Bird’s Eye View Of Ballymore-Eustace

Bird’s Eye View Of Ballymore-Eustace

From my earliest days I was fascinated by the idea of flying. In my four year old innocence, I recall climbing to the top of my grandparents' summer seat, jumping off and vainly trying to imitate birds in flight. In the early 'sixties I watched with envy as my sister flew back and forth to her work in England. Meanwhile, my parents, who were terrified of flying, prayed fervently that she would have a safe flight.

My first chance of flying came in 1970. I had qualified for the Gael-Linn Cup 60 by 30 handball finals and was fixed to play in Cappagh, County Limerick. My sister - who was then living at Purcell Park, Shannon - invited me to stay at her home and suggested I fly from Dublin to Shannon which is what I did. My boss when he heard my plans was greatly amused at them and took great pleasure in telling everyone that "Mr Purcell was going to fly from Dublin to Shannon".

The flight itself was an interesting experience. It took longer to get to and from the airports than it did to make the trip. For ten minutes we were climbing to reach our cruising height, we were ten minutes at cruising height and a further ten minutes descending. Unfortunately, it was a cloudy day so all we could see were the clouds beneath us in their different shapes, glistening in the sunshine.

Following a trip to New York in 1973 I caught the foreign travel bug and have made many flights since then. Notwithstanding a couple of scares - such as the lights going out when our plane was hit by lightening as we flew over the Pyrenees and, on a return trip from New York, two hours of non-stop turbulence - I remain infatuated by flying.

For me the most interesting - and dangerous - parts of jet powered flying are when taking off and landing. On take off, you can feel the massive surge of power from the engines and can then study the landscape underneath as you gain height. On landing, you hear the roar of the engines as they are put into reverse-thrust and the screeching of the tyres as the breaks are applied. For all its comfort when cruising everything below is too remote for my liking. For a change, I needed a more basic aircraft - something more like what the pioneering Wright brothers experienced just over a century ago.

To that end, in August I undertook an introductory flying lesson at Weston Airport. Before take off we re-fuelled our small Cessna two-seater plane. My instructor explained the various routine checks he was carrying out. As we headed down the runway I was allowed to test some of the controls for myself. The take off was very different to a jet take off. We seemed to struggle to gain height but, bit-by-bit, we did.

The Control Tower warned us that there was another aircraft in our vicinity. I discovered it was a helicopter flying beneath us close to the ground. Even though we were wearing headsets I was surprised at the level of the engine noise. I expected a fairly bumpy flight but in fact it was quite smooth.

It took me a while to get my bearings. My instructor indicated that a particular landmark was on our left side and eventually I spotted it and thereafter had no difficulty in recognising various landmarks that greatly added to my enjoyment of the flight. Along the way, I photographed places of special interest to me.

After take off we headed South West towards Clane, South East towards Naas, South towards Two-Mile-House and finally South East towards Ballymore-Eustace which we circled a couple of times before heading back to Weston. Although we were only forty-five minutes in the air the trip has changed forever my perspective of Ballymore.

******

Bless You, Seán Mulryan

Never met the man and yet I am indebted to him – and his horses! I suppose it is not strictly correct to say we never met because, in a sort of a way, we did. It happened at the Christmas 2003 Leopardstown Racing Festival. As I made my way through the crowd, I made eye contact with a man heading in the opposite direction. We shared one of those - where do I know that face from? - moments but, by the time the answer arrived, we had gone our separate ways.

Let us go back to July 21 last. The Naas Races were on that evening. That morning, I headed into Janet's and bought The Racing Post from Imelda. Having studied the form, I was ready to do battle with the Tote. Previously, I had declared that day to be a non-working day – that is the beauty of being retired – you can make those kinds of decisions.

Sadly, my first race selection failed to win and likewise my second, third and fourth race selections. By then, my normal optimism had well and truly disappeared. In the fifth race, I recovered most of my outlay giving rise to the hope that my fortunes were at last changing.

