Remembrance Mass
‘Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.’ With these words James Joyce, arguably our most famous past pupil, commenced the conclusion to The Dead, arguably his most famous short story. With its themes of love and loss, the tale of Gabriel Conroy (based on Con Curran, Joyce’s schoolmate in Belvedere) makes for poignant reading and came to mind more than once during the snow storm that enveloped the college at the beginning of March…
The Clongowes that Joyce inhabited from 1889-1892 (and that he recounts so well in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) was not as comfortable as it is today and snow – indeed cold weather in general – was a more challenging prospect for the smaller student population, many of whom were much younger than the present boys (Joyce himself was only six and a half when he arrived). The absences of electricity and central heating were allied to limited piped water with the students being obliged to break the ice from the surface of the pitchers on winter mornings before bathing.
While winters may not have been more severe in the nineteenth-century, nonetheless the boys spent more of the time in Clongowes in the years before mid-term and winter breaks and were often on campus for more than three months at a time. These were also the days before rugby and the chief sport of cricket could not be played in the winter for fear of damaging the ground. Gravel football did much to tire the boys out, as did a plethora of other pastimes ranging from handball to hurling by way of paper chases (hare and hounds) and cycling.
In the winter there was also the diversion of skating when the weather permitted and the boys from Tullabeg (which amalgamated with Clongowes in 1886) had been in the habit of ‘blading’ on the Grand Canal when it froze. Accordingly the authorities created a man made facility on the grounds by ‘lowering a sluice gate in the drainage ditch running at right angles to the caretaker’s lodge at the back avenue’. As a result ‘a large area of what is now the golf course became flooded and formed a pond’. The practice appears to have continued as late as the 1920s and 1930s with one participant recounting that it ‘was always an exciting adventure and many an intrepid enthusiast got more than his feet wet but was prepared to risk a “breakthrough” for the novelty’.[1]
Birth, Death and Resurrection
While we may all dream of a White Christmas as we commemorate Our Saviour’s birth, it rarely occurs in these parts. Snow is much more likely to arrive during Lent and to coincide with our remembrance of His 40 days in the desert before He died for our sins and then rose again for our salvation. These last few days have been a time of some disruption here in Clongowes but life has gone on and – please God – normal service will shortly be resumed and all will return safely to the fold.
When that happens it will be a scant four weeks until Easter and the most joyous and significant festival in the liturgical calendar. We commenced today somewhat sombrely with The Dead, but death is not the end, rather is it the beginning and so we conclude more joyously with the prospect of the resurrection and the eternal life that it promises.
Declan O’Keeffe, Head of Communications
[1] The Clongowes Union Centenary Chronicle (Privately published, 1997), 42.
[This piece has provoked quite a few memories from past pupils, who graduated in the 1950s and 1960s, pointing out that the practice described above continued into the latter decade (see the comments section below). Larry Ward (OC’61) speculates that the construction of the golf course (in 1966) may have sounded the death knell for the bladers. The genesis of the golf course also makes for interesting reading – see here for more].
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The lake was there and frozen over in 1959/1960 when we came back after Christmas (although I did not skate). Denis Fay (OC’61).
Declan, I enjoyed you piece today. I remember skating near the People’s Church/Golf course in one year between 1957 to 1961. Skates were delivered from Dublin. Pat Staunton (OC’61)
Declan, Thank you for your last communication, ‘The Dead of Winter’, which as always was very interesting. Michael [Sheil] may have told you that we had ice skating one winter when we were in Clongowes between 1949 and 1956. To us it does not seem so long ago but I do realise that it was in the earlier part of the last century! I and no doubt the many other others who receive your communications should say more often how much we appreciate all the work which you put into these newsletters. John Sheil (OC’56)
The practice of making a pond (by lowering the sluice gate of the drainage ditch) was still being followed in the period 1949 to 1955. Fr. Michael Sheil may remember the exact year. We were all skating using skates provided by the school. These were all strapped to our everyday shoes.There was an enormous pile up one day and a few of us got rather wet. Photographs of that time could well be in Fr. Pat McGlade’s collection, if this is available. Pat Groom (OC’55)
As a member of OC’62, I remember us skating on the flooded area referred to. The school provided some of us with old ice skates which we attached to our shoes. Michael Lucey (OC’62)
During the winter of 1951 the golf course area was flooded and the area was well iced over. Rev. Father Joe Kelly, now long deceased was Higher Line prefect and he made skates (blades) available. I was fortunate to be in the F.C.A., had the boots and was able to screw on the skates. As I was in the Higher Line for two years it may have been 1952. Great memories. Gerard Horan (OC’52).
My father, Michael J. Ryan was in Clongowes during the war (he left in 1942). I remember him telling me they skated during winter. One year he went to Clongowes in September and got home the following June! They were tough times then, particularly during the war. Roddy Ryan (OC’73)
Your piece today, precipitating from the snow that was and is general over Ireland, was a delight to read and brought back memories of people and events 1952-8. A great read!
Father Morris, it was said, cut a fine figure on his skates on the pond but it was not, so far as I can remember, frozen in my time and, as ‘Sammy’ Morris must have been 70 or so then, his exploits were part of the folklore.
The issue of ice on the water in our basins is much more recent than the days before electricity as I can testify from 1953/54. It didn’t appear all that often but it was an occasional excitement. The water ‘tack’ (where did that word come from?) went round the Third Line dormitories filling basins on their stands at the foot of each bed last thing before lights out. In the new building, in the Lower and Higher Line dorms, each cubicle had running water, though I can’t remember if there was hot water.
There were no half term breaks in the 1950s either and it was a long three and a half months before I saw my family at Christmas 1952. The North was too far for visits as my family had no car in my first couple of years.
Gravel Ball was still a favourite pastime at outdoor breaks on those large gravelled areas around the 1929 building but ‘gallery football’ played with screwed-up football socks was also very popular in the corridors of the third line during indoor recreation times.
I must reread The Dead, indisputably Joyce’s most famous short story, now that you have reminded me of that consummate final paragraph. David Farrell (OC’58).
When I was a student here in the early ’50s there was “skating” (*) down at the golf-course site (climate change has put paid to that!). My last memory is of a very long “slide” along which everyone would try to keep to their feet, having taken a run from land – and seeing how far they could get to. Obviously, the track became faster and faster … and it all ended one day when the ‘longest slider’ victor became a victim of the laws of gravity and fell in. Subsequently, the smallest member of the Community was dispatched out along the longest ladder (wooden in those days!) to peer into the depths to see if there was anyone else vying for the victor ludorum prize. To date no one has been found ! Michael Sheil (OC’56)
Declan, I really enjoy these communications which keep me in touch with Clongowes, today and yesterday. Fascinated by your piece on John Redmond whom I think was cheated from immortality – and, perhaps, a peaceful Ireland – by the Rebellion. He gave such a lot to public service which is unrecognised. Do keep up these musings! Robin G. Ashe (OC’70)