Dad ruined wedding suit saving a woman from drowning in Cork

YOU will that mention of Alannah Hopkin’s book, The Ship Of Seven Murders, in last week’s Throwback Thursday.

Pat Kelly said it reminded him of his own grandfather’s memories of seeing an incredibly detailed carving of a ship made with beef bones, and other bones.

“And over the years on TV’s The Antique Roadshow, I have seen people coming in with badly damaged model sailing ships carved from bones,” said Pat.

“The stock answer was that these were made by French prisoners from the Napoleonic Wars, imprisoned and trying to make money to send back to their families in .

“Now I am wondering, whatever happened to the model ship that was made by the ship’s captain who murdered seven of his crew?”

A good question, Pat. Anybody got any knowledge?

Another reader, Patrick O’Donovan, has sent us an intriguing story.

“In 1861, following a letter from the owner of the Baths in Monkstown, the editor of the Cork Examiner forwarded details of a heroic water rescue to the Royal Humane Society, to obtain their medal for a local man involved in this incident.

A little over a hundred years later, this same medal that was awarded by the Humane Society back then was, amazingly, found during building renovations on Cornmarket Street.

“In 1968 ‘De Paper’ ran an article to identify the medal which had been found. I was 14 back then but recognized the figure on the medal, because my father also had a parchment from them for a river rescue he performed in the Lee in 1944.”

Patrick explains: “We had the parchment because my father had rescued a young woman from drowning in June, 1944. In doing so, he ruined his new wedding suit and his new watch.”

He continues: “I wrote to the Examiner, and they published it. This, believe it or not, was my first piece of historical research and also my first published research!

“In more recent times, I again went looking for the 1968 article. I managed to find it, and also my reply to their request for help in identifying it.

There was a picture of the medal and the details of the inscription on it.

“I quickly researched the events of the rescue, and found the original letter to the Examiner in 1861, suggesting that application be made to London for the medal.”

Patrick sums up: So the Examiner asked readers in 1968 to identify a medal that the Examiner had originally been instrumental in getting awarded in 1861! How’s that?”

But there’s a further ironic twist in the story, adds Patrick.

“My father was a republican, a shinner, as were all his drinking friends. The military officer who signed the parchment on behalf of the Royal Humane Society (Lieutenant Colonel V. Vivian, DSO BFD OMG) was the head of British Army IRA Counter-intelligence in Ireland at the time. And my father didn’t know this. But I DO!

“And I can still hear him and his friends chorusing along to Dominic Behan’s song in the bar at 20 Parnell Place, (now the right hand side of the Poor Relation there):

‘Take it down from the mast Irish traitors,

it’s the flag we Republicans claim,

it can never belong to Free Staters,

you have brought on it nothing but shame.’

“Love you, Dad!” adds Patrick.

The Royal Humane Society’s goal, he explains. for those who might not know it, was to promote the moral duty idea of people learning to swim, thus decreasing the death rate from drowning.

The idea of a monetary award was considered, but that would be perceived as awarding pecuniary gain from the distress of another human being. Instead, parchments or medals were issued.

Very few people learned to swim, especially sailors, the logic being the end would come quicker, rescue being hopeless in any case.

At the same time, they did not want people going around, attempting to rescue swimmers who were not in any difficulty, hoping to benefit from a cash reward.

Thank-you for that great story, Patrick, and well done for realising your own in-born talent for research at such an early age!

Meanwhile, Seán Ó Laoi has the definitive answer to the query regarding whether the writer Daniel Corkery lived at one point in a house by The Lough, and if so, where it was.

“It was 9, Ophelia Place, Jo,” says Seán.

The archives show that he wrote from there to a Miss Goldberg in November, 1919, giving advice on editing a play she was writing.

So whoever lives there today, you had one of our foremost writers, politicians, and academics there before you. He may have looked out of an upstairs window at the water and the geese waddling along the shore, as you do, and pondered on that legend of how The Lough came to be (by a princess accidentally leaving the lid off a magic well so that the water burst out and flooded her father’s kingdom).

And now, on to the topic also introduced in Throwback Thursday recently of ‘snugs’, or those discreet side-door private enclaves off pubs, used mainly by women.

“Is maith liomsa an chlúid nó ‘snug’ atá i dtábhairne Callanan ar 24 Cé Sheoirse,” says Seán Ó Laoi.

Anybody else familiar with that little bolt-hole? This writer is certainly going to go down and take a look. We haven’t that many of them left.

