I awoke on my first morning in France tired from lack of sleep and unsure where I was. It was a bit overwhelming for a naive seventeen year old. The sound of a train chugging near to my window reminded me fairly quickly. I opened the wooden shutters to be greeted with the most idyllic garden bathed in warm sunlight. Those of you who have been to France will know what I mean, when I say, that it didn’t smell or feel like home. It was … well it was…. French. I dressed quickly dusting myself in Morney’s sandalwood talc. I only have to get a whiff of sandalwood all these years later, to be transported back to that room in St. Marcellin. Breakfast was served in the garden. Fresh croissants and a sweet cake were breakfast fare. What appeared to be a large soup bowl was put in front of me but instead of soup, there was tea. I hesitated unsure what to do. The rest of the family drank the tea straight from the bowl and I with some amusement did too. We would not
do that at home, I thought.
My two weeks in St.Marcellin were spent absorbing French life. Many things were different. My French friend openly lit up her cigarette and smoked in front of her parents. That would never have been allowed back home in 1966. Over the two weeks I experienced French life and was taken to the places of interest in the area. To the amphi theatre in Vienne, to Romans with its beautiful St. Bernard church, Pont en Royans with its three castles and it’s hanging houses clinging to the cliffs, Valence, with its colorful history. A beautiful part of France bordering on the edge of the Vercors national park. I returned there many years later with my own family
After two weeks we packed up and went to Grenoble where we stayed overnight in an apartment belonging to the family. A shopping spree in one of the department stores helped deplete my pocket-money but I wanted to bring something to the family back home. We packed up once again and headed for a Citroen CV parked outside. To my amazement the 18 year-old sister took the steering wheel and we set off. For a while it was fine but then we began to ascend. The roads became like country lanes and the sheer drop below was terrifying. The two sisters and their brothers started singing songs one of which I suspect was a French version of ‘Now is the Hour.’ I covered my eyes and concentrated on trying not to be sick.
When we arrived in St.Bonnet I was white as a sheet and unable to greet the relatives who rushed out to meet ‘ la petite Irlandaise.’ As they were about to give me the traditional kiss on each cheek I threw up. The combination of the drive and the lack of food had made me decidedly queasy. I must explain that I had not adapted to the French menu and was living on Rice Krispies and boiled eggs. I had been taken to the nearest shop in desperation and in the hope I might see something I could eat. Thankfully cereals had reached France in 1966. I had also discovered that the family stored a huge number of chocolate bars in the food cupboard. When I woke up in the middle of the night starving, I would tiptoe down and help myself. Imagine my embarrassment when on one occasion, I turned to go back to bed, salivating from the chocolate, and there was Madame B standing at the kitchen door. I muttered something in English, made a few gestures about being hungry and beat a hasty retreat. The house also had a cellar filled with cheeses. The smell was ..well, it wasn’t very pleasant and I dreaded when I was asked to go down and bring some up to the kitchen. I have to admit I was getting homesick at this stage. I consoled myself by listening to Adamo on an old fashioned record player. Adamo was top of the french hit parade and I loved his haunting melodies. I still have the L.P. I bought back then.
Lack of communication was a big problem. I was now receiving letters from home. It had taken all this time for them to reach me; such was the speed of the postal service in France in the sixties. My family were on holidays in Bunbeg, Co.Donegal, one of my favourite places and I was quite jealous. I had no money left. This was remedied by a rare phone call home when my dad asked Madame B to give me some money and he would refund it. With the money I went to the local hairdresser in the village and had my beautiful long auburn hair cut short. Not sure whether it was the altitude that affected my brain. However, what I had done hit home when the hairdresser handed me my hair tied in a ponytail. My mum had to look twice when the bus from the airport pulled up at the Gresham Hotel.
I saw plenty of the Hautes Alpes region. The skiing resorts of Orcieres and Merylette were close by and Gap was the nearest big town. I had by now got used to the narrow roads. My favourite trip was the Route de Napoleon that took us though Aix-en Provence, passing the many fields of vines and culminating in my first sight of the Côte D’ Azur and the Mediterranean sparkling in the sunshine. A bit ironic that the watch that had given me such a fright during my first night in France was stolen from the car as we bathed in the Mediterranean. I was taken by the family to Grenoble where the watch was replaced by a much more expensive one than the one that had been stolen!
Though I enjoyed most of my time in France I was glad to be home. As I headed home at the end of July, little did I know that the month of August 1966 would determine my future.
Flavoured lipstick was also en vogue, caramel, peppermint and strawberry. We must have looked like two prats as we paraded along the streets of Ballycastle but we thought we were gorgeous and it wasn’t long before we attracted attention from a couple of local youths. As my parents did not approve of boyfriends there was a lot of skullduggery and subterfuge going on so that we could meet our new beaus. Luckily there was a carnival that summer and a large tent was set up for dancing in the evening. We were permitted to go but had to be home by 10 p.m. Sonny and Cher were in the hit parade with “ I Got You Babe” and I have bitter-sweet memories of the song.
