Summers in Cregnadovesky

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I don't know what age I was when my parents first sent me to stay with my grandparents for the summer in cregnadovesky. I guess I was about 10. I suppose they were glad that I was one less to feed and while I was away I helped my grandparents on their farm. The farm did not have a lot of arable land as it bordered on the mountains and it was an annual battle with the heather and boulders to keep it workable.

This is me between my grandfather and uncle Pat with brothers Sean and Hugh in the early 50's.
This was my grandparents house taken in 1984 about twenty years after it was vacated.

Working in the hay meadow helping to save the hay on the days when it wasn't raining was one of the main jobs to be done in summer. When I first started going to 'Creg' both my grandparents were still alive. Also living with them were my uncle and my grandfathers brother James, who had what would now be described as learning difficulties. He suffered to some extent from some good natured banter in the hay meadow from my grandfather but I think he knew it was not meant to be offensive.


Despite his obvious shortcomings his memory was good as was his sense of direction. There was a tradition in rural Tyrone in the fifties for people to visit neighbours houses late at night after work on the farm had been done. This was called ceilidhing and James regular as clockwork went off through the lanes, fields or mountains depending which direction he was heading. I usually accompanied him sometimes setting of at 10 o'clock at night to cross the mountain in the dark on paths not visible in the darkness. Houses we called at at various times were Martins, Kellys, Montagues, Mulgrews, Tanneys, MacCartens, Meenaghs, Toals, Harveys and Conways. There were others but James always seemed to know whose house to visit next. 

On other occasions when both my grandparents were still alive neighbours would call at night for card games - whist or 25 I think. These were seriously contested even though only small sums of money would change hands. Plenty of tea was consumed and the odd bottle of Guinness. My grandfather died in the early fifties and I still recall being awakened by him at 8 am with a cup of tea and home made soda bread. These sort of insignificant or mundane actions are the things which demonstrate the personality of people and keep them alive in the minds of future generations.

After the death of my grandfather my uncle looked after the farm but with less commitment than his father. A year after my grandfather died my uncle got married. I was not at the wedding or the reception afterwards in Portstewart, this slightly upset me at the time but life had to go on. My grandmother was being in a sense forced from the nest, sort of semi retired with out consent. Around this time my grandfathers sister returned home from a lifetime spent in America. She had saved her money and had never married and on her return a new two storey house was built. The sparks at the time could have set the mountain on fire. The presence of these three strong willed women in the same house meant that I spent a lot of time chasing rabbits through the mountains with the dog.