Anyone mention Red Rover?
We call @Dub09 over?
That’s the one … and kick the sh1te out of him on the way!!
No. We were from the "civilized " part of Glasnevin.
Just for you @_TL I found it… It’s a very personal one, but I’m sure you can all relate to some of it!
Such a warm breeze these last 2 days, they brought back so many child and early adulthood memories. It came over me like a wave. So many, many memories… I just really felt the need to share, please forgive me! It’s not a rant. Not in the slightest…
Memories of wishing for just a half hour more of brightness, so we could finish our football match (first to 10) on the green, with tracksuit tops (usually Kickhams or Dublin) making the goalposts. I was always John McCarthy in my early years, but later on, I was Anto McCaul… In my mind! Johnny Keegan, Gary Dinnigan, John O’Dea and Bretz all dreaming of our brilliant Dublin futures!!!
Memories of sitting out the back garden sipping lemonade, while da gassed up the BBQ and cooked steaks, because the sister was home from America. I guess he was trying to show her we were just as good as the yanks! A plead for her to come home I guess… Well played da. Good effort!
The smell off the grass in the back garden after da had over-fed it and burned the shite out of it! His frustration muttered, with f******g grass is s***e etc etc… Ma asking him to stop cursing in front of the children! Cough cough ma! You brought me to hill 16!!!
The warm summer evenings I spent in Schull, or in other parts of the country with close friends. Because they stick out in my mind. Kevin and Fergal Brady and the time I fell off the pier, and the “sheep are out” moment! Colette, we had a great night in the Q in a Cork chipper once… All the things that we did as a group too! Fine memories! I’ll never forget them! Pam, Nessa, Cathy and Rachael, I’m fully sure you remember “I think I just ran through the window” in the thickest Tralee accent! That was a warm summer evening too!
The time that Offaly beat Meath in the Leinster final, and me Kevin and Niall went back for beers after the Autobahn to my ma and da’s gaf and a BBQ to celebrate. (Us Dubs have come a long way since!) So warm that night, that me and Dunnser sat out under the stars until 2am setting the world to rights, with drunken verse!
The many times that we just sat in my ma and da’s patio and talked shite at the Roche and Potts clan gatherings. There was the sound of uncle Eamonn and uncle Sean brilliantly reeling (excuse the pun) off tunes and the hollow thump of the listening gang tapping their feet. Magnificent memories. Magnificent musicians. Geniuses!
The times we spent in Castlegregory and the many, many days we ran the sand dunes and the beaches and swam. Aileen Magrane was my sidekick in those days! And I spent some time wondering why this all came rushing back tonight… Because it felt really warm. Really warm. That’s the key here. This is not a rant, it’s a memory cascade that fell on me tonight. And it made me smile!
Maybe it’s because Feargal is home at the moment, or maybe it’s just a wish to go back to those days… Either way, the warm breeze, brought a warm smile to my face this evening. Sorry if I bored you, just felt the need to put it down in print! There was a simplicity about life then, and it all came rushing back tonight.
As I now put the phone down and set to go to sleep, I have just checked on the kids, and apart from wishing to see them in the morning, I hope that they have as great a set of memories to look back on as I do. I’m a very lucky man in so many ways. Oiche mhaith mo chairde! Amen!
Well done Senor @Rochey … nostalgia may be a thing of the past but sometimes it’s a good thing
Magnificent words, young Rochey!
Elbeau, now that’s a blast from the past!!!
July 2016 must have been warm!!!
I did I call Bart over
Just like the 20B.
4 or 5 years back after a few too many after a QF, couldnt understand why no f’ing 20B had passed at the Fairview stop until I remembered its the 14 now. Must have been standing there an hour or so.
Summer 82 was the one I remember the most, World Cup was great and we all were playing football from morning till night apart from running in to watch the matches. Poland were my team, I was boniek. Had my first World Cup wallchart from eagle comic and filled it in badly lol I didn’t realise you put in the teams in the groups after all the fixtures so I had to keep scribbling out and putting them back in
I had an esker bike with the big saddle and the big handlebars and lots of chrome so used to clean it every day and go off on it for hours after the World Cup was done or we would play soldiers around the blocks for hours on end. It was the last summer in primary school and it was great as it was a time just before people started using ballymun as a transit camp so the kids would just come and go but in those days it wasn’t a great day when new kids turned up. It was very cosmo too, there were Italian and French families and the Italian lads could play footie!
You might have been waiting an hour for a 14 too!
Great post Rochey.
Wimbledon fortnight. The thrill of getting getting a metal racquet in Quinnsworth for 99p. Borg v McEnroe. The utter devastation when Borg played his last game. First realisation of just how cruel & uncaring sport can be.
The bunting out for the (Whit?) Mass parades & Ave Maria blaring out of speakers taped to car roofs, during summer evenings, when it was the next estate overs turn to host the Mass on their Green. Getting to wear your Communion veil again for the occasion, but thinking it looked a bit thick when paired with a summer dress & sandals.
Trip into town to get your summer sandals in Clarke’s.
Picking strawberries & raspberries in the Lispopple fruit farm near where my cousins lived. Eating more than I ever picked.
Brilliant stuff @Rochey have had many a pint with Bradser(Kevin), he hung around with the younger brother and I played Hurling with him for a few years at Setanta.
