Month: March 2021

• 

Justine McCarthy told a disturbing story in the Sunday Time recently that would make you wonder about how some people are reared.

In the last week of January, a woman waited in her local post office to buy stamps for thank you letters she had written to the priest and the undertaker who had conducted her husband’s funeral the previous Saturday. On noticing that a customer queuing, too closely, behind her had his face uncovered, she said to him: “I think you’ve forgotten to put on your mask.”

His belligerence was instant. “What? I can’t hear what you’re saying with that thing on your face,” he said, aggressively whipping the hood of his sweatshirt from his head. “Is it the ‘deadly virus’ you’re talking about?”

“My husband died with Covid-19 last week,” the woman said.

“I’m sure he did, you f***ing curly-haired bitch,” he replied.

The woman crumpled. For a moment, she struggled to compose herself. The postmaster invited her into his office. Another man offered to buy her a cup of coffee. She declined, saying again and again: “I can’t believe somebody could be so cruel.” Then, holding on to the counter for support, she left the post office, her face mask drenched with tears.

That poor woman isn’t the only one who finds it difficult to believe that someone could be so cruel. Whatever is going on in his life doesn’t excuse that behaviour and nothing can be said to justify it. Some of that is down to the way he was brought up, but I also think that some people are just badly wired.

You can get a faulty computer, a faulty toaster and sometimes you can even get a car that continually develops faults with no explanation other than it’s just one of those that came off the conveyer belt the wrong way. There are faulty humans too.

Comments from a few protesters at the recent Anti-Lockdown gathering in Cork made it clear that the mindset of some of these people are out of kilter. Their opinions might make complete sense to them in their own head space but the vast majority of us see the nonsense for what it is. Good luck trying to have a sensible conversation with someone who genuinely believes that babies are being killed for a serum to keep RTE presenters looking young.

While they might raise their voices from time to time, wave placards and chant ‘Fake news’ like Trump supporters, they are generally harmless. Unlike the guy in Justine McCarthy’s piece who is in a different league altogether and I can’t help wondering what he was like as a child.

W.C. Fields, the comedian wasn’t a big fan of children. According to him, ‘Children should neither be seen nor heard from – ever again.’ He also said, ’Anyone who hates children and animals can’t be all bad.’ That’s a bit harsh but I suspect there are parents might agree with him at times, especially during this pandemic with everyone cooped up together.

Parenting is tough enough at the best of times and no matter how good your kids are, they will get on your nerves occasionally. They will cause you some stress too and the bad news is, that it never stops. You begin worrying about them the day they’re born and that continues forever. It doesn’t end when they leave home either because as soon as grandchildren arrive, the next generation of worry begins.

Not every child gets a good start in life. They don’t always get the proper care or the lucky breaks. Many of them are born into difficult circumstance where the prospects of staying on the straight and narrow are slim. Some are groomed at a young age for a life of crime and while that’s tough and unfair, and shouldn’t happen, it’s nothing new either.

Charles Dickens wrote Oliver Twist in the 1830’s, about a boy who ran away to London where he came across a character called Fagin, a career criminal, who trained him to pick pockets and soon Oliver was out on the streets working for him as a member of a gang and into a life of crime. Maybe Dickins was inspired by what was going on around him at the time.

You might also think that those days are long gone and something like that could never happen in today’s world, but you would be wrong. Even though Oliver Twist was written nearly two hundred years ago, it is still relevant today. Children are being used by criminals and have been for some time.

Back in the nineties, a well-known criminal family on Cork’s northside was using children as young as ten and eleven as drug runners. A car would pull up at a certain spot and a child would deliver the drugs to the car and return home with the money. That was thirty years ago, and it wasn’t only going on in Cork.

There was a study carried out in the University of Limerick which looked at how adults use children in the world of crime. They found that children as young as eight were being groomed by their parents and about 1,000 children across the state were estimated to be engaged with, or at risk of engaging with, a criminal network.

Raising children isn’t easy. There are lots of pitfalls and no guarantees of a good outcome no matter how much effort you put into it. There is a bit of luck involved too so put your hand behind you and give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done if yours have turned out OK. Unless they grew up to be the guy who abused the lady in the post office. In that case, I’m sorry for your trouble.

