‘My first job in a Cork pub, our crubeens gave all the drinkers a thirst!’

Can you your very first job? Not necessarily the first official one, but perhaps even ones you undertook at the weekends, or in your spare time from school?

Did you take on tasks to oblige a friend, or did your relatives ask you to help out during the holidays?

And when you finally got to the dignity of a real, genuine job, can you the excitement, the worries, the demands that real life began to place on you?

Throwback Thursday reader Mícheál Kenefick was reflecting on his own working years recently, and has generously shared some vivid memories of his varied jobs, which make wonderful reading.

“Not many of us in the early 1960s had the combination of brains and wherewithal required to further our education at third level,” he said. “I was one of the fortunate ones insofar as I not only got to go to university, but also got paid for attending, and I could walk from home to get there! I refer, of course, to the University of Life.

The real start of my education, and my very first real job, was as barman in that most wonderful of hostelries known as The Anchor Bar, in Whitegate, in the employment of one John J Kelly, who was known far and wide (and maybe even further and wider) as Jack.

He was actually head-hunted by Jack, recalls Mícheál, as he was at the time trainee groundsman in the Refinery Social Club in Whitegate,

“Lar was the Steward and I did a bit of relief bar work there for a while, under his guidance. As an aside, and despite Lar’s best efforts (and he was an expert), I never managed to master the most beautiful implement ever created by man - the scythe.

“The Anchor couldn’t have been more appropriately named, as seafarers and landlubbers alike anchored, moored, berthed or came alongside and stayed sometimes a little and, not surprisingly, sometimes a lot.

“I found that there was a great deal to be learned from the wise who came to visit and impart their wisdom, and in a strange way, just as much to be learned from the not so wise.”

Micheál goes on to share his memories of the characters he came across.

“While treating the confidentiality of the pub like the Hippocratic Oath or the confessional, I can mention with fond memories one or two of my professors and lecturers who had themselves gained first class honours degrees from the University of Life,” he said.

“Toby, raconteur and wit, and still quoted today, was certainly one. Bob, my former neighbour from the Middle Road, and as gentle a soul as ever walked the earth. 

Tom, with whom I used to play darts, and his brother Bill, a seaman from whom I heard wonderful stories not only from the parish but from all over the world. As a matter of fact, I regularly tell those same stories today!

“Johnny from the Fort, aching for a game of 45, and Bill from the terrace who, like many, would ‘give it up’ after the budget and hold out gallantly for a day or two.

“It wasn’t, of course, the requirement for alcohol which brought them back but the love of the company and the chance to discuss the affairs of the day and the real important issues of the world.

“High on that agenda would be the wellbeing of a neighbour who may have been ill, the yield of the various crops throughout the seasons, who had the first early spuds ‘like ‘balls of flour’, and of course the state of the weather, past, current and forecasted.”

Micheál also recalls a couple of gardaí who were regulars, “who had access for a quiet pint through the back door with a recognised tap on the window. By the way, the sergeant (who happened to be a non- drinker) once asked Jack if he would close it some time so that he could report to his superiors that he ed by even once and it was closed.

“The fact that his superiors may well have been inside when it was supposed to have been closed didn’t seem to have any relevance.

“Then there was Jack himself and his large circle of friends. To simply say that they were larger than life would be the understatement of the century.

“Finally, but a million miles from least, was my neighbour and mentor from the Boreen - he at the top and me at the bottom. Chum knew everything about everything and I was privileged to have been at his 80th birthday party recently, which was, unsurprisingly, held in a pub.”

To say that The Anchor was ahead of its time, observes Mr Kenefick, is again somewhat of an understatement.

Like most country pubs there were regular games of 45, and at Christmas there were ‘drives’ for turkeys, hams, chickens, chocolates, and bottles of booze.

“The Anchor not only ran card drives, but also was Whitegate’s first eat-in or take-out. And that meant work for me.

“On Saturday nights, I would cook 12 pounds of sausages, two dozen chickens to go, and, as a crowning glory, 10 dozen crubeens for consumption on the premises.

“The sales of porter would go through the roof after crubeens, and without Johanna’s help on a Sunday morning to clean up, I would have been like the man from Farran - gandered!

“After graduation from that extremely demanding University of Life, I was again head-hunted,” recalled Micheál. “This time by Denis Geary, who called one day to ask if I would go the Kosangas plant for three days as a helper as they were a bit stuck.

“As it happened, that three days turned into 41 years! Even though I had to get out of bed hands first on day two having lifted 1,000 yellow bottles, I soon got the hang of it, and thus began an adventure which to this very day hasn’t been equalled, let alone sured.