In the sixth and final race, Seán Mulryan had one of the fancied runners called Oaklawn. During the course of the meeting, some of my racing pals had given me tips for two other horses in the last race.

As the return for a win only was likely to be small, in addition to backing Oaklawn to win I also did three exactas^*. In the exactas, I nominated Oaklawn to win and three other horses to be second - the horse I thought was likely to be the biggest danger and the two horses my racing pals had tipped.

In an exciting finish Oaklawn won and the longest priced of the horses I nominated for the exacta came second. Following a stewards enquiry, the placings remained unchanged. While I won €16.50 on the winner, I won a very nice €139.00 on the exacta and I went home with a nice profit and a smile on my face compliments of Seán Mulryan and his horse Oaklawn.

* An exacta is a Tote bet whereby you have to pick the first and second horses home in the correct order.

*****

Thrill Seeker

Me! A thrill seeker? Never!

Yet there was that occasion back in '97.

At 3.50 a.m. on a February morning a group of holiday makers, including myself, travelled by bus to a remote area near Mareeka, twenty miles west of Cairns, in north eastern Australia. Arriving at our destination the organisers set to work. In the pre-dawn light barely visible figures could be seen busily moving about in an effort to have our hot air balloon ready for take off as soon as the dawn arrived.

Climbing into the basket attached to the balloon, we were soon ascending heavenwards thanks to three hundred thousand cubic metres of hot air. As we climbed, the burner was turned "on" – not so good for my newly sun burnt bald patch - and "off" as the need arose. We could see three other balloons in the distance. Our balloon was floating through the air at a height of over nine hundred feet.

Beneath us, the terrain was generally flat but, to our north, we could see mountains and lakes. The view at that time of the morning was hazy. Our pilot informed us that the crops grown in the area included peanuts, maize, mangos and marijuana. The mention of marijuana elicited some surprise amongst our party.

Although we were obviously moving, there was no sense of that movement. Some of our party, who had been white water rafting the previous day, found the ride a bit tame by comparison. All too soon, our half hour trip was over and, it was time to land, which we did safely.

Some time later, I discovered that ballooning can be quite a hazardous activity – happily, by then, I was back on ground. I had enjoyed an experience, I might not have undertaken, if I had been fully aware of the possible dangers.

******

I Made It!

Those who know me know that I like the horses. In fact, over the years I have done my bit to keep the Bookies in business. My liking for the horses goes back a long way. Suffice it to say that I remember the great Martin Molony riding winners at Punchestown when he was at the height of his fame in the late 'forties.

In my late father's time, I attended meetings all over Ireland including meetings such as Baldoyle and Mullingar where racing no longer takes place. Nowadays, I attend local meetings such as the Curragh, Leopardstown, Naas and Punchestown.

As everyone familiar with racing knows - the Derby run at the Curragh is the most important flat race in the Irish racing calendar. From the early 'fifties I have taken a keen interest in the race and could list most of the winners of the race since then.

The profile of the race was greatly increased in 1961 with the introduction of sponsorship. As the Epsom and French Derby winners frequently oppose each other in the Irish Derby the winner of the Irish race is usually recognised as the top European three year old colt of the year.

In the light of the foregoing you may be surprised to learn that, up to this year, I had never attended the Irish Derby meeting. This was due to my aversion of the really big attendances that are evident on such occasions. A couple of years ago I almost made it there only to be greeted by torrential rain on arrival which prompted me to head home and watch the race on television.

This year I made it. It was a good year to be present as Dermot Weld trained the impressive winner of race, Grey Swallow. Dermot had been in Newbridge College for part of the time when I was there and had ridden a number of winners for my father in the days when Dermot was an amateur jockey. Additionally, the horse was bred by Dermot's 88 year old mother who was also a part owner of the winner. Only fly in the ointment - I did not back the winner, which won at the nice odds of 10/1.

