The Legend, Jonny Steingold

 Earlier this evening, I knew exactly what all four of my sisters were doing, because I was doing the same thing. We were all listening to one of Jonny’s Christmas shows on Mad Wasp Radio. Maybe we were all doing other things as we listened. I was doing a bit of tidying, since Leitrim Sister is calling with us tomorrow.

That show was one he recorded some time ago. It must have been from quite a while back, because at one point he talked about Hogmanay, for he was Scottish, and how London Sister and he would take the Parkland Walk on the way to Alexandra Palace, where they could enjoy a fine view of the London skyline and watch the New Year’s Eve fireworks. That walk would have been far too difficult for him in recent years.

It’s poignant listening to his show, knowing that he’s no longer with us. It must be even more poignant for London Sister. Yet I know, because she has told me, that it comforts her to hear his voice again and to listen to the music they both loved.

Jonny had excellent taste in music and a deep knowledge of it. His preferred genre was Americana, that broad church that includes rock, folk, bluegrass, country and the blues, all of which he loved for their shared roots and storytelling traditions. Even when it became hard for him he would still go to as many gigs as he could fit in and for many years he made an annual trip to the United States to go on the renowned Cayamo music cruise.

Cayamo is a week-long music festival at sea, bringing together artists and listeners who share a love of Americana and its many branches — folk, rock, bluegrass, country and the blues. It’s less a conventional cruise than a floating community, with intimate performances in small venues, spontaneous collaborations, late-night jams and the rare pleasure of musicians and fans mingling freely throughout the ship.

The Cayamo meant a lot to Jonny. He heard new music, found new friends and listeners and got to chat with many of the musicians he admired. Despite many setbacks and trials, he never missed a Cayamo - right up until March of last year. He knew that would have to be his last one for the Parkinsons was making everything too difficult. And that was going to be a hard thing to bear.

His sudden death in Norway meant that he didn’t have to face the prospect of a Cayamo he couldn’t make. But it is so sad to think that there will be new artists coming along that he’ll never hear, and new music that he won’t know about. We’ll just have to be glad that he did love the music, that he shared it with so many people and that he left a world of it behind for us to listen to.

These shows, years and years of them, will continue on Mad Wasp Radio for the foreseeable future. One of the legacies that Jonny has left us. Mad Wasp Radio hails him as The Legend, Jonny Steingold. We were lucky to have him as part of our family.

A Dozen Years

 A collage for Matty's twelfth anniversary. One with each of her seven children. Let the pictures tell the story. She was well-loved and she loved well.

Hard Times

My Uncle Vincent's funeral in Rasharkin was held on the same day as the interments of Princess Diana and Mother Teresa. I have to say that the old nun's death passed me by what with everything else that was going on at that time. But I'm rarely in that churchyard and when I visited it last week on the eve of Aunt Marian's funeral I was surprised to recognise so many names of people who are buried there. One of the most startling was the grave of the three Quinn brothers from Ballymoney who died in a sectarian arson attack on their home on the 12th of July, 1998.

Marian had lived to 83 years of age and she had lived well. The priest who conducted her Requiem Mass made much of her sense of adventure, her love of travel and her strong attachment to family. It was probably one of the most inspiring eulogies I've ever heard and, I can assure you, I am very hard to please when it comes to preachers. One thing I noticed in the chapel was the presence of three young brothers, great-nephews of Marian's I suppose, who were around the sort of ages as those other three brothers lying in the churchyard. The Quinns would be grown men now, probably with families of their own but they never made it to adulthood just like so many of the youngsters murdered in Manchester the other night.

It is hard not to feel a terrible sadness right now for it happens that tonight is the 43rd anniversary of the deaths of our father's two brothers, my uncles Shaun and Brendan. Sometimes I forget it is their anniversary. But not this year.

Yvonne and Anne
write far more eloquently on this than I can. There is a lot of reading here but it is very worth it.

Eleven Years

Eleven years ago today we lost the kindest, funniest and most decent man ever. He was a much loved husband, father, grandfather, father-in-law, uncle, brother, friend and neighbour. Seamus, still very much missed today. Grateful to have had you in my life for fifty one years and sorry about that rough patch between 1968 and 1973 when I didn't appreciate you enough.

Never Forgotten

There are some things that just stick in the mind. One of mine is my great-uncle Father Joe's funeral, which I wasn't allowed to go to. Father Joe or, to give him his full title, the Ven. Archdeacon Joseph Byrne, was the Parish Priest of Larne. He was greatly loved by his family and by all who knew him. Father Joe was described as 'a man noted for his kindness, goodness and piety', and he was certainly very kind to us, his great-nieces and nephews.

On days off he'd drive down to Tannaghmore in his ancient, blue Morris car, do the rounds of the grown ups houses, then pile all us children into the car, probably about six of us and take us out for a 'run'. He drove slower than anyone I knew and always tooted his horn when he approached a bend in the road. There would be a white paper bag of sweets with pictures of fruit which he bought in Mrs Fletcher's shop on the Pipe Road. We'd get one or two sweeties and they were that hard they'd knock the teeth out of your head. These runs would often end up at Uncle Joe's house near Cookstown Junction.

