A Portrait of my Father as a Young Man

 

Lusmagh national school:  1914 (or was it 1912?)

(Speculative)

My father, Frank Killeen, did not receive, nor ever apply for, an IRA pension. He never claimed to take part in any IRA action. There is no mention of him in Fergus O’Bracken’s book about Offaly Freedom Fighter, Peadar Bracken. He hinted, however, that he and Packie, on their bicycles, carried messages for the IRA.

I was 16 when I became actively involved in Dáil na nÓg. My father was probably 15 when he, with Packie, his younger brother, and Michael Gibbons, was involved in organising the Brídeóg in Ballymacoolahan (1915). There were three Brídeóga in Lusmagh, all in friendly competition, (Newtown, Foolagh and Ballymacoolahan), united into one by the 1950s. Rodie is not mentioned as participating. Of course, it fell to him, at 17 years’ of age, to look after the farm, while the younger brothers were more free to exercise their fancy. The oldest brother, John, had been banished from the house before 1911 and had joined the RIC, being listed as a member of that force from 1913.

Patrick Whelan recalls in “The Lusmagh Herb: the Annals of a Country Parish” (1981):

“We are indebted to Michael Gibbons for the hats, Frank Killeen for the Swords and to Pakie Killeen who supervised the dressing of the Lusmagh Brideog. Indeed Pakie was disciplinarian and courtier-in-chief and was as regimental as any sergeant major.”

Packie’s disciplinarian trait no doubt developed over the years and would have been less apparent in the original Brideog in 1915, when he was but 13. There is no mention in the Lusmagh Herb of when the Brídeóg was started. I reckon it was not before 1915, because it shows evidence of my dad’s skill as a carpenter, and, therefore, did not happen until he had acquired such skill. It must have been, however, before 1919, when the War of Independence would have diverted energy from starting purely cultural activities.  By 1915 dad was an apprentice joiner and coach-builder, and eager to show off his skills. The swords he made were properly shaped, joined, glued and sealed, and the fact that they were still in existence in 1981 is testimony to their quality.   These swords would be similar to the wooden swords he made years later as toys for his sons, when we used to play at being the Three Musketeers. (Our versions, though precious, were not carefully preserved like the Lusmagh swords).

Another reason for reckoning it was about 1915 is that it sounds like it arose from the activities of the Gaelic League (Conradh na Gaeilge), who, in addition to running language classes, were trying to revive old traditions. The fact that three young teenagers were leading instigators of the Brideog indicates that it was a new revival, rather than the continuation of an existing tradition. Since the paid organisers of the Gaelic League would also be involved in the struggle for independence, I should think that this activity occurred before 1919.

The Gaelic League had by 1915 become a front organisation for the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB), a secret organisation.

In 1905, the IRB, orchestrated by Patrick Pearse, infiltrated the Gaelic League and took control by having its members elected to a majority position on the Ard Chomhairle (National Executive Committee).  The infiltration was easily achieved, because, in any organisation, ordinary members are reluctant to go on committees. In the following years, organisers were employed and sent around the country. For example, In 1917, Pádraig Óg Ó Conaire, (from Rosmuc, Co Galway, who was educated in Patrick Pearse’s school, Scoil Éanna, in Rathfarnham, and who graduated as an Irish Language teacher at the age of 17), was already stationed in Birr, as organiser for County Offaly, where he ran dozens of Irish classes. In 1918, the following notice appeared in Fáinne an Lae, a newsletter of the Gaelic League:

Fáinne an Lae 26 Eanáir 1918: ‘King’s County Independent contains the first instalment of an interesting and well-written novel of present day life in Ireland by Pádraic Óg Ó Conaire, the organiser of Offaly’.

(While I found this item on the Web previously, it does not appear to be there now. Nor does Caoilfhionn Nic Phaidín’s Fainne an Lae: History of a Newspaper appear to be in print. Perhaps information about Gaelic League organisers in Offaly in those years can be found on https://www.offalyhistory.com/ )

Pádraig Óg Ó Conaire was sworn into the IRB by Sean T O’Kelly in 1913, and took part in the War of Independence. He became a translator in Rannóg an Aistriúcháin in 1931. He was probably a man of greater calibre than the average travelling teacher. These teachers travelled around on bicycles.

