Author: terraviva

EPISODE 61   SUMMER 1960…SENT TO IRELAND TO SEE IF AN ANCIENT MINE COULD 

BE REOPENED.  

alan skeoch

June 7, 2020

       Too Long?  I know that.  Stick with me…the job will get interesting.

       I was 21 years old when I wrote this journal.  I am now 81.  Please  keep that in mind and try to imagine

       yourself at that age.  Dr. Norman Paterson, geophysicist with Hunting Technical and Exploration

      Services put a big responsibility on my shoulders.  The Irish contract…to see if  an ancient copper

      mine at Knockmahon, County Waterford, Southern Ireland, could be reopened.  Why me? Simple

      answer was the I knew how to operate the Turam, a sophisticated instrument in the search for

     copper mineralization.  I was just a kid…as you will see.  A lonely kid in Dublin.

     They gave me 200 pounds expense

    money never expecting I would have to live  in Dublin for 13 days.  But I managed…thanks to

    the Guinness Brewery, meat pies and the generosity of the Irish. I was lonely. I worried that I would cost

   the company too much so lived as frugally as possible. Some of the entries

    you will read may seem humdrum.  That’s because  you are no longer 21 years old.

This is my journal…the beginning  of a great adventure.

IN DUBLIN’S FAIR CITY

alan Skeoch

Journal June 1 to June 13, 1960

(No one predicted I would have a two week holiday in Dublin)

This is the ancient Knockmahon copper mine on the south coast of Ireland.  That

was my destination in 1960 but it would take 13 more days to get there. Meanwhile

I lived in Dublin.

Dublin, quite a city.  Circumstances prolonged my stay in Dublin so let me give you a short impression.

First thing is the city smells…Jacob’s cookie factory, Guinness 62 acre brewery, Tea shops and horses. The

smell is intoxicating.  The main street, O’Connell Street is wide and busy and for the most part happy in spite

of bullet holes deliberately left to remind Irish people of the ‘time of the troubles’.   The people are super

friendly…policemen who paid my bus fare, citizens who helped me find my way, and one family…the Behan’s,

who sort of adopted me.   Lots of pubs to visit.  Lots of meat pies and sweet rolls to eat.  Trees!! Lots of them

and a huge 700 acre park near the city centre.  Problems?  Of course.  Some obviously deranged people

here and there.  Violence?  Never had trouble except one incident that I foolishly precipitated myself.

To top the visit off, I was able to see The Quiet Man, the charming John Wayne, Maureen Ohara, and’

Barrie Fitzgerald movie about an Ireland that seemed mythical but turned out to be true.  Some Irish might

resent the stereotypes  but I thoroughly enjoyed them with no expectations they would be part of

my experience on the Bunmaahon job.  But so much happened that was similar.   Not that I  felt I

was  John Wayne.  I was however a North American stepping into a cultural milieu of which I was

unfamiliar.

MYJOURNAL:  I thought it was lost until by good fortune in April, 2018, I found it among some old  books in the cellar.  Quite amazing detail.

JUNE 1, 1960

Smooth flight across to Ireland with Air Lingus.  No one there to meet me so I can do whatever I please I guess.

Dublin is  a beautiful city with throngs  of people on OConnell Street.  Friendly.  Girls are very pretty.  Visited

the art gallery and then the museum like a normal  tourist.  Had to remind myself that I was not a tourist .

Found offices of Arbuckle – Smith and Company only to discover our Turam shipment had not arrived yet.

Called Barrie Nichols in Toronto to let him know there will be a delay then went shopping for shirt and shoes.

Supper was no good. Toured Gresham Green.  Called  Mrs.  Behan who  invited me out to their house 

tomorrow when Kevin Behan gets back from Italy. Very tired.  Fell to sleep three times during the day. Being

alone is not that enjoyable.  Need other people to make life really interesting but it looks like I will

be stuck here in Dublin for some time.  No point in heading south the County Waterford and  village of

Bunmahon without all our crates of instruments. Toured Gresham Green.

Huntec had booked  me into the high class Gresham Hotel expecting my stay in Dublin would be short.

But our crates of equipment did not arrive for nearly two weeks.  The Gresham was fancy and expensive

.  NO one told me the breakfasts were included in the room price.  I skipped breakfast

for a week to save the company money as my expense check was only 200 pounds…not enough

for me to stay at the Gresham so after a week I found a  cheap hotel in Clontarf, the Hollybrook, where

I seemed to be the only guest and the staff made it clear my breakfast as  included.  Even then by the

end of my stay in Dublin the money was  almost gone.

June 2, 1960

I woke up late so  skipped breakfast and walked to the Department of Justice to get my work clearance.  Had to prove I was doing

a job that nn Irish person could not do.  Lots of unemployment here.  Looks like my training on the Turan E.M. unit has put me in a

special  spot.  Few people know how to run it…and it is quite complicated…motor generator, base line a mile or so long, two receiving 

coils with 100 for separation,  a console, picketed lines running 3,000 feet from the base line at right angles, etc.  Had to explain

this  to an official.  Tough situation.  Never expected to be grilled.

