Any Other House

By Paul Lennon

Any Other House is an incredible true story of a family of nine living in a stone shack which had only two rooms. Set in County Derry, Northern Ireland, in the void 1950s–1970s, it tells of poverty, disease and isolation, and how the family survived against all odds. It covers the early part of the Northern Ireland civil war known as The Troubles. Any Other House is a pulsating read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528999779

Paul Lennon

The author of Any Other House is a prolific writer, having had books published in Ireland, USA and Canada. He lived for a period in The States and Canada. He has recited his work many times on stage and on radio, and has toured Europe and countries in Africa. Currently, he is involved with writers groups; writing is still his passion.

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Twenty-Two

About the Author

The author of Any Other House is a prolific writer, having had books published in Ireland, USA and Canada. He lived for a period in The States and Canada. He has recited his work many times on stage and on radio, and has toured Europe and countries in Africa. Currently, he is involved with writers groups; writing is still his passion.

Copyright Information ©

Paul Lennon (2021)

The right of Paul Lennon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528999762 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528999779 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Chapter One

You wouldn’t see it in any other house, my father complained to my mother, referring to the number of peas on his dinner plate or the scarcity of.

He would count each individual little green vegetable which he was given when Mum handed out the dinners to him and us children, before finally sitting down to eat her own.

Dinnertime was always busy in our house; it was the only time in which we all ate together. For, dinner Da peeled a big saucepan of potatoes, he started by placing a basin of home-grown spuds in water on the floor between his feet, he sat on one chair and a saucepan sat on a chair beside him.

His way of washing the potatoes was, rapidly moving his right hand clockwise and anticlockwise in the basin many times, the spuds made a rumbling sound while he was doing this as they spun around back and forth with speed in the basin. As Da peeled, the potato skins fell into the basin, and he threw each naked spud into the saucepan

When the potatoes were boiled and ready, Mum mashed them, adding in home grown scallions which she had cut into tiny pieces with a pair of scissors, and wads of butter, the result was delicious

Even though none of us were vegetarians we weren’t given any meat with the dinner, except maybe on Sunday, and even then, it was just mincemeat flattened out pancake shape and served in pieces not much bigger than a two-shilling coin. Da used to say, I’m ready for it, if it’s ready for me, and when he had his dinner eaten, he asked, Anymore of any more?

For a man as thin as a rake, he was sure a good eater, other food related sayings of his were, My belly thinks my throat is cut, which he uttered whenever he was hungry, and if he felt that Mum hadn’t dished him out enough food at a time, he complained, This wouldn’t fill a hole in your tooth, or, This wouldn’t make a mouse rift.

Mum used to say to him, Most people eat to live, but you live to eat. She could come up with some good sayings of her own.

There were certainly no leftovers in our house, plates were licked clean, we didn’t have a dishwasher but there was no need for one anyway.

Before we got the gas cooker, cooking was done on a brass three-legged stove, which used paraffin oil and was lit by dipping a pair of tongs into methylated spirits, then clipping them onto it and lighting them, they in turn lit the stove. Our small teapot had to be placed carefully upon the stove for fear of the teapot toppling over, and the big saucepan, if not carefully placed, could topple the stove itself.

Our other means of cooking was a big black Rayburn Royal solid fuel range, which burned turf and sticks, the fuel was thrown in at the top of the range through a circular hole after a heavy metal plate covering the hole was lifted. The range threw out a certain amount of heat, but ashes had to be taken out of it every morning and put into basins, buckets or even saucepans then dumped outside. Mum covered the basins, buckets or saucepans with sheets of newspapers before cleaning out the range.

She lifted one end of the paper just a little bit as she carefully placed each shovelful of ashes into the container, then fully covered the container again to prevent the ashes from raising up into the air and spreading all over the room. Every now and then soot had to be removed as well, and Mum used the same method then, it was a dirty messy job, but it had to be done, black hands and even a black face were washed afterwards.

Whenever there was a build-up of heat in the oven of the range, Mum made loaves of wheaten, plain, currant and treacle varieties, each loaf filled the baking tray, not all at the same time of course. The loaves didn’t get a chance to fully cool, as soon as Mum took them out of the oven, we were ready to eat them, and she couldn’t slice and butter them quick enough for our waiting watering hungry mouths.

Home, to us was a small stone house in the County Derry countryside, three miles from the nearest village, and six miles away from the nearest town.

To say the house was small is an understatement; it consisted of just two rooms, actually just one room with a thin wooden partition, which divided the cold damp bedroom from the other half of the house.