 Lusmagh is not mentioned in anything I have read, but I guess that the efforts of the Gaelic League reached that far; and that the Brideog was organised under their prompting. Packie was fond of using a few words of Irish, (such as “be a good garsún”). Since Irish was not taught in school, I reckon he must have got his few words in a class run by the Gaelic League. Though not much Irish was learned, and the Gaelic League branch lapsed, the Brideog was one activity that survived until 1957, when Gibbons’ hats and Killeen’s swords were still in use. (Language classes generally lapsed around 1918/ 19, when the Gaelic League organisers, for the most part, were more concerned with the physical conflict. I knew a man in Phibsboro’ who told me he learned “Cad a’clog é” in the Gaelic League class, as Irish for “What time is it?”).

Michael Gibbons remained a life-long friend of Packie. When the Gibbons family built a new house in the seventies, Packie continued to visit Michael in the old house, where they could sit beside the open fire, smoking their pipes and spitting into the fire.

Patrick Pearse repeatedly wrote in An Claidheamh Solais, magazine of the Gaelic League in those years, that Irish classes were not enough, that members should be ready to fight for Irish independence. No doubt the members of the Lusmagh branch also marched around with hurleys on their shoulders, pretending to be soldiers. However, the Irish Republican Army was not established until 1919, and, while the Gaelic League was a front organisation for the IRB, the ordinary members were not, as such, members of any military organisation.

A photo of the boys of St Cronan’s National School, Lusmagh, taken a few years earlier, is included in the Lusmagh Herb magazine. It is labelled as 1914, but, from the fact that it includes Rodie, Frank and Patrick, I wonder if it was, in fact, taken in 1912, when Rodie would be 14, Frank 12 and Packie 10. What  would Rodie be doing there at 16? There are two Francie/ Frank Killeens in the photo and I am not sure I have pointed out the correct one, but I think the resemblance is there.

We know from Ned Bermingham that Frank Killeen was “a great sportsman.” This refers to his prowess on the hurley field. Uncle Rodie, when asked if our father was any good as a sportsman, said

“He was a great hurler. I remember one match when he and Nallen of Banagher bet each other up and down the field with their hurley sticks, while the rest of us looked on cheering.”

Frank Killeen continued an interest in hurling all his life. In Dublin, while in the Gardaí, he was manager and trainer of a Girl’s Camogie team, up to the time he got married. He was also an organiser of charity dances and other events. One night, when he came into Conarky’s Dance Hall on Parnell Square, the band played the Presidential Salute in his honour. He dedicated a lot of his free time to selling sweep tickets for the Irish Hospitals Trust.  

There appears to have been a clear division in the family between the older members, born before 1900, (John, Mary Ann and Rodie) and the members born after that date (Frank and Packie). The older members were not influenced by the new nationalism. John had left home before 1911, banished by his father when still a teenager.

The 1911 census shows the two parents (Roger and Bridget) and 4 siblings (Mary Anne, Roger, Frank and Patrick) residing in the house. There was a gap of 8 years between the birth of John and Mary Anne. Children born in between had died in childbirth or infancy. The parent Roger is recorded as “Farmer and Carpenter.” I reckon his duties as carpenter included maintenance of “Rodie’s Bridge.” In the decade that follows it appears that Mary Anne became pregnant and was sent away to be looked after by the nuns.

Frank is supposed to have been told that she was banished for stealing and walked her sorrowfully to the bus. What kind of bus was there in those days?

John joined the RIC and was listed as a member from 1913. There was a story that he reached the rank of captain, but this seems to relate to another Captain Killeen. I guess that John was a sergeant before retirement in 1922. I corresponded, as a teenager, with a cousin of his who also joined the RIC at that time, Michael J Kelly, a brother of Jeannie Kelly, who emigrated to Canada after the War of Independence. I have not kept those letters, nor did I use the opportunity to get historical facts. However, when I mentioned I was to attend Irish College in the Gaeltacht, he volunteered some information.

When he and John were in the RIC, back in 1915, members of the Gaelic League attended Irish Colleges. Those attending included people like Eamon de Valera and Sean T O’Kelly. The RIC kept a watch on the colleges for evidence of sedition. My correspondent told me that the Gaelic League men were severe, straight-laced and puritanical, and lacking in fun. The girls, he said, used to sneak out after the men had gone to bed to socialise with the RIC men, who were able to give them a good time. (It may be that the girls were more devious than MJ was aware and actually spying on the RIC).