• 

I have no interest in banking. My mother often said I was useless with money and I didn’t know how to mind it. She was right and I’ve always thought it’s important to recognise your limitations so with that in mind, I absolved myself of all financial responsibility.

My wife assumed control of our finances the day we got married. Just as well she did too because we would be a lot worse off today only for her.

If I need money for anything, I just make an application to her and if she approves it, a lodgement is made in my wallet. She charges me interest at 65%, which she says is perfectly normal, so that’s fair enough. She must know what she’s talking about because she even understands online banking and it’s a good job too because physical banks are becoming harder to find.

They keep closing and moving around. That doesn’t bother me because the only time I present myself at a bank is when my signature is required for something, but it’s a different story for those who aren’t handy with Internet banking and I would imagine that’s a sizeable group.

There were three banks in Cobh once upon a time, A.I.B, Bank of Ireland and PTSB. We have been dealing with the PTSB since we got married but now it’s in a virtual way because they closed their doors in Cobh in 2012 and moved to Midleton. But as my financial controller is useful with her laptop, it isn’t a big issue for us.

The Cobh branch of the Bank of Ireland is also about to close its doors and that’s not going down too well with some of the locals who are questioning the decision. BOI says the branches closing are predominately self-service locations that do not offer a counter service. Cork will lose nine branches altogether, one more than Dublin and the most of any county in Ireland.

During the pandemic, Cobh has been quiet like all other towns but during a normal summer this place would be heaving with tourists. The cruise liners alone would be filling the town with visitors in addition to an existing population of over 12,000. With only the Allied Irish Bank left, it remains to be seen how they will cope when normal life resumes.

The AIB, formerly the Munster and Leinster for those with good memories, has been a part of Cobh for as long as I can remember, and they haven’t always had an easy time of it.

In August 1972, two men, one armed with an automatic pistol and the other with a flick knife, held up the Cobh branch of the Allied Irish Bank, and got away with about £7,000 in cash and some unsigned traveller’s cheques.

Val Dorgan, writing for the then Cork Examiner, told how the bank staff and one customer suddenly found themselves confronted by an aggressive gunman and his companion who produced a knife with a five-inch blade. The manager and staff were locked in the strongroom by the gunman who explained to them in a northern accent that it was for a good cause. 

Some of the staff were hysterical and feared they might suffocate and because of their pleading the robbers closed the grille door of the strongroom but left the main door open. The manager opened that door by unscrewing a panel of the lock and immediately raised the alarm, but by then, the robbers had a twenty-minute head start.

A massive manhunt went on over the following few days with gardai working alongside armed soldiers and searches were carried out all over the island. Matters came to a head in O’Keeffe’s Wood on the outskirts of the town, when two men sought by the gardai eventually broke cover when a search dog got close to them and they were taken into custody.

A few years later in 1979, the AIB became a target again. Margaret Fennelly, the wife of the then manager, Billy Fennelly, was kidnapped from her home in Rushbrooke, just outside the town of Cobh. She was at the oven, doing some baking, and when she turned around, she found a man standing there, pointing a gun at her. 

The gunman told her he was taking her as a hostage in exchange for £60,000. He tied her up, wrapped her in a duvet and placed her in the boot of his car. Her husband Billy was contacted by the kidnappers who demanded £60,000 for her release. The caller said she would be killed if the gardai were alerted.

Fennelly ignored that warning and immediately raised the alarm. Gardai mounted a massive operation with all available detectives in Cork city and county, backed by uniformed gardai, called into action. Acting on instructions from the kidnappers, the manager collected the money and drove to a hotel in Mitchelstown and waited there for further instructions.

At the same time, two gardai were on patrol in Cahir when they spotted a Mark 4 Cortina parked on a side road in a secluded area. It looked out of place, so they decided to investigate further. As they approached the car, they heard a muffled sound coming from the boot.

They forced it open and discovered Margaret Fennelly tied up in a duvet and covered by blankets. She was in a shocked state but apart from that she was safe and well. The whole ordeal lasted a mere five hours from start to finish and nobody has ever been brought to justice for the crime.

