Throwback Thursday: ing our summer outings in Crosser and Whitegate

WE’RE talking all about our wonderful coastline this week, as part of the Cork Coasts series.

And what a wonderful coastline we have! Was ever an Irish county so blessed?

With coves and caves, harbours and headlands, sandy beaches and swimming shores, there isn’t anywhere quite like it. Small wonder that most of us have happy childhood memories of that endless and undulating outline that marks the edge of county Cork and the beginning of the Atlantic.

Throwback Thursday readers were not slow in coming forward with their own special memories. Tim Cagney was one of the first, with delightful recollections of holidays by the sea.

“Long before we all got notions about ourselves - not to mention money - most of us were content to spend our summer holidays in clifftop bungalows in places such as Crosshaven or Myrtleville,” said Tim. 

Most of these structures were made from old packing cases from the Ford plant at the Marina - we didn’t know that at the time, of course, but they suited our needs irably.

“Actually, my first memory of a holiday at ‘Crosser’ is that of a stone-built bungalow, at Graball Bay, in the mid-1950s. This dwelling had an enormous fireplace, and if you looked up the chimney you could see the sky. Sanitary facilities were contained in a wooden shed, to the rear. I can still recall the smell of the wood, warmed by the sun, as I sat within (and yes - we actually HAD sunshine, in those days).”

Tim continues: “Just down the road was a farm, owned by a Mrs O’Driscoll, and, every morning at around 7.30am, we would be awakened by the sound of a herd of cows ing by our bedroom window, on their way to the milking-stalls. The drovers encouraged the pace of their charges by utterances like ‘hucksa-how’

“My younger brother and I were most interested in this, and would sometimes the farmers as they walked behind their bovines. Occasionally, they would hand us their sticks, so we could ‘assist’ in driving the cattle forward. They didn’t need any such prodding, of course, but it made us feel important.

“One day, Mrs O’Driscoll asked if I’d like to feed the chickens. She handed me a bucket of potato-peel, and directed me to a gate. I was immediately - and unexpectedly - assaulted by a swarm of hens, all eager to sample the delights of the bucket. Very quickly, I learned the creatures meant me no harm, and that, by tipping-out the bucket onto the ground, the hens would make their own arrangements, without getting in my way.

Just across from our bungalow was a field, from which the sound of a corncrake could often be heard - alas, a rarity, nowadays.

Tim says: “After Graball, we took holidays in Myrtleville. Our home there was a somewhat grand affair - a sizeable wood-built structure, painted black and white. There, under the tutelage of our parents, we became quite adept at card-playing - essential in the days before television or computers. Many hours were spent on games such as Beggar-My-Neighbour, Patience or Old Maid, whilst the foghorn howled mournfully from the mist-enshrouded lighthouse at Roches Point.

“Another interesting feature of those days was the unexpected appearance of an ocean-going liner. Such vessels might often be discovered on awakening in the mornings, anchored off Roches Point.

“In those days, large ships could not enter Cobh, so engers had to be ferried in and out by tender. At night, the liners would provide a dazzling display, moored with all their onboard lights ablaze. Also at night, the red glow from the Daunt lightship could be seen, glowing intermittently over the dark waters.

“In our latter years of Crosshaven holidays, we stayed at a bungalow called The Nook, on Church Bay Road (still there, as far as I know). This had a direct view of Roches Point. At night, we would walk (we never had a car) to Crosshaven village, to enjoy the delights of Piper’s Merries. Swing-boats, roundabouts (featuring brightly-coloured galloping horses) and bumper-cars provided no end of entertainment.

“There were also many games of chance, where you bought tickets, bearing numbers. A long wooden spar - with the head and tail of a serpent at either end - would be spun round, causing flashing lights to appear on a board.

“When the display finished, one number remained static, and - if your ticket matched that number - you won a prize. 

In those days, the standard of prizes was reasonably high - you could have delph-ware, canteens of cutlery, cooking-utensils and the like. You could even get to select your own choice of prize.

Tim continues: “When all the fun of the fair was over, you could have a bag of chips from a hut, just outside the fairground. This was a fair-sized wooden cabin, painted green. The chips were thick and fluffy, served in grease-proof paper bags, doused in salt and vinegar. The smaller - and tastier - bits used to make their way to the bottom of the bags, drowned in vinegar. I can honestly say that I have never since tasted chips quite like them.

“And so to today, when we can hop aboard a plane and head off to Spain, Italy or Portugal. Granted, you will have sunshine (usually) and can sip Aperol Spritzer or ice-cool Italian beer in 32 degrees of heat, before returning to the plush comforts of your 4-star hotel, but you will never again experience the delights of childhood at Crosser.”

That’s so true, Tim. Your memories will spark nostalgia in every reader who has known the magic of Crosshaven, by day and by night. Some of you can probably the songs that blared out from the Merries every night, as holidaymakers hurried down the lanes or across the fields to be part of the fun.

