Memories of a Cork man's childhood ... all the way from the Himalayas

NOW, we knew The Echo was read far and wide across the world, but we will admit to being a little taken aback when we got an email from the Himalayas!

Yes, Lawrence Fray wrote from Uttarakhand, a northern region of India famed for its Hindu pilgrimage sites, which rocketed to international fame after a visit by the Beatles in 1968.

Lawrence can see Nanda Devi on the skyline every morning when he opens his eyes, but when he saw EchoLive.ie and the Throwback Thursday page recently, his thoughts flew back to the Cork of his childhood, and particularly Youghal where he grew up.

“I was raised in Youghal and remember Perks on the Strand. The dance hall mentioned by some of your correspondents was The Showboat. My father used to play there with Mick Delahunty’s danceband in the early 1960s. The Showboat hosted many dances and some famous groups played there.”

Of course, we emailed back immediately, our delighted notes flying across the oceans to the foothills of the world’s highest mountain range (Chomolungma, The Mountain That No Bird Flies Over), with demands for more information on his childhood.

And Lawrence obliged: “My first vivid memory is from 1966 when we were staying at the Marine Hotel, then under the proprietorship of the matriarchal Mrs Broderick. Youghal was a flourishing town of full employment during the late ’60s and through to the mid-’70s, with Youghal Carpets, Blackwater Cottons and Seafield Fabrics among the main industries.

“The train station is just a minute’s walk from the Marine Hotel; now defunct. The area has changed considerably since its ’60s heydays when the weekend trains offered families from Cork the opportunity to visit the Merries, perhaps sample the Guinness of the local hostelries, walk the golden sands and, if courageous enough, brave the waves for a brisk, invigorating dip in the sea.

“Perks’ Funfair was, of course, the main centre of entertainment. It still flourishes in Seafield, but back then it was adjacent to the railway station. I remember the crackle of the vinyl 45 single records, as such groups as The Hollies, The Beach Boys and The Foundations regaled us with their songs each evening over the loudspeakers.

“For the locals, Perks’ was a place of daily pilgrimage, where we met friends, checked to see if we could afford a ride on the dodgems, or ‘bumpers’, and maybe get a free go on the helter-skelter or carousel. The bikers’ club would gather here on Sunday mornings before setting off for their spins out towards Redbarn in a roar of sound and a smell of Castrol.”

Perks, recalls Lawrence, was always crowded on summer Saturdays and Sundays, and every day from mid-July through August.

“The Cork accents rang out from those who had travelled for the day by rail, or who stayed for a week in the numerous guest houses (far fewer nowadays) or in the Claycastle caravan park, fifteen minutes’ walk distant along the Front Strand. And such a walk that could be!

“Back then, the modern seawall with its large rocks embedded in the sand was still in the blueprint stage, and the old one offered little defence against the powerful breakers that surged in at high tide to vent their fury against the concrete, concave barrier. On windy days, the foam-flecked water would be thrown over the wall to fall on the pedestrians who tried to dodge a soaking or the teenagers who dared the waves to do their worst. Lawrence remembers dodging the waves when cycling to school in the late Sixties.

Next to the Amusement Arcade, he says, was the Strand Palace Theatre, where plays were staged, visiting performers would entertain, and the loyal followers of Bingo would gather in hope each week. “It’s been replaced now, and visitors to Youghal will pass by The Strand Palace apartments before the road turns round to Moll Goggin’s corner and the lighthouse.

“The Showboat Dancehall was a great draw. Its best days were before my time but, for several years, a popular train known as ‘The Showboat Express’ ran from Cork during the summer season when Mick Delahunty’s dance band was in residence.

“There may still be a few people who remember the musical strains of the Glen Miller era floating out over Youghal Bay. Later, the Showboat hosted some well-known bands of the pop era before it was used as the main Amusement Arcade area.

“Often, I would see Bill ‘Jumbo’ Perks, founder of the Perks dynasty, swimming, even on the coldest winter days, as I was cycling to school. I marvelled at this daily routine and show of fortitude. 

"Then I would travel up the hill, past Pop Donovan’s shop and the lighthouse, and then the downwards run to the old Christian Brothers’ School in Strand Street - but that’s another memory and another story. Half-a-century ago, but good memories!”

And marvellous that you’ve shared them with us, Lawrence! Don’t be surprised if we’re after you to find out What Happened Next! Did you go on to Cork, to UCC? How on earth did you end up in Shangri-La, so far from the Youghal of your childhood, yet so close by the miracle of online links?

