earth. I know. Light years after everyone else. Now here's a thing. How come Nellybert's isn't on it yet all the houses west of Dingle are?

You'd think Cully was definitely more important than that. But on second thoughts - maybe it's just as well.

A New Hairdo

The before picture taken by me in summer 2005.

N. Ireland New Thatch Roof, originally uploaded by mom4985.

The after shot taken by an American (?) visitor sometime this summer. You live in a picturesque cottage people will take photos.

There are some other local buildings featured here.

Shitspiration

Sign in Cullybackey, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Muppetry rules in the village of Cullybackey.

Is it any wonder that Paddy chose this very spot to evacuate his bowels?

Cullybackey

gate near Loan Hill, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Mile or two outside it to be accurate. Obviously I'm the main tagger of Cullybackey on Flickr.

Animal Loving

No! Not that kind of animal loving.

Today Dee Mac and I walked our dogs on the Galgorm Woods path. It was wet and we didn’t see many other people around. But there was this one old chap feeding the donkey that keeps the stable ponies company. Dee told me this man comes down most days visiting the donkey. We stopped for a chat with him and he told us he thought the donkey hadn’t enough to eat and that he’d love to take it home with him. He said he’d lots of grazing out his back. He’d just finished feeding it three carrots and an apple and for dessert the donkey was having extra-strong mints, which it appeared to relish. I don’t think the gentleman needs to worry about the donkey hungering as he’s not the only person who visits it regularly with pockets full of fruit and sweeties.

A bit farther along the path I spotted a fat grey squirrel shimmying up a tree. I pointed it out to Dee. “Oh that squirrel’s always there,” she said. “There’s a woman comes down regularly to feed it. She leaves food in the fork of that tree for it.” We walked on. Of course I had to call Paddy on as he was gazing yearningly up the squirrel tree wishing he could climb it and have that well-fed rodent.

We got to talking about the rooster Clint rescued from the battery cages. Poor Norris, as Dee has named him, is not doing too well. All those months squashed in the cages has weakened his muscle tone and he’s not eating much nor drinking. Dee got antibiotics for him and she is nursing him. She gives him a sort of chicken mash gruel and water from a syringe. He’s not that keen on taking it. Clint is threatening to leave him out for Foxy, which is a wind-up for sure.  Bert doesn’t think Norris will make it. Thinks he’s lost the will to live. Dee will persevere for a while. I’m thinking why do it? Why fight it? Those battery hens are bred to be short-term egg-laying machines. Roosters like Norris are not meant to be. If he lives to get some enjoyment out of his life it will be great but maybe better for us than for him.