Does anyone having to get the bus home to Cork at the end of the evening, buying a farewell bag of chips from that hut before reluctantly boarding the green CIE transport and leaving those friends lucky enough to be Staying Down?

Reader Mícheál Kenefick didn’t have to travel far for his coastal escapades in childhood, since he was fortunate to grow up in Whitegate, and there he made the most of every possibility on the long summer days.

“The parish of Aghada has an unusually high number of piers and slipways,” he says. “The Fort has two piers, as has Lower Aghada, but extraordinarily the little village that was Whitegate (it’s not so little anymore) has three piers.

“We called the piers in Whitegate, The Sawmills; The Pier (Middle Pier) and Day’s Quay. Sheehan’s pier, or the Middle Pier, hosted the two mega events of the year - the regatta, which attracted thousands to the village annually, and the once famous Bonfire. (Other than the Great Wall of China, the only other manmade - (child-made even - object which could be seen from space was the Whitegate bonfire. Or that’s what we claimed.)

“Apart from these festivities, and an occasional stint at fishing for crabs or to swim to it from the Sawmills, we rarely used the Middle Pier. It is worth mentioning though that there were a few superstars who managed to swim from the Sawmills to Day’s Quay - and back of course. Other than that, we never used this pier at all even though it is less than 100 yards from the village.

Contrast this to the Sawmills, which became a commune for several months of the year and where we lived during the hours of daylight during the summer holidays.

“It was there we learned to swim, taught by Paddy O’Connor, who gave freely of his time after his day’s work driving the bus which was parked overnight there.

“He also taught the better swimmers the priceless art of life-saving. Some of his students soon became teachers, and one of the great swimmers of the village, Mick O’Reilly, taught me. It was the year he broke his leg and he regularly prodded me back in with the crutch until I had completed my lesson to his satisfaction!”

The ‘Swimming the Piers’ Badge of Honour was hard-earned, Micheál reveals, “as those who had already done it were hoping you’d drown, to keep their club more exclusive, and those who had yet to achieve it were also hoping you’d drown so that the feat wouldn’t be achieved before they were successful!

“The Sawmills was our beach and our swimming pool. We often stood in the mud waiting for the tide to come in, and when it was high enough we took to the little slipway near the top of the pier where the more diligent of us practised for the Regatta.”

To this day, warns Mícheál, the words Whitegate and Regatta must never be mentioned in the same sentence, as the rain gods arrive in their thousands on Regatta days. 1960 was no exception as was reported in The Southern Star of that year: “Whitegate Regatta, which three weeks ago was washed out by torrential rain, concluded on Sunday last when the remaining events were held in excellent weather conditions. A large crowd attended. During the afternoon the Carrigaline Pipe Band rendered a fine selection of music.

Results: Swimming: Boys under 14:

1. Joe Spicer

2. Tony O’Herlihy (this scribe was third and still has the medal)

Boys under 16:

1. John Hynes

2. Denis O’Connor

Girls under 16:

1. Celia O’Reilly

2. Evelyn Wixted

Mens Open:

1. Michael O’Reilly

2. E. Griffin, Midleton”

The novelty events, the Pig and Pole, Pillow Fight, etc, were all won by John Hynes, Michael O’Reilly, and a Pig and Pole and Greasy Barrel expert, the late Michael O’Herlihy.

Micheál continues: “The Sawmills also had a mini pitch-and-putt course, built by ourselves. I think we had about six holes and even though we had only one golf club between us and more than likely only one golf ball, I can never losing it even when the tide was in full. This despite the fact that one hole had to be played over an 8ft metal sheet.

“As nobody had transport in the 1950s, the village mothers used to come and sit on the little beach by the Sawmills on summer evenings. On Sundays we would be taken to the Long Point or the Island to swim until we were ‘feathered’, and only then did we find our way to White Bay and eventually Inch.

The Sawmills was also the spot where we brought the ‘perries’ we picked on the Long Point, so we could keep an eye on them and keep them watered, and the excitement there on a Saturday morning, waiting for the Perryman to come from Ballycotton, was almost fever pitch.

“The Sawmills pier, thankfully, is still in good nick and was, until recently, home to the hovercraft, and it is wonderful to see the strand still being used as it is now the home of Whitegate Rowing Club.

“The Middle Pier, which was almost lost to the sea, has recently been restored and now hosts the wonderful Corkbeg Coffee shop, a thriving business. For my generation, particularly, it is joyful and nostalgic, of course, to sit where we drew furze for the Bonfire and swam in the Regatta.”

Oh Mícheál, how wonderful! But ‘perries’? The mysterious Perryman? Quick, we must know more. Reveal all to us, do, to bring here for next week’s Throwback Thursday, which will also be devoted to Cork’s wonderful coastline.

And the rest of you, send us your own coastal memories! Email [email protected]. Or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.