Social History - Part 1 - Growing up in Ireland in the 30's and 40's
My mother died earlier this year, so while her stories of growing up and making her way her in Ireland are still fresh, I thought I would write a few down. I hope you enjoy them.
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We all know that the last 40 years or so have been a time of
massive change throughout the world, not least because of technological change. The transformation of Ireland from insular
island to outgoing European state has been no less spectacular in that
time. Go back another 40 or 50 years
beyond that, a time still in the living memory of many of our older citizens, equally
great influences like the great depression, world war and the birth pains of
the Free State itself were making their mark.
Into this maelstrom, in 1929, my mother was born on a small farm in the
Ox Mountains of Co. Sligo, right on the border with Mayo.
The middle child of three, they seem to have had an idyllic
upbringing. My grandfather was obviously in love, for at some point the family moved
to a farm near Coolaney, Co. Sligo, and family stories say that this was to be
nearer to my grandmothers’ parents. Mum
told stories of her father bringing back treats of penny sweets from market,
then if there was a spare sweet left over after their division amongst the
three of them, how he would make a big show of taking the remaining one for
himself, only to slip it into the hand of that week’s favoured child later
on. Of tall tales told by the adults
gathered by the fire in the evening, bareback horse riding, of chasing corncrakes
from the path of reaping machines and a host of others; some of which may make
it to these pages in the future.
She told me that she found her vocation early in life when
there was sickness in the household. I can’t
remember which family member was ill, but it must have been serious for she
described closed doors covered in blankets that were soaked in carbolic to stop
the infection spreading. It was during
this sickness that the care provided by the district nurse’s daily calls
inspired her to become a nurse. Of
course to do this, she needed qualifications, and since schooling stopped at a
much earlier age than now, she had to work hard to get a scholarship for
further education. This meant daily
trips to Sligo town, by bus, train or cycling when possible. She tried hard to look put out when telling
of the attentions given to her by a road mending crew every morning when she
cycled to college, although secretly I think she was rather pleased to get
their attention. They sang an old music
hall song while she cycled past; Sweet Rosie O’Grady, but suitably modified to
match her surname (Greer became O'Greery). Google tells
me that this song was popularised by a 1943 movie that starred Betty Grable, so
would have been current at the time.
Community spirit was strong in the area, (it still is now), and in an
era of post war rationing neighbours, family and friends were all involved in
gathering together the long list of items, from the correct shoes to a rug for
her bed, that were required on her enrolment for nurses training.
Mum (right) with her sister and brother
So, aged 17 she left home by pony and trap, making what must
have been the longest journey of her life to the Royal Victoria Hospital in
Belfast to start her training. I am
constantly amazed at the journeys made by this generation. Their knowledge of what they were letting
themselves into must have been minimal by comparison with that available to our
globally connected world, and communication with home would have been by letter
only. In addition to any fears she had
about leaving her home, my mother’s inaugural trip to Belfast was made yet more
exciting when, somewhere in the Clogher valley, the train derailed, fortunately
at low speed, and with no injuries. I
suppose that the war years had starved the track of resources and labour so
maintenance had been minimal for far too long.
A more superstitious person might have fled for home right there, but
Mum seems only to have been preoccupied by the attentions of a couple of
American soldiers on furlough to the home country after the war, who rescued
her and her luggage as far the nearest road.
Judging by the old pictures you should see hereabouts she was a pretty
girl, but you may also sense a theme developing here. ;-)
Qualification portrait (Aged 21)
Nursing at Crawfordsburn
Belfast too was a whole new world, full of girls who were
much more worldly wise than Mum. She was
introduced to drink and smoking, and seems to have managed to date a good
selection of the eligible young doctors of the time while working and studying
for her exams. Her training coinsided
with the birth of the NHS, and she worked with many of the consultants that
helped set up the system here, and who’s pioneering work helped develop the
treatments of today. People like Dr.
Withers whose orthopaedic work had been so important to war casualties, and
others whose names I have forgotten, like the doctor who walked to patients
with his heavy lead box of radioactive materials, which he would apply directly
to cancers. There were doctors who
returned from Japanese POW camps, and places like the Ulster Hospital, which
was just a cottage hospital when she first went there. Stories too of Belfast’s first ‘iron lung’,
which no one knew how to operate on first installation. Above all, she made many friends among the
nurses she worked with; friendships that lasted a lifetime, despite their
practical jokes.
Not long after starting her training Mum was asked to retrieve
some personal possessions for an elderly patient. You have to remember that
back then many, many houses did not have indoor plumbing, so to deal with
hygiene problems patients went to the wards via a bath house where they left
everything in a locker. It had been week
or so since this patient’s admission. On
swinging the locker open Mum was engulfed in a visible swarm of fleas that had been
starved of their regular blood supply.
After decontamination, the bites were the subject of mirth for weeks.
On her first leave, armed with her first pay, she bought a
Swiss watch at a jewellers in Sligo town which is now in the care of my niece.
In Belfast, with rationing and a national drive to ‘export or die’, such things
were unobtainable. On her return with
this treasure, she soon found herself carrying contraband watches north after
every visit home. By 26, she had passed
her ward sisters exams; a very young age for this I am told. She specialised in child care and found
herself working at Crawfordsburn house (now very grand appartments).
The watch bought with Mum's first pay. Originally branded Fountain, the dial restorers could not replicate this.
The watch bought with Mum's first pay. Originally branded Fountain, the dial restorers could not replicate this.
The Crawford family had moved out during the war to allow
the big house to become a hospital, but were still living in one of the courtyard
cottages and the estate still functioned as a farm. It seems that Mrs Crawford assumed the position
of matchmaker for the young nurses, trying to pair them off with any eligible bachelors
in the area. Luckily my father, who
worked for an agricultural supplies firm made deliveries here. The rest, as the saying goes, is history.
My beautiful Aunt. Kindness personified
ReplyDeleteHi Dee,
DeleteI know that although she moved north for work, her heart always remained at home in Sligo. My father too loved it there so much that it was his ambition to retire there. Unfortunately, as you know, he didn't make it to that age.
Best wishes to you all.
Ian