User:Mountainrambler69/Rearcross

[[Category:]]—Ireland-related category

Rearcross is a parish in County Tipperary, Ireland. It would be one of the most well-known place-names in the "Premier County"[a term used by people conscious of the role played by Tipperary men in Irish history]. In times past, Rearcross was a major production centre of strong illegal whiskey, or poitín, as it was called. If the local "mountain dew" was renowned for its "knock-out" properties, the legal variety of the same spirit had the opposite effect, if purchased in some mountainy "watering-holes" in those years, and even later. Let's say the legal whiskey often contained more uisce than beatha. The beer and porter on sale in some premises also left a lot to be desired. Many people can readily recall a mountainy establishment, where the pints of beer[and Guinness] bubbled with such intensity, they regularly resembled a rather unhappy volcano. Rearcross's most famous "exports", traditionally, have been nurses, particularly those on the higher-end of the intellectual scale, or psychiatric nurses, as they are commonly called[amongst other things]. It is said that if you stand at the local cross any Sunday morning before[or after] mass, and throw a stone in any direction, you are certain to hit a nurse. If you are really lucky, and with the wind in your favour, you might hit two of them with the one stone. We are all aware of the age-old association between nurses[particularly psychiatric], and mind-blowing brain-power. Well, hard as it is to fathom, it appears nurses have become even brainier, and now possess masters degrees. Many nightingales don't "do" bed-making, pan-emptying, and cleaning-up the messes left by the quacks anymore. Up to the late 1970s, no proper education was available to local children. The teachers were merely a sad joke. One particular "educationalist" would have been more suited to the modelling "cat-walk". He could regularly be seen admiring himself, and lovingly combing his hair, wherever he found an object obliging enough to provide him with his reflection. Like so many of his profession, he was an accomplished purveyor of "the lowest- form- of- wit", which he continued to practise into his post-retirement years. His regular Monday morning routine was to read John D. Hickey's match report from The Irish Independent. He would "regale" his listeners with tales of "wonder", such as being asked for his autograph, by people who had mistaken him for a prominent Tipperary sportsman of the time. In earlier times, the chief "educationalist" in the parish was a total thug. One of his pupils possessed a lot of his master's characteristics, and a fight broke out between them one day, with the apprentice gurrier eventually threatening his superior with a pen-knife. No matter what might have ensued as a result of the confrontation, logical people would merely have seen it as two alley-cats settling their differences. The trainee was expelled, and his opponent was transferred soon afterwards to a neighbouring school, where he continued with his old caveman approach to his work, but only for a while. In his new location, he discovered that at least one real man was in residence. That man was to eventually put manners on the state-sponsored bully, when, after repeated warnings, he persisted in bullying the man's daughter. A few well-directed knuckles landed forcefully on his face, nose, and lips, resulting in him having something akin to a Pauline conversion. He was a "pillar of the community" when he "passed-on" many years later. Rearcross has a number of distinguishing features, including the local Church[Roman Catholic], which is made entirely of tin and timber. It has stood in the village centre for well over a century, and prior to that, was a place of worship for Wesleyans, in Wales. It was dis-mantled, and shipped to Limerick Docks, where the many parts were collected by a large contingent of Rearcross parishioners, who brought their cargo home, on carts pulled by horses, along dirt roads, totalling 20 miles. A group of "handymen" locals then put the "jigsaw" together. A number of fairly well-known Irishmen were born in Rearcross, including Dominican Theologian, Fr. Austin Flannery, whose radical[for the time] campaigning on social issues in the 1960s and 1970s, gained him much media and public attention, along with a little notoriety. Charles J. Haughey[then a Government minister, and Prime Minister in waiting] publicly referred to the mountainy preacher as "this meddlesome priest". Recent years have seen Fr. Flannery bow out of the public arena, though his life-long contributing to, and editing of religious magazines, has continued. Doctrine and Life is probably the publication with which his name is most often linked. Rearcross's landscape is definitely the jewel in its crown. Rugged hills, along with valleys, peaceful rivers and streams, mountain walkways, and more archaeological treasures, dating back to the stone-age, than you will find in most places in these islands. Sport and music have always been prominent in the lives of Rearcross people. GAA games[hurling and gaelic football] once had the sporting arena all to themselves, and made valuable contributions to the social scene for many decades. The early 1970s saw a "new kid" arrive on the local "sporting block". Soccer was that game, and its arrival was not greeted too enthusiastically by some "traditionalists", who considered it unsuitable due to its strong association with England. The opponents, none of whom would be contenders for "Ireland's most open-minded person" award, were unable, or unwilling, to see that Soccer[the only sport where the players' feet are the dominant "tools of the trade", and consequently the world's only sport truly worthy of the title "Football"], was also the national game in the majority of the countries of the world. Some of Ireland's finest patriots and freedom fighters, had the intelligence to see this, and were passionate supporters and promoters of Soccer. The game's unique skills, amongst other things, attracted