*****

The Tailor And I

In the good old days (that never were) tailor-made suits for males were the norm. Nowadays, I belong to a dwindling group who had the experience of wearing such tailor-made suits. Mr Fox of Newbridge made some of mine while our very own local tailor Mr Kelly who lived on St Oliver Plunkett's Road where Peter and Anne McGuire now live made the remainder of them.

Unlike the buying of a ready-made suit, which can be available to you in minutes, there was a whole ritual involved in the buying of one that was tailor-made. Normally, the customer purchased a suitable length of cloth from a draper's shop and the cloth was then passed on to the tailor. The tailor's first task was to take all necessary measurements of the customer and then make an appointment for the first try on of the suit.

At the first try on stage the suit was held together with pins and loose stitches and the tailor scrutinised the customer to see how well the suit fitted and proceeded to make chalk marks on the cloth to indicate areas of the suit which required changes.

At the next try on stage the suit was in a finished state. Having fitted the suit further alterations might be necessary in which case a further try on stage would be required. If, however, everything was in order when fitted, the transaction was finalised and the tailor was paid the agreed fee.

Then all that was required was a suitable occasion to introduce the new suit to the world for its approval. This was the stage I hated as, at the time, I was still a school goer and invariable I received an almighty slagging from both my teachers and my fellow pupils until the happy day arrived when they got used to me in my new suit.

*****

Day 2 –Luas (The Green Line)

My mind was made up. I'd check out this new Luas tram for myself. Having travelled on the old trams I was well qualified to undertake this task or so I told myself.

11.20 a.m. I set out on foot from my home in Churchtown. Some twenty minutes later, a little leg weary and slightly out of breath, I arrived at the Dundrum Stop. In the distance I could see the lights of an approaching tram – so far, so good.

Quite a few people were waiting for the tram. When it arrived it looked to me more like a modern train than the trams I knew of old. As the tram had come from Sandyford - and had already stopped at Stillorgan, Kilmacud and Balally - only a few seats were still available. Most of those who got on at Dundrum including myself found ourselves standing – not so good. About half way into the city I got a seat.

As we moved steadily through the city streets one could not but feel sympathy for those travelling by bus or car alongside of us who were stuck in the usual city traffic jams. Arriving at St Stephen's Green Terminus we had to wait for another tram to move away before we ourselves could get off the tram.

Walking towards my destination I was taken aback to see a queue, three or four deep extending for two hundred yards, for the tram I had just left. Arriving at the National Library I went back in time to 1828 (via old newspapers on microfilm) in search of possible ancestors. After that I headed to 1861 in further pursuance of my ancestors and noted regular reports on the progress of the American Civil War.

By 2.45 p.m. I was ready to return home. I hoped the queuing situation might have improved – it had not. Then a heavy shower started. Some remained in the queue while others including myself headed for the shelter of the St Stephen's Green trees. When the rain eased we rejoined the queue. It took three tram loads to clear the queue. From the time we departed it took about ten minutes to reach Dundrum – pretty good.

While my Luas trip had ended my journey had not. I still had a twenty minute walk and the darkening sky to face.

*****

Becoming a Home Owner

Wednesday September 24, 1975 was a miserable, wet all day kind of day. You don’t remember. Neither would I but for the fact that it was the day I became the proud owner of my own home.

This story began a year earlier. At the time I lived in a small bed sit in Phibsborough. Originally, this was intended as "a temporary little arrangement" which had somehow extended to five years. My Landlord told me he was going to sell the house. The search for alternative accommodation began.

In my five years stay in the bed sit the price of rented accommodation had rocketed. I explored the possibility of buying an apartment only to find they were as dear or dearer than a house. My search took me all over the city and its suburbs and I learned much along the way.

A new estate in Glasnevin was of particular interest to me and would have been ideal from the perspective of my work in city centre. Meanwhile, I explored various other options sometimes coming close to doing business. My Glasnevin dream was shattered when the price of these houses was announced – they were beyond my financial means.