It is clear that M J Kelly and John Killeen regarded the Gaelic Leaguers as trouble-makers and fantasists, and did not approve of nonsense like the Brideog or other expressions of the new nationalism.

John Killeen was a bit of a lad, fond of women and dancing. This, and lack of respect for his parents, would be the reason he was banished. By all reports, he continued to be a lad all through his life, even when married.

Poitín (an illegal liquor) was distilled on the islands of the Shannon and copiously available in Lusmagh, and our grandfather was quite addicted. Young Rodie took over responsibility for the farming, and was, apparently, left the farm in grand-dad’s Will, though I have not actually checked into this. I gather from our dad that John was left one shilling in grand-dad’s Will, to make it quite clear that he was not forgotten, but deliberately excluded.

As a result of grand-dad’s addiction to poitín, Frank had a revulsion to alcohol, and never touched a drop. Rodie once took me, with Roger or Jerry or both, (I don’t remember exactly) into a pub in Birr, and ordered a bottle of stout for each of us. When the one bottle was drunk, he said “that’s enough of that,” and we left. This was to make a point that he could take a drink but would not be a slave to it. Packie, however, enjoyed a few pints of porter. He was not a slave to it either, but was very sociable.

I asked Packie what my father was like as a young man. He said he was always terribly fastidious. When he went to a barber, he made a fuss over having the hair cut the same height on both sides of the head, and examined himself carefully in the mirror to ensure the job was done right.

Frank left school around the age of 12 or 13, and became an apprentice joiner and coach-maker. I had heard he was employed in a distillery, which was burnt down in the Civil War. This seems to be incorrect. He seems to have been employed in Clara Mills, though this is not confirmed, which was damaged (though not quite burned down) in the one big operation of the War of Independence in Offaly: the attack by the IRA on the RIC barracks in Clara, on 2 June 1920, which was attached to the Mills.

Other than that, there was very little IRA activity in the County, and the members in Offaly were more interested in land questions than the national question.

The Killeen farm was one of the first in the country to be enfranchised under the Land Purchase Acts, while most of the land in Lusmagh remained in the landlord’s clutches up to 1923, when compulsorily acquired by the Land Commission. This was because the Killeen holding was held from a subsidiary landlord, who took the first opportunity to sell out, i.e., in 1875. The process was that when a subsidiary landlord sold out under the Land Purchase Acts, the freehold was acquired by the tenant. So, at the time of the War of Independence, the Killeens had no land issue to fight.

Looking at the list of people involved in the attack on Clara Barracks, Frank Killeen is not mentioned. Among the IRA members, several are listed as coach-builders or apprentice coach-builders. Before the advent of the motor-car, wooden horse-drawn coaches were used to transport grain and flour, and each mill had its crew of coach-builders and maintainers. The coach-building trade was doomed anyway, so the IRA may have done my father a service by causing a closure of the Mill before redundancy set in anyway.

Frank Killeen was guided by a set of aphorisms, with which he also tried to guide his children. One of these was, “Do not be led by the whims of others.” I reckon this relates right back to the days of the War of Independence. I believe he was not led by the whims of other coach-makers into the IRA attack on Clara Mills, but stayed out of it. In fact, as I discuss below, he may have quit the job some months in advance of the attack.

Some of my father’s aphorisms came from his days in the coach-building trade, such as:

A tool for the job.

Children and fools shouldn’t handle edged tools.

If a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.

Other aphorisms come from the English Reader he studied in school, which contained a chapter on “The Sayings of Poor Richard,” and another on “Johnny Appletree,” who went around America spreading apple seeds. There was a story of “Huang, the Miller,” who thought there was gold buried under his mill, but when he removed the corner-stone to find the gold, the mill fell down.

All the generations had the same English Reader, whose stories merged into the local tradition. One dullard was said never to have got beyond “Jack is on the Moor.” Everyone knew exactly how far that was. To me it is a reminder that the book was based on the English, not Irish, tradition, since there are no moors, only bogs, in Ireland. Children were taught reading, writing and arithmetic, and religion, but nothing relevant to their own culture and environment. My father often recounted one Lusmagh-ite as saying: “Hanna Laman’s child the Great Eagle carried off: did you ever see such lies, down in a book?”