Went to school with Sean & Ultan Potts, serious musicians. Still have to make it into Sean’s pub for a pint.
All the strands. The magic of the Silver Strand as a young child, remembered somehow as sepia photo negative images, the mind is another country…
The trip to Waterville and Balinskelligs in the old Bedford campervan with the well-off aunt and uncle over from Birmingham. The lashing rain and wind that killed our tent in Killarney, me and the dreathar delighted as it meant we got into the van!
The magic of waking up on a warm sunny morning looking out over Balinskelligs Bay, cooking breakfast outside, playing over at the ruined castle on the little peninsula, nearly drowning after the tide came in before we nade our way back, too young to wait for help. We could easily have been one of those news stories.
The trip to Bundoran because Da’s Electric Trades Union Conference was there that summer. Listening to Borg beating Roscoe Tanner at Wimbledon on the wireless in the BnB, Roscoe the big blond American with the bullet serve and boundless confidence. Borg wore him down and ended up with more aces…
Goung on a date, age 10, with the dreathar and the girl of the BnB and her mate, to see Grease at the flicks.
Like everyone else endless games on the pitches especially, living the dream of being Anton or Kevin Moran or Hickey with a mate into the Raheny Rd goal at the old Vinnies ground before the groundsman kicked us off. Sliotar breaking my nose cause I committed the basic cardinal sin of the non-wrishty hurdler…
Warm evenings with mates and the lovely girls in St Anne’s. The mate who took himself from us forever. The summer of 95 in Clare on the bicycles with the dreathar, burnt to a crisp and fell out of the hostel top bunk with the fever in the night. The magic of the famine village in the high Burren in the mist. The ferry to the Aran Islands. The music sessions. The River Áille hostel in Doolin where the unofficial sessions went on all night.
The semi-final against Cork in 95, when Jayo’s goal right in front of me at the Canal End changed the tide of that whole era.
I grew up in “old” Ballymun and when we were young (11-12 )
a gang of us would ramble out the road through “new” Ballymun out past St.Pappin’s Church
and past the back of the airport. Past the Boot Inn in Cloughran. ( A scene of many a night of carry on some years later in the famous Jets Nightclub.) Then on to Knocksedan where the ward River flows and we’d set up shop. Build a fire. Heat up tins of beans and make toast. Tin plates and all. Bottles of Taylor Keith Legalaid. Lie back, look up at the sky and light up a smoke. Happy Days. Off in for a paddle in the river. There was one part where the river widened a bit where you could wallow but swimming wasn’t part of the equation. Ramble back to Ballymun after a few hours when we got hungry.
We were always on the lookout for stray horses and ponies. A find like that would cap off a lovely afternoon. Back home. Eat what was put up and fast because there was a match organised in the park in front of our houses. There could be 20 a side. It didn’t matter. Only two girls played but they were readily accepted from early on as they were better than most of the fellas. After 11 still bright as morning and the Ma’s roaring for their offspring to return home. NOW. “Next goal the winner Ma”. “What’s the score”? “87 all”. 1969. Six years since we won the All Ireland. Only five to go for the beginning of a great adventure.
Dubs Summer of 83, for anyone who was there, don’t need me to remind you. Anyone who wasn’t, there’s no telling yis!
Hot summer. Running a fruit and veg stall out of an old cottage beside the girls school on the old Celbridge Road where The Orchard Garden Centre is now. (it was an old orchard back then, a wild playground of broken greenhouses and hordes of mice and rats, where me and dreathar recreated wars).
Pinstripe jerseys. Rock, Dully and Smokin Joe, Johno O’Leary skinny and fast and brave and cool in that deep blue top and the Feargal Sharkey hair. The resurrection of Ronayne, Blue Panther and Mullins. Heffo inscrutable and cool. The goals. The Meath saga. The stunning of Eugene McGee’s famous All Ire Champs. The great escape against the Langers, Canavan to Hazely, Rayzer to Mullins, pinpoint pass to the Rock they perish on, bang into the corner of the net. Never in doubt. Did they even get to kick the ball out?
The miracle of the replay, in Cork City. It’s all been told. RTE/GAA refusing live TV coverage. The Langers insisting the game be there. Heffo & Co delighted. The nation expect a Cork handy win, better team first game, experienced, battle hardened team who had just got past Kerry for the first time in 9 years. Game never in doubt once Mullins (Mullins!!) peno went in off the post. The nerve. The nerves! Mícheál Ó Hehir on the wireless telling us, “it hits the post!! No! it’s in!! It’s a goal!! A goal to Dublin!! Ohh Brian Mullins, cometh the hour, cometh the man!! And Páirc Uí Chaoimh has erupted in a sea of blue and blue, Hill 17 for the day!!”
The champagne second half ecstacy, Joe’s soccer finish and jump and spin like a big ice dancer…
The final wasn’t summer. Not the first or second or third cousin of summer. After Barney’s lob and the sending offs all I remember was trying not to get crushed and trampled. We won a famous 12 Apostles win but let’s just go back and be forever in Cork or walking out of Croker after Barney’s wonder goal…the DC Ramblers singing The Ferryman in the sunshine at the railway bridge outside the Hill. Standing outside Meagher’s til late, players wandering about. Always heros.
Celbridge? You really a Kildare man then😂