Brendan Sheerin - My Life: A Coach Trip Adventure

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by
Michael OMara Books Limited
9 Lion Yard
Tremadoc Road
London SW4 7NQ

Copyright Brendan Sheerin 2011

The right of Brendan Sheerin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All pictures courtesy of Brendan Sheerin or 12 Yard Productions, and reproduced with their kind permission.

The views expressed in this book are solely the opinion of the author and are in no way a reflection of the Coach Trip producers or broadcasters opinions.

All rights reserved. You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The lyrics on page 26 are from the unattributed folk song
The Boys from the County Mayo.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Papers used by Michael OMara Books Limited are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

ISBN: 978-1-84317-699-2 in hardback print format
ISBN: 978-1-84317-767-8 in EPub format
ISBN: 978-1-84317-768-5 in Mobipocket format

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Designed and typeset by e-type

Plate section designed by www.envydesign.co.uk

Front cover photo of Brendan courtesy of 12 Yard Productions
Other front cover photography: www.shutterstock.com

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

www.mombooks.com

I dedicate this book to the lives and memory of Les Beardsall, my life partner Thomas Joseph Sheerin, my father and Dawn Shires, my dearest cousin.

I would like to thank the following people, who have helped me realize this book:

Lindsay Davies, my editor, for her guidance, assistance and help in editing this manuscript for me.

Kate Moore, Commissioning Editor of Michael OMara Books, for her tremendous patience and understanding while I was filming Coach Trip, but more importantly for guiding me through the writing of the pages of this book; and all the team at MOM Books.

Paula McKie, my agent, for always being there for me and for our fat rascal times.

All my colleagues at 12 Yard Productions and Channel 4, who gave permission for the scribing of this book and who generously supplied photographs to be used, especially on the front cover.

My dearest family and friends, who have always been there for me, listening to my fears and doubts and yet encouraging me to go forward.

And, finally, to all my talented and esteemed colleagues with whom I have worked on each and every Coach Trip programme I have made so far. For their support, guidance and friendship, which make the filming of each and every Coach Trip a unique, exciting and fun experience. A big thank you, guys... fabulous.

Brendan x

Malaga

August 2011

CHAPTER 1

M Y DEAR FRIEND John Hoy calls me an Irish Yorkshireman or a Yorkshire Irishman, depending on which way you look at it. I have been travelling regularly to the west of Ireland from Leeds City railway station since the summer of 1959, having been born in Hunslet, Leeds, in February of that year. I was Tom and Maureen Sheerins second child and a brother for Patrick, their firstborn. A sister and two more brothers were to follow me.

My maternal grandfather, Patrick Carden, lived next door to us in Leeds and used to regale me with tales of leprechauns with pots of gold and fairies at the bottom of the garden. Whenever he knew we were going to the wessshhht of Ireland, as he pronounced it (with the emphasis on the shhh), he would say, Ah, Brendan, the land of the leprechauns... the land of the leprechauns... Look out for them, lad, but if you see one, be sure never to take your eyes off him. For if you do, he will vanish... and the pot of gold will vanish too, as quick as clicking your fingers.

I believed him. The west of Ireland, in particular County Mayo, possesses some of the most magical scenery in the country and has a remoteness about it that made it seem like it was somehow our secret. Even these days, mass tourism has not yet arrived, so in places it is just as unspoilt as it was when I was a child.

My fathers family, the Sheerins, owned a farm in a beautiful area called Carrandine, just outside Kiltimagh, County Mayo, and it was to this farm we would make our pilgrimage every summer to see my grandmother Catherine and her son, my fathers older brother, Paddy. Uncle Paddy was one of three bachelors who lived in Carrandine. Never having married, his sole responsibility was to keep the farm working and in profit. I am sure Uncle Paddy must have dreaded our visits when we were children, as our arrival always spelled mischief and for a whole six weeks.

The journey from Leeds to Ireland took three days back then, and we used to make the trip with a huge number of our friends and relations from the Leeds area, all of whom were also visiting family back home in Ireland. The matriarchs of these families the Sheerins, the OBriens, the Hughes, the Fords, the Murphys and the Nolans would each be armed with three or four children mostly under seven years of age, and would start their epic journey loaded down with suitcases, prams of all shapes and sizes, nappies and sandwiches of potted meat and cheese. The mothers and the children would travel out together and stay in Ireland for the entire six weeks of the summer holidays, and the fathers would join their families later for a fortnight or so if their work allowed.

The journey would start at Leeds City station, which in those days still ran steam trains. I remember on one occasion our friend Hazel Watson had purchased a beautiful pair of silver buckled shoes for the voyage and then promptly dropped one of them between the platform and the carriage of the train.

Ohhhh bejaaaysus, Ive lost me new ficken shoe! she shrieked at the top of her voice. Immediately, all the mothers started screaming at the guard in unison while making a human chain from platform to train, not allowing it to leave until Hazel had secured her shoe safely. The guard came along and retrieved the shoe with a large pole, watched by an admiring circle of women. He then whistled us off while Hazel cleaned the shoe with a handkerchief and paraded the new shoes up and down the carriage passageway, beaming with pride. Hazel was my favourite babysitter when my parents went out to the Irish dances at St Franciss school, and as a treat for me she used to put all our dining room chairs together and we would play trains for hours.

From Leeds, the steam train took us to either Holyhead or Liverpool, where we boarded an overnight B&I Line ferry to Dublin. A lot of the ferries also doubled as cattle boats, crossing the Irish Sea daily. They were not very comfortable and rolled horrendously; I swear they are where I got my seasickness from and I have suffered from it ever since.