School learning can be contrasted to what Frank learned at home:

Personal habits: washing (using basin of water), dressing, tying ones shoes, using cow-shed or island as toilet and grass or dock-leaf for toilet paper;

Household chores: water from the well, turf for the fire, sweeping the floor, lighting the oil-lamp, lighting the fire, boiling water, making tea, baking bread, cooking meals and apples;

Milking and managing cows;

Minding the sow and bonhams, fattening a pig for slaughter;

Slaughter of fattened pig; carving the carcass, curing the meat with salt;

Cultivation of onions, carrots, parsnips, mangolds, lettuce, cabbage and potatoes;

Storing and preserving potatoes, onions, apples;

Managing and harnessing the horse and donkey;

Cultivating apples, raspberries and gooseberries;

Growing oats, barley and wheat;

Cycling the crops;

Taking grains to the mill for grinding;

Using and managing a dog;

Controlling the fox predators and protecting the hens;

Using natural materials to build and maintain fences, styles and gate-ways;

Birthing of calves and piglets;

Saving the hay and harvesting the grains;

Boating;

Coping with the annual floods;

Taking initiatives and solving problems;

Dealing with corner boys, tinkers and trouble-makers.

He learned that idleness leads to disaster; that every day’s chores have to be diligently completed. One of his aphorisms was: “Do not leave until tomorrow what can be done today.”

It is probable that the IRA used Rodie’s islands as a hide-out, and that the boys carried messages for the IRA.

When he left school and became an apprentice carpenter, Frank cycled to work in Clara every day, and this continued up to 1920, when the Mill was closed down. Packie, on the other hand, was at home, and was possibly more active in the message-delivery service.

Rodie stayed out of politics, managing the farm and doing his best to keep the two younger brothers out of trouble.

Who were the members of the IRA? For the most part, they were the landless sons. The elder or inheriting son stayed at home and minded the farm. If you had a job, you minded it, as my father would have up to 1920. If you had no land and no job, you were more readily available to join the struggle. You then relied on your brothers and sympathisers to hide you when the English forces were on your tail.

Perhaps Frank resumed working on the home farm, with Rodie and Packie, in the years following the closure of the Mill, until 1925, when he joined the Irish Civic Guards in Dublin, being formally enrolled as a guard in 1927. On the other hand, the DMP (Dublin Metropolitan Police) were recruiting at that time and staying out of the War, i.e., they did not actively support either the British Government or the rebels. This would have offered a golden opportunity for a man with dad's physique

Did he first join the DMP, and then the Civic Guard when the DMP were amalgamated?

I heard (around the fireside) that, when dad was first assigned to Store Street Station, a drunk who was retained for the night called him “Tony.” This was because a horse ridden by a rider named Anthony had just won the Grand National (which accounted for the man’s drunken condition). The other guards in the station assumed that this was dad’s name or nick-name, and he was subsequently known in the force as “Tony.” While dad had a significant physique himself, he was small enough compared to his partner, a really big man, who was nick-named “Tiny.” Tiny and Tony were a well-known partnership in the inner city.

The fact is that the last year in which Jack Anthony (or any Anthony) won the Grand National was 1920. This suggests that dad high-tailed it to Dublin as early as 1920! One problem is that the Grand National was held that year on 26 March, several months before the attack on Clara Barracks. Had dad already completed his apprenticeship and abandoned his coach-building job before June, 1920? The DMP would have been calling out for recruits and he had the perfect build for the job. Joining the DMP did not rule him out as an IRA member. Many bobbies were nationalists and two well-known members, David Neligan and Eamon Broy, were Collins’ spies.

One of dad’s few songs was “Moriar-i-ty:” “I’m a well-known bobby of the stalwart squad; I belong to the DMP, And the ladies cry, as I pass by, ‘Are you there, Moriar-i-ty?’” Of course, singing this song is no proof that you had any connection to the force.

IRA pensions were not automatically given in 1923 to those who had fought in the War of Independence, but were gradually introduced over the years, particularly after 1932, when pensions were available to those who fought in the Civil War as well as the War of Independence. To get a pension, it was not sufficient to prove membership of the IRA, but also to prove participation in military operations. Father was bitter about some Offaly-men who were allegedly awarded IRA pensions who had not fought in the War of Independence, but took advantage of the Civil War to carry out criminal acts, such as bank robberies and burning down houses. These were guys who were too young to fight in the War of Independence, but eager to get into the action in the Civil War for the excitement they imagined their older brothers had enjoyed.

