From the Plain of the Yew Tree
“For I’d parted then with gallant men I never would see no more.
To and fro in my dreams I go I kneel and I pray for you.
For slavery fled, O glorious dead when you fell in the foggy dew.
(‘The Foggy Dew’, Peadar Kearney) National school, St. Patrick’s, was a proper jungle. I was clever, intelligent and to some degree streetwise from working from a very young age (against my will I may add – I only wanted to play football and to hang out on The Mall) in my father’s grocery shop. I was grateful for this work experience in later life. I felt, in school, that I was always dodgin’ the bullets, anticipating danger, and seeking refuge in the spirit world of music and prayer. From the grocery trade you got a good grounding in manners, people-pleasing and being what was known as a grand gasúr (good kid).
In school, big rough De La Salle brothers, mostly from Munster, tried to break our spirits.
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