Grove Competition 32A DVD Giveaway!

Wow! That's great of Tommy and the gang to offer some DVD's as prizes-very generous.

I'll start the ball rolling with just a modest memory of a section of my schooldays in Chanel College.

Being the aspiring rocker or hippie I was trying to be,with hair just about dirtying my collar,and schoolbag embroidered with Neil Young,Pink Floyd and Led Zep logo's,I was to say the least a little 'out there' in comparison to the Duran Duran and Paul Young fans in the rest of my class.

No one even heard of half of who I listened to as I doodled band logo's on my copies and I was probably thought of as a Neil figure (from the Young Ones). Then I mentioned one Monday in art class of how I was at the Grove over the weekend. This was met with 'there's no way you'd get in there' and 'what would you want to go to that hippie party for?'

In this art class of Fr. McCardle's (who had a question mark over him actually being a priest at all) we coincidently were tasked with designing album covers,so I needless to say produced the most psychedelic,progressive thing I could,which was met with wooping and holloring,next to the black and white ska/mod efforts from everyone else.

Fast forward a couple of weeks,I'm down the alcove,doing my thing,when I spot a couple of classmates entering the hall. About 5 or 6 of them got the courage up to come to the Grove,all immaculately turned out in gleaming white shirts,baggies,even a couple of ties.

I happened to have a request played for me and the girl I was seeing at the time,a typical 80's rocker,all long hair and boots,leather jacket and big belts,you know-how most of the Grove girls looked then-stunning. The guys watched with awe as we slow danced-and then later the big headbanging circle for Freebird blew them away,and how we cheered and hugged when it finished.

 I introduced them to some of the guys I knew and they started to see that this long hair look wasn't so sad after all.

The following week all through school I was asked questions like 'who sings that Stairway to Heaven' and 'who did Ozzy Osbourne sing with' and did I know such and such who went to the Grove and suddenly I was a mad 'head' who listened to music which really meant something and despite being the most placid kid in school,I never seemed to get hassled after this because I was a 'rocker' and I went to the Grove...

I spent my first few years in Avondale Park, Raheny.

My brother Adrian and I were playing football at the back where there
was a green. It was a bad day, the weather was lousy but we did not care
and we played against two other lads whose names were both Dermot.
There was always tension between the two Dermots and I.

One of the Dermots was a particularly good footballer. During the course
of the game, one of the Dermots kicked the ball into the river at the side
of the green. He did this intentionally and it was my ball. I ordered my
brother to fetch the ball while I started after the two Dermots. I caught
hold of one of them and had him with his face down. I was so angry that I
pushed his head and face into the mud for a few minutes. I never had
problems with them again.

I never looked for trouble and tried to avoid it but when trouble came to
me, I would stand my ground. I can almost recall it as if it was yesterday.

In the early 60's I guess Roches Stores put in what was probably the first
escalators in Ireland.

Way back then my mother used to go to the city to shop as there were no
"big" shops in Raheny and she liked to buy fruit and vegetables in Moore
Street. As Roches was just around the corner and had a good reputation,
she would do other shopping there. I was like her bodyguard. She had a
habit of going around with her bag open, she trusted too much and I
would hold on or hang on to make sure nobody picked her purse.

When we were in Roches she was relatively safe. As any young boy, the
escalator fascinated me. I did not really like shopping but I liked being
with my mother as she was pretty, ahead of her time and was fun to be
with. She would buy me an ice cream upstairs in Roches and I would get
lemonade put in and that was my great treat.

I would ask her to let me go up and down the escalators and we would
meet later in a specific place. That was fine. I was very happy to walk
backwards and do all sorts of strange things on the escalator, things the
manufacturers never imagined but then they did not have my
imagination.

At the set time I went to look for my mother and could not find her. I
don't remember if I panicked or was afraid but I did not find my mother. I
had and still have a very good memory especially for directions and
places. I would have been 8 maybe at the time. I decided to walk home to
Raheny. Why I don't know. It probably would have made more sense to
have looked for a policeman.

I got to the just under the railway bridge after Mount Temple school and
asked a man on a bike for a lift. He obviously realised the gravity of the
situation and brought me to Clontarf Garda station where a detective, I
have forgotten his name now recognised me. He lived in Avondale. I think
he called my parents, we had a phone and he brought me home or my
parents collected me. That part is hazy.

I don't believe I ever got lost again as a child. I did not realise the worry
for my parents. They were so glad to see me alive and well. My only
problem was my feet. At 8 it was a long walk already to the bridge and I
must have dreaded thinking about another few kilometers. I believe it was
also when the nights get dark early which worried my parents even more.

As you can see I made it home and can tell the story today

I was resting on a huge gravestone inside Mount Jerome Cemetery,
daydreaming. I had taken the day off work and was at a loss for
somewhere to go. I would often lie between the stones for hours,
pretending I was dead, pretending that my real world no longer existed.
Day was turning to dusk, when out of the corner of my eye I caught
something move....then again. Turning my head I saw a glass globe
filled with dried pink flowers. Like a garnet brooch It dressed the white
stoned pad of a deserted grave, its wings expanded wide above it, partly
hidden in the shadow of a broken concrete gargoyle. I stood, and went
for a closer look, dreading the thought that the movement might have
been caused by a rat, or a crow. I had heard stories of how they dig for
flesh. Then strange things began to happen. As I moved, the graves
around me started to turn liguid, like they were melting. Colors turned to
a silver grey. The flowers, grass, headstones, all shone like mercury.
Everything seemed calm, without one sound. I forced myself through the
soft earth towards the globe. When I examined it I saw a small child's
mouth opening and closing, slowly like a heartbeat. It seemed to be
calling me into its petals. As the lips pumped, the mouth grew bigger
and came closer, until it was like a gaping frog divers mask, breaking the
water's surface. The glass dome shattered when it tried to swallow me.
Missing my face by a hair's breath, it disappeared down into the silver
sea. I tried to run but my feet would not move. They were being held
firmly from below ground. Grey turned to a deep crimson as the sea
transformed into hot human entrailles. I felt my body being sucked
slowly into the liquid mess. My face was covered and being smothered by
bloody heads and flailing limbs... Thousands of torn bodies, piled like
Holocaust Jews, dragging me deeper...deeper...deeep...



...and that really really was the very last time I dropped acid

Myself and my mate Tomo Flanagen from Killester Park after a pretty unsuccesful night in the Cricket came back to my house in the Demesne, Killester for coffee.

 

After having a few drinks before the Cricket and a "smoke " on the way home, we were pretty chilled.

Tomo had taken to drinking his coffee black ( real swankey ) and I handed him the roasting hot mug.

The door from the kitchen to the hall was half glass and the bathroom was in the hall.

 

My Granny of 80 something who lived with us wasn't sleeping to well at the time and had taken to wandering around the house. Seeing the light on in the kitchen she stuck her toothless face in a hairnet up to the glass to see who was there. Tomo happened to look up at this time.

Jeez if you heard the yell

 

Not only the fright of the apperition in the glass but the scalding hot coffee had spilled all over his very tight flares and was burning the blue Jeezus out of his privates.

I don't know who got the bigger fright

Me, Tomo or me Granny

Manor House! Ahhhh

My friend Trasa had gone to her debs and being a year behind her in school we thought we would never get the lowdown.  Next morning I remember watching out at the top of the road with her sister waiting for her Dad to leave for work so we could go back up to the house and get the scoop.  We were supposed to be in school that day.  In we go and settle in the kitchen, Trasa got all the teacups out and while she was boiling the kettle who do we see pulling into the drive but her Dad.  Well I never ran and dived and put cups away so quick.  Up and down the stairs grabbing coats and school bags!  Then up to the bedroom and in under the beds.  We lay there for 6 hours until he left again.  All feckin day he left us there only to find out years later that one of the neighbors had called him at work to tell him we were mitching..... He knew all the time that we were up under the beds and left us there for hours.

 

Edited by eejit91

Extract from some work in progress:

 

His Oasis school hop had been swiftly followed by a couple of years counting the days, hours and minutes to the Grove Social Club in St. Paul’s Clontarf. His pinkish ID card ever at the ready, Junior Flinter on sentry duty at the door, waving him on in with a friendly gesture of his footballing hand. D.J. Cecil up there on the stage. His turntable to the fore. With dozens of young heads standing in the hall nearby, on up the front or way down the back, their grandfather shirts hanging from baggy blue jeans, all trying to look absolutely, unconventionally and effortlessly cool. With carefully combed and long flowing hair, pig-tails and shaggy big mops, hands in pockets, or simply holding on to glass bottles of Fanta and Coke. Patchouli and Schree.

He loved the long slow dances after lively head-banging sets  -- if he was lucky, with either the beautiful brown Bernie B, or a year later on with the loveable, hazel-eyed, and long blonde-haired Irene, during the course of a night, should they happen to be there – to the mellow strains of ‘Carolina in my mind’ or ‘Lovin’ her was easier’ than anything he had ever done before.

All very exciting on Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings, but a terrible thing all the same if you were dreaming you were awake on the stage and just about to arrive before you ever had left. Unspoken secrets.