Thankfully, stories like this are rare now and as we move closer to a cashless society, physical banks are becoming more irrelevant which is making life difficult for robbers. Simply trying to find one is hard enough for them.

• 

“I could sleep for a week” is an expression we’ve all used from time to time. Usually after a long period of activity when we’ve used up all our reserves and we’re on the verge of keeling over, but I suspect very few have actually tried it.

Peter Powers, a hypnotist from the UK did though, and he holds a record for the longest hypnotic sleep that lasted eight days. It doesn’t say whether he was any the worse for wear after his experience, but I imagine he was hungry.

When I was a teenager, I’d have given Peter a run for his money but these days I don’t need much shut eye. Whatever about the after-effects of a prolonged snooze, the lack of sleep can definitely cause problems and sleep deprivation has been used as a form of torture for centuries.

Believe it or not, our Scottish cousins spent a lot of time chasing witches back in the 16th century. They participated in several nationwide witch hunts at the height of a sorcery and witch hysteria period. Women who allegedly practised witchcraft were captured and sent for trial, and once they were convicted, they were burned at the stake.

To secure a conviction though, a confession was required and to get that, their captors resorted to torture. They deprived the women of sleep for days until they eventually began to hallucinate and what they said and did during these hallucinations was used in their “confession.” That led to the term ‘waking the witch’.

These days, sleep deprivation is still a problem for many, especially those suffering from sleep disorders. Insomnia is a familiar one but there are a couple of others less well known. Did you know for instance that there is such a thing as restless legs syndrome?

It’s a condition that causes an uncontrollable urge to move your legs, usually because of an uncomfortable sensation and it typically happens in the evening or the night-time hours when you’re sitting or lying down. Moving the legs eases the unpleasant feeling temporarily but it can continue throughout the night.

Sleep apnoea is another problem. This is a condition where the walls of the throat relax and narrow during sleep and that interrupts normal breathing. It can lead to regular interrupted sleep and can have a big impact on your quality of life. Narcolepsy is another one and that causes excessive daytime sleepiness because the brain can’t regulate a normal sleep pattern. Any one of these would be enough to drive you to distraction but some people can have a combination of issues.

We all require sleep to deal with the stresses and strains of modern day living and I read somewhere that on average, we need around eight hours a night at least. I’m not part of that cohort though, because I reckon, I can survive easily on five or six hours and that includes getting up at least once or twice during the night to visit the hedge at the bottom of the garden, in a manner of speaking.

I don’t think I’ve had an unbroken nights’ sleep since my mother tucked me into the cot, but it doesn’t bother me either because I don’t need it. Lack of sleep isn’t as much of an issue for most of us retirees because we can stay in bed longer to make up for it or just go for a doze in the recliner in the afternoon when the urge takes us, but it is a problem for anyone required to be productive.

Life is funny because during my working days we had one shift that started at 6am and that meant getting up around 5.15am which was always a struggle, especially if I was late getting to bed in the first place. Now that I’m retired, I regularly wake at that hour full of the joys of spring but with nowhere to go.

Those unfortunate enough to be already suffering from sleep disorders now find themselves in a whole new world of pain since the arrival of Covid-19. Sleep deprivation is associated with the pandemic which is understandable. Trying to keep ourselves safe while coping with lockdowns, school closures, home-schooling, quarantines, and working-from-home is guaranteed to play havoc with sleep patterns.

Something else that upsets our sleep apparently, is turning the clocks back an hour to mark the end of daylight saving, but there might be some good news on that front. The European Parliament has voted to end the practice of the clocks jumping forward and backwards so EU member countries that wish to remain permanently on winter-time can change their clocks for the final time on the last Sunday of October 2021.

That’s good news because according to Realsimple.com, these time changes at the end of daylight saving affect your sleep schedule, and cause depression for some. A 2016 Danish study which examined 185,419 diagnoses of depression between 1995 and 2012, found an eight percent rise in depression in the days following the time change in the autumn, especially for people with a tendency towards depression.

Moving the clock back also increases your odds of having a stroke. According to one Finnish study, the national incidence of stroke rises by about eight percent over the two days following daylight saving time transitions. As to why that happens, it all comes down to messing with our circadian sleep rhythms (body-clock to you and me.)

