Throwback Thursday: Days when kids in Cork used to cycle everywhere!

LAST weekend, it was fairly fine (for Cork anyway!) and there were groups of cyclists out on every narrow back road, making the most of the brief spell of sunshine.

Endeavouring to pass these tightly-crowded bands, you couldn’t help noticing how alike they all were, identically dressed in black helmets, closely-fitting bodywear, what looked like exceptionally uncomfortable special spiked shoes, gloves - even identical bottles and side packs. And the thought came to mind - why exactly were they cycling?

Of course, the explosive cry comes back, they are doing this for the sheer pleasure of it - getting exercise in our beautiful Cork countryside, sharing the moment with friends, filling their lungs with fresh air, etc.

And as for buying all this expensive identikit gear - well, that’s part of it. You go to one of the big shiny sports shops that seem to have sprung up everywhere, and hand over your credit card so that you can emerge looking exactly like everyone else. It’s what you do.

Cycling does seem to have become a form of sport entirely on its own, something requiring considerable outlay (those bikes don’t come cheap!) and absolute conformity to the specific behaviour and dress patterns demanded by what must by now be a very lucrative industry indeed. Whole magazines, websites, Facebook and Twitter (I refuse to use that very unpleasant X) pages, are devoted to it.

But back to the first query: why exactly were they cycling. And where?

Because back in the day, as many readers of Throwback Thursday will know, you cycled - never mind the shape and size of the bike, as long as it had wheels - to get to work, home, to meet friends, or go for an adventure.

It was in essence a vital and valued means of travel, getting you beyond the home pastures and into new worlds.

The cycling exhibition which we featured last week holds wonderful images of just how important bicycles and cycling have been in our lives over the past century or so. Joan McCarthy certainly thinks so.

“That exhibition in Blarney is definitely worth a visit. And last week’s Throwback Thursday revived some precious memories of when we were young,” said Joan.

“I seem to remember us having one bike between all of us. And the puncture repair kit was always an essential tin to have in stock. I have (if only I could find them!) photos of my dad, out in the back garden, bike turned upside down while he fixed yet another one of our punctures.”

Gosh yes, Joan, fixing punctures. At least that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. Stopping by the side of the road, getting the wheel off, removing the tyre, hauling out the tube and wearily trying to find a container with water so you could spot where the damage lay. Then pulling out the kit to apply a patch, only to find that you’d run out of either patches or the requisite glue tube was empty…

You would have thought that by this time the gurus who invent ever-lighter machines, new designs for handlebars, and space-age extras, would have given some thought to the most basic of cycling problems - fixing the inevitable puncture. Has nobody invented a tyre that doesn’t give up the ghost on meeting with an unexpectedly sharp stone or piece of glass? Oh, come on you backroom boys, show some creativity!

“And does anyone remember when you’d be riding along, and the chain would come off the bike?” laughs Joan. “You’d have to turn the bike upside down to try and get the chain back on its link, with a lot of backward and forward movement of the pedal.

“Bike eventually fixed, off you’d go again, hands black with oil from the chain, and quite probably stains on trouser legs too, or a ripped stocking, but without a care in the world!”

Joan adds: “Here’s a photo of my mum and dad back in their courting days in the early 1950s. I wonder where it was taken? I’ve always thought it was down the Marina but I could be wrong.”

OK, eagle-eyed readers, let’s have your opinions on where that shot was taken. And, we wonder, who took it? And how did Joan’s parents manage to get their copy? So many questions surface from one treasured old picture.

Bikes certainly were an essential part of life back then, continues Joan.

“I know when my dad was young, he and his friends thought nothing of heading off to Crosshaven, Youghal, or even Glengarriff for the day on their bikes. They had such energy and enthusiasm for life, and their bikes helped them to live it to the full in those times of such innocence and joy.

“I love Paddy McCarthy’s comment last week about ‘sense comes with age’. It’s so true, I have many precious stories about my dad’s youth, but I also wish I’d asked more questions. Still, I treasure the stories I do have.” And Joan gives us one such story:

“When my dad was young (perhaps 14), he and his brother Bobby (two years younger) went on a bus outing to a match in Thurles with their father, my Granda Mac.

“On the way back, the bus broke down in Youghal. My Granda booked into a B&B for the night, but my father and Bobby simply shanks-mared it back to Cork.”

Never did her father give the slightest hint of being aggrieved about that occasion or say anything negative about his own parent.

“His sensible understanding of the situation was that there wasn’t enough money in those days for everyone to stay over, and his father was older, whereas he and Bobby were young and fit, so it was the right - indeed the only - thing to do.”