The kitchen/living room had a black wooden ceiling with two large wooden beams which went from front to back of the room; the beams were also black in colour.

There were three windows in the living room, two of which were small and could not open, the other one was a sash window, it could be opened by pushing the top half down or the bottom half up, although most of the year it was kept shut. In summer the temperature was warmer outside than inside, so the window was opened then to let the warm air in.

The bottom half of the window was covered by a thin net curtain hanging from a curtain wire, which was a long thin spring with a hook at each end.

The curtain was originally white, but time faded it resulting in the curtain turning cream then even a pale-yellow colour. The thick stone wall provided a deep windowsill, a set of patterned cloth curtains hung to the sides of the window One of the small windows was at the back of the room, it looked out at the field behind our house, and the other looked down the lane leading to our house, that window was at the gable it was beside the afore mentioned range.

The cement floor of the living room was uncovered, the bedroom did have lino on the floor and a sash window with net a curtain matching the other room. There was just about enough room in the bedroom for the beds and a small brown wooden wardrobe, in which hung only our parents clothes, the room didn’t have any heating even in the winter, nor did it have any light at night so it was cold and dark.

There was a small porch at the front of the house, one door led into the porch, and another led from the porch into the living room, the house had a total of three doors. A barn almost as big as the house stood to the left under the same slate roof, the barn housed turf which was cut in our own bog.

Our house didn’t have any electricity, even though there was an electricity pole in the field behind the dwelling, just yards away.

We didn’t have any running water either, our water supply came from a well which was situated down our steep little lane. The water was carried into the house in tin buckets which sat on a wooden bench just behind the living room door. Water for washing proposes came from a big round wooden barrel which sat outside, beside the front window, and caught rainwater running through the down pipe.

Whenever our well ran dry in the summertime, we had to carry water from another well which was up a long lane and across a field belonging to one of our neighbours; we had to climb over a barbed wire fence with the full buckets of water. Our farming neighbour thankfully never caught us stealing the water from his well; I wonder how he would have reacted had he done so. Another well we used in the dry spell of weather, was up a steep hilly road from our house, it was also a mile away and on the roadside, no wire to climb over or fields to be crossed, but the well belonged to another neighbour, and he, with his young family lived only yards further on up the road, so we were more likely to be caught stealing from that well.

A bucket which was full, when being hauled out of the well, was not much more than half full by the time we got back home, cause a certain amount of water was lost along the way as the buckets swayed while we carried them, thus water was spilled. But we were just glad to be back at the house with whatever amount remained in the buckets, glad to put those buckets down and rest our tired and sore arms, we each breathed a sigh of relief when the job was done, until the next time, and the next time came much too soon.

No words of thanks were sought, and none were given, however hard the effort, we had to do our part.

Our form of lighting was a Tilley lamp, which burned oil and had a mantle, the mantle emitted light when the lamp was lit, but it was fragile and unprotected from moths and other flies which flew around the lamp at night.

The lamp hung from a nail in one of the big wooden beams in the centre of the living room. The only light at night in the bedroom came via a small peephole in the wooden partition, through which a minuscule ray of light shone from the living room.

There were nine of us in total in our family, Mum, Da, five boys and two girls, cramped into a two roomed house. I was second in line age wise, the first four were, girl, boy, girl, boy, in that order, and then another three boys came along.

My older sister, Nula, was born in our grandparents, Mum’s parents, house, because when Mum and Da got married and started having a family, they didn’t have their own home, so they lived with Granny and Granda.

Mum had seven siblings, four sisters and three brothers, she was the eldest of the family and was the first to get married, she was just twenty-one years old when she wed. The family needed something to smile about, like a wedding, because they had known sad times, two sisters of my mother died at an early age. One was seventeen, TB took her, and the other girl was just fourteen when she lost her life, disease was rife in those days, Most of Mum’s family were still living at home when she got married. Her family home was a thatched cottage one and a half stories in size situated along a quiet country road.

As if the house wasn’t already crowded enough, it became even more so when Da joined in, and things became worse again with the arrival of Nula.

But there was still no sign of Da finding a house for his wife and daughter, he seemed to be contented with the way things were.

Granda , however, was not happy with the situation, so he decided that somehow, he would have to give his son-in-law a push.

My grandfather was a farmer, and when he became aware of a farm and house which were for sale, he saw that as being the answer to his problem.

Da though, didn’t have money with which to buy the property.

all his adult life, money and him never seemed to be going in the same direction, in other words, he had none.

He used to boast to us that his father was the first person in town to own a car, Da was a townie. I never met his parents, they both died before I was born, neither had seen half a century. Da’s father was the town registrar, he was responsible for keeping records of births, marriages and deaths.

