Throwback Thursday: ing summer holidays in Cork and Kerry

“Where’s our summer gone?” wails Michael Ryan.

Well, it was St Swithin’s Day last Monday, when, as the old rhyme goes:

St. Swithin’s day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St. Swithin’s day if thou be fair

For forty days ‘twill rain nae mair.

Unfortunately, last Monday was very definitely gloomy, dark, and rainy. Does that mean we have another 40 days of it?

Hopefully it doesn’t apply to Ireland since St Swithin is more honoured in neighbouring England than here. We prefer Candlemas, Brigit’s Day, at the beginning of February, perhaps emphasising our gentler climate where spring comes earlier:

If Candlemas Day be dry and fair,

Half the winter’s to come and mair.

If Candlemas Day be wet and foul,

Half o’ winter’s gane at Yule.

Hang on though - that says exactly the opposite to the Swithin verse! So last Monday’s weather presages a great summer ahead, Michael!

“Well, it hasn’t come, we’re still waiting,” replies Mr Ryan gloomily.

“I the summers of long ago when the evenings would stretch to 11pm. There was no such thing as sun creams then - well, if there was, I never saw it. I a few of us getting badly burned in Youghal, even getting blisters on our backs.

“Oh what a thrill it was going to Youghal on the train, the excitement of it. 

I going up to one of the houses to get a teapot of hot water. The two elderly women used to charge a shilling, I think. Or it might have been sixpence.

“They were great times, simpler days when everyone shared the holiday. Then came individual caravans and you didn’t have that sense of community any more. Today, it’s mobile homes, literally a home from home.”

Michael continues: “My dad and mam bought a caravan first in the late 1970s. Looking back at it now, it was like something out of Father Ted. There was certainly no room in it for Riverdance, or playing hide and go seek, but it was grand.

“We changed holiday destinations then, and hauled the caravan to Garrettstown, where it was berthed in Red Manning’s site.

“He was a strong, robust man who would be seen sitting outside the white cottage on entering the site, keeping an eye on all the comings and goings.

“The beach was directly across the road. My younger brothers really got the benefit of that beach. It was as good as Spain.

For entertainment at the weekends, we would go to Cronin’s Hotel which is now, alas, long gone.

“At the other end of the beach, you had The Speckled Door, which was well frequented. In the 1980s, you could stroll away up to the lighthouse on the Old Head, no bother. Then they put in the golf course and hotel and things changed.”

We were minded to ask reader Dorothy Heaphy, who gave us such vivid memories last week of growing up in Youghal, whether she and the rest of her family ever went on holiday themselves, or if being in Youghal was more than enough?

“No, we didn’t go on holidays,” responds Dorothy. “My summer was often spent on the beach, walking a pony up and down between the breakers, giving kids pony rides.

The man that owned the ponies was a neighbour, and it meant I got to ride the pony out and back to the strand.

“Once there, you walked miles doing those rides. Some were holiday-makers and some were day-trippers.

“Somehow, the weather seemed much better then too! People were very happy to have a room if they were staying down, none of this en suite business.”

Actually, Dorothy muses, “I don’t think I knew anyone until I got older that went on holidays. 

My mother tells me that the last train back to Cork on a Sunday was a big draw for the locals - the chaos, the fun, the singing.

“The Atlantic Hotel (which burned down in the 1960s, I think) would be full of holiday- makers and the music from the big bands at the Strand Palace could be heard through the windows.”

A lady at the top of Claycastle, says Dorothy, sold boiling water so that day-trippers could make their own tea if they had brought sandwiches (and most frugal households did, back then, carefully packing tea, sugar, and milk, into their hold-alls for the day out).

“A couple of old railway carriages no longer required by CIE, and put out to grass, so to speak, were turned into accommodation by people who could get them, and used for ‘the holidays’,” recalls Dorothy. “Some were even turned into permanent homes.

Many Cork people who live in Youghal today retired here because of the love they have had for the place since their childhood holidays.

Now that is a great alternative view of the good old summer holidays. If you were lucky enough to live by the sea, why would you want to go anywhere else?

It would be good to hear more from those who were on the receiving end at holiday resorts, providing the accommodation, the food, the pony rides, and yes, the kettles of boiling water for De Tay.

Anybody able to shed light on this side of the pattern?

Stephen Twohig, born in Kanturk but now living in Maine, USA, has great memories of quite a different holiday location.

