Irish Eyes

By Mattie Lennon

The Irish Times is known as "The paper of record" and now a journalist from that paper, Frank McNally, has just published a memoir "Not Making Hay." While the author gives the reader some into his own experience of the afore- mentioned harvesting exercise the title is half a line from Raglan Road which was written by one of Frank’s idols and a fellow Monaghan man Patrick Kavanagh. Frank describes this work as "The life and times of a ‘diary’ farmer," and goes on to say that "In one way, diary farmers have it worse than dairy farmers." And in the 261 pages of this handsome hardback he explains why, in a style that would impress his two heroes, the aforementioned Kavanagh and Flann O’ Brien/Myles nagCopaleen/ Brian O’Nolan.

McNally admits that there are some life-experiences that may have faded from his memory but others are as clear as they were in the distant but not dim past. Such as the itch he experienced while he had a plaster cast on his broken leg at aged seven. At the build-up to Ireland's World Cup qualifiers in 1993 after the local soccer club offered their pitch, which joined McNally’s farm, to Jack Charlton for training. This is what he has to say about a member of his own profession, "A reporter from The Irish Independent was sniffy-literally-about the choice of venue, complaining of the ‘rural smells to which refined urban noses were exposed that week: from our farm . . .")

He doesn’t say which version of a line from a local ballad that he agrees with, "From Carrickmacross to Crossmaglen, as any man will vow / there are no rogues but honest men for miles and miles around." Or "From Carrickmacros to Crossmaglen, there more rogues than honest men."

He purchased a pre-owned and an amp with the proceeds of his first summer job and he got more than he bargained for. Whenever he turned on the amp at night he found himself listening to the world service from Radio Moscow, Which made the young Frank wonder!

Frank McNally almost joined An Garda Siochana but didn’t and his school-friend Gary Sheehan did. Frank 'did the medical' with him and they told each other ‘see you in Templemore’. That didn’t happen. By the time the call came Frank was in full employment.

There was a bullet with young Gary Sheehan’s name on it. In the tear-jerking chapter Requiem for a Friend his old school friend gives a full account of how Gary, still only midway through his training, was sent to County Leitrim where the kidnappers of supermarket executive Don Tidey were hiding. Don Tidey was rescued; young Gary Sheehan discovered the IRA dugout which resulted in the death of young Gary and an Irish army soldier. The author writes, "While most of the rest of us were condemned to grow old. He would now be forever a handsome 23-year old."

Frank McNally didn’t forget his old friend, "Thirty-eight years later, I finally retraced the fatal footsteps that brought Gary to McGahern country that day . . . . I just stopped in the middle of the woods for a few moments, in the profound silence of December dusk, and remembered my friend. Then I offered an agnostic’s prayer and hoped somebody somewhere was listening"

Frank also had many happy times in his life, like the time in 1988 when he won the Japan essay contest. The prize was a 'study tour' in Japan. Though Japan is an expensive country it didn’t bother Frank because there was very little time to spend money. It became obvious to him very early that it was a ‘Study tour’ and not a holiday. However in Tokyo, he did manage to participate in "Karioki" "phenomena

Three Weddings, a Funeral and a Job" is an account of experience(s) and events in his own family in the long, hot summer of 1995 some with which I can identify.

During his stay in Australia he was given an unusual piece of advice by a Scotsman, with bright orange hair, in a railway station in Wagga Wagga.

The Scot told him that if he were young again he himself wouldn’t opt for Australia but instead he would go to South Africa and work as a mercenary, "assassinating Communist agents in the jungle." Frank hoped his train wouldn’t be late.

I wonder how many of his colleagues at The Irish Times lived in a squat in London without electricity where, in the absence of a key, the only means of entry was through a sash window which opened from the outside. It was probably unusual for a young Irishman to be stopped by a London cop for breaking a red light while riding a bike which he brought from Carrickmacross.

For part of his time in London he was employed as a builder’s labourer where "Anything that wasn’t nailed down or chained was stolen." The young McNally seems to have been surprised by this but I worked on the buildings in Dublin and it was the same there. Or so I’m told!

I had to look up the word "Tercet." It was the form in which he wrote one of his winning poems for which he received £60 from Phoenix magazine. The Late Mickey MacConnell wrote and recorded a song titled "The Boys of the By-line Brigade." Well, Frank McNally wrote many pieces that didn’t carry the inconvenience of a by-line and consequently he now reveals that Not Making Hay is not his first book to have been published. You see some years ago a large number of those pieces sans by-line were published, but the author didn’t attend the opening because….ah you’ll have to read it yourself!

This work is a collection of brilliant essays, articles, compositions, epistles or whatever you’re having yourself. Whatever you call them there are 34 of them, every one a gem. The last one Doric Columnist: On becoming a Public Institution Is a condensed account of the author’s time with The Irish Times.

Not Making Hay is published by Gill Books and not to be missed.

OUT OF THE BLUE…PINK.

And now a word from Vivienne Baillie about Out Of the Blue...Pink which was launched on October 30th.

"Someone special, something different

Irish poet Pat Ingoldsby sold his books of poems for twenty years (1995-2015) sitting on a crate in the centre of Dublin city. From his pitch, this singular mind observed and listened to what was going on around him, jotting down ideas which grew into poems in the wonderful and very personal way he had with words.

Twenty years is a long time. It is time enough to see and feel a city change. Pat got to know the layers and the margins of a city he loved, and created (quite unintentionally which makes his endeavour all the more beautiful) a lyrical account of it that is absolutely unique.

His poems are like snapshots of things he saw or heard. What Pat achieved is akin to street photography where each photo is a poem. It is Dublin, yes, but much of what Pat describes could belong to most cities, in any part of the world. OUT OF THE BLUE... PINK is a selection of these 'snap-poems' of Dublin with several photos included taken by Pat himself as he sold them on the street. I believe nothing like this exists elsewhere in the world."

Vivienne Baillie was a close friend and keeper of Pat’s poems.

See you in December.