The Saturday List #433 - My top five St Patricks day memories

 St Patricks day is a massive day in the calendar for everyone of Irish ancestory. My Grandad was born in Dublin a couple of centuries ago and came to the UK to work and to avoid the heat on his family from the British establishment, as they were staunch republicans. Growing up as a Roman Catholic in North London, Irish culture was all around. I went to St Vincents RC Primary and then Finchley Catholic High School. On Paddy's day, everyone would come in with Shamrock and put on Irish accents and talk about how terrible all things British were. There was usually some sort of do in the Church, with a diddly band playing songs like The Wild Rover and Danny Boy. For me, it was lemonades and crisps.

As I grew up and I got into the Pogues, I started to appreciate the music. Here are a few of my best memories of Paddies day over the years.

1. 1981 - The Galtymore in Cricklewood. I was going out with a lovely Irish lass from Kilburn. Being into punk, I'd never been there before. Her elder brothers had the air of gangsters, but when I told them of my Irish heritage, they were fine. They were very into the Republican movement. There were collections for the cause, but mostly there was a lot of Guinness drunk. It was a fun night. The family moved back to Ireland suddenly a week later and I never saw them again.

2. 2016 - The Pogue Traders at The Water Rats -  A mate of mine was playing tin whistle in the band. I love the Pogues and I love the Traders as they carry on the musical legacy. It was a grand old day. Lots of Guinness consumed. They are playing at The Half Moon this year.Go if you can it will be great, sadly I can't

3. 2014 - The Sacred Heart Parish St Patricks night do. I was part of the Parish Council and we decided to do a Paddy's day do. When we were discussing food, we decided to invite everyone to bring their 'signature Irish dish'. The feast that the lovely parishioners put together was out of this world. I still get hungry thinking about it. I had the job of DJ'ing for the event as we couldn't get a band. Much fun was had. 

4. 1969 - St Patricks night party at The Annunciation in Burnt Oak. I was only eight at the time. My parents had been married at The Annunciation Church and knew the long time Parish Priest Fr Fred Smythe well. There was a vibrant social club, which had a 99% Irish membership. The party was always a blast. My brothers took their guitars down and lead a big sing song. My sister Valerie commented that this was "The last St Patricks day of the 1960's" which seemed really important at the time. 

5. 1979 - The False Dots St Patricks Day party. The band had been going a month. Pete Conway was very into Irish culture and decided that we'd have a St Patricks day party. We decided to write a song to mark the event. Pete was really into the Republican cause and wanted to write a song highlighting the injustice of British policies over the years towards Ireland. We were quite prolific and Pete was a great poet. When he announced that he was writing a song,  I was quite excited. Three days before the party, he turned up at my house and was distraught.  He said "Rog, I've got real writers block on this, every time I try and write anything about Ireland, it just comes out as a load of old rubbish". Pete was a bit of a perfectionist. It was important to him and he wanted to do it right. We got a bottle of cider and decided we would not move until we'd written a classic. After three hours we gave up. We had the party anyway, which was actually quite a laugh. It was the first time I drank too much Guinness, but not the last time. Dave the drummer quizzed Pete as to why he hadn't written the song. Pete said "If I can't write a better Irish song that the Dubliners, I'm not going to write one at all". That always stuck in my mind. I've not seen Pete since 1984. I wonder if he ever did?

Happy St Patricks Day

"The officer class of the British Army needlessly killed more fine young Englishmen in the fields of the Somme than the IRA could have killed in a Thousand years". These words were spoken by my Grandfather (my mothers father), a Dubliner in 1944. He was a small Irishman, who had been conscripted into the British army in during the first world war. he'd ended up in the Somme and other great battles. Sadly most of the story has been lost as our older generation passed away. You may wonder what prompted him to say this?

He was having a beer with my father. At the time, my father was an officer in the Royal Australian Air Force, flying Wellington bombers. My grandfather had taken my father out to get to know him, as he was planning to marry my mother. My grandfather had gone to the bar to buy a drink and was about to get served, when an officer in the British army walked in pushed passed him and signalled to the barman to serve him. My grandfather chided him, in his thick Dublin accent "Mind your manners young man and wait your turn". The officer replied "Go back to Ireland and join the IRA if you don't like it". My father, who had been sitting down was just about to get up and intervene (he was a scary sod when he was riled), when my Grandfather issued the rebuke above. He then listed his service record in the first world war before asking "and how many times have you been gassed by the Germans?".

Like many Dubliners, my Grandfather was an extremely eloquent and well read man, despite his working class roots. He knew Winston Churchill, when he was the Liberal MP for Oldham. He could never forgive him for defecting to the Tories, after all the hard work put in by the local Liberals on his behalf. My Grandfather had moved the family from Oldham to London in the 1930's. He'd originally left Dublin due to the stress and pressure of being part of a large republican family. His cousin was Kevin Barry the republican martyr. The family were subject to continual raids and harassment as known republican sympathisers. My Grandfather was of the opinion that such repression was counter productive and just politicised people who would not normally have been involved. For his sins, when he moved to the mainland, he was conscripted.

Like many of Londons Irish, my Grandfather ended up in the City looking for work. He was an engineer.My mothers family had long periods of poverty due to his unemployment. He knew fairly and squarely where the blame lay and hated the Conservative party. He had seen things which were awful beyond comprehension in the killing fields of the first world war. A generation of men returned, expecting to be treated like heroes and all they got was unemployment, a great depression and poverty. In short,  he felt he'd been conned. He was bitter. If you are not from an Irish background, you probably cannot understand what living with such bitterness is like.