I had a quick check online. The Irish Pub Guide https://theirishpubguide.com/2023/11/28/7-of-the-best-cosy-cork-city-pubs-snugs-fireplaces-and-hidden-gems/, gives special mention to that amazing little reminder of other days, the Mutton Lane Inn, off the English Market, and reminded me that there is indeed a little snug on the left here as you go in - that’s if you can find your way in the dimly-lit interior!

Now that’s a bit of Cork’s history right there. Claiming to be the oldest in the city outside the old town (that is, beyond the medieval centre based on North and South Main Streets), it certainly looks it.

So is the oldest pub in North or South Main Street? Which is it? Come on, some of you must know!

Mutton Lane itself is said to have been named because live sheep were herded into the market by this route, but that doesn’t seem very likely.

It was certainly a lively place, the English Market, back in the day ( how dirty it was, even in the 1950s? And how the stallholders used to wash their produce, fish, flesh, vegetable, in the now elegantly repainted fountain?

However, they (and certainly their customers) would certainly have objected to animals being slaughtered right in front of them. ts of meat carried in down the lane from a nearby abattoir would probably be more accurate.

The name of Mutton Lane is certainly a rare survival of simpler days when we didn’t have all these rules and regulations regarding quality control, hygiene, or health and safety, interfering with your peaceful pint. The Mutton Lane Inn should always be protected and preserved exactly as it is, and never turned into a spotless Disneyland showpiece!

The Good Pub Guide also mentions the Oval in South Main Street as having “snugs aplenty” but that makes me wonder if they have the same definition of this retreat as we do. There would only be one snug to a pub, and it has to be entered by a side door to make it De Real Ting! For heaven’s sake, how else could women take the weight off their feet and get hold of a drop of the hard stuff without attracting male attention and deep disapproval?

Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that back in ancient Ireland, women were far more important and accorded far more rights than they enjoy even today. Appreciated and looked up to as the slightly more important half of society, because of the role they played in ensuring future generations, they could count on Brehon Law ing them in every difficult situation - yes, even including getting a divorce from a husband who had talked insultingly about them to his friends, or grown too fat for … well, never mind!

Today, our women are as free to come and go in pubs as anyone, but it’s not that long since they were barely tolerated. Anybody those days? I know, I know, we had an almost entirely male government, a definitely male clergy, so what could you expect?

Wasn’t it Augustine, back in the 5th century - 500 years after Christ had set up his religion of love and understanding, - who claimed that women were useless except to produce children? He was the one who started that male domination thing out of which we are still trying to drag ourselves.

Now listen, it’s mid-May, the most beautiful time of the year in Ireland. Why isn’t everyone outside playing? Katie O’Brien has voiced her concern on the way mobile phones have taken over the old summertime pursuits:

“I suppose I have become accustomed to seeing groups of teenagers gathered outside the school gate or by the local shop, not talking, shrieking at each other, exchanging gossip and secrets, but every single one of them looking downward, inward, at their phones,” says Katie.

I think of how much gossiping I did with school friends when the long day was done, the plans we made, the difficulties we sorted out, the confidences we exchanged.

“Now they don’t seem able to do anything but look at these tiny screens and check what is going on in the virtual world.”

Katie adds: “What shook me the other day, though, was the sight of two girls about eight and ten, clad in shorts and t-shirts, running down to the shore in Bantry on a sunny day. They were so like my sister and myself at that age that I paused to look nostalgically.

“Then I noticed that each had her mobile phone clutched firmly in her hand. They weren’t talking, they were moving steadily ahead, until they got to the sea wall where they could stop and - yes, you’re right - stare into their phones in case they had missed anything in the dash from home to play.

“What has happened to childhood summers?” asks Katie. “Don’t we the games we used to play, the adventures we used to have, the forays to woods or streams or lakesides? Doesn’t anybody play in the street any more?

“All right, I realise that streets aren’t considered safe these days, but even on wide swards of grass in housing estates, or stretches of paving, you never see children playing hopscotch or skipping or throwing marbles. There doesn’t seem to be any activity, other than on the texting thumb!”

You’re right, Katie. So many simple games we had back in the day. The streets and lanes and flights of steps that characterise Cork were a wonderful playground, and going further afield - up to the Glen if you were a Northsider, out to the fields of Douglas if you were a Southsider - was one of the joys of summer, still ed by many.

Fishing in a local stream and proudly bringing home your tiddler catch. Climbing a tree along a boreen. Exploring unknown territory, storing up memories which would last a lifetime...

What games do you from childhood, at a time when mobile phones hadn’t even been thought of? Did you chalk squares on the pavement and hop with a boot polish tin? Did you chant skipping rhymes or bounce a ball against a handy house wall? Play cowboys and Indians all around the avenue?

Bring them back to your mind and tell us! Email [email protected], or leave a message on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.