You’re also more likely to get mugged. Apparently getting just a bit more sleep inspires people to commit crimes. According to a 2017 study by scientists at the University of Pennsylvania who specialize in criminology, psychiatry, and psychology, the assault rate spikes just after the clocks fall back.

Don’t know about you, but I need a lie down after all that.

• 

.We complain from time to time that prisoners have it easy. We have this idea that prisons are very much like hotels and the inmates aren’t suffering enough but it isn’t all fun and games being locked up either. During my thirty-five years as a member of An Garda Siochana, I had to visit our prisons from time to time and on those occasions, I got to see what life was like for some of those who ended up behind bars.

During the prison officers strike in 1988, the gardai were sent in to keep the prisons functioning for the duration of the dispute and I got to see the daily routine and to observe the regime prisoners had to comply with, so I do have some insight into what prison is like for inmates.

The creature comforts, such as they are, don’t compensate for the loss of liberty. Confinement is the toughest part of any sentence and we’re all getting a small taste of that now thanks to Covid-19. Just imagine how you would feel if we were told tomorrow that we were going to remain in Level 5 for another few years. It wouldn’t go down well. The confinement imposed upon us by these restrictions is a bit like being in a low security prison with no privileges apart from being allowed out for brief periods of exercise.

In the beginning, we didn’t mind so much because it was a novelty but what was supposed to be a short sentence to flatten the curve hasn’t worked out like that and many are struggling. We’re a year down the line and we miss our grandchildren, family, and friends. Some of those living alone don’t see anyone for days at a time and rely on a visit from the postman to see a friendly face. We’re doing our best, but it isn’t easy.

When I hear politicians speculating about the end of the Covid-19 restrictions it reminds me of my childhood when we used to go for a spin in the car. At the end of the day, when we got fed up, we would be impatient to get home to play with our toys and we’d ask a thousand times from the back seat, “How far more dad?” and the answer was always the same. “Nearly there now, just around the next corner.”

Others are in the driving seat now telling us to hang on, pretending we’re nearly there, but there’s nothing around the next corner, only more of the same. The news on Covid-19 is coming from all directions but not always from the same hymn sheet. The messages are mixed so if you are confused, don’t despair, you’re not alone. There are many of us in the same boat, including possibly some of those tasked with sailing it.

There was confusion over getting the children back to school, confusion regarding the sourcing of the vaccine and confusion regarding travellers still flying into the country by the thousand. The delivery of the vaccine to the GP’s isn’t straight forward either.

I heard a character on the radio saying he only listens to Morning Ireland on Fridays to get the gist of what happened during the week and he watches the news on TV once a week and that’s his fill. I’m beginning to think he’s onto something because it’s all doom and gloom. Some of it is our own doing though.

The Christmas freedom was a disaster and we’ve been paying the price for that. The Government is being blamed but it was us who demanded the right to meet our friends and relatives and it was us who insisted on the right to be able to go out for a meal. We wanted a normal festive season but, in all honesty, we were in no position to look for it.

Moving to another lockdown in the new year was a consequence of that and it was hard to take but news that a vaccine was on the way picked us up again. There was a bit of light at the end of an extremely long tunnel, but that bulb burst when we heard there was going to be a supply issue with the vaccine.  

Our resolve is weakening because we’re feeling frustrated and it doesn’t help when we see hundreds of passengers returning through Dublin Airport after their winter sun holiday. Those filmed by RTE coming from Lanzarote weren’t apologetic about taking their break. They were determined to carry on as normal regardless of the consequences.

Others are more rebellious as evidenced by the scenes we witnessed recently on Grafton Street in Dublin when anti-lockdown protesters caused violent clashes with the gardai. Up to 2,000 protesters gathered at St Stephen’s Green and made their way to Grafton Street where gardai later baton charged the crowd after fireworks and other missiles were thrown at them.

That kind of behaviour is not acceptable but thankfully, while the vast majority of us might be struggling, we’re still prepared to follow the rules, but the confusion isn’t helping. It was easier last March when we had a complete lockdown with no grey areas. We were told to stay at home until we got the all-clear and that’s what we did. Now though, we have five different levels, including half levels, and it’s constantly changing which leaves us conflicted.

