Memories of a Cork cycling Messenger Boy in the 60s

BACK around May, we featured Patrick O’Donovan in Throwback Thursday, recalling Hang Dog Road in Togher and his own intimate knowledge of the area.

He said, if you recall: “Don’t ask me was a dog ever hung there, but I remember picking blackberries on walks with my parents in the 1950s.

“I remember that sharp double corner at Langford Row/Summerhill South too, having traversed it many times on my bike, cycling from Scoil Chríost Rí to Jewtown. It was very fast going home but, because of the incline, much slower going to school. And of course we went home at lunchtime - sorry, it was called dinnertime then.”

Tom Jones, now residing in Florida, read that memory and had his attention caught by the observation that because of the incline, it was much slower going to school.

“That sentence recalling the gradient of the road, and the difference it made to tired little legs pushing those pedals, brought back to me a personal memory of the hills of Cork and bikes,” said Tom. 

“It’s a true story, and involves the famous Messenger Boy Bike.”

Just in case there are any readers born too late to recall this wonderful contraption of mobile commerce, Tom begins by giving a brief description of the bike.

“It was made of a tubular steel construction, the back wheel being of normal size, while the front wheel was of a much smaller size. This was to accommodate a frame of approximately 24 inches wide, 16 long, and 12 deep, for carrying purposes, into which was placed a wooden box made of a tea chest material, cut and made to fit.”

Some Messenger Boys, he says, of course had the more elaborate model, which was a heavy woven basket, also made to size.

“On the centre of the frame, below the crossbar, was another crossbar, and between them was a tinplate advertising the company’s name. Advertising on the road, that was, and very important.

“Just below the carrying box was a two-legged stand which you kicked down then you rocked the bike back and the bike would stand of its own accord. Or was supposed to anyway.

“It was certainly no lightweight, just on its own without any freight packed into the box, and built like a Sherman tank.

“To say it was of a solid construction would be an understatement. But then, it had to be tough for the work that was required of it.”

Now comes Tom’s story, dating from over 60 years ago, but still vivid in his mind.

“It was the summer of 1965, I was 14 years old. I had procured myself a position as a Messenger Boy at Suttons Coal and Hardware Department Stores. The store where I was employed with the Hardware Department was then situated at the corner of Lower Oliver Plunkett Street, and the street that runs alongside the Bus Station.” (Parnell Place perhaps, Tom?).

“Generally, I would deliver inter-department documents, and parcels between their many departments, and other places of business around town. Nothing really large, as they had a delivery van on which I was also called on to help for such purposes.

I had started the job in June, and it was in mid-July when the infamous day dawned that the incident occurred.

“I, at that time, was as thin as a rake, and it was said I could hide behind the bus stop which had a 3-inch circumference. And as had been said to me by others, I was in danger of falling through the grating on a street sewer.

“Well, I was entrusted by the dispatcher to deliver a package to The Montenotte Hotel. This package just about fitted into the carrier, and when I sat on the bike, it came level with the tip of my nose, just about allowing me to see over it.

“And so, I began on my quest to fulfil the directive given me.

“There was no one-way traffic system operating in Cork at that time. So, setting forth, I rode the bike over the bridge as far as the bottom of Summerhill.

“Now bear with me on the rest of this journey, as that hill is what one could describe as an incline of merit.”

True enough for you, Tom. Many a cyclist toiling home from school or work gave up halfway and pushed the bike for the remaining Alpine slope.

But Tom continues: “This was an extremely hot July day. Imagine that in Cork, yet I swear it’s true. Clothes at that time were generally of heavier material, not like the light fabrics, or synthetic clothing of the modern era with wick- flicking capabilities to help keep moisture from the skin. Heavy duty and meant to last, those were the qualities looked for.

“Yet, undeterred, I pushed the bike up the hill to Lukes Cross, then further up another hill, admittedly a lesser incline, nonetheless I am fighting an uphill battle here literally.

“Finally, I reached my destination and delivered the package as instructed (to the rear of the establishment of course - imagine a Messenger Boy braving the front door of the hotel with a package to be delivered!

“Against all odds, I believed I had achieved a momentous and Herculean task. And it so happens that from that location there is a pretty nice view of Cork harbour. 

"Having fought hard against the forces of nature, I thought I would partake in a little leisure time to enjoy this vista as a reward to myself, and so I did.