        

After that I took a bus to the the Guinness Brewery at St. James Gate, Since I had no bus fare the chap beside me paid my fare.

Guinness is the national drink of Ireland, unless you are a non-drinker.  What a rare privilege to see this massive brewery in operation.

They even have big draught horses harnessed to wagons loaded with barrels of Guinness to be delivered to pubs in Dublin.  The smell

of the horses and the Guinness is wonderful to me.  The tour included a pile of Guinness post cards featuring men lifting bull dozers

or pulling beer wagons with the horses as passengers. Humourous.   And the end of the tour was best. We all got a full pint of Guinness…

my first.  I wasn’t to struck on the black liquid at first but soon overcame that problem.  Seems a tourist can have as much as he or she

wants but I stuck to one pint.  I should have eaten breakfast. Felt a bit woozy…warm and woozy.  Not staggering.

Ah, yes, Guinness is the national drink of Ireland… made from barley, hops, yeast and water.  That does not sound complicated.  

Why is the beer black?  Roasted barley rather than malted which makes a thick creamy head on the pint.

 The thickness of the head is achieved by passing the beer through

nitrogen…smaller bubbles result.  Guinness is so thick that each pint needs  time to settle.  

Is Guinness really ‘good for you’ as the advertising says on billboards across  Dublin?  Some call Guinness ‘a meal  in a cup’ …198 calories

per pint …less than a pint of milk.  Drinkers  of Guinness get an ‘enhanced feeling of well being’ , an advertising statement frowned

on by the government.  Created in 18th century by Arthur Guinness

and apparently one of the most consumed beers worldwide.  Guinness does seem to be good for drinkers though…lots of healthy 

antioxidants…like fruits and vegetables…slow deposit of bad  cholesterol on artery walls. Or so the story is told.  My ‘meal in cup’

certainly replaced breakfast and gave me an enhanced feeling that the world around me is good.  So there you have it…obviously

       I took the tour to heart.

This  is  high tea at the Gresham Hotel where I stayed for the first week.  I did not know

Breakfast was included in the room rate so  skipped  breakfast for that week.  Fancy

hotel but very unfriendly.

Bought some tomatoes  and meat pie to eat in my room while reading a book. Sort of lonely feeling…needed

a pint of Guinness I guess but afraid to go into a pub alone.  Not fear just felt being solitary would be uncomfortable.

Contacted a sign painter as Ministry of Justice insisted I have a road sign saying Danger in both English

and Irish.  This will take some time to do…will pay extra to get faster work done.  Decided to go back to

the Guinness factory , now have bus tokens, but found place closed.  Got some good pictures though.

I was startled by a crazy woman in middle of the cobbled street near St. James Gate.  She was covered in

blood while singing and dancing and jumping around.  Very sad.  She even relieved herself by lifting her skirt

and pissing without care.  Most on lookers did not stop…treated  her as if a normal situation.  I kept walking 

as well.  Returned to my room to finish off the meat pie.

Phoned down to The Kennedy’s to see if  gear had arrived.  No luck.  Our crew of three will be staying with

the Kennedy family in Bunmahon.  

Then I bought some flowers and took a bus to the Behan home.  Mrs. Behan poured tea and a little later

Kevin Behan came bursting on the scene.  He had just landed from Italy.  Grand fellow.  He took me to a

pub for another Guinness.  Driving back he tried to run over a ‘teddy boy’…or at least to scare him.  ‘Teddy

boy’s are street gang members I assume.    Then he drove me home to my hotel room.

I Was quite surprised at Kevin’s hatred of these Teddy Boys.  Seemed just like rock and roll kids to me…couple 

of my friends had the greased  down haircuts although most of them had brush cuts and  were not nearly as 

fancy  dressed as the Irish Teddy Boys who tried to wear the fancy clothing of Edwardian England.  Some Teddy

Boys did run in tough gangs though.   I think Kevin Behan’s hatred was triggered by the Notting Hill race Riots in

London where some 300 Teddy Boys targeted black people using iron bars and butcher knives.  That was really bad

but most Teddy Boys were just mild rebels like a lot of kids in my high school days back in Canada.  I kept my

mouth shut.  Maybe Kevin had a bad experience. To me those Teddy Boys and Teddy Girls wereThe kind of kids  that loved 

the movie Blackboard Jungle.  I did not tell Kevin that I skipped school one afternoon just to see the movie.

Gutless.

Teddy Boys, so names by their Edwardian dress, were seen as rebels.  Really they looked

much like the Rock and Roll kids so common in Canada  in 1950’s and 1960’s.

