Mike Mahon
Page Four
To say my grandparents were religious would be an understatement. My grandfather hailed from County Longford and was a builder. He was a member of the old IRA and had taken part in the Howth gun running and had been jailed in Frongoch Camp in Wales. The family somehow managed to keep his rifle, a single shot German Mauser, but in latter years unfortunately it disappeared from the house The grandfather being so religious had gone on a pilgrimage to Rome, when the only way to travel was by ship. He was a member of some sort of confraternity in Rathgar Church. These men met regularly, dressed in brown Franciscan like habits, lit candles, burned incense and took it in turns to prostrate themselves in a coffin in practice for their funeral. These were called the ‘Bona Mores’ which sounded to me like the Latin for good morals.
My Grandmother had a very sad life. She had two sons, the youngest Michael died of leukemia in his teens. The elder Tom, or as the family called him ’Bud’ was a motor cycle enthusiast. Himself and my own father joined the LSF (Local Security Force ) as dispatch riders during the war as it was the only way for them to get petrol for their motor bikes. Unfortunately, Bud was killed in a road race in Cork. Granny never got over this and insisted on keeping his bike, a large BSA model in her living room for many years afterwards with many of the trophies he had won.
When my parents were first married they lived in the basement flat of the grand parents house in Rathmines and that was my first home. I remember well Holy Week in that house, the curtains were never opened so the house was dark and gloomy, all spoke in whispers when not on their knees praying and the radio was totally banned. Everyone was supposed to give up something for the period of Lent and for us kids it was usually sweets and comics. On Good Friday my mother declared that she had to visit seven churches to gain ’indulgences’. She dragged me by the hand and pushed my younger sister Brenda in a pram all around the local churches. It was scary, the statues were all draped in dark purple shrouds and everyone shuffled around doing the ’stations’ I was compelled to wear a brown scapular around my neck and cross my hands over my chest going to bed so if I died during the night I was assured I would go straight to heaven . Is it any wonder that religion scared the shit out of me?