Starting out I had three essential requirements. Along the way these had to be modified. My initial searches were centred on the north side of the city. One evening, as I had to travel over to the south side, I decided to check out a house in Churchtown. My expectations were low. I was immediately smitten by this house that had two of my original requirements and the potential for the third. A deal was soon agreed.

The usual processing of the mortgage and legal formalities followed and eventually the loan cheque became available. On the day of closing everything went smoothly and I received the key of my new home. It was strange going into a house that was essentially empty but I had the loan of a stretcher bed and spent my first night there.

The weeks that followed were filled with endless shopping limited only by my financial resources. I did not possess that wonder of modern day living and convenience, the credit card, nor were such cards commonplace back then.

*****

Surprise Visitors

Reading of the well publicised new production of Dion Boucicault's melodrama 'The Shaughraun' reminded me of surprise visitors I had many years ago while I was busy going about my normal daily working chores. At the time my office was located on the top/fourth floor of what was once the Anchor Hotel in Parnell Square, Dublin. My office was at the rear of the building and had an unimpeded view of the Georgian houses in North Great George's Street.

Hearing an knock on my door I invited whoever was there to come in. Three people entered my office – one was a work colleague and the other two were strangers to me. My colleague explained that she was showing her companions around the offices and would I mind letting them view the houses in North Great Georges Street from my window.

Having viewed the scene for sometime and commented on various aspects of it they explained that Dion Boucicault had once lived in one of the houses and that they were relatives of his. Even though I had never read or attended any of Boucicault's works, I was aware of his fame and could truthfully admit as much to his obviously proud relations.

By coincidence one of the North Great George's Street houses was featured in a recent edition of Michael Ryan's Nationwide programme. This was the home of Joycean scholar, Senator David Norris, who over time had painstakingly restored the house. The programme featured excellent skyline shots of Dublin from a balcony at the top of the Senator's house. For me seeing shots of my old office from the vantage point of North Great George's Street was something of a thrill even if the camera man or woman unwittingly took those shots as he/she sought out buildings of greater historic interest.

*****

The Late Fr Ernán Neville R.I.P.

(An appreciation by Matt Purcell)

Handball followers throughout Ireland were saddened by the news of the sudden death of Fr Ernán Neville who served as President of the Irish Handball Association during the early '60s. A native of Rathkeale, County Limerick Fr Neville was aged 79 when he died on October 9, 2004.

Over the years, Fr Neville served in several different Parishes in the Dublin Diocese including Donard; Mourne Road, Drimnagh; Oldtown; and, more recently, he was based for fourteen years in University Church, St Stephen's Green.

Fr Neville's two big sporting interests were handball and hurling. While based in Donard he was a regular visitor to Ballymore for games involving Wicklow and Kildare and also in his role as President of the Association.

Along with the late Frank Flynn, he was a prime mover in the building of the first Irish 40 by 20 alley in Oldtown in the late '60s. Fr Neville was a thorough gentleman, who dealt fairly with everyone, and a great motivator.

The reception of his remains at University Church was attended by a large gathering of his fellow clergy. The handball community were also well represented. Archbishop Martin and Cardinal Connell officiated at the reception service.

He is survived by his brothers Canon James Neville P.E. (Abbeyfeale) and Fr Ronald Neville P.P. Harold's Cross and his sister Eithne Neville (Rathkeale). May he rest in peace.

*****

The Late Jim Bolger R.I.P.

(An appreciation by Matt Purcell)

In her appreciation of the late Jim Bolger in the September Edition of the Ballymore Bugle Rose Barrett O'Donoghue briefly referred to Jim's handball achievements. I would like to elaborate on this aspect of Jim's life and the significance of his successes.

Jim first came to handball prominence in 1948 when he won the All-Ireland Junior Hard Singles title. His win was the third successive win for Kildare in that championship. His club mate, Bobbie Grattan, won it 1947 while G. Ryan won it in 1946.