“For those of us growing up in North Cork, Ballybunion was our choice of summer resort instead of the Cork beaches those in the city favoured. Indeed, Ballybunion was our Disney!”

On day trips, Stephen explains, one could take the bus from the Square in Kanturk on a Saturday or Sunday, with all your gear packed in bags.

“You were laden down with shovels, buckets, fishnets and armbands, blankets and picnic baskets.

“The long road through Newmarket, Rockchapel, and Listowel seemed to take forever, but when we reached Listowel, we knew we were on the home stretch. Finally cresting the last hill and long stretches of these last nine miles, we would call out ‘Ballybunion here we come’ when we saw the gable end of the first row of houses in the town.

Stephen adds: “Ballybunion really was our Disney. It had a magic and mystique about it. It was circus, carnival, sun and fun all in one place.

“Even the harsh winter Atlantic couldn’t erode all the warm memories we have from this seaside town. There are two long beaches split in the middle by a long outcrop into the ocean. On the tip are the remains of a castle, still standing guard.

“In the olden days, the women went to one beach and the men the other and one still called them by those names. God forbid one saw the other in their long, drab flax burlap costumes!

“I would doubt there was any big run on sun block back then. We always went to the men’s or right hand beach. 

You would scoot down the hill, trying not to fall through the coarse, sandy grass and finally plop down on the dry white sand.

“We would stay on the beach from morning until near sundown. More often than not, we would be the last few stragglers left behind, all huddled around each other in goosebumps from the cold. We would erect a windbreaker for a wall and drape a blanket over it if the showers came. When others ran for cover we were staunch and held our ground.

“To give mother her credit, she stayed with us from morning until dusk and never complained of getting bored. Dad, on the other hand, would last about an hour on the sand, on a good day. He would wait for us above on the grass and wave down and wonder when these kids were going to get fed up of the beach and want to go home. He would have a long wait.

“I like to imagine that he still watches over us, and still waits.”

Stephen recalls: “When the tide went out, it left warm pools to bathe in over by the cliffs, and in some cases small caves that you dared not venture in, in fear.”

He and his brother Mike would pull plastic boats or ships behind them.

“When with us, Dad would hold us high on his shoulders as he waded out into the tall waves, scaring the daylights out of us on purpose. 

You could hear the screams and yells of children as they jumped the incoming waves, played ball, held on to flapping kites, or just made castles in the sand.

“And there sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the blanket, looking out of place in his heavy tweeds, shirt and tie and cap, is your man from the front of Roches, waiting. Out of place again, on the edge of more the blanket. He will spend the required time then hoof it up for tea in the shade of a hotel. Or head to the pub to wait it out.”

There were forays away from the beach on those summer days too, recalls Stephen.

“Every few hours, we would hop from foot to foot on the hot tar up the steep hill to the two shops near the bathrooms. These shops had all you ever wanted as a child. Little plastic windmills spun in the wind like propellers, balloons, kites, boats, bright buckets and shovels stuck out from every possible place.

“There, laid out, was an array of sweets and delights that would leave your mouth watering if not so already in the sweltering heat. The smells of cotton candy, cones, periwinkles and sun lotions filled the sea air.

“We would each buy a ninety-nine cone with a chocolate crumbling ‘flake’ stuck in the top. Then, before it melted, you would climb up the coarse grass to the hill on top and look down on the beach far below, trying to see your own blanket.

“When we’d finished, we’d scoot down the hill again with a runny and melting cone for the mother.

“In the late afternoon, we would be left to ourselves as the parents went over and had tea at the far end of the beach. If feeling indulgent, they would treat themselves to a warm seaweed bath. All we could think about was the slimy. shiny fronds of the bubbled seaweed and we couldn’t believe they would willingly bathe in it!

“If it was wet or rainy, we would go for tea and Club Milks at Dana’s. There you would pick out postcards from the revolving racks and write and send them, though we probably would be home before they got there.

There were always treats in the front window of Beasleys that would catch your eye, and we wouldn’t be happy until we had emptied our pockets and had it in our hands.

“There were toy cars, diaries, seashells, boats, storybooks and the ever favourite candy rock. This was a long piece of hard candy, the outside pink and inside white which cleverly had the word Ballybunion ingrained in the white centre. You would bring them home as gifts or ruin many a good appetite or tooth.”

What lovely memories. Send us yours! Email [email protected] or leave a comment on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/echolivecork.