He was also incredibly funny and wise. On my Uncle George's 18th Birthday, he told him to wear his finest clothes as he was taking him out. They walked to the top of Primrose Hill, George was awaiting a birthday surprise. At the top, my Grandfather announced "Son, I have the best birthday present in the world for you. See all this (there is a stunning panoramic view of London), it is all yours". George was furious. It was years later when he understood what my Grandfather was saying. The world is there for us to make of it what we will.

Like many of his generation (and many other generations), my grandfather liked a drink. My mother resented the fact that he'd see the family go hungry, so long as he could have his beer. My grandmother excused this. She said "He's seen terrible things and he needs his drink".

I never met my Grandfather. He died in 1948, prematurely aged by his experiences, his lungs slowly destroyed by the effects of mustard gas in the trenches.

What we forget is that the reason that all immigrant communities in London arrived here, is because things were worse in the country of their birth. People move to London because it offers them a better life. For many, it offered the chance of life against the option of death. I'm proud of my Irish ancestry and I will be celerating St Patricks night with a few pints of Guinness at Boz Boorers Paddy night party at the Alliance in Mill Lane West Hampstead.

Just as I was about to post this, I noticed Mrs Angry also posted a Paddys day post. We both attended the same Primary school, although she was in my sisters year. She muses whether it is any co-incidence that both of us ended up stroppy bloggers I'll let you decide. If you enjoyed this post, I recommend hers  - http://wwwbrokenbarnet.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/st-patricks-day-kiss-me-im-partly-irish.html

St Patricks Night - A little story for you

I wasn't going to do "St Paddy's" as a blog. As a Londoner of Irish and Australian upbringing, with staunch Roman Catholic roots, there are many things about the current concept of the celebration I'm not overly keen on, but following on from a rather ignorant comment on another blog, I felt compelled to share a little story with you.

My Grandad, James Fanning was a Dubliner. His cousin was an Irish nationalist Martyr Kevin Barry. My grandfather came to England to look for work in the early part of the last century, like many young Irish. He ended up in the British Army, fighting in the battlefields of World War 1. He was gassed and died aged 65 as a result of this in 1948. I never knew him.

On March 17th 1945, he went out for a St Patricks night drink with my Father, who was a Bomber pilot in the RAAF stationed in England. My Grandfather, a frail old man, was at the bar queueing to buy a beer, when a young and arrogant British Army officer pushed in front of him. My Grandfather was affronted. He said "Mind your manners young man" to the Officer,.  The Officer replied "Who do you think you are Mick, are you the IRA" (or words to that effect), pushed my Grandfather out of the way and laughed. My Father, who was not the most mild of men was just about to intervene, when my Grandfather pushed the Officer back and said loudly "Listen son, I was in the British Army. I was in the Somme, where the finest Englishmen I ever met were killed by the thousands. I can guarantee you this. If the IRA fight a war for a thousands years, they will never kill as many British Soldiers as the officer class of the British Army, no wait your turn in the queue". At that, the officer slunk off.

Therein lies one of the paradoxes of this great nation of ours. We have a whole hidden story and a whole hidden history. London is a meting pot, where we have all come together and we all get on. Two hundred years ago it was illegal to be a Roman Catholic - we were despised by the ruling classes. Over the course of history all sorts of races, colours and creeds have suffered prejudice, repression and in some cases violent and bloody murder. The fact that London celebrates St  Patricks night is a sign that we can put this behind us and we can live together in harmony. I hope that in as we all celebrate Paddies day, in coming years, all of London will celebrate Eid, Diwali, Christmas, Easter, Paddies Day and whatever other festivals part of our community feel is special - together and in harmony. I don't believe there is any place for racisim, intolerance or prejudice in todays society.

What is a park for?

Have you been for a walk through Scratchwoods open space recently? I went there and decided to play a little game called "Count the Condom". It seems to me that this particular open space has become a "sex theme park". There is even a Facebook page called the Scratchwood Open Space Dogging Appreciation Society.

The catchphrase for this site is "Anything Goes".

Sadly this isn't true.  Iranians (and Kurds and Afghanis) celebrating Sizdah Bedar, the 13th day of their new year like to go to Scratchwoods with their families and have a picnic. The Council has shut the park and banned this. The reasons? It causes too much litter.

How hard is it to ask these communities to organise a committee to manage the picnics and clean up the litter? A couple of PCSO's on overtime paid for by the Iranian community could easily manage a family festival. Maybe they could go and clean some of the condoms away before as a gesture of goodwill. A few years ago I was stuck on the A1 for nearly an hour due to traffic caused by a huge police operation to shut down this festival.

I'm no prude but I wonder where society is going when we have a culture where Dogging = good and Family Picnics = Bad. This week I've been looking at issues of community and how we need to develop it. I can think of nothing better than family picnics. If there is a large enough community to enforce a ban, then there is a large enough community to engage positively and have a joyous celebration for all of the community. Until 1829 it was illegal to be a Roman Catholic in Great Britain. Now St Patricks day has become a major part of the London calendar. Lets work together as a community to make people who want to stage such celebrations have a pleasant and safe environment. What would be better. A ban for the weekend or a happy festival where all of the litter, condoms, plastic bags and mess were cleaned up afterwards by responsible citizens in the community staging the event.