Father Joe died in 1961 at the age of 77. I didn't get to go to the funeral. Mammy said I was too young. But cousin Joseph was going and he was two years and a month younger than me. But that was because he was called after Father Joe, Mammy said. This didn't mollify me. Cousin Joseph was going and I wanted to go too. Mammy stood firm. I stayed home.

Then, about a month later, we were given a copy of a photograph of little Joseph (barely six years old) standing at his great-uncle's grave looking suitably solemn and sad. I was raging with jealousy. I've never forgotten that feeling but, I'm glad to say, I never held it against young Joe. I blamed the grown ups.

Joe's gone himself now. Three years ago today and I miss him still. We all do.

Remembering

This anniversary hasn't taken me by surprise for I've been thinking about my mother since April began. I knew I'd be writing this blog today and I've left it to the very last moment. Four years, four years now since Matty died.

There would have to be a picture and that was decided at the last moment too. The problem, and it's not a problem, about choosing pictures of my mother is that there are so many great ones. She came across well in photographs. This is the one I have chosen to remember her tonight.

Miss you Mum.

And this is my sister's remembrance.

Blackberries, A Funeral And An Eely Song

After the blackberries were gathered I went to my cousin's house. He'd died in the early hours of the 26th September after a long illness, patiently and bravely borne. He had enjoyed the support of a very loving family and it seemed to me that he was happy during the last year and a bit of his time on this earth. He said as much too. His funeral was on Friday past and it was a big one for he was greatly loved.

It was at the funeral of another school friend about five years ago that my cousin addressed me as 'Nelly' in the graveyard. I was surprised. Somehow I'd thought that my neighbours and relations from way back when wouldn't know about the Garden. I should have had more wit. Anyway he said he enjoyed it and ever since then I'd always thought of him when I was putting together a new posting. This following post is an old one from around that time and, I think, the sort of post he liked reading.

I'll miss thinking of him when I come to Nelly's Garden although, not as much as he'll be missed by the family who adored him.

Eels! Eels! We Like Lots Of Eels!

FROM NOVEMBER 07, 2007

Yesterday evening while excavating the freezer I found a bag of frozen eels. Bert was ecstatic for he'd forgotten we still had them. He has only recently discovered the joy of eels and he cannot believe he lived until the ripe old age of 48 before tasting them. Those of you who know him personally will hardly be surprised he took to the Lough Neagh delicacy, as eels, like most of Bert's favourite foods, fall into the category known as 'close to minging'.

That's not to say I don't enjoy a bit of eel myself but in moderation only. I couldn't gorge myself on them nor eat them on consecutive days.

Bert fried a huge panful of them, ate two helpings and set aside a large portion for today's lunch. I merely nibbled on two small pieces.

When I returned from work this evening I asked him,

Did you have a nice day darling?

He answered,

No. I had a terrible day.

Why? What happened? 

Well you know the eels I was keeping for lunch? I refried them and they were just perfect. My mouth was watering for them. I was even singing an eely song while I was buttering my sodas and making my tea. 

The one that goes, 'Eels! Eels! we like lots of eels!' sung to the air of the Bavarian Drinking Song? 

Aye. That one. 

What happened? Did you burn them? 

Pearlie rang over wanting me for something.

Oh God! Were you over there for ages and burned your eels useless? 

No! They were out on the plate waiting to be eaten. 

Oh dear. Not...?

Yes! I came back over and there was the plate sitting where I'd left it. Not an eel in sight. The plate was spotless! 

Bonnie...? Aye! She's the only one big enough to have reached it. Not one solitary eel left....

Remembering Shirley

Remembering Shirley Finlay whose dumped and beaten body was discovered on the 19th September, 2006. Six years now since her life was taken from her.

Remembrance

..in London, three of the four surviving British World War I veterans attended a ceremony at the Cenotaph.

Henry Allingham, 112, Harry Patch, 110, and Bill Stone, 108, represented the Royal Air Force, Army and Royal Navy respectively.

These last few years Bert and I have taken a note of the number of veterans remaining from the First World War. It won't be long now until there are none left. Amazing as these old guys are they aren't immortal.

We watch the Remembrance Sunday coverage every year and I never fail to find it deeply moving. I've always had a great deal of sympathy for the armed forces - even in the darkest days of the Northern Ireland conflict - even through Bloody Sunday and all the other atrocities committed by the security forces. It wasn't a popular view for a Catholic to hold (and maybe it's part of the reason why some in my own family affectionately referred to me as 'The Unionist') but I could not stop caring for the individual soldier or police in the midst of it all.

So there you go - an opinion - I hate warring and I hate most of the reasons that make wars but I do not hate those who fight in wars.