June 3, 1960

I woke up at 9 and made my so called breakfast…crumpets and Quosh, an orange  fizzy drink.  Then went to see Mr. O;brien about maps

and he in turn sent me to the Ordinance Survey Office in Phoenix Park.  What an immense place… with so many cattle I could

not count them.,,and a herd of wild deer that had been there since the 17th century Got maps of old mines in western part of County Waterford. 

Not sure they will be of any use at all. 

Spent rest of  day

walking through PhoenixPark. A bunch of soldiers were lawn bowling at one spot.  Then visited the Dublin Zoo.  Wish I hadn’t because 

when I put the lens of my camera  close to the monkey enclosure one big monkey jumped  at me with sexual intent.  

What generous people…an off duty policeman paid my fare back to my hotel.  Bought sausage rolls, buns and tomatoes

for my supper…alone in my room…saving company expenses.  Phoned  Mr. Timlin, our shipment of crates from Canada have arrived in Liverpool.  Went to a movie after which

I was cornered and badgered by a family of beggars on a side street…five them…really dirty.  Dangerous.  My nice feeling of independence is turning into

loneliness.  Wrote letter to Marjorie and went to bed.

Phoenix Park has large herd of semi wild deer that have been there from the 18th century

Streets of Dublin, in 1960, still had presence of horses.  This man was just leading four of them casually

down the street…note evidence of Horse manure indicating this was not an unusual sight.  a hundred years

ago these horses numbered in the thousands.  i.e. There were 100,000 horses  in London in 1850 and  Dublin

would have about the same.  Dung abounded.  Human escrement was eventually linked

        to outbreaks of  Cholera because water supply was contaminated with manure.

June 4, 1960

Got up late, very late…around noon.Went to bakeshop for my  breakfast (tomatoes, meat pie, crumpets). Spent most of the day absolutely bored.

Phoned  Kevin Behsn and went over to his house in the evening.  Their daughter Yvonne was very cute showing me her pictures.  Kevin and Mrs Behan

took me on the rounds of the local pubs.  Made me feel like home. One pub hd  a creek running through the middle of it, another pub was a castle…ended

evening in fish and chip  store.  I was startled to see so many Presbyterian churches in Dublin…thought all churches would be Catholic.  The I.R.A. had

a rally on O;Connell Street.   Met Joe Malone.  This is a strange summer…first prospecting job with so many people

around me.  Not the usual  wilderness  of black flies  and endless  boreal forest. All the Catholics I have met so far have been quite wonderful.

I expected hostility but found none so far.

June 5, 1960

Rose early and phoned Dr. John Stam in Holland. He will join me in Bunmahon once our crates get here.  Went to the Gresham  Green Unitarian Church

where Rev. Hicks was quite funny and very British.  Then he spoke about the absence of national Birth control as a cause of war… citing the Irish lady who had 24 children and 

her daughter who had 15.  I suppose that could be a criticism of Ireland’s Catholic majority and the church influence.  But I think his real point was that

overpopulation of planet earth would lead to the three horseman of the apocalypse…famine, plague and war.  

Caught a bus to Kevin and Ronnie’s house where Yvonne was very friendly crawling all over me.  Then we went for a very nice drive in the country.

Many old  castles.  Had ice cream. Mrs. Behan had a nice supper during which Yvonne gave me a carnation.  Yvonne is 6 or 7 years old.  Then Kevin

took me to a pub where we discussed the Irish Republican Army…kevin concluded that “the poison is being drawn out’.  But there are still machine guns

on the border.  I took a picture of the family.  Kevin informed me I would be wise to find a better hotel.  Why? Because my fancy hotel had never informed

me that Breakfast was included in the bill…I had been skipping breakfast or just having another meat pie just to save Huntec and Dr. Paterson some 

money.  My stupidity I guess.  Hotel was so high class  that nn one spoke to me at all.  ‘Snob hotel’

What wonderful people…Kevin and Ronnie Behan.  They sort of adopted me for my stay in Dublin.  Their oldest, Yvonne, was  really

a little charmer.  She was so glad to see me each visit that her greetings made me feel embarrassed.  The Behans made such

an impression that Marjorie and I named  our first born Kevin.

June 6, 1960

Today is a national holiday in Ireland.   Took a bus to Malahide and walked back to hotel.  A farmer struck up a conversation in which he said

“Irish people are the laziest people on the earth”…strange comment, perhaps  made as a joke or maybe to draw out an anti-Irish comment from me.

Got caught in deluge of rain while walking to Kevin’s house.  Soaked.  Yvonne and family very glad to see me.  Sincere.  Took a drive to the North Harbour

which was charming except for the fact some man committed suicide there.  Went to a pub then returned to the Behan  home for ’tea’ which  is a misnomer

for a full supper…then watched BBC television for a while before taking whole family to the movie ‘Who Was That Lady’

On Kevin’s advice I made plans to move to the Hollybrook Hotel in Clontarf…cheaper, friendly, with full breakfast.

Picked up a strange fact…Ireland has the lowest marriage rate in the