The boys’ bed-room in Norfolk Road had been the parents’ room before the arrival of girls. Then we switched rooms, but certain artefacts of our dad remained, including his wooden traveler's chest and a locked drawer. When I sneaked a look in his chest, I found no souvenirs of the War of Independence or the Civil War. Instead, I found mementoes of the Eucharistic Congress of 1932, the Sacred Heart Sodality and the Pioneers’ Total Abstinence Society. In addition there was the booklet of the Linguaphone Course in the Irish Language, where he had once tried to learn Irish, but did not persist.

At one stage, Frank’s prospects of promotion were two-fold: sit for a sergeants’ examination, or wait for promotion by seniority. The examination would involve a paper on the Irish Language; hence he took to studying Irish. As to promotion by seniority, in every bureaucracy which has such a system, there is someone who unofficially keeps a list dramatically known as the “death list,” but actually a list of members organised according to retirement dates. So, it can easily be seen what retirements are imminent and who is next for promotion. Before long, Frank’s anticipated promotion by seniority appeared imminent, and it was no longer necessary to study. However, when the date arrived, Frank was passed over. This means he was found “unsuitable for promotion” by his superior. This contrasts with a monetary award given to him in 1946, for “Good Police Duty” between 1929 and 1946 and an “exemplary” rating for “Total Service” on his retirement. One reason for being unsuitable for promotion would simply be taking a different attitude to his superiors, particularly if they were jumped-up pretenders of a different political tint.

It was quite clear from the items in dad’s chest that the Eucharistic Congress was a watershed in his life, a beacon of peace and reconciliation for the nation. He was an enthusiastic member of the Sacred Heart Sodality, oversaw the Rosary every night at home, and enjoyed singing “Faith of Our Fathers” in full voice. His party piece, if there ever were to be a party, was “Johnny I Hardly Knew You,” a pacifist, anti-war anthem.

Before these years, few Offaly people went to Dublin for jobs. Instead they emigrated to England or America. After arriving in Dublin himself, dad helped numerous neighbours to get jobs in Dublin.

Dad absorbed the culture of the early Guards, which was based on the Dublin Metropolitan Police, a community-based police force. Their purpose was to keep people out of trouble.

As a teenager, I disputed with him the practice of the Guards of disrupting the play of inner-city kids in the city streets, while we kids from Phibsborough and Cabra could do what we wanted. He said:

“If you look like a gouger, you’ll be treated as a gouger.”

Actually, what he and the other older guards were doing was interrupting the kids before they picked pockets or snatched bags, and warning them home.

There was also a new breed of copper in operation, who took a different approach.

In 1933, after Fianna Fáil took power, Eoin O’Duffy was dismissed as Garda Commissioner and Eamon Broy appointed. He put his own men into leading positions in the force and brought former anti-treaty IRA men into an Auxiliary Special Branch (the Broy Harriers) and launched a recruiting campaign to attract “more educated” men to the force (i.e., people who had received education after the establishment of the republic, who had spent a few more years in school, who had learned history with an Irish rather than an Imperial slant, and, who had a notional, if not practical, knowledge of the Irish Language). These new recruits were given a promise of promotion in seven years. There also was a new programme to improve productivity, i.e., officers would be given credit in the promotion stakes for the number of arrests made.

The ambitious new “TACA” guards, instead of warning the kids to go home, arrested them for “Loitering with Intent,” and for “Watching and Besetting” premises. My father thought these officers were more interested in advancing their own career than in good policing. 

As regards ignoring the new instruction and working for the welfare of the community, he said “Virtue is its own Reward.”

Friedrich Nietzsche put it like this: “The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”

The new brand of guards filled their charge books and got promotion, and my father was passed over. The aggressive action of the new guards drove a wedge between the communities and the police. It became dangerous for police to enter some inner city communities.

