THERE’S a lovely phrase in the Irish language, a kind of seanfhocail you could call it, I suppose - ‘Is ait an mac an saol’, which is generally translated as ‘Life is Strange’.
It reflects the mystery and uncertainty that surrounds and envelopes our ordinary, everyday lives.
One thing leads to another, and very often the consequences of a seemingly innocuous encounter can reverberate for months, even years. Like last Monday, for example, when I sang The Ballad Of James Connolly at a graveside in East Cork.
Almost 20 years ago, in August, 2004, to be precise, I got a phone call at home one evening from Betty Flynn, of Dungourney. I’d known Betty and her husband Batt - he had Bartlemy ancestors - for years as we often crossed paths at matches, meetings, and other gatherings in East Cork.
Betty’s reason for calling me was twofold. I had written a piece in some paper about Blessed Wells and Betty knew the ‘Pattern Day’ of St Batholomew’s Well here locally was in the month of August. She was enquiring about the date and the time when we would have Mass at the Well.
The other cause of her conversation with me soon became apparent. Betty knew that I had and have a great interest in local history and lore and loved chatting with like-minded people.
“John,” said Betty, “there’s a man you should meet here in Dungourney.” She went on to tell me about Jim Willis, a man of “about 90 year” who lived down a long boreen. Where Jim lived in Glenaphuca had once been home to six or seven families - Motherways, Morrissons, Leahys, Murrays, Walshs and Colberts, but now, alas, Jim was truly ‘the last man standing’ in the townland.
Betty told me Jim’s mind was as sharp as a button and he had great songs and stories. and I should call to see him. I promised her I would.
A week or so later, I made the fateful journey to the Glen of the Phuca, and what a journey it was! Jim Willis truly lived in a remote glen, down a steep boreen between Dungourney and Dangan. There I met a tall, sprightly, snow white-haired man.
He ‘took’ to me straight away and I told him all I wanted was to talk and record his memories. Oh lads, what memories he had.
Jim was born in 1913, the grandson of an RIC man from Co Laois who had settled down in Castlemartyr.
Jim’s father married a Kennedy girl from Glenaphuca, but her husband died when young Jim was only four and a half years old.
Mother and son had then returned to live with old Mrs Kennedy, Jim’s grandmother, in her home in Glenaphuca, and that’s where Jim spent his life. His grandmother lived to be over 90 and his own mother to be 96.
Over the next six years, I visited Jim many times. Initially it was in his pretty home down in the Glen, and later in Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in Midleton. He had no objection whatsoever to me using a little tape recorder to record his amazing stories.
Jim was nearly eight years old when the Clonmult Massacre took place. He remembered seeing the famous Jamesy Kelleher playing hurling around 1920!
My friendship with Jim brought me into contact with his first cousin, Mary Murphy of Ladysbridge. She was absolutely great to Jim and visited him regularly. She too knew about Jim’s family and the Kennedy and White connections.
One friend leads to another, and so I also became very friendly with Mary Murphy’s daughter, also Mary, and her husband Ned Budds and their four young children.
Jim Willis never married, but the Murphys and Budds were truly like his own children and grandchildren. He doted on them and they loved him dearly.
Ned Budds came from a family steeped in the love and lore of everything equine and Jim grew up when horsepower reigned supreme. Though he was many, many years older than all his cousins, that generation gap never existed and they all got on like a house on fire.
Then, in August, 2010, Jim died in Midleton Hospital - I was privileged, indeed blessed, to be with him when he breathed his last breath. He was 97.
Two days later, Ned and I were amongst those who shouldered Jim’s coffin up that passage on the hillside to his final resting place in Dangan Cemetery where generations of his ancestors were interred.
My friendship with Mary Murphy continued. Each year on Jim’s birthday we’d go to Dangan and have a meal in Garryvoe afterwards. Mary and I also met every year in Lourdes when we both travelled with the Cloyne Diocesan Pilgrimage. She absolutely loved Lourdes.
We spent many an hour at the Grotto, and invariably in our chats the memory and legacy of Jim Willis came up. Mary was always amazed at the manner in which he had opened up to me in terms of relating all he knew about local history.
Mary once said to me: “Jimmy lived through historic times and was glad to tell someone all about it.”
Yes, I was lucky that he gave me so much information. I still haven’t published the little book entitled Tales From Glenaphuca, but I will.
Mary Murphy’s husband Michael died in 2015 after a long illness but Mary battled on. I always looked forward to meeting her as she would regularly recall some memories from her days in Glenaphuca in the 1950s and ’60s when Jim was working ‘on the roads’ with the Council and his mother still lived in their idyllic home.
Then, six years ago, in May, 2018, Mary passed away after a short illness. At her burial in Mogeely Cemetery, I sang the Lourdes hymn she loved so much, The Bells of the Angelus calleth to pray / In sweet tones announcing the sacred Ave.
My strongest link with Jim Willis and memories of great conversations was gone when Mary died. Gone, yes but not forgotten, and Mary and Ned and their family remained as friends.
Their four children grew up, and in the true Budds tradition, the love of horses manifested itself again in the next generation.
Ill-health came to Ned in recent years, but with great strength, positivity and humour, and supported by the love of Mary and his adoring children, he fought bravely.
Ned Budds died at home in Monabraher on Friday of last week. He loved a good auld sing-song and The Ballad Of James Connolly was one of his favourites.
Last Sunday night, the family asked me to sing the song at his burial in Inch on Monday. It was a funeral worthy of the man.
As the cortege came down the hill to Inch, the hearse was led by two locals on horseback, with the hounds at their heels reflecting the love Ned had for the countryside and rural sports.
Bravery facing death is what James Connolly is remembered for, and in adversity Ned Budds displayed remarkable bravery too. Rest in peace now, Ned.
Imagine, I’d never have known Jim or the two Marys or Ned or his family and never have sung James Connolly, only for Betty making that phone call two decades ago!
Read More
School register is a real treasure trove shining light on area’s past More in this section
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