This will be my last Thursday Doors post from the seaside village of Blackrock in County Louth, for the present. When the weather improves I’ll take a tour through the rest of the countryside in Ireland’s smallest county and share some of the historical sites with you.
When I was a child visiting my grandparents the largest of these properties belonged to the three Miss Flynns, as everyone called them. The three spinster sisters ran a guesthouse and if I saw them on the street I would dash across the road to avoid having my head patted and my cheeks pinched, affectionately, of course. I think they had a bench outside their door for guests to sit on and admire the view, but it wasn’t quite as colourful as the one in place there now.
One day, my maternal grandmother gave me half a crown (2 shillings and 6 pence) instructing me to run up to the bookie’s office and place a bet on a horse in the Grand National (a major annual racing event in Ireland). I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, being too preoccupied trying to remember the name of my grandmother’s horse, and I got waylaid by the Miss Flynns. By the time I had extricated myself from their grasp and reached the betting office, it was too late to place the bet.
When I arrived back at my grandmother’s she was so excited because her horse had won. Unfortunately, she was none the richer and I sheepishly handed over the money muttering something about the Miss Flynns. My grandmother tutted and shook her head and made me sing Danny Boy as a punishment. The previous summer, she had been horrified that I had reached the ripe old age of nine and didn’t know the words to one of her favourite songs. She made me promise to learn it before my next visit. Once I had finished the last of what seemed like a hundred verses, a sixpence was placed in my palm and I was told to go out and buy myself an ice-cream. It was well worth the humiliation and embarrassment. I ran up the street to my other grandparents’ shop and got a free ice-cream, while pocketing the sixpence for another day.
This plaque is one of a few placed at intervals along the promenade. The translation from Irish to English on this one is roughly; She is the dry east wind. It’s a line from an Irish poem Na Gaoithe (The Wind). The spring flowers were well in bloom nearby, totally unaffected by the east wind.
It was a pleasure to show you around my native village these past few weeks, I hope you enjoyed the tour. There are some fabulous Thursday Doors over on Norm’s blog, with a link to many more at the end of his post.
Love your story about the three Miss Flynns. It sounds like a pretty nice place to grow up! And Blackrock looks very charming!
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My mother has stories from her childhood about the Miss Flynns, too.
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Great story about placing the bet (or not) thanks for the chuckle along with the great photos.
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It was the last time I was ever asked to do that, Dan 🙂
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Sweet memories, and a great bench.
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I love that cheerful bench, Deborah.
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I just loved this post! Thanks for taking us with you on this wonderful stroll down memory lane.
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Thanks for coming along, Norm.
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Haha, this is a fun memory and a telling anecdote how you went for a free ice cream and pocketed the money for later. 😀 It sounds like something I’d do as well. And a lovely town!
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I could see you doing the same thing as a child, Manja 😁
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Am getting the feeling you were a hand full as a child, as they say … maybe that belongs to being creative, as I was seen that way too:) But your story did make me chuckle.
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Lol, the sister who came after me was so much of a handful that nobody noticed what I was getting up to, which wasn’t a lot compared to her.
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Love the buildings and the bench, but mostly the stories behind them. You make me want to make a return visit for sure. 🙂
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I hope you get a chance to do that, Judy.
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I enjoyed reading about your past. Reminds me of visiting my step grandparents in Wales and being sent to the store with a shopping list in Welsh. They did not speak English.
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What a great memory to have, Sherry. Did you speak any Welsh?
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Not a word. I was born in America and my mother moved to London when I was 6.
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I’ve enjoyed your photos of the village and its doors. I am taken with The Crafty Rock bench. It’s well-maintained and memorable. How fun!
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The village has won lots of trophies over the years for it’s presentation and community spirit, Ally.
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Great pics.
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Thank you 🙂
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I love the colors of the shops in the first shot and your stories are wonderful. Frugal you with the ice cream money! 🙂 I wouldn’t want my cheeks pinched, either.
janet
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I remember the cheek pinching so well that I never do it to kids now. Scarred for life, I was, lol. 😮
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😁
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Just your luck the stupid horse had to win! Great story … and with a happy ending 🙂
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I can’t help wondering what my share might have been if I had been there on time, Joanne.
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hahaha! Good point! Lost opportunity!
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Thank you for sharing your memories, it’s wonderful to hear them.
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Thank you for reading 🙂
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What a wonderful memory, Jean! I love the fact that she gave you a sixpence for singing “Danny Boy.” Of course, my Irish grandmother loved that song too!
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Someone always sings it at an Irish wedding, usually an uncle who has had a few too many 🙂
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Yes. We went to a wedding in the USA where the father of the bride sang “Danny Boy” over and over….I lost count of how many times!
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