A Beautiful Spirit

Shirley, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

This has been a hard week. Apart from the course, which I enjoyed very much, and some joyful encounters with the clients in The Faraway Home For The Confused And Disorientated it has been a week filled with anxiety, stress and sadness.

This morning we attended Shirley's funeral. As you'd expect, it was heart rending but it was also very beautiful. The priests of St Gerard's had words of comfort and hope for everyone. Father Doherty described Shirley as having "a beautiful spirit" and this was so true.

It seems that Shirley had led a very lonely life these past few years. I think this was partly due to her mental and emotional problems for there were so very many people she could have turned to.

She is at peace now. We'll never forget her.

Passing By

I read recently about the climber David Sharp who died on Mount Everest after he had attained the summit on his third attempt. Sharp was seen as a loner and he was doing it on the cheap so there was little in the way of a support team behind him.

I don’t understand what makes people put themselves through such an ordeal nor did I know that the slopes of Everest are so busy, or that so many people die in their quest to stand at the top of the highest mountain in the world. I didn’t know that for many climbers, who perish in the mountains, that where they fall becomes their final resting place.

The route that Sharp took was one that has been marked out with guide ropes placed there by the company owned by the New Zealander Russell Brice. On that route climbers must pass by a spot called Green Boots Cave. It is nicknamed for the distinctive green boots on the frozen body of an Indian climber, one of three, who perished in 1996 and who lies there still.

On his descent from the summit Sharp was overcome by exhaustion and cold and he must have crept into the shelter of the crevasse to rest beside the dead Indian climber. But his exhaustion was total. While he sat there dying from hypothermia it is believed that up to 40 climbers passed by him. It’s possible that some didn’t see him. Of those that did see him some may have believed that he was Green Boots. Others must have felt there was nothing they could do. A few stopped and tried to help but felt that it was impossible. By this stage, although he was alive, there was nothing David Sharp could do to help himself.

Last week the murdered body of Shirley Finlay was discovered in a car park in Ballymena. Like David Sharp, Shirley was seen as a bit of a loner. Certainly for the past couple of years she was a familiar figure in the town, walking briskly, always on her own, seemingly in a world of her own. And largely people let her be. One of the most reported ‘facts’ about Shirley is that she was a very solitary person. It wasn’t always so. Shirley did have friends. But towards the end of her too short life they weren’t around. Whether that was entirely Shirley’s choice is open to question. I told myself it was what she wanted. Now I’ll never know.

Birthday Flowers 22/9

Birthday Flowers 22/9, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

A Memory

Around five or six years ago we had a car boot sale in the grounds of my workplace in Spide City. Our aim was to raise some money so that we could take the clients and their children on an outing or two. At that time our manager was Ursa Major and she put a lot of effort into fundraising. That was the kind of manager she was, hands on and a good team leader.

As always the bric-a-brac was a big draw. I’d had a good clear out myself and one of the things I’d donated to the sale was a box of Action Man dolls, outfits, accessories and vehicles. These had belonged to the son of a good friend of mine who, at 14 or 15, had long since outgrown them. They had been lying about our house for ages and I was glad to get rid of them. It turned out that Ursa Major’s son had also put his Action Man toys into the sale. He was there with his mum and I remember watching him looking through the other boy’s collection. He was a big handsome blond boy of twelve or thirteen and I thought he looked wistful as if he wished he wasn’t too old to play with Action Men.

It would be far too hard to bear if we could see into the future. My good friend’s son has since broken her heart. And Ursa Major’s son died early this morning. He was eighteen.

Vancouver Brother In Sammy's Yard

Eamon...
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

This is my brother Eamon when he was about five or six. In those days he spent a lot of his time with the family next door who loved him to bits.

Sammy, who we buried yesterday, honed his parenting skills on Eamon, which meant that when he had his own children he was already skilled in the fine art of rearing (and spoiling) weans.

I was a cruel big sister and I remember that during the Big Freeze of 1963, when we were snowed in, that I teased poor Eamon into hysterics about never getting down to Haveron's again. Daddy made it his priority to dig a path to Sammy's house to let Eamon visit. I think he spent the rest of the Freeze with his surrogate family.

Jim Gilchrist

I was very sad to hear of the death last week in Derry of the musician Jim Gilchrist.

Jim used to play in the Silver Dollar in Antrim over 30 years ago. He specialised in traditional Irish and Scottish folk but I think even then his true love was the blues. He was a lovely man and a fine musician.

Pet Collage

19 years worth of cats, dogs & horses
Originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

This painstakingly created collage shows all the significant pets that Bert and I have had in the 19 years we've been together. Five have died, three still live with us and the two big ones have moved on. I shall name them in order of their adoption.

Row 1 features Caps, Danny and Attila. All dead.

Row 2 shows Polly, Rosie, Blaze and Bob. Rosie is still with us. The horses have been sold.

Row 3 features Harry, Molly and Paddy. Harry and Paddy are still with us, Molly has died.