Ultimately, in the 1960s, when criminals had opportunity of studying law while in prison, the charges of “Loitering with Intent” and “Watching and Besetting” were challenged in the Supreme Court, which found, in a judgement delivered by Chief Justice Cearbhal Ó Dálaigh, that all convictions for these offences were wrong, since the Intent had not been proved. (The charge was supposed to be upheld if a superintendent certified that in his opinion the accused had criminal intent. Now, if you see a guy, or a group, hanging around watching for handbags to snatch, you will form this opinion very fast. But the Supreme Court said no: you must prove the Intent).  The guards were left inept on the streets of Dublin for several years, and the pick-pockets had a field-day, until new specific powers of stopping and searching and ordering people home were enacted.

In the above account, I may have somewhat squashed various periods of his career together. I think that TACA may refer to the recruits during the Second World War, recruited on low wages but perhaps with promise of early promotion.

The watersheds in his police career may have been:

1927 as recruit: General Eoin O’Duffy as Commissioner;

1933: O’Duffy dismissed as suspect for planning a state coup; his officers suspect of being pro Blue Shirts. Eamon Broy, appointed as commissioner, brings in his own men at the top;  establishes Auxiliary Special Branch made up of Anti-Treaty ex IRA; introduces new “productivity” policies; changes culture from community policing to aggressive pursuit of suspects;

1940: Wartime recruitment of TACA at low wages but promise of promotion.

At any rate, Frank’s prospects of promotion were well gone by 1950. In the early 1950s, Northern Rhodesia was looking for Guards to join their police force, and Frank was interested. However, mam said: “No. We are not going anywhere.”

Frank believed in hard work. He took on a vegetable plot in Glasnevin as part of the war effort. He brought his sons to the plot to work on Saturdays and to the Park for hurling and football, and collecting chestnuts, on Sundays. Every year, after 1944, he took the family on holiday to Lusmagh, where he helped Rody with the hay-making and the neighbours in communal hay-making.

His patriotism was evidenced in his choice of colour for our railings and windows: always green. He detested red as the colour of the red-coats, of communism and of the devil. I once pointed out that it was the colour of the Cardinals, but he was quick to quote Jesus’ denunciation of clergy wearing flashy clothes. He would not allow Christmas Trees in the house, because that was a tradition introduced by Queen Victoria, whereas the Irish tradition was holly and ivy.

When Roger was born, he was a most indulgent father. Then, when Roger was about two and starting to have tantrums, he realised the error of his ways. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” was proven to be correct; so he introduced the strap as a machine of discipline. It seemed that his indulgence had caused the child to become possessed, and the devil had to be beaten out of him. The next two boys were never let get off to a bad start, but were disciplined from the start.

When Mary was born, mother put her foot down, and declared that girls can’t be physically punished. Dad complied. Mother tried to go a step further and suggested to Frank that he discuss the beating of boys in confession. When mam asked what the priest said, Dad replied,

“He said: that’s right. Beat the devil out of them.”

He took parenting very seriously. He said that a father is the head of the household. As such he represents the authority of both the state and the church within the home. He is responsible not only for his own salvation, but for the salvation of his wife and children, and for their criminal acts.

He disliked profiteers and railed against the people who exploited the Irish Hospitals Sweepstake for their own enrichment. He disliked guards who owned tobacconist shops, because it was strictly wrong for a policeman to have a business of his own, and these guards were often seen looking after their business when they were supposed to be on duty. However, he had an ambition to use his retirement lump sum, in due course, to buy a little shop and carry on that business in his retirement.

When his retirement came, he, mam and I went to see a small shop in Stoneybatter. The time was not opportune: small local shops were losing business and closing down in the face of Supermarkets. Mother was against the venture. She said to me: “Who will have to sit here all day looking after the shop? It will be you and me, while dad is sick in bed.”

Dad started to slow down noticeably in his fifties. This was due to his smoking.

In 1959, he suffered from pneumonia and pleurisy. He was in hospital for Christmas. Jerry was working at the time and had a few pounds to spare, so we got a Christmas Tree and lights, while free from his control.

Frank was allowed to retire from the age of 60, so he retired in 1961, the year Patricia was born. He thought he might have a go at doing carpentry jobs, but, besides a job for a neighbour (Miss O’Loughlin, a teacher) nothing much materialised. He visited one or two friends, but, because he did not frequent pubs or cafés, he had no social life outside the home.

When I was young, we used to have frequent visitors to the house, who sat around the fire telling stories, tracing relatives and having great crack. All this had disappeared by the time dad retired.