He also had the authority to marry couples, his wife was his secretary and they were respected well-to-do people

Unfortunately, Da did not follow in his father’s footsteps, he didn’t have the brain power, and wasn’t ambitious. He was more interested in sport than having a career; he played for the town football club and cycled around Ireland with one of his brothers.

Once, he joined the Irish army between the two world wars but was discharged a short time later without having gained any promotion.

After leaving the army he went to England and found work there for a short while, before returning home where he got a job in the local food factory

It was while working in the factory that he met Mum, and years later he worked in a forest.

Like myself, he had four brothers and two sisters.

Mum did have money in the bank as a result of a cycling accident.

She was riding her bike from her parent’s house into town one day, to buy a dress, as she had been invited to a wedding.

While going down a hill on a winding narrow country road, she was in collision with a car travelling in the opposite direction. Mum was badly hurt as a result, receiving facial injuries, leaving her scarred for the rest of her life. The driver later admitted in court to being on the wrong side of the road the case went to a high court in Belfast. Mum had to take her badly smashed bicycle with her on a train to show as evidence, with the help of a city solicitor she successfully sued the driver, and was awarded a sum of money, so she had money in the bank. The accident occurred before I was born.

Many years before she got married, as the daughter of a farmer, she was forced to work on the family farm after leaving school early, she said that her parents put work ahead of education, they were strict parents and the going was tough for a girl still in her teens.

She escaped to England, where she worked in a chemist for a few years, and then she came back home and found employment in the food factory.

She had an office job in the factory, and became friendly with a tall dark handsome floor worker in the workplace, love blossomed, parents approval was sought and given, and one sunny summers day a wedding took place in a quiet village church, it was certainly a, till death do us part, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, kind of marriage . Granda put a bid in for the farm and house which were for sale, and his bid won, when he informed Mum, she didn’t have a choice but to buy the place with her money.

Chapter Two

Growing up in a house which had no electricity therefore no TV, meant we had to make our own entertainment. We played games like Tig, Blind man's bluff, Hide the button, Hide and go seek, and Musical chairs.

Whenever our parents went visiting neighbours, we used to play Buses, our own invention we were full of imagination.

To play Buses we lined up whatever chairs that there were in the house, one behind the other, I was the bus driver so I sat on the front chair, Nula was the bus conductor, collecting money from Joanne and little Seamus, he didn’t know what it was about but we got him to play anyway. Money was torn up pieces of paper. Nula was the bossy one as well as being the eldest, she liked to be in charge and to her, the bus conductor was the one in charge of the bus, that Buses game kept us going for a long time.

Joanne was the mischievous one, she used to wear a pair of Mum’s shoes when we were left on our own, the shoes were of course much too big for her little feet, but she’d trail them along the floor even though the shoes kept falling off.

Joanne also raided Mum’s make- up bag, and put make- up on her face, then placed one of mother’s wigs on her head, the wig would hide my younger sister’s laughing little face, we sure had fun when our parents went visiting.

On their ceili, our parents visited a pair of middle-aged brothers who lived together and had stayed single, they lived in a thatched cottage which had a hearth fireplace, crickets sang in the chimney. It was a two mile walk to the house, but that was no bother to Mum and Da, as they were setting out on their journey with the moon shining bright, my mother used to say, It’s a brae bright moonlit night and my father could be heard saying to her You gout and I’ll gafter ye, meaning, you go out and I’ll go after you. One of the brothers took a hand at cutting hair, well my father’s hair at least, so, as well as being entertained listening to the brothers spinning yarns in front the fire, Da got a haircut, but not a great one, after making a mistake, when the job was done, his amateur barber was known to say, You’ll not notice it in a week or so, but at least the haircut was free.

Despite being Catholics, we were sent to a Protestant school.

I suppose I should say that we went to the school, rather than being sent to it, because the school was only a stone throw away from our house.

Actually, our farm surrounded the little country school, although we didn't own the ground on which the building stood.

There was just one classroom in the school, two teachers taught there, one stood at one end of the room, teaching half of the pupils, and the other teacher did the same at the opposite end. The pupils sat on long wooden benches behind desks which each had an inkwell. For us to get to the school, we just had to go to the end of our short lane, cross the long lane, then stroll down through our meadow and walk in through the iron gate behind the school.

A high stone wall surrounded the school yard, at least it looked high to us as we were small, and when you are small everything looks big,

There was a shed in one corner of the yard behind the school, and at the other end the pupil’s toilets were situated, a porch lead into the school.

I found lessons boring, not being too clever, but I did