“You will have to be my age to appreciate what it felt like to be leaving a small rural village in the 1960s, and go out travelling the country and getting to visit places that I never even heard of, let alone got to see before then.

Even more important was getting to meet people from all over Ireland. In those days of innocence and ease, even though the hours were long, we never seemed to be in a rush.

“It wouldn’t be unusual for us to go to the pictures in Galway having had our tea in the magnificent Odeon Café and then drive home.

“While we were only allowed six shillings for the tea, Johnty would throw in the extra 1/6 so that we could have steak and chips, and of course tea and bread and butter for two.

“For the dinner, which had been eaten at 1 o’clock, we were allowed five shillings.

“There would be other days when we would park the truck smack in the middle of Cork city and call to Denis and Noreen in ‘An Stad’ where we would spend a pleasant hour eating the nicest buns in the world and discussing hurling, before heading for West Clare.

“As there was a Kosangas dealer in every city, town and village, we not only got to see as part of our day what the tourists were paying a fortune to visit, like Killarney, Dingle, Galway, Wicklow and Connemara, but we also got to visit places with strange-sounding names that we otherwise would not have even known of their existence, including ‘the other Whitegate’.

We were in Kiskeam, Knockcroghery and Knocknagoshel, Mastergeehy, Moneygall, and Mountcollins, Nobber, Nohoval and Nad, not forgetting Oulart, Quilty, Lissycasey and Quin.

“The real highlights in this magical world were the two-day trips. This, of course, meant we got to stay overnight, which today is no big deal but 60 years ago, and without any real dosh of our own, was a mega experience.

“The allowance was the princely sum of 15 shillings. We might get to stay in Schull, Ballybunion, Limerick, Killarney, or Castle Island which was a good spot, as we might meet another crew heading north to Ardfert, Shanagolden and Glin, while we might be going west to Annascaul, Lispole and Ventry.

I particularly one night when six of us were snowbound in Killarney. Bacon, sausage and chips, tea and bread and butter before the pictures, and craic until the small hours in the B&B. What hardship!

Micheál reflected: “Touring Ireland in a massive truck, watered and fed, entertained by Johnty, and if that wasn’t enough, getting paid as well, was very close to Heaven on Earth.

“Even though I did many other interesting things during my 42 years at work, my time in the pub and my time as a helper on the road are ed with the greatest affection. And, looking back, it only seems like yesterday!”

Oh, don’t you just bring back the memories of the early ’60s, Mícheál! When so few of us went anywhere beyond a few miles from home, and staying away in a B&B or, heaven knows, even a small town hotel, was truly living it up!

The thrill of being served food that your mother hadn’t prepared! The excitement of a strange bed, dark corridors, different sounds in the street in the morning! People who not only had no idea who you were, where you normally lived, who your parents were, but who spoke with curiously different accents!

Signposts pointing the way from somewhere you’d never been to somewhere you hadn’t even heard of!

And it was a very different Ireland then. Quieter roads, far fewer cars and lorries (except for your great big Kosangas truck, of course, Mícheál!) Friendly people in every town and village, delighted to see you. And weren’t those overnight stays a lot cheaper then, even allowing for inflation?

We were rudely reminded of this recently when checking hotel prices around the country. Yes, yes, yes, we all know that Covid caused costs to rise, but to the extent they have? Surely not.

How many of you have realised that it is now cheaper to spend a week on Lanzarote - flights, hotel, food, everything included - than go staycationing around Ireland for the same period?

Heavens to Betsy, you need a gold credit card to stay at most hotels here in Ireland now, and guesthouses and B&Bs aren’t far behind. It does rather seem as though we’ve lost the run of ourselves.

There was a feature in Vogue Travel not long ago, enthusing about the top hotels to stay in when visiting the major cities of the world. New York was in there naturally, as were Paris, Berlin, Lisbon, London, and of course Dublin. These were the most glamorous, luxurious, self-indulgent escapes you could imagine. Obviously not the cheapest option.

Well, which capital city proved to be the most expensive? Paris perhaps? London? New York? Nope. A stay at a luxury hotel in Dublin way outstripped any of the others.

So Mícheál, your memories of B&Bs and that overnight allowance of 15 shillings back in the early ’60s should be cherished. Dem days are well gone, boy, agus ni beidh a leitheid aris ann (their like will not be again).

Do you when it was affordable and fun to travel around our native land? Did you hitchhike or take the bus? Stay in hostels or bed and breakfasts? Tell us your own memories. Email [email protected]. Or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.