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             The Orb by Gordon O'Sullivan Birdsong by Gill Baldwin A memory by Mary Brennan    |
 Writers' GalleryTo help with character development, we created a small village , mapped and described each dwelling. Then each participant put inhabitants into one house. later we encouraged our characters to interact. This exercise had the effect of evoking real memories in some of the writers. This is an extract from one response.A memory “Mr Brewster to you”, my father said sternly when I addressed my friend as Jim. This Mr. Brewster and his two brothers, Adam and Jack were my friends, I was ten years old. These men had a garage in our local village. On the outside it was merely a garage, where cars and trucks were mended, but inside it was a hive of various activities. Jack the mathematician, a former university professor now turned mechanic, was interested in all aspects of mathematics. The students attending the Latin School now know as the Community College all came by to Jack to ask his help with th?ir problems and to take some difficult questions to the head teacher with whom there was an ongoing battle for 'topdog'. Jim, Mr. Brewster to me, was a wonderful cook. Everyday at around 2 p.m. he left the garage and travelled the short distance to their house, where he prepared a sumptuous meal. His brothers would then close the garage at 3 p.m. and go home for their main meal of the day, in fact apart from breakfast; this seemed to be the only meal. They would return around 5 p.m. and the garage remained open until 11 p.m., winter and summer. Adam was the only one who didn't seem to have any other side apart from fixing cars that was until you dug deep and observed his kindly nature to us children. He was like a kindly uncle to us all, always having time to stop and chat. When we played cars, driving down to the village with our saucepan lids as steering wheel, he would stop whatever he was doing, come down to the petrol pump and “fill each car with petrol”. He would then take note of our various stones, representing tax and insurance, and of course he was also paid with stones. There might be five or six of us requiring a fill, and this would take up his precious time but he never complained. In the evening the men from the village, those who did not frequent the pub, spent the time gathering stories and telling stories, no television then to interrupt the flow of good conversation. Growing up in a village in the late 50's and early 60s' is a lot different to now. There were numerous tradespeople in the village. My uncle and my grandfather before him were the local blacksmiths together with another family at the other end of the village. We also had a saddler, where my inquisitive mind brought me most days. I could sit for hours watching Mr. Gilpin make saddles, repair damaged ones and shine the brasses. I can still smell the leather and enjoyed collecting the pieces off the floor. I still love the smell of leather. Dressmaking was a very important part of my childhood. As I grew older and went to post primary school, I enjoyed making my own clothes. This love of dressmaking I had picked up while I watched the Arnold ladies most days on the way from primary school.. These two ladies also operated a hairdressing salon, I can still see the steel clips used to gve perms and smell the burnt hair, these clips had to be heated up some way before being applied to the head. My brother had the smallest teddy bear you ever saw. He came and went to school everyday with him. Teddy was the worse for wear when my brother decided to ask the ladies to make him a suit .He called everyday for weeks until at last the suit in a beautiful green cotton was produced, what patience these women had. The tailor was another haunt of mine, Jack sat cross legged on his big table, we played with cut off pieces of cloth and I loved to fray away at the threads. Jack worked from morning until late evening and sometimes if you were lucky and called when he was having his tea you would get a slice of loaf bread with sugar sprinkled on the top, loaf bread was a luxury to me because my mother baked all her own bread. In the village there was also what we called the “workshop”. Here church furniture and church seating was made and then transported to churches all over England. Many priests from our parish were ministering in England and when they wtre refurbishing their churches, they placed their order in the “workshop” where they were assured of a high standard of workmanship. by Mary Brennan |