It was pure Irish genius to put Patrick’s Day in the middle of Lent, to give us a break in the sugar drought, and a chance to be a ‘mini celebrity’ while walking the town in the parade – especially in 1970s Castletownbere
ALTHOUGH St Patrick’s Day was a fairly simple affair back in Beara during the 1970s, as a child of that period, there was fierce excitement if March 17th fell on a weekday. It meant a day off school, going to the parade and, most importantly, a break from the Lenten fast.
The day before the big day, the nuns at my primary school in Castletownbere, turned the afternoon into an arts and crafts extravaganza. We made tri-coloured flags on sticks to wave during the procession and badges of shamrocks and harps.
All the while, the nuns gave us a lecture on the great man himself. According to the nuns, St Patrick was a missionary in Ireland, and he became an adored figure for Irish Catholics as the person to bring Christianity to our shores.
St. Patrick's day car parade in Castletownbere. (Photo: Anne Marie Cronin)
According to legend, St Patrick was 16 when Irish raiders kidnapped him and brought him to Ireland as a slave, he escaped and drove snakes out of this country. To a child, he was definitely an interesting fella.
No matter what day of the week it fell on, St Patrick’s Day felt like a Sunday morning in our house. The smell of shoe polish would greet me at the top of the stairs from the glossy footwear that was resting on an old newspaper in the hallway. It was a day for the family to get dressed up to the nines in our Sunday best and anything green that was in the wardrobe.
At the front door and after my mam inspected my attire, she pinned a big lump of Shamrock to the lapel of my coat, followed by her stern warning to ‘keep the good clothes clean’ or ‘there will be trouble’. After mass, it was a mad dash home for the fry-up before the parade.
Back in those days, if you went to Communion, you had to fast from the night before, so my belly always rumbled in the church. The St Patrick’s Day breakfast was probably one of the best feasts of the year because my mam banished the traditional Sunday morning fry-up during Lent.
March is an unsettled month, where the weather doesn’t quite know what to do with itself, be it rain, hail, sleet, or even snow. I remember the St Patrick’s Day parade always happened on a sunny spring day, though it being Castletownbere it was probably lashing rain – but like all sepia-toned nostalgia, I filter out the inconvenient parts and go with the glow!
Despite the weather, the townsfolk lined the street in a sea of green. I recall marching the processional route with my school, behind Sr Carmel and Sr Josepha, and alongside friends Annette, Pasty, Mairead, and Georgina. We were like mini-celebrities for an hour, waving to the crowd.
A joyous atmosphere emanated from the cheering spectators, that were waving flags in their best green outfits. Other participants of the parade were the youth club, the fire brigade, GAA teams, Phyllis and her Irish dancers, the scouts and girl guides, and Ashley Wholihan and his talented family. And tractors, loads of tractors!
It was pure Irish genius to put Paddy’s Day in the middle of Lent. I viewed the day as a welcome break in the sugar drought. The church (or at least I and my friends had convinced ourselves) granted a special dispensation in honour of St Patrick and ordained a pause in the purgatory of Lenten sacrifice.
MacCarthy’s and John Michaels were going like a fare with children buying penny sweets and, if you were rich, a quarter from the glass jars. This binge was for one day only, and no more goodies would be consumed until Easter. Until the 1970s, the pubs remained closed on St Patrick’s Day.
The church feared people would break their Lenten fast and it would lead to ruckus and bedlam. And they were right! Once the law was relaxed, it became a feast of drinking and at the time Castletownbere (a one-street town which had roughly 20 drinking establishments) all the businesses did a roaring trade.
At Castletownbere's 2022 St Patrick's Day Parade were pupils of Cahermore National School with themes topical during the year. (Photo: Anne Marie Cronin)
Once the parade was over and the crowds dispersed into the pubs, there was nothing else to do but go home and spend the afternoon watching reruns of Darby O’Gill and the Little People or The Quiet Man to keep me entertained.
Later, I watched the RTÉ news to see the parades from Dublin and especially New York, where the Americans took the festival to another level. Dinner in our house was a simple affair of traditional corned beef and cabbage, along with plenty of spuds.
There were no fancy cakes for afters, no exchange of gifts, and there weren’t decorations around the house. In fact, the following day, there was no sign that just 24 hours ago was the celebration of our patron saint.
In villages and towns in West Cork, there is a hive of activity going on as groups prepare for their annual jaunt on the back of a vehicle for the parade.
A lot of brainstorming, securing materials and a location for decorating, along with the gathering of costumes, is happening. It’s good to acknowledge those committee members, schools, GAA clubs, volunteers, local businesses and donors, and entertainers, past and present.
And let’s not forget the fabulous tractors and their crews. The parade would not be possible without all their hard work, dedication and commitment, every year providing a spectacular event.
Happy lá fhéile Padraig!