Joan also sends us a picture of her beloved dad with his brother Bobby and a friend, taken in the 1940s. “They’re obviously at a beach (Youghal I’ve always thought), and you may be sure they travelled there on their trusty bicycles!

Patrick O’Donovan was also inspired to send in his own recollections of those bicycling days:

“My earliest memories involving bicycles are of my father cycling from Jewtown to Blackrock, not a huge distance, admittedly,” said Patrick.

“But doing it three times in a row, carrying each of us, myself, my brother and my sister, on the crossbar? Yes, that’s exactly what he did.

“My mother, with our newest younger baby brother, would make the journey on the bus. So only one bus fare, and the whole family would get out for the day.

“The bike would be parked up near the pier in Blackrock, while we would all walk as far as the castle and back. When it was time to go home, the whole exercise was repeated - another three round trips for Dad to get us back home!”

That’s a marvellous story, showing so clearly how we not only survived and made do in harder times, but had the common sense and determination to create outlets and excursions from very little. Can you imagine anyone doing it today?

“That bike was eventually passed onto myself,” recalls Patrick, “and I used regularly to go to school in Scoil Chríost Rí at Turners Cross. I remember we used to cycle home at lunch time and back again for the afternoon classes. Ricky Galvin, who grew up around the corner from me, was my usual companion on our school journeys.”

Patrick adds: “When we reached the age of 12 or 13, we ventured further afield and I remember outings to Crosshaven became a regular part of our summers.

“But the one that sticks out in my memory is the one where we decided we’d go to Kinsale to fish for mackerel. So one Sunday we tied our rods to our crossbars and about six or eight of us headed off.

“Getting to Kinsale proved not too difficult, but where could we go fishing? Someone suggested we go on to the Old Head, and, believing it was just down the road ‘a small bit’ off we went…”

As today’s drivers know, it’s more than ‘a small bit’ from Kinsale town out to the Old Head, even in a motor car. On a bicycle, it’s a serious extra journey - and they had already biked down from the city!

“Well, we finally got there,” continues Patrick, “and had about an hour’s fishing before we decided we should head back.

“Remember, we all about 12 or 13 years old, and that return journey seemed to go on for ever. It was dark and we still had a way to go and not a lamp between us!

“Meanwhile, our parents were getting worried as the night closed in, and a neighbour, ‘Junior’ Looney, who had a Jawa motorcycle, was dispatched to see were we dead or alive. He met up with us near the airport and as it was downhill all the way home from there, he returned to put our parents’ minds at ease.

“Flying down the old airport road, with all its twists and turns, in the dark was a thrilling end to our marathon. We brought no fish but were welcomed with hugs and kisses, and fed before going to bed, where I’m sure we slept soundly for a long time.” Pat, that is a wonderful recollection of life as it really was back in those innocent days when, if you wanted adventure, you had to go and make it yourself. No flying off to foreign shores or demanding a comfortable car ride to football practice.

Life was tough, but you could enjoy yourself far more, one imagines, than many who sit bored in front of a computer screen today.

Pat Kelly was really moved by the tale of Kilgrew’s cycle shop finally shutting its doors.

“It is sad that a place of such renown is closing down after all those years,” he said, “I had started working in Thompsons bakery at the age of 14, but when I reached 16, my working hours were due to begin at the early hour of 6am. This clearly needed some changes in daily life, and so my dad brought me to buy a bike in - where else - Kilgrew’s on Merchants Quay.

“Here I became the proud owner of a ‘High Nelly’ Rudge, complete with dynamo, and even gears! From memory, the gears were SturmeyArcher, I think.”

One curse for the cyclist, Pat vividly recalls, were the train tracks on Clontarf and Brian Boru bridges.

“When it was wet, the back wheel would slide into the tracks, with the result of a buckled wheel. Down you would go to Jack Healy’s on MacCurtain Street, where they would fit another wheel. But that High Nelly gave me freedom to explore all over Cork.

“Who remembers the steepness of Carrs Hill, on the road to Crosser? Alas, it was hard work. I have strong memories of the agony of cycling up that, but oh, the delight of reaching the top and freewheeling all the way down to Carrigaline!”

Of course, there was the return home to think about as well, as the day progressed and the sun moved inexorably towards the western horizon. As all the lads above experienced, there was a great thrill though to that final freewheel down to the lights of the city.

Does anyone else remember the wonderful view you got from the top of the surrounding hills at dusk, when way below you lay a soft grey wonderland of shadows and lights that was Cork and home?

We didn’t have those modern, harsh lighting systems then, that took away all the shadows and mystique. They are probably more effective, even, heaven help us, eco-friendly, but those of us who were young back then still remember with nostalgia darting through the shadows from one street lamp to the next.

Tell us your memories. Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com. Or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.