St Patrick's College, Armagh. Me and my father both?

I attended an Ulster GAA course last night in St Patrick’s College in Armagh.

It was highly interesting stuff and the content alone made the hour and a half drive entirely worth it, though it was the last thing I felt like doing on a wet Monday evening.

As I walked in that strange front door in the corner of St Pat’s, understated, facing out diagonally towards the wall of the cathedral I had strange rememberings of having been there before. And I had. My late father was a pupil there in the late thirties and early forties.

Our course took place in the Geography room. My da’s subject was Geography. It was a pleasant coincidence.

Of course I had been there before with him. During the ten years of my life when he was alive he must have brought me there on some outing or other.

I remember that door, going in through. Nothing else though. Strange how we remember these comings and goings. No doubt last night at all in my mind, I walked corridors that he ran many times some eighty years ago. Conscious.

Maybe the Geography room was then as it is now. Our tutor, Roger Keenan from Gortin. Himself a fella my father taught in Omagh CBS. His elderly relative Tom Rodgers was an old man we regularly took to mass and on other outings. Most famously my da took him to the Cinema to see Ben Hur. Me, my dad and Tom. Tom was uttterly enthralled by the spectacle. It was about 1977 and the new cinema in Omagh had just opened. My father decided that Tom, then aged about 88 and from Rooskey up in the Sperrin foothills beyond Cranagh, should share in the enjoyment of the new cinema.

As the credits rolled we got up to leave. My da asked Tom what he thought. He answered ‘An’ Dammit, they must have some stables and fodder out the back for them there horses.”

Next time I’m back in St Pat’s I will take a minute to scour the fading wideangle images of the pupils of St Pat’s  taken over the years in the lea of the Cathedral. As I search looking for my father, I hope to see him as a teenager gazing back at me.

And I’m sure I’ll learn something while I’m there. As he did before me.

Part One

This morning my ten year old daughter couldn’t find her coat. Typical glitch in the morning routine plus she had to walk to her cousins’ rather later than have me lift her from school.

I smiled afterwards at the studipity of our conversation/my diatribe. (Studipity – now there’s a word. . . I’ll leave it as it is. . .)

“Where is your new coat?”

“It’s in Schira’s car (her aunt)”

“Not much use to you there is it. . . I didn’t spend money on a new coat so you could leave it in other people’s cars did I? You want to catch yourself on and grow up, what age are you? Ten? For God’s sake. And when it rains…. there’s snow forecast you know –  the coat isn’t gonna keep you dry when it’s sitting in a car? You need to grow up and start taking responsibility for your stuff this is a bloody joke, every morning the same carry one. And let that hen in.”

“OK daddy.” She opens the front door and one of our three hens walked the well trodden walk of shame from the front door to the back door.

Part Two

Sorcha is four.

“Sorcha, you didn’t eat your lunch did you?”

“No I didn’t eat my school dinners.”

“That’s what I mean. Today you’re getting a packed lunch. So eat it OK?

‘But I don’t like dinners.’

Part Three

My son Leo is eight years old. After swimming club it takes him an eternity getting changed. One evening my sister in law eventually boiled her own radiator it took him that long. Cue a long lecture about hurrying up and not keeping people waiting.

“Blah Blah Blah keeping people waiting blah blah blah meeting to go to… blah how can it take you so long blah blah what kept you blah blah need to hurry up Leo …ad infinitum.”

Having listened intently but impassively Leo says: “Schira. Can you see the Great Wall of China from Outer Space?”

End of conversation.

I am doing some work on Social Media so I have made my return to Twitter (all my former followers will be delighted – all seventeen or so!).

I see that Stephen Fry has left the arena. Something he said about the Pope annoyed somebody so off he went the big huffer. To be honest, I missed Just_Alison and her smutty set of Twits.

Anyhow, if you can’t find me, drop a comment here and I’ll point you in the right direction.

Also, there will be a link through from @TalkingBallsGAA.

I haven’t gone away you know…

Today’s List

Some highlights from the front line.

Waking up with Treasa in the bed. Hug fada mór.
Methodical work, sometimes you can, sometimes you can’t.
Wrote good wee case study – well I think I did…
Eddie the expert tried to fix my car key catastrophe, failed but didn’t ask for a dime… He’s a wood turner too.
Met an old friend and tried to talk him round to something we both believe in. Signs of progress.
Coffee and apple donut fritter @ Starbux, fuxache.
Home decided Irish would be DIY.
(by the way if you’re reading this let me know)
A presentation for an interview scenario. Could I would I back again?
G cancels training
Dinner time… So many children present we don’t have enough forks. For forks ache.
Irish.
Home.
Useful piece of advice – thank you Martin!
Interesting article – don’t read what u want to write about; write about what people will actually read. Dunno… the chattel calling the cat black.