Aug 17 2014

Sunday morning memories…

Published by at 1:14 pm under News



‘Well do you know what it is, you see years ago I used to love growing up in Cabra West and especially on a Sunday. The night before we were all herded like sheep into the upstairs toilet and dipped into the bath for a good scrub so that we were clean for Mass the next morning. The sisters all got the clean water to wash themselves in and the boys were made do with a rough and ready wash. And there’d always be a great big dirty Tide Mark left all around the edge of the bath after the water was let out. It was gas really because we only had one towel between us all to dry ourselves with. So whoever was last got the worst of it. 
Sunday morning of course was always magic in our house. The Da’ would suddenly appear in the back bedroom where us boy’s all slept in two beds. He used to think he was back in the army barracks with his roaring and shouting ‘Up and at it now, feet on the floor. “Jildy How, Kim Salabim”. That was some strange Arab language he picked up when he was stationed out in Palestine in the 1930’s. He’d suddenly pull all the covers off the beds and there we’d be like little baby mouses all huddled up together. Well in next to no time at all he’d have us all on the floor.
Sunday was the only time we got to wear a clean shirt and that had to do you for the rest of the week. We’d even wear it into bed at night and all. Now, I have to tell you that us boys didn’t have such things as underpants back then, so it was first up best dressed. And the Da’ would assign one of us to polish all the shoes for Mass while he started up the breakfast. The oul sausages were burned on the outside and half raw in the middle. ‘Da’ my sausage isn’t fried right’…swoosh it was gone off your plate and into the brother’s mouth. You had to be so careful what you said or did around our table when it was time to eat. 
Then it was off to Ten O’Clock Mass. Ah do you know what it is, we were all washed, fed and full of Holy God every Sunday morning. You might even be praying that you’d get knocked down by a bus and go straight to Heaven. One time our Teacher told us that if you died and went to Heaven you’d get ice cream. I remember seeing all the big lads in their Longers with their fancy hairstyles and their moths hanging on their arm. It was pure magic. And the church was full to the brim with holy people like the man down the road that did the collection for the priest. He always had a holy face on him walking up and down the aisle with one hand behind his back and he watching in case anyone took money back off the plate.
And then it came time for Holy Communion. God but I loved all that and trying to see if Holy God was in that thing where the priest kept the Holy Communion and the gold chalice. Wasn’t it great craic altogether when you had to stick your tongue out at the priest and he couldn’t do anything about it. Sure didn’t all that Latin stuff make you even holier. ‘Dominus Fobiscum, et come spirit to to oh…’. You see the Protestants all missed out on that. Then you had all the men standing and kneeling at the back and all ready to make a dash for it as soon as the Holy Communion was being given out. 
Do you know what it is, I could go on forever about Sunday morning in Cabra West. The Da’ taking us all up the park for a stroll and one of our neighbours sitting out at his front door reading his paper. And there’s a couple of the Oul Ones sitting on the wall across from the houses on Lower Killala Road drinking a cup of tea and having a chat. Pure magic and what great memories…Well that’s all for now folks…’

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