Mary’s Garden (By Joe Stagg Sr

than I could adequately portray. By means of proficient, evocative and empathetic observations of the people, places and the relationships that illuminated their pathways through this world, Jack and Mary have proven their worth as storytellers. Without a hint of bombast, Jack, like St. Paul of Tarsus, calmly indicates that he was “a citizen of no mean city” i.e. Moate, Co. Westmeath, in two essays. (Issue 18, pages 10 & 11 and Issue 20 on pages 5 & 6). It is evident that Jack’s interest in culture and heritage was well matured before he reached Ballymote in 1947. Jack’s subsequent visit to the National Museum and his fruitless quest for the Ballinderry boat is a fascinating tale in itself. (Issue 34, page 56). His “Train of Memories” article powerfully and succinctly describes the positive effect that the railway and the train station exerted on the economic life of Ballymote and its hinterland while he worked there. (Issue 31, page 4).

Mary Martin’s “A Country School in the 1930’s” is a gem of local life that myriads of pupils experienced, but just a minority with the intuitive composition skill of this author, could appropriately describe. Coolbock School may have stood by a quiet country road but Mary’s account of her native townland is coloured by her keen eye and her consuming interest in the neighbourhood. (Issue 43, pages 57 & 58).

South-East Sligo’s first venture into second level education is suitably described in Mary’s second article “Going to the Tech”. The traumatic transition of a young girl from a tworoom rural school to the new Ceard Scoil in Ballymote is accurately narrated with a high degree of enthusiasm, warmth, humour and pride, emanating from the fact that the influences that inspired her own dressmaking career were found here. With the prisoner of war’s mother Mrs. Thompson as her favourite teacher, Mary soon became absorbed by Home Economics, an interest that eventually beckoned her into the dressmaking business. (Issue 32, page 14).

Recycling was central to the account that Mary accentuated in her article entitled “Travellers Past and Present”. (Issue 12, pages 14 & 15). The youthful and settled Carrownanty couple’s car seat couch that found its way to the travellers’ camp, to be paid for with two exquisitely crafted tin mugs, the tin cans in many homes that were repaired by the skilled hands of the travelling men, the padded and covered butter-boxes as corner seats, ‘the dropeens of milk and saucers of flour’ willingly donated by the local people to the women of the road, are all depicted with nostalgia. Mary recalled that the King John McDonagh and his royal wife in a plaid skirt and shawl were widely respected. Relations between the people of the town, the country and the road were amicable in bygone days. Mary wrote under her Irish name Máire Bn.Uí Mháirtín.

I wish to conclude with some lines from a prayerful poem composed by Bernie Martin, a daughter of Jack and Mary. (Issue 44, page 33). The sentiments expressed here were clearly inspired by the devout, sharing and caring atmosphere prevalent in the Martin home.

Dear Lord protect the lonely, The fearful, sad and lost. Give them strength, Where strength is needed, And friends to help them Bear their cross. Give each one, two arms to turn to When despair is close at hand, And a kindly soul to share our life with As we struggle through this land.

I am extremely grateful to John and other members of the Martin family who provided such vital and wide-ranging information so as to acknowledge the generous services provided by Jack and Mary while they lived among us.

By Joe Stagg Sr

The bare brown earth on a winter’s day Seems now one hundred years away And January skies were dark and grey When the leaves she started raking.

And the snow and the wind with strength did blow From the lands of ice and Eskimo, But the little small snowdrops were all aglow In her garden in the making.

Around in a ring the sweet pea lay Asleep in a bed of rich brown clay To grow and blossom on a bright June day, All the white, and pink, and blue.

And the pansies opened their purple eyes, Looking round for the sun in the skies. Down through the buddlea the butterfly flies And she watches the summer day through.

Deora Dia – God’s own tear Will weep the dew when morning’s here With children’s children always near To garland the flowers she grew.

Still October’s gold sunbeams Will kiss that patch where beauty gleams. She’ll smile upon her work of dreams And God will be smiling too.

A tribute to his recently deceased wife by the late Joe Stagg Sr. of Palmerstown, Co. Dublin. Joe and Mary were the parents of Joe Stagg Jr. Pearse Road, Ballymote.