In 1949 Jim teamed up with Bobbie Grattan to win the All-Ireland Senior Hard Doubles title. This was Kildare's first ever success in that championship. Jim's successes were particularly significant for a number of reasons. At the time hardball enjoyed equal status with softball and the standard of hardball was very high. The great John Joe Gilmartin (Kilkenny) was still taking part in championships. Other outstanding hardball players competing included John Ryan (Wexford), Austin Clarke (Dublin), Willie Walsh (Cork), Joe Hassett (Kerry) and our own Bobbie Grattan.

In the eighty year history of the Irish Amateur Handball Association Jim was one of only a few players to achieve All-Ireland Junior success at only nineteen years of age.

Even fewer players still achieved All-Ireland Senior success at only twenty years of age which Jim and his partner Bobbie both did in their memorable success in 1949. Jim's achievement of winning back to back Junior and Senior All-Ireland titles is extremely rare indeed.

Jim was one of a group of elite local handball players which included Willie and Eddie Grace, Dan Murphy, Bobbie Grattan, Bill Lawlor, Paddy Monaghan and Mickey Dowling. Mickey Dowling was a link between that group of players and an earlier group of top players which included the legendary Tommy Leahy, Jack and Christy Byrne, Peter O'Rourke and Jim Dolan.

In the early 'fifties Jim was lost to handball when he emigrated to England where he met his wife to be Barbara. After he returned to Ireland he played some handball and represented Kildare on a number of occasions in the early 'sixties.

All of Jim's children were competent handball players who represented their club and county on many occasions. When the 40 by 20 Alley and Community Centre development was launched in May 1985 Jim was among the guests of honour in attendance at the launch.

To his wife Barbara, his family Danny, Sharon, Mark, Siobhan, Gary and Claire and his sisters and brother I offer my sincere sympathy. May he rest in peace.

*****

Armand de Labre R.I.P.

(1936 – 2004)

The death occurred recently of Armand de Labre of Bancroft, Tallaght and formerly of Poulaphouca. Born in 1936 Armand was the eldest of three sons of Armand and Evelyn de Labre who operated tearooms at Poulaphouca for many years.

Around 1955 Armand left Poulaphouca to work in the E.S.B. Power Station in Ferbane, Co. Offaly. Seven years later he moved into the refrigeration business and subsequently worked in the electrical business. He enjoyed his work. Although he was retired for sometime, he remained active and was pursuing computer classes.

Armand met his wife Mary in 1955 and they married in 1958. The couple had three children Evelyn Ann, Michelle and Yann and two grandchildren Aislinn and Aidan (Evelyn Ann's children) both the apple of his eye.

Throughout the years Armand maintained his link with Poulaphouca visiting his family there until his mother's death on February 21, 1991. His father died previously on December 26, 1983. Following the deaths of his parents, Armand continued his link with Ballymore through visits to his brother Seth and sister-in-law Máire in Dowdenstown. He had recently spent time with them helping Seth in the construction of a sunroom. He kept up to date with Ballymore news via The Bugle which he very much enjoyed reading.

Armand died suddenly on May 11, 2004 four days short of his 68^th birthday. He was a very popular, kind and devout Catholic who only two hours before his death had attended Benediction and the Rosary in his local St Aengus's church. He was a familiar sight around Tallaght walking his dogs - two Westies. A family man - he always had time for a chat - many people recall meeting and chatting with him on the day before he died.

Ballymore was represented at his funeral by his brother Seth and sister-in-law Máire, Fr Michael McGowan P.P., Dora O'Brien, Bill Delaney, Sean McLoughlin, Kathleen Jordan and myself, Matt Purcell.

He is survived by his wife Mary, daughters Evelyn Ann and Michelle, son Yann, grandchildren Aislinn and Aidan, brothers Pierre and Seth, sons-in-law Robbie and Gary, sisters-in-law, nephews and nieces.

(An appreciation by Matt Purcell)