It Occurs to Me: Ronnie Delany and an ‘in through’ stew

Sean Chon Johnny had a send-off to remember last Friday. The first eight rows on the right hand side in Carrick chapel were mostly fiddle players, as well as the legendary Steve Cooney and accordionist Dermot Byrne, among others.

When they sang Willie Nelson’s ‘Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain’, the emotion was palpable. The music continued in Evelyns and the Slieve League, as well as The Rusty Mackerel in Teelin. Other than the music, the reminiscences and yarns were a fitting tribute to a great musician and character. I was discussing ‘characters’ with Kevin Cunningham in The Rusty and his definition was spot on: “Frank, when they’re not annoying you, they’re characters!”

One of the funniest stories of the night came from a relative of my own, who worked in the old Glenbay Hotel in the early 70’s.

The genial Francie Cunningham was manager and he urgently called her aside one night and whispered: “We have a real VIP here tonight…the great Ronnie Delany and his wife…make sure they get your full attention.” Ronnie won the Olympics 1500 metres in Melbourne in 1956, and is an iconic figure in Irish sport.

Anyway, the young lady approached Ronnie and enquired as to what they might like to eat, explaining that the ‘Special’ was Irish Stew. “Oh lovely” says Ronnie, I’ll go for that.” His wife opted for the stew as well. The waitress watched with delight as the two bowls were eaten with relish, and remembering Francie’s instructions, asked them if they would fancy another bowl. “We’d love one, thanks!” was the response.

She went into the kitchen and was relieved to find that there was sufficient stew left for two bowls which she carried back to the table. No sooner had Ronnie and his wife lifted their cutlery than a rather drunken local ‘character’ (I remember him well…not from Glen!) splattered over to the Delany table and exclaimed: “How come youse are getting a second bowl of stew and we’re waiting for one!”

With that, he lifted both bowls and took them to his own table. The Delanys took it very well, but Francie was mortified and eventually oxtered your man out of the dining room. Mercifully, the cook came to the rescue and managed to fill another two bowls for the VIP’s. Just as well Ronnie hadn’t decided to run after the stew thief…we know who would have won that race!

Living with a Mountain
On the side of Sliabh League last week, as I watched hikers, backpackers and others enjoying the spectacle, I was reminded that for some, mountains can be challenging and frightening. On the road between Blacklion and Swanlinbar recently, as the sun shone on the Cuilcaghs, I recalled a remarkable man I met twenty years ago.

The author of "We Lived With a Mountain," John McGourty, was only a few weeks old in 1941 when he moved with his father and mother to Cornagee, near Blacklion. From there his father, Farrell, used to cycle to the Bog of Allen in County Offaly to work - a quite extraordinary journey - but one which would be matched by his hardy son years later, when he cycled to see his beloved Cavan in Croke Park, but unable to get a ticket, had to cycle back! In 1946 Farrell bought a farm just across the way in Fermanagh, and in October of that year the parents with their four children moved to Bailey's Folly, a house and farm at the foot of the Cuilcagh mountains.

One of the children, Ann died from injuries sustained on the treacherous walk to this most inaccessible of mountain terrains. By 1947 the worst snow in history hit the area, so deep that the house was engulfed and the children only survived because the chimney was not completely covered.

John recounts how life progressed for people of the "Mountain", how the early lives of the Mc Gourty's were dominated by projects like "The drain," "The road," and other activities like sheep trespassing, turf cutting, smuggling, police raids and visits to "The Barr Chapel", just across the border in Cavan. Although the border exists in the shape of the RUC, the Gardai, British and Irish Customs, for the people in the Cuilcaghs, it was more a figment of bureaucratic imagination. His memories of great football epics, rural electrification, myxamatosis, card games, dancing, fighting, birth and death will resonate with so many readers.

"We Lived With a Mountain" charts the evolution of the people of 'the mountain' for a period of fifty years. This was a period of tremendous change, which saw these people progress from near poverty to relative prosperity and modernisation. The changing lifestyles also marked a population decrease from what was over one hundred in 1946 to just eighteen in more recent years.

This book is written with extraordinary sensitivity and feeling for the people of this area and readers will find themselves willing them on through every tragedy and obstacle. When the ten-year old John, by now one of nine children, has to walk to a farm in County Leitrim, I felt every ache in his young body, and shared the terror of the unknown. "Somewhere along the way, a small pebble got into my wellington, but I couldn't face telling my father, because I'd be holding him up.

"I suffered silently, but increasingly, which made me fall behind, and eventually Dad relented and stopped to find out what's wrong with me. At last we came to my grandmother's house in Roo, where I had never been before, and she had a great welcome for me. Granny bandaged me up, and gave me socks, for I wasn't wearing any, and despite her protests for me to give up, we carried on."

The Cuilcagh Boardwalk Trail

When I met John two decades ago, I told him that my dad too had worked in the Bog of Allen, 'breast cutting turf', before joining the Gardai, and we both wondered had our respective fathers worked together during the WW2 years. One of John's happiest memories is of visiting the neighbours, who lived a mile away, "because you would always get a feed".

"We were always wanting", he admitted but despite the hardship and the grief, this is a warm, non self-pitying account of a struggle against adversity. Bad enough that his mother struggled to feed seven mouths (another child died in infancy), while his father walked hundreds of miles to buy and sell sheep, but as you will see by this extract - when John is walking back to Blacklion from Bundoran - the curse of sectarianism rears its ugly head:

"I walked on, to Garrison, then Cashel. At Cashel, the 'B' men had the road blocked and they began to hustle and interrogate me. 'Who are you? From where? Where are you coming from? A likely story! If it was up to me I'd hurl him into the quarry! Why don't we string him up to a tree?"

The late Sean Chon Johnny (who had an aversion to ‘spoons’ and bad bodhran players) would have loved McGourty’s description of his neighbour Hugh, at a Cuilcagh ceili.

"But of course Hugh himself was no genius on the accordion, but what he lacked in talent he more than made up for in enthusiasm. The thought of this rough, artistically uncoordinated man, mesmerising us with his music is a bit far fetched , but he certainly entertained us."

For when he started to play it was as if a demon had temporarily got hold of him as he aimed kicks at the floor from all angles, knocking skelps of the stones with his hobnail boots. His whole body would explode with life, then contract, he would make horrible faces as if he was about to die. He would elasticize himself into all sorts of excruciating positions, and then jerk violently with the crescendo …" The Cuilcagh Boardwalk Trail is also nicknamed the Stairway to Heaven Walk.