“After what seemed to me, not an extended amount of time, which I felt I had richly deserved, I wheeled the bike back to the entrance, mounted it and with a yippee-ki-yay, freewheeled all the way back to base, feeling quite content with myself and my accomplishment.”

But Tom’s contentment was not to last long. 

“On returning from my pre-described journey, I entered the store, reported to the distribution or transport manager, and declared ‘mission accomplished’. I will give a little description of him here. He was a middle-aged, mild-mannered man, rather rotund. I myself was a reasonably pretty polite person. So, what happened next, I’ll let you adjudicate for yourself.

“I could say that maybe he was having a bad hair day, but considering he was completely bald on top with trimmed back and sides, that would not be a fair and appropriate analysis. Yet, he began to berate me in a rather loud, turbulent manner, which caught me by surprise, I guess.”

At this stage in his life, Tom confides, he could well be described as a war veteran, since for the previous ten years he had been under the gentle tutelage and control of the Christian Brothers.

“There, I bore fact-witness to many a battle, tested and being blooded in some, in particular when their lesser angels came forth, which was not in a too infrequent time-frame. So, in some sense maybe I had suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome?

“He shouted at me, ‘Where the hell have you been all this time?’

‘I was sent up to the Montenotte Hotel to deliver a package, sir,’ I replied.

‘That was at 1.30pm, it’s now 4.30pm,’ he said. What took you so long?’

‘Have you ever pushed a heavy bike laden with freight up Mount Everest, sir?’ I replied.

‘Don’t get cheeky with me,’ he stated quite indignantly. ‘You have taken up some of my valuable time on this delivery. I’ll have you out of here in an instant.’

Then, almost unbeknownst, even to myself, it burst forth from within me.

‘Perhaps then, after that instant, you can make better use of the rest of your valuable time to next time shove the bike up the hill yourself, sir.’

“Then I turned on my heel and walked out the door. Thus, ending my career as a Cork Messenger Boy.”

Tom insists that there is no moral statement, and no subliminal message hidden within this story, calling it “just another episode in my life experience”.

He repeats that this was the summer of 1965 and his question to his brother Messenger Boys in the Cork of that time is simply, how they were able to do this job during the cold wet weather that Cork is far more renowned for?

“I salute you, and remain in awe of you. I’m sure there are many of you still out there, each with your own tales to tell, experiences to exchange. I personally would love to hear of them, others also.

“Maybe, some of them can be shared through this medium?”

Tom, we love that story, and would also like to hear from others who either tackled those heavy delivery bikes rain or shine, snow or hail, or even those who had to cycle long distances every day, to work or school.

Do you remember fixing a puncture by the side of the road? Losing the bike chain rounding a corner? Being caught by the local garda for that most cardinal of sins, Being Out At Night Without A Light On Your Bicycle? Let’s hear from you!

Meanwhile, Sandra Maybury asked a few weeks back for any memories readers might have of The Red Fort at Ballineen and St Patrick’s Hall in Dunmanway, where her parents ran dances. We asked her for more details on this fascinating side of Irish cultural entertainment, and she obliged.

“From the early 1960s up to the mid-’70s, my father ran dances at two locations: The Red Fort, near Ballineen and St. Patrick’s Hall, Dunmanway.

“The Red Fort was originally an open-air dance platform. Among the bands who played there were The Blarney Ceilí Band, Donal Ring, The White Heather Showband and The Ritz Showband.

“Crowds came from all over West Cork and from the east as far as Cork city. Cars lined both sides of the road, and there would be a number of special buses laid on too, to bring the eager crowds and take them home afterwards.”

In 1968, she tells us, her parents built and opened the Red Fort Drive-in Ballroom. This was officially opened on April 21, 1968, by Seán Ó Sé.

Originally from Bantry, Sean of course was the sweet tenor singer with a powerful reach, who sang with Seán Ó Riada’s legendary band Ceóltóiri Chualann. An Poc ar Buile, which they recorded together, became a huge hit and is still in demand whenever Seán Ó Sé makes a public appearance.

Yes, he’s still going strong, and long may he do so!

Surely some readers may recall dancing to the lively music of the White Heather or Ritz showband in Ballineen or Dunmanway? If you do, then let us know of your memories.

As we said last time, Sandra is compiling a book on her parents and would love to hear your recollections of those heady days (and nights!)

Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork