Galway Advertiser 1992/1992_07_30/1992_07_23/GA_23071992_E1_012.pdf 

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STORIES FROM OLD GALWAY
Dear Editor, Being brought up in an environment where night time story-telling was a way of life, I derived much pleasure from a recent "Old Galway" column dealing with that subject. A man who wrote a lot of short stories told me one time that so-called "true" stories are really only 70% true. His explanation was that the first teller says it happened such a time. The second teller adds to it for some reason, and so on. I loved the stories I heard mostly in Irish - when I was growing up, but I never gave a thought to truthfulness or otherwise. As I read the "Old Galway" column one item caught my attention and that was about a cock crowing. The reason was, when I was about 11 years old in the early thirties, I was in a house on Christmas Eve. At eight o'clock the cock belonging to the family crew three times and stopped. The woman of the house looked at her husband and said, "Tom (who was bad in the old hospital) is dead". A half-hour later the Sgt of the Guards called to the house and her if she had a brotherin-law in hospital. She said she did. "Well", he said, "I'm sorry to tell you he died at eight o'clock". That is a fact. Another time I was in a house at night where there was a husband and wife about fifty years of age. It was around nine o'clock when there was a knock on the front door. Being young, I jumped up and opened the door but there was no one out there. It was a very bright night so I looked around but there was no one there. I sat down and after five minutes there was another knock. I again jumped up and opened the door. As before, there was no one there. I left the door open and told the husband so meone must be playing a trick. He just said, "I think I know".With that he went into the bedroom where his mother was bedridden for about five years. When he went into the room he heard the gasping. He just called down, "Mam is dying". Later he told me the night his father died there was also a knock at the door. This is also a fact. Now if you are in any doubt about the truthfulness of these stories, try this one for size. About six months into a courtship with a young girl (now my wife), we were walking up by the New Cemetery and without saying anything she just crossed over to the "Hat Factory" side. I asked what was that about and she said, "I know you won't believe me, but I saw a priest with no head walking down the path." To be honest I just sat on Mrs. Geraghty's shop win dow and said " I am begg ing of you, never let anyone hear you saying anything like that again". With a hint of a sulk she said, "I didn't expect you would believe me anyway." That ended the "Headless Priest" yarn un til about 15 years later there was a girl visiting our house in Mervue. There was one yarn after another for about two hours when this girl said, "Mr. Muprhy, would you believe if I told you I saw a nun with no head out side the New Cemetery?" I looked at my wife and smiled. She was delighted that at long last somebody else saw whatever it was. Then we related our little story. The only question now to be answered is, was it a priest or was it a nun? Maybe John Francis King will find somebody with the answer. Now if you find this hard to credit, how about one final story? Around 1954 there was a junior Football match in the sportsground at College Road. It made heavy rain up to match time and there was a pool of water about 30 yards out at the College Road end. At one stage the ball landed in the pool of water and a player picked it up as it was spinning on top of the water. A free was given but the player did not agree one bit with the Referee (still living, T.G.). I spoke to the Ref about it but he could not recall the incident. But I promise you it is true. If there is anyone out there who witnessed it, please contact this paper. As I said at the beginn ing about what the story writer told me, you have true stories, either whole or in part, and some are just yarns. What do readers think about mine? Yours sincerely, John Murphy 6 McDonagh Ave., Mervue.

