Paschal Ryan was born and reared in Limerick City, Ireland. Were it was not for
the noise of screaming pigs from Matterson’s Bacon Factory, he would have lived out his
life and probably would have died there on Taylor St where he was born.
Just to get away from the noise of the screaming pigs, Paschal and his family
moved to a more refined neighbourhood at the new housing scheme at the Island Field.,
now known as St Mary’s Park, at the other end of the city.
The new homes looked so alike it appeared as though they came off a conveyor
belt.
Paschal’s Dad, well, his method of livelihood was a rather, ‘bloody’ occupation.
Yes, he was a pork butcher in Mattersons Bacon Factory. He was responsible for the
noise of the screaming pigs that were going to slaughter.
A ‘black sheep or lamb’ was Paschal, who should have lost his life at an early
age. As a matter of fact, should he have foreseen what lay ahead for him in the world, he
thought it might have been much better if he had never seen the light of day. In Paschal’s
own eyes, he thought it better if he had been miscarried.
It was a big world out there and Paschal had no idea of what trials and tribulations
he had in front of him.
One day, he wandered down by the river Shannon, a place he was warned that he
should never go near. He slipped on the muddy grass bank and fell into the river and was
almost drowned. A man fishing nearby tied a rope to his catch-bucket and hauled him to safety from the tidal river. A ‘fisher of fish and a fisher of men’ was that savior. None the
worse for his experience, he was given a jaunt home in a baby’s pram.
After a quick bath in a galvanized tub on the kitchen floor, his mother warmed
him and put him to bed.
Oh to be young and trouble free.
Next day, Paschal’s Dad was arguing with his mother for not keeping an eye on
their son.
“How can you allow a six year old boy to wander off like he did?” he yelled.
“There’s nine kids to watch, and to watch all of them, I’d need to have eyes at the
back of my pole,” she yelled back at Dad.
That was funny, just like a duck crossing the road with her young.
When the schools opened after the Summer holidays, Paschal was thrilled to bits
at the thought of going to school for the first time, his big sister, Theresa, took him to
school and left him with his teacher, Sister Philomena.
School was terrific. Learning your ABC, painting, and learning to pray were the
first instructions. Then, Paschal was home at half two every day.
When Paschal was at school for a few months he soon realized that school was
not that nice after all. The Nuns were very cross. For openers, if you didn’t know your
prayers, you got the leather strap or got the chalkboard duster thrown at you.
What is it about rivers that attract young children? Yes, as though being pulled by
a magnetic force, he again went by the river after school.
Certain days and dates were carved in his brain. The day of Wednesday,
somehow, was permanently carved in his noggin. On one such Wednesday, was the 9 th of November 1938, his grandfather told him about a day of disgrace in Central Europe, a
night of ‘broken glass’, it was called. However, this day was calm by the river Shannon
for Paschal.
The river was as smooth as glass and the houses and trees at the opposite side
reflected a beautiful picture in the water. A ripple or two in the water made the whole
picture waltz. To complete this masterpiece, would be to hear Tchaikowski’s Sleeping
Beauty Waltz. Childhood memories were never to be forgotten.
Before Paschal could climb down off of cloud nine he was repeatedly punched on
the back of his head from behind. He almost fell into the river from the barrage of
punches. It was his sister, Phyllis.
“What have you been told about going near the river?” yelled his sister,
continuing her barrage.
“Stop it! I’ll tell Mamma you were punching me on the head when we get home,”
Paschal yelled back.
Sure enough, he got the back of his mother’s hand as he went in the front door,
and that was before his mother knew where he was. Phyllis, of course, didn’t mention to
her mother that her brother was down by the river. Even though Phyllis gave him a good
hiding for going down by the river, that was sisterly protection.
Paschal’s Dad went to and from work every day on his bicycle. One night he was
very late getting home from work. His mother thought perhaps that the boss of the house
had ‘nipped in for a few jars’ on the way home. Having his bronchial tubes lubricated in
this manner was nothing unusual, though it was ‘nothing habitual’. However, it was
getting on for nine o’clock at night and no sign of the boss when Paschal went to the front window and pushed the curtains aside to see if any of his friends were still out playing on
the street when he suddenly burst out laughing.
“Look, Mamma, Dad is coming down the road and he is carrying his bicycle on
his shoulder.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what are you talking about?” said his mother as she
rushed to the window to investigate.
“Laugh? The Ryan family was in stitches as the boss of the house put his bicycle
down at the front gate. The family knew that the boss was not a habitual drinker, but this
time they thought the boss was stoned out of his mind.
“What’s so funny?” the boss asked as he saw his family in laughter as he went in
the front door.
It so happened, that Paschal’s father was ‘as sober as a judge’, if that meant
anything.
“I was cycling home from work and I had no light on my bike. It was when I saw
Guard Danaher that I got off of my bike and put it on my shoulder so as not to get a
summons for riding my bike without a light. So I walked all the way home with my bike
on my shoulder with Guard Danaher walking close behind.”
That was a true story. Every night on the paper you could read about all those
people who were riding on their bicycles without lights. The first offense was a ten-
shilling fine, and so on.
Christmas is here. This was the first Christmas Paschal could remember. Yes,
Christmas, 1938. Paschal’s father brought home his Christmas gift from his job, a full pigs head
with sausages and black puddings.
Every Christmas eve, the family would go to midnight mass, well, all except one.
One of Paschal’s sisters, Theresa or Maura, would stay at home and roar up the fire and
cook the sausages and black puddings with bacon and eggs. What a scrumptious meal.
Midnight mass was really beautiful. The church was always packed to capacity.
Almost everyone received Holy Communion. Well, Paschal didn’t, as he was too young,
besides, he didn’t make his first holy communion yet, as that was another eighteen
months away, when he’ll be about eight years old.
Yes indeed, God was great at this time every year, he thought.
Contact Paschal Ryan:
1950 South Blagg Rd.
Pahrump. 89048.
Nevada. USA.
paschal@pahrump.net