them to it. True sportsmen will love their sport for the enjoyment it gives them. Its origins are of little or no significance. Neil Blaney, Todd Andrews, Oscar Traynor, and Brian Lenihan, are just a few of the pioneers of modern Ireland, whose association with Soccer is most documented. Rearcross Association Football[Soccer]Club carried on regardless throughout the often bleak 1970s and 80s in Ireland. Sneers and snide comments from a few notable opponents, were ignored. As in all such situations, those who had nothing but the "bitter word" for those who actually went out and tried to get things done, were never involved in any social endeavours themselves. "It is easier to point the finger, than to give a helping hand" would be a good way to sum up their philosophy. Amongst those who have been/are to the forefront on the sporting and general social scene were/are: Liam Ó Líonacháin[ laoch logánta, staraí, seanchai gan cothrom, duine uasal, scoláire, rómánsach mór, céimí sheandálaíochta, teangeolaí[tá sé líofa i gcaoga theanganna], bunaitheoir de coras iompair phoiblí in Éireann,agus a lán rudaí eile ], P. Lynch, Pádraigín Ní Bhriain[ ceannródaí camógaíochta, tionscnóir cheoil[ traidisiúnta agus nua-aimseartha], gníomhaí pobail gan cothrom ], agus daoine eile, ró líonmhar go tagairt. Approaching Christmas each year, hearts in "the mountains" beat a little faster, in anticipation of "Echoes Of The Hills"[ an irishleabhar bliantúil logánta] hitting the news-stands. Believe me, there is no more magical experience than rising on a Christmas morning, and opening your "Echoes Of The Hills". Most people will immediately head for An Nuacht ó Comhairle Pobail Chrois Na Rae, as an peann-líofa den Rúnaí- Gínerálta. Is Iocshláinte d'intinn atá Macallaí Den Chnoic, cruinniu chuimsitheach den scéala mór sna paróiste i rith na bliain. Of course, The Secretary-General of Rearcross Community Council is not the only talented wordsmith whose work you'll find between the covers of Echoes Of The Hills. The magazine's Editor-in-Chief has, somehow, managed to exclusively sign some of the finest prose-writers working in Ireland today, in a presumably expensive "golden-handcuffs" deal. The contributors, such as The Secretary-General of Rearcross Community Council, do not air their opinions on any newspaper or website. But they do have opinions, I can assure you. Many people in Rearcross, and a lot more in Kilcommon, fondly recall the camogie matches at Kilcommon Cross in the 1970s, involving the local Foireann Naomh Muire[ or "Team Erotica", as they were also known.] What an exciting experience it was for the men of the area, young and old. Picture the scene: All those athletic mountainy cailini, nubile and vibrant, dashing around the field, often flashing everything they'd got. Regularly, there would be a pile-up of players, usually in "the square", where a varied selection of Tipperary's finest female posteriors, clad in stunning "granny knickers", would be displayed in all their curvaceous glory, as the mouths of every man in the place began to water. Those of us in Rearcross only very occasionally had the pleasure of witnessing those heavenly scenes, but the men of Kilcommon[who had the benefit of living in the parish where "The Field Of Wet Dreams" was located], must have possessed great will-power. I could never understand why Kilcommon's population was in decline in those times, with so many temptresses on display at the local park. I would have thought that the population would have gone "through the roof." If the members of St. Mary's Camogie Club put male hearts racing, the formation of Rearcross Ladies Soccer Club put men's tickers' galloping and pounding to dangerously high levels. How the excitement of regularly feasting our eyes on those charismatic beauties didn't kill us, I'll never know. Those of us lucky enough to have seen [and heard] them, find it difficult to locate words which would fully describe the sheer joy of our experiences between 1972 and the mid-1980s. Now, sadly, all we've got to remind us of those amazon-like godesses are a few faded photographs. Earlier in this article, I referred to the disgracefully sub-standard fare on offer in some pubs' in the district up to relatively recent times. It should be noted that the slushy beer and porter, and watery-whiskey, would, mainly, be served to the local clientéle, who usually had no place else to go, and had no option but to keep returning for "more of the same". On the other hand, customers who would have been referred to colloquially as "strangers" would be served top-quality alcohol, from the top-shelves and the best barrels. Locals and "strangers" would have been treated differently in other ways also. For example: if musical events were taking place and "closing-time" arrived, the publicans' would, generally, begin "clearing-the-house" by requesting the locals to leave first, whilst the "strangers" would often have been allowed to continue enjoying the occasion. In fact, it would have been common to see "strangers" being served, whilst at the same moment, some locals would have had no option but to go[ often not quietly ], into the dark night. A good example of the "esteem" in which some business people held their local customers in the Ireland of other times is, I believe, contained in this anecdote: closing-time had come, and was long-gone, one night in a rural pub. The "strangers" were being treated royally, whilst the locals were being "shown-the-door". Some locals had had enough, and decided to confront the arrogant landlord. Arrogant, egotistical people, from all walks of life, have at least one thing in common: "they don't like it up 'em", to quote that wise old philosopher Jack Jones. Our publican friend's response to those who had challenged his authority was: " come on lads, out ye go, no more of ye're owld guff, I have ye're money, and ye have ye're piss." I think those words would have been appropriate, if they'd been adopted as the official slogan, of quite a few members of rural Ireland's business community in those years.