Patrick Kavanagh’s poem ‘A Christmas Childhood’ is a piece of magic to my mind. He was a countryman -well originally before his later sojourn in Dublin. A poet and a farmer Kavanagh was close to his beloved, yet often despised, ‘stony grey soil’ of his native Monaghan. In comparison to the struggle he and his neighbours had in wresting or eking a living from poor wet soil I often think I had it easy.
Farming good land is a pleasure. You know the land, the fields -every single plot, and can be confident of it’s ability to produce abundant crops, fatten cattle and ensure cows give plentiful yields. I suppose like me Kavanagh was never cut out to be a farmer but circumstances alter cases they and that’s the way it was with me too. Regrets? Yerra no, not really. Being close to the land and nature and daily seeing the beauty of the world all around has been my good fortune with half a century.
Parick Kavanagh like Seamus Heaney, Yeats and a myriad of others -well they were poets and properly recognised as such. Around Christmas time each year and into the New Year with no matches, meetings or writing to do one of my joys is to take down a poetry book, and by a fine fire, read and absorb the words. To me that’s sheer Christmas bliss- cant be bought or paid for, just enjoyed. In from the yard, maybe rain or frost, with the farmwork done looking forward to a fireside evening -is there ‘ere a thing better? In Christmas Childhood the Inniskeen poet/farmer wrote about The tracks of cattle to a drinking-place,
A green stone lying sideways in a ditch,
Or any common sight, the transfigured face
Of a beauty that the world did not touch.
The words ‘or any common sight’ are stunning. Common things like a sunrise, birdsong, a rabbit by a fence- simplicity in themselves but gorgeously beautiful. For many this time of year is all hustle and bustle, and that’s understandable but as Christmas comes I find it a very reflective period. Like standing on a ditch looking to the left at the shrinking year and to the right the massive, unknown opportunity that next year brings. After a family wedding in Garryvoe, last Sunday morning I dined alone early in order to be back home for half nine Mass. As I drove inland from the East Cork coast there was stunning sunrise.
Travelling from Garryvoe, onto Ladysbride, up to Castlemartyr and on to the high ground above Dungourney the aspiring sunshine tinged trees, fields and houses –‘common things, ’ with a hue of red which was just a God-given early Christmas present for me. I used dabble in writing poetry but after Mam died in 1996 the inspiration, the ‘muse’, the yen to craft lines- well it just left me never to return. Someone said to me in recent years ‘John you might have been a better poet than farmer’ -I never can work out if that was a compliment or a veiled insult! To tell the truth I’ve lost no sleep dwelling on the matter either. At this time of year of course I think a lot about Mam and Dada. Kavanagh wrote’ Outside in the cow-house my mother/Made the music of milking’; And I can just about remember when I was four or five and Mam and Paddy Geary still milked our cows by hand over in the stall. A few years later we got the first milking machine but in the early 1960’s the sound of the milk being squirted into the aluminium buckets still rings in my mind’s ear. They sat on the three-legged stools, heads leaning on the cow’s hot, rising and falling stomach. I never heard that Dada played the melodeon -like Paddy Kavanagh’s father, but even now sixty-three years after he died we still have a gramophone he made. Anytime I go over to the Glen I pass the spot below the Kitchen Garden where he had a water-powered system of generating electricity. Me- I couldn’t wire a plug but nevertheless I feel memories linger longer and better on a farm. We walk the same haggard and fields where my great grandparents trod when they came here in the1870’s. I suppose their first Christmas in their new house was lovely for them and I think how lucky I am to be still in that dwelling with a loving family all around. Family means so much to me all year round -and not just close relatives but second and third and fifth cousins twice removed. They say blood is thicker than water and I think in my case mine is thicker than most! As the years go and the Christmasses come we have every right-even obligation, to be a bit reflective. Ye we live in the present and look forward to the future but we’re shaped by the past and too many people who want change for the sake of change have long forgotten their roots, culture and traditions. No, I wont start ‘giving out’ to anyone! It’s Christmas time and the spirit of goodwill and happiness pervades this lovely season and that’s as it should be. Every year, in retrospective, is probably the best of times and the worst of times. That’s the human condition as we experience joy, sadness, exhilaration, grief and so many other feelings. This past year I was faced with the decision as to my future work-life. Keep going as before or retire? Procrastination is defined as postponing decision-making until another time and I suppose that sums me up perfectly! Yes I’m winding down yet at this Christmas time of birth and renewal I’m already looking forward to next Spring as the wheels of the farming year start rotating faster once more. This past year was wonderful with the highlight for me being a few days holidays in West Cork with the entire family -three generations of the Arnolds all together. I never realised the treasure, pleasure and joy that being a grandparent brings and am so grateful for being so blessed. Lads, little did I think back in 2007 when Maurice Gubbins asked me to ‘write an article for The Evening Echo’ that all these years later I’d still be tapping away with one finger on my laptop every Tuesday night. Thanks a million to all those who provide me with inspiration and thoughts to write about. There’s scarcely a day passes that I don’t get a text, a letter or an email from someone, somewhere, concerning something I’ve written. Not all agree with my views but that’s wonderful too in it’s own way. We all need to be challenged and none of us have a monopoly on wisdom! As this very special and lovely Christmas Season comes to us once more I wish each and everyone of you readers a Happy and Hoy Christmas. May the joy of God’s peace be with you all. In Lourdes lately I thought of so many who have suffered illness, sadness and bereavement during 2024 – I pray for you all at Christmas and hope the coming year will be a happier and better time for all of you. Have a Happy, healthy, Holy, enjoyable and peaceful Christmas - it's not just one day, 'tis a season to be savoured, enjoyed and shared.
‘One side of the potato-pits was white with frost -
How wonderful that was, how wonderful!
And when we put our ears to the paling-post
The music that came out was magical.’
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