Now, it’s coming up to the Halloween weekend, the Celtic Samhain or New Year, and we asked you last week for any ghost stories suitable for the occasion. This is one of the times (Mayday is another) when the veil between our world and the Otherworld is supposed to be very thin indeed, and our ancestors may well come back to see how well we are behaving, and if we are honouring their memory as we should. When children dress up as ghosts and flit from house to house demanding treats or threatening tricks, they are actually continuing an age-old custom of protecting our homes from wandering evil spirits at this time of year. And the barm brack with its ring, pea, bean, stick, and rag, is also a throwback to fortune telling for the year ahead back when our ancestors huddled round the fire and told stories of strange happenings.

Many people today are reluctant to talk about odd or inexplicable happenings though, fearing perhaps that they will be laughed at. Yet there are so many otherworldly experiences out there, that they deserve to get more attention than they do. Robert Duggan sent us a very simple account of a strange occurrence many years ago, which he has been at a loss to explain rationally.

“My father-in-law died 30 years ago, in the month of November. His name was Vincent. He was a retired accountant, and lived with his wife, Marian, on the outskirts of a small West Cork town. On the day of his demise, a small group gathered in their living-room. These included myself, Marian, my wife (Sandra) and our daughter, Sharon (then aged 10). We sat in front of a blazing fire, mournfully discussing our new-found loss. Outside, the rain lashed against the windows, adding a further element of gloom to the setting. It was around 5.30pm. Suddenly, a ring of the doorbell signified the arrival of a visitor. This turned-out to be a local man, who had come to offer his condolences. Now, it has to be said that he was not the most popular man in the community. He was possessed of a slanderous tongue, and was given to uttering negative inferences – all unsubstantiated, of course – about many. Vincent had once been the cruel target of such vitriol, and – for this reason – had a deep dislike of the man.

“Marian ushered him into the room, and bade him take a seat. Unwittingly, he happened to choose what had been Vincent’s favourite armchair, and duly ensconced himself therein. The chair was located under a rather handsome, wall-mounted chiming clock, which Vincent had always set at one minute fast. The reason was simple – when the instrument (prematurely) struck six, it would prompt him to turn-on the television news. The conversation continued in much the same vein as it was prior to the arrival of our visitor – the only new contributions being frequent platitudes from the man about how great a man Vincent had been.

“It wasn’t long before the clock on the wall reached a minute to six, when it promptly chimed. At that very moment, a series of knocks sounded on the door, leading from the living-room to the kitchen. Sandra immediately recognised the pattern as one her late father had been fond of using, and she gave me a startled look. Somewhat mechanically, I arose and opened the door. I’m not altogether sure what I expected to find on the other side, but, of course, I just found myself staring into the darkness of the empty kitchen. Just then, the visitor exclaimed ‘Holy God, was that Vincent, telling me to get out?’ Very soon afterwards, he picked up his hat and took his leave. To this day, Sandra remains convinced that the mysterious knocking was indeed generated by the spirit of her late father, voicing his displeasure at the presence of an old enemy in his house.”

Now that is very interesting indeed, Robert, not least for the evidence of the knocks. Not everyone is aware the famous banshee of Irish legend doesn’t always wail. In urban environments, she more often knocks – three sharp raps on the door. This is accepted by far more people in the community than you might credit in this age of Netflix and Zoom.

I personally know several sensible and well-educated people who will say quite prosaically, “oh yes, we have ‘the knock’ in our family,” and others who have actually heard it. 

We didn’t press Robert as to his wife’s maiden name, but suspect it would have been an ‘O’ or a ‘Mac’ or some other of the older Irish names.

The banshee always preferred to warn the traditional families rather than newcomers. And, though he wouldn’t be drawn on the village where it happened, we would think it was in or very close to Ballyvourney, coming up to the Cork-Kerry border. That’s considered, by those who know, as one of the ‘airiest’ places in Co. Cork – ie, very close to the Otherworld.

A very practical local councillor has told us of hearing the scream of the banshee at night in that village, and being frightened half to death. And a great old man called John Joe who lives up above the town, has no doubts whatsoever about her presence. If you suggest, timidly, that people might mistake the bark of a fox or the cry of a barn owl for the dreaded call, he waxes furious and thumps the table. “Woman, do you not understand what I’m telling you? If you’re meant to hear it, then hear it you will!” Sends a shiver down your spine.

Had an encounter of the strange kind? Tell us all about it! Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com, or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.