As I entered the sixties life was changing. I was still too young to appreciate how much. I still didn’t know where babies came from even though at eleven there was another addition to the family when my brother was born. My dad took us out for a drive and by the time we got home he had arrived. This ignorance lasted until I was almost fourteen when a precocious friend who was much mature than the rest of us informed us in great detail how babies were conceived. We reacted with disbelief. There was no way my parents indulged in such gross behaviour. However that turned out not to be true when my only sister arrived when I was thirteen.
loved her and as a child spent time in her home in Camlough. She had been a widow 
for twenty odd years. When she died it was my first loss of someone close to me and I was horrified by the whole funeral and burial thing. Similarly my paternal grandmother was a widow and as a result I never knew either of my grandfathers. It seemed normal in those days and I’m just so glad that my grandchildren have known all four grandparents.
pierced and the first to go for a geometric Mary Quant hairstyle. Despite both of us being intelligent we were not studious so tended never to make it to the top of the class. However I excelled at debates and any occasions where I could argue against the status quo. I also had a vivid imagination and my essays were always interesting to say the least.
Pops on a large tape recorder that used large tapes and then played them over and over till my dad said ‘no more’ My friend had a record player and we bought our first single together. It was I think three shillings and four pence and it was Peter and Gordon’s ‘ Please lock me away’
about three and I announced to him that ‘my mammy drinks wickey’ (whiskey). My mum had a little sip when she wasn’t feeling well. My dad had always believed that when we were sick that a little whiskey with hot water and sugar was the answer. Probably be seen as child abuse in today’s politically correct world but it helped us sleep and we definitely felt better. Thankfully his hearing aid was whistling like a kettle so the remark went unnoticed, or so my mother hoped.
Surveyor, would be called out and we waited until the early hours of the morning for his safe return. I would wait until the lights of his car lit up my bedroom as he pulled into the garage at the back of the house and until then sleep was impossible.
We took part in the all Ireland Drama festival at Athlone and came in first. The memory of skipping along that huge stage in a beautiful yellow dress in my bare feet still makes me feel happy. My friends and I used to put on our own concerts for family and friends with 
what was going on in Northern Ireland politics. We were, I think what is now referred to as Castle Catholics. We were happy with the status quo but others around us were awakening to the fact that there was a need for change. Lord Brookeborough had in 1950 been Prime Minister for nearly 20 years. The explosion at the bus depot was the start of a bombing campaign along the border. I remember being in bed and hearing the loud explosion. The lights dimmed and we were all very frightened. However, the campaign fizzled out and for many years things remained calm, until a young preacher called Paisley appeared on the scene. He formed the Free Presbyterian church in 1951 and his sermons mostly focused on his contempt of Roman Catholicism and homosexuality. He didn’t get involved in politics until the late fifties, but he was to feature in the instability of Northern Ireland through the thirty years of the troubles.
government, with the vision of Aneurin Bevan introduced the National Health Service. The welfare state was introduced in the UK in 1948 and my siblings and I were able to enjoy the benefits of free education. Those, living in the United Kingdom, were now able to avail of free health care, from the cradle to the grave. With free education the way was open for those who wanted to better themselves and to challenge those who had held the majority of power at Stormont for almost 40 years. Unfortunately that didn’t work out to well and it was nearly thirty years before the Good Friday agreement was put in place guaranteeing equality for all citizens of Northern Ireland. However that agreement has stumbled along half heartedly and as a result has come to a stalemate and we are back to the pre 1998 days.
speak to them when they did visit. Thankfully visiting restrictions were lifted or at least relaxed which made my second stay in hospital at the age of ten less traumatic. The local doctor called quite often during my convalescence and the district nurse called every day and administered intravenous antibiotics. Due to some misunderstanding the district nurse didn’t stop after two weeks and I received the injections for nearly a month.
my first introduction to an outside chemical toilet. After using it for the first time it became the practice to go before I came out or wait until I got home.
summer’s day it was idyllic. We brought a Volcano kettle with us and dad made us tea and we ate mikado biscuits.. Some things don’t change. You can still buy both the mikado biscuits and the Volcano kettle.
would mean that the assassination wasn’t going to result in a war. The following days were tense until it was established that on the face of it the Russians weren’t involved.
Unfortunately it was knocked down as it had fallen into disrepair. I believe the Queen mother and the present Queen and her sister Margaret visited the house and played in the grounds. It is now Kilbrony Park having been taken over by the local council. When we were young many beautiful Arab horses roamed the huge expanse of meadow. In spring the ground was covered in daffodils. It became our private playground as we grew up.
meadow. In the evenings my brothers and I would stand at the windows for hours watching them playing round the campfires and listening to the campfire songs. We did however feel sorry for them when it rained and they were mud to the elbows.
The house we moved into had been a boarding house run by two elderly sisters and each upstairs room had a bell which had been used to summon the servants from ‘below stairs’. Great fun to play with but a nightmare for Mum down in the kitchen. They were taken out during renovations which was a pity. My first memory in my new house was of almost flooding us out. Left to my own devices at about aged three and after the arrival of a new baby brother, I decided to wash myself. I pulled a small chair over to the hand basin in my Mum’s room, put in the plug and turned on both taps. I guess the overflow didn’t work because I can remember my Mum running out of the kitchen as the water flooded through the ceiling. Her first reaction was to run to a neighbour who happened to be the local constable. I thought he was coming for me but he quickly found the source of the water and a scared little girl. The chair I stood on was made by my grandfather, who was a carpenter and I still have it.
through a snow storm. Reception was awful and for many years there was only one station. We sat in awe watching Muffin the Mule, a puppet horse on strings and a mad woman who played the piano and talked to said Muffin. Goodness! We were easily entertained. Muffin was followed by Bill and Ben, the Wooden Tops and Andy Pandy.
Kilbroney Park, Rostrevor
CHATTER 
