Ok history lesson over. These days Paddy's day is more about celebrating the spirit and culture that is Ireland. Even if your not Irish you can become Irish for a day. Those of us with strong Irish roots celebrate our ancestry and show how proud we are of what our forefathers accomplished or like in my case use today as a chance to honor and remember a great person in our lives.
Its a day where you can drink, sing and get into a little bit of harmless mischief without looking out of place. Wait, thats every family do on my mothers side I went to as a kid. Maybe we just celebrated paddy's day a few extra times a year. My Poppa was certainly a character and loved nothing better than to celebrate a hard weeks work by spending the weekends with his large family drinking, singing and getting into a little bit of harmless mischief... Now that is dedication isn't it =oP
I have some fabulous memories of my early childhood. My earliest, clearest memory of my poppa was probably when I was about 4. Mum and Dad had made the decision to move back from up north and get closer to the family again. I can clearly see in my minds eye My Poppa sitting in His chair with his big ashtray beside it and a big glass of beer resting on it. I remember feeling so special because he let me sit on his lap where he would pour his beer leaving the biggest "ice cream" and I was allowed to have the "ice cream". I know, shock horror, anyone in this day and age doing that would be shot on site! But frankly its my most precious memory I have as a child. I dont know why that memory sticks in my mind most of all or why its so special. maybe because essentially my Poppa was a hard working hard man with a bit of a temper, but to me he was this funny man with the gravely voice cheeky smile who had a scratchy face and spoiled me rotten with his hugs and cuddles. I never saw him in a temper and I know I was probably the only one of his grandkids at the time that was that lucky. The fact was I was one of poppas Favorite's. Even back then I knew I was treated differently by him. But I didn't know why, I just loved him unconditionally.
Weekends were often spent either Saturday afternoons at Nan and poppas which invariably turned into late night parties with music the ol wood BBQ fired up summer times crabs cooking in the old fashion washing machine. Us kids would be packed up in the house blankets and pillows in the lounge room each of us taking turns in sneaking to the back door to see what it was our parents were laughing so hysterically about then racing back before we got caught to inform our cousins and siblings what it was we had seen.
We lived literally the next street back. I mean we just had to jump the fence and run through the bush adjacent and we were in Nan and Poppas backyard. Sundays it was quite normal to wake up and run over to Nan and poppa's in our pj's where the table would have toast sitting in a rack on the table, Bacon sizzling away and of course poppa sitting in his big high chair reading his paper with a cigarette on the table. Mum and dad would turn up an hour or so later with clothes for myself and my sister D to get dressed and our baby sister B. Then the scones with jam and cream would come out. Some Sundays it was just one or two of the Aunts and Uncles other times it was all 7, their spouses along with all their kids. I think that's why I love making scones so much for friends especially this time of the year, It reminds me of big family gatherings.
I can still remember all the conversations I had with Poppa. All the stories he would tell of his life. As I got older I never lost that fascination, listening to his stories and as I aged he would talk more and more about his time at war. I can remember him telling me of the days and the days he spent laying in wet cold mud explaining how eating rations for meals took sometimes hours because any movement would give their position away. Which was why he had the high chair because of both hips having to be replaced. Maybe thats why we were so close, someone was interested in hearing his stories.
One Sunday, I was 13 almost the entire family was there at poppas. Everyone was laughing enjoying the Sunday as we always did. Its only recently I have realized that was just through the eyes of a child and things were bubbling under the surface. Around Lunchtime all hell broke loose all Us kids were packed up and told "Poppa has to go to hospital and get a check up". Us three girls stayed at Mr Mac's, the old man over the road over night and the next morning he said you dont have to go to school.
I can remember Mum and Dad coming in and sitting us down and telling us that Poppa was very sick and he had to go to heaven. It didn't seem real. I still expected Poppa to be there to tell me stories and to let me sit by him share his "ice cream". It took a while to understand even at 13 that he wasn't coming back.
So tonight in his honor and in memory for him and all he was and all he wasn't I will have a beer have a laugh and get into a little harmless mischief and celebrate my Irish heritage with pride.
Happy St Patrick's Day all ♥
Lovely Jo, chin chin
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