I know it’s complicated and the pandemic is an evolving situation, but we’re battle weary. With rumours of further protests coming down the line, we need a proper plan. Something positive as a reward for how well we’ve done.

Prisoners get a release date, and they can even shorten their sentence with time off for good behaviour. It would be nice if we could avail of that too.

• 

Sean Connery sadly passed away last October at 90 years of age. One of the most famous actors of our time, he is probably best known for playing the part of the British Secret Service agent, James Bond, 007. His voice alone was enough to identify him.

I was watching a documentary on TV shortly after his death, about his life and times. It featured clips of various interviews he gave during his career and he mentioned several times that he had difficulty relating events to the correct dates. For instance, he couldn’t remember the year he started playing Bond or how long it took to make the films or how many years had passed between each film.

He said he couldn’t work it out because he had difficulty calculating time. When he was describing how he had played one particular role in a certain year, the interviewer corrected him and pointed out that he had made that film many years earlier. Connery accepted that the interviewer was probably right because he could never remember that kind of detail.

It wasn’t that his memory was bad, he was just unable to put events into chronological order. I don’t know if there is a specific name for this problem or if it is even recognised as a problem, but I knew straight away what he was talking about because I suffer from the same thing. Not many people can claim to have something in common with James Bond though, so it’s not all bad.

I should have taken my father’s advice and kept a diary. When I was heading to Dublin as a young garda in 1980, he advised me to keep one, but I didn’t listen of course, and it would be very useful to me now.

I can remember many things from the past, but I struggle to put them into the correct datal sequence. I can describe something that happened to me in my early life but when I try to put a date on when it happened, I can be out by years.

My wife has amazing recall and can conjure up details about holidays with the kids over thirty years ago, including the apartments we stayed in, the beaches, and pubs and restaurants we visited. I can barely remember the countries we were in and I have no idea when we went there.

She can rattle off every detail of our children’s lives while I struggle to remember their names. My mind is like an Instagram account. Memories linger for a short while and then they leave to make room for something else. I’ll give you an example.

I got a touch of the flu some time ago and I lost my sense of taste and smell. I have no idea why I remember the month, but it was October, and I was sick for a week. It was pre-Covid-19 and when the virus eventually arrived on our shores, I was convinced I had already had it. I told anyone who would listen that I had the virus a few months before it made its official appearance here in March 2020.

I was very persuasive and even had myself convinced. I wrote a piece about my loss of taste and smell in The Echo at the time. Those symptoms eventually became one of the stand-out signs of Covid-19 and that reinforced my belief that I had the virus before our first lockdown.

I should have known better than to trust myself because as usual, my timeline was slightly skewed. It was getting the better of me, so I went searching through my filing system for a copy of the article, and I was surprised to see that it was published January 2017. That meant I got the flu in October 2016 and not 2019 as I had been telling everyone. I was out by three years.

Here’s another example. I can remember being at my grandmother’s funeral, but I could never remember when it took place. I had always thought it was in the seventies, but given my weakness for dates, I knew I could be wrong. Writing this stirred my curiosity so I contacted a relative who told me that she actually died in 1982. So not only was I out by a few years but I had the wrong decade.

That can be very frustrating, so, I’ve decided to do something about it. I’ve been looking at some memory organising exercises, and the first suggestion to help you remember something, is to make it meaningful.

Here is an example. Packing a parachute by itself can be boring, however, the excitement of jumping out of a plane gives a whole new meaning to this process. Focusing on the “Big Picture” can help provide meaning to the learning process and stimulate us to remember.

That’s fair enough I suppose, and it made sense to me because the main reason my grandmother’s funeral stood out in my mind at all is because during the service in the graveyard, an older man stepped forward and gave an oration and I hadn’t seen that before.

They also say that people remember 90 percent of what they do, 75 percent of what they see and 20 percent of what they hear because action is a proven memory enhancer. So, they suggest the next step is to move your hands, pace back and forth and use gestures because if your body is actively involved, it will help you to remember.

That sounds reasonable too and I’m going to give it a go. So, if I meet you while I’m out walking and I’m flapping my arms around the place don’t be alarmed. I’m either trying to remember your name or I’m just folding my imaginary parachute.