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alway Races! One of those special times in the year when The centre of gravity in our nation shifts decisively away from the Capital City of Dublin to the ancient sea-girt City of the Tribes. And why? Because of the irresistable fascination and pleasure the people of our country derive from the activities of one of nature's noblest creatures - the horse! Racing has been traditionally described as the "Sport of Kings", but in Galway next week everyone is a king or a queen. Every year around this time lines of traffic converge on Ballybrit with all the singleness of purpose and intensity of devotion of a religious pilgrimage. We Irish have a deep devotion to the horse. In fact, if you went back far enough into our Celtic past you'll find we worshipped them once upon a time. (Many might argue that at this time of the year many of us start to worship them again!) Last week's wonderful Arts Festival Parade Capall" was a most fitting run-up to Ballybrit, with all sorts of horses parading through our streets, with pride of place given to Macha, the ancient horse-goddess. How many punters, we wonder, were moved to utter their own private prayers to her for a win in next week's Galway Plate? And who could blame them? Races! the Romans had 'em! And we've had 'em in Ireland for uncounted centuries. County Galway race meets go back to at least the middle of the 18th century. Many people can recall the now vanished meets at Tuam and in the last century there were big races held in Kinvara and Gort as well. The first race meet at Ballybrit was held in 1869 and on the first day, August 17th, 36,000 people turned out to cheer the jockeys on. Galway Races have gathered a whole rich body of poetry and song and tradition. Francis Fahey, the Kinvara poet, wrote a song about them. Jack B. Yeats drew some memorable pictures of them, and his brother, the great W.B., was even moved to set down his enthusiasm in a delightful little poem called, appropriately, "At Galway Races". If you've been walking around Galway this last couple of weeks during the Galway Arts Festival, you'll have noticed that the tourists have finally arrived in big numbers. Loud and ex cited Spanish voices and French voices have mingled their music with our English and American visitors, not to mention the crowds of our own countrymen who've decided to put the reces sion blues behind them and head for Galway. It's undeniable that the Arts Festival and Galway Races provide a huge boost to the financial health of the town and we must all be grateful to the organisers of these two major events for putting on such a splendid couple of weeks entertainment. People come to Galway for the music, the craic, the fun and excitement. And good luck to them! But there's no room for complacency. Recent reports in the local press about Salthill should put us all on our toes. Galway has so far avoided the worst of what's happened to other cities in Ireland, but the danger signs are there. Every one of us becomes an unofficial tourist officer once the Summer season begins and we must ensure, either through individual efforts or through bodies like the Galway Chamber of Commerce and In dustry, that our visitors receive the traditional kindness and courtesy that's made this city famous. It's a carnival on the streets, and a festival at the racecourse! The Galway Advertiser extends a very warm welcome to our friends, old and new, who are presently visiting our city, and hopes their stay will be both happy and rewarding (well, you never know, do you!)

Justice and the League
HE summer assizes were an important occasion in each county town in the last century. The arrival in Galway by special train of the judges in this week in 1880 showed the pomp and ceremony which surrounded the event. Lord Justice Deasy and Mr. Justice Harrison were met on the platform by the High Sheriff of the county, James McDermott, and the High Sheriff of the town, Joseph Semple of Nile Lodge. "Well appointed carriages" and "splendid horses" were waiting and so too was a guard of honour of the Royal Irish Constabulary. A mounted escort of the constabulary went with the carriages to Glanville where the judges stayed during the assizes. In that year the panoply accompanying the arrival of the judges may have distracted Galway citizens from the political realities of the time. However the issues which came before the court were an indication of the growing agitation on the land question fanned by a threat of bad harvests and possible recurrence of famine. In particular two major cases related to the land problems. Thirty-one persons who were on bail for riot at Moyrus in Connemara were brought to trial for attacking a process server named McAllister. The good offices of their parish priest. Father Maloney of Roundstone, and his evidence helped to get the men released. Thirty men who were accused ofriotingin Clifden were similarly released because of the intervention of Father Rhatigan. It was the period of the Land League founded the previous year and with hindsight we can see that assizes in Galway as a foretaste of a more active phase in the struggle between landlord and tenant in Ireland. all Michael Davitt was an inspiration to the movement which played a large part in the emergence of C. S. Parnell as a leader. Thomas P. O'Neill.

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ARE PARTTIME POLICE THE ANSWER?
Dear Editor, There is a sense of frustration among ordinary people concerning the in ability to deal effectively with crime - petty crime such as vandalism, to more serious crime such as per sonal attacks or even rape and murder. One of the key points of the Neighbourhood Watch schemes is vigilance. In other words, reduce the opportunity or take precau tions as the case may be. Could this principle not be also employed in the Salthill area where I personally heard of five victims of violence over the last weekend? Yours sincerely, Bernard Naughton 3 Cedarwood, Highfield Park, Galway.

MARROW DISTRESSING
Dear Sir, I've had the most depressing expereince of my present incarnation that I feel compelled to share it with the world. I was in New York last week on holiday. Brooklyn. And you know, things have gotten so bad?! It was late in the evening, on the street, and I was accosted by a thug. A Neanderthal man. He called himself Scarface (Actually, he was initially dubbed "Arseface", but he was dyslexic as a kid and spelled it "Scareface". That then evolved into Scarface.). I was wearing a sticker that said, "I Gave" but he wanted to rob me anyway. As it turned out, I hadn't a nickel on me. He looked upset - he was actually a tad annoyed - so I offered him my credit card instead. Which was fine, except he demanded to see some I.D. and wanted me to sign the back of a cheque as well. But it turned out that I had the last laugh - it was Fri day, and a bank holiday to boot. But what is wrong with this crazy world when mug gers don't trust us - us, the so-called good guys? It makes me feel so...wor thless. I don't know if I can ever return to Brooklyn after such a revelation. Yours ingeniously, Eoghan Marrow.