Interiors, exteriors, historic and old, modern and new, colourful and comfortable, or simply just bland. But what the matter! Weren’t variety and a bit of a change good for your health and general medical condition? Something to spice up your life, body and soul. Like a dollop of deadly hemlock in a cup of hot Assam or Darjeeling tea of a windy and cold and chill February morning. Satis. Enough.

Edited by Taylor

On the way into the Waterfront one night on the dart with my friend Carmel.  Off we get at Connelly Street Station and walking up the side of the station we were chatting away.  Next I know I am walking alone in the dark, I look around calling Carmel and nothing.  I start walking back toward the station only to hear a faint voice what seemed to be coming from the ground.  Walking a little closer who do I see but Carmel, she had fallen into a man hole.

Never seen anyone so pissed off in all my life! So much for our great night in the Waterfront I was home tucked up in bed by 11!

At the top of our old road, on our way to Harmo, the family split up
outside the Goblet Bar. My oldest sister, Una, lifted me into the wooden
orange box, on top of a steel wheeled trolley. The Ma, Una, Doreen,
Nancy, Marie and Frances took hold of the big pram and headed towards
the Malahide Road. They told me it was my job to be in charge of
Frankie. I was told to hold him tightly between my knees and not let him
bang his head. I was told to make sure his soother didn't fall out, and I
was told to make sure his dribbly bib stayed in place to catch his snots.
Paddy and Brendan, the twins, carried the suitcases in the small prams
and Jimmy pushed me and Frankie on the trolly. Frankie was the baby of
our family and my name was Sean and Jimmy was the oldest of
everyone...except my Ma.

My big brother Jimmy told me and Frankie that he was not taking us to
Harmo at all, but was going to sell us to the tinkers in Abbeyfield.
Frankie didn't mind, but when we reached the pond in Abbeyfield I
started to cry and told him not to sell me to the tinkers. While Jimmy was
thumping me, and telling me to shut up, Frankie fell out of the trolly and
hit his head really hard on a rock. There was blood dripping out of his
nose and his left ear was gushing and he looked in a terrible state. It
didn't look like he was going to make it, but Jimmy plopped him back in
the trolly anyway. When Frankie turned blue Jimmy ran off to get help,
anf told me to mind Frankie till he got back. I didn't have a clue what to
do with a blue baby.... I pulled him out of the crate and sat him down on
the bank overlooking the pond. He looked like he was asleep or
something and I couldn't really tell if his chest was moving up and down
or not.

I went and captured two frogs for us to blow up, one for me and one for
Frankie. I stuck a stalk up my frog's bum to show Frankie how to do it,
because he was only a baby, but when I looked Frankie was gone. I
thought maybe an angel had flew him up to holy god in Limbo or
Purgatory. Just then I saw his plastic sandals in the middle of the pond,
sticking up in the air. I shouted at him to stop messin, but his head was
under the water, and he couldn't hear me. I fished a big stick out of the
pond, dragged him out, and propped him under a conker tree. I gave
Frankie a big kiss of life on his cheek and told him not to die. Next thing
this humongous green chestnut dropped down and conked Frankie right
on the noggin. It was a huge chesser and it left spike marks on the top
of Frankie's head. I don't think the Baba felt it though, because he was
fast asleep and wasn't even crying. He wasn't blue anymore, he looked a
sort of orange.
While I was giving Frankie some baptism of desire my brother Jimmy
came running back across the field with the icepops. He murdered
Frankie for getting wet - then he told me I wasn't ever getting any
sweets or icepops ever again for my whole life for being bold and for not
minding Frankie.

On Stephens' morning I snook downstairs without a squeak. Rolled in a
corner of the parlour near the tree I spotted our little brother Brendan,
fast asleep under daddy's workcoat. The doctor had given strict orders
for the baby to stay in bed until February to recover from a dose of
pneumonia, tonsilitis, mumps and pleurisy. Brendan had cried himself to
sleep again: crusty eyes, wet pearly bubbles popping from his nose.

After mass my big brother captured Brendan's golliwog, shaved him bare
and tied him to the toilet with Nancy's nylons. Brendan wanted weapons
for Christmas, not a golliwog: A Zorro sword, sixguns with diamond-
studded shoulderstraps, grenades and bullets.

I locked a Commanche hold over Brendan's mouth. After he stopped
kicking and struggling we shared his selection box and planned how to
murder the twins. Brendan struck through half a matchbox while I
blocked the landing with furniture. "Happy birthday to Brendan..."

Sitting on the railings outside we watched the curtains turn bright
orange. Suddenly, family screaming holy murder scattered through
doors and windows. The firemen blamed Jimmy for smoking in bed.
Everything in the house was soaked. Brendanfella smiled at the firemen;
he hasn't spoken since he was two.