Tom Phelan - We Were Rich and We Didnt Know It: A Memoir of My Irish Boyhood

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ALSO BY TOM PHELAN

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Interior design by Jaime Putorti

Jacket design by John Vairo Jr.

Photography by Krasimira Petrova Shishkova/Trevillion Images

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-5011-9709-3

ISBN 978-1-5011-9711-6 (ebook)

To my sisters

In loving memory of

Annie, JohnJoe, and my brothers

We Were Rich and We Didnt Know It presents my own recollections. I understand that others may have memories of the events described here that are different from my own. Some names and characteristics have been changed, and some of the dialogue has been re-created.

For readers unfamiliar with the Irish vernacular or farming terms, a glossary is provided on

1

I n the early 1930s, my father, JohnJoe Phelan, having borne the dictatorship of his father until the old man died and having buried his aged mother in the local cemetery two years later, became the master of his own destiny and the owner of a farm in Laragh, one-half mile from the town of Mountmellick in County Laois.

Mointeach Milic, which the British corrupted to Mountmellick, means the marshy land beside the bog. JohnJoes farm was fifty-two boggy acres that, as he himself said, were so soft they could be tilled with the belt of a blackthorn bush.

A few years before his parents died, JohnJoe began planning for his future. He knew that upon their deaths, he would have to get his sister, Molly, out of the house so he could bring in a new mistressa wife. He already had his eye on Annie Hayes, a young woman who lived on the far end of the town in a cottage on the edge of the marsh but still in the bog.

JohnJoe was a good planner; he had a plan.

His distant cousin Kate Larkin, an aged spinster living in the townland of Aganloo, was the sole survivor of a farm-owning family. Kate was also related to JohnJoes uncle Pake Nugent, whom JohnJoe disliked immensely. Pakes nothing but a land grabber! he would snipe.

With the future relocation of Molly on his mind and Kate Larkin within a death rattle of the grave, JohnJoe bought a strawberry-jam Swiss roll and set off one Sunday morning in his pony-and-trap to travel the eight miles to Aganloo. Upon arrival, he made tea for Kate and himself, then sweetened his cousins toothless mouth with the Swiss roll. Ah, JohnJoe, she said, this cake is nice and aisy on me oul gums.

JohnJoe went down on one knee before the ailing woman. Sure, Kate, I have a favor to ask of ye. Ill have a hard time getting a wife as long as Molly is living at home with me. Would ye ever think of leaving yer house and farm to her?

Kate generously told him to arise. JohnJoe, Ill be changing me will tomorrow, and when Im wearing me shroud, this place will be Mollys. Im just sorry Ill miss yer weddin.

JohnJoe sliced the rest of the Swiss roll and placed it on a chair convenient to his benefactress. Then he set out for home, his success bearing him up. But as his pony trotted down Kate Larkins avenue, he met Pake Nugent coming up the road on his rattling bike. JohnJoe assumed that Pake, with five sons and four daughters, was about to ask Kate for her farm.

Did you bring her anything, Pake? JohnJoe called. I brought her a Swiss roll.

Maybe shell give me a bit, Pake shouted back.

Itll be the only thing she can give you!

JohnJoe could not contain himself, and he roared out laughter as loud as the bawl of a mare ass.

Not long after JohnJoes visit to Aganloo, old Kate breathed her last, and soon Molly immigrated to the Larkin farm, JohnJoe driving his horse-and-cart with beds, mattresses, and a few other sticks. His sister drove on ahead in the pony-and-trap; Molly would not be seen in a horses cart in close proximity to an equine arse. After all, she was now a landowner.

Free of his sister, JohnJoe wiped the muck and the cow dung off his wellingtons and set about entrapping Annie Hayes in his amorous plans.

2

O n the day JohnJoe Phelan and Annie Hayes met at a camogie game, they were not total strangers. Both belonged to the Gaelic League, and at a language class in the Mountmellick Boys School one evening, Annie had seen JohnJoe gaping at her across the crowded room. She had been casting furtive glances at the good-looking lad since the course had begun. Now she lowered her gaze and hoped he hadnt seen her blushing.

At the local GAA field some wolfish and sex-starved young men attended every camogie match in the hope a gym slip might flare and give them a glimpse of thigh. But JohnJoe wasnt wolfish, and besides, he was only interested in one particular girl. Even though he was inclined to be shy, he drew on what reserves of daring he possessed and walked away from his friends. Soon he accidentally encountered Annie Hayes, who was standing alone on the sidelines watching the game through her round-lensed, metal-framed glasses and holding a notebook and a pencil.

I can imagine JohnJoe said something romantic like, Whats wrong wich ya? Why arent ya out on the playing field?

Annie would have told him that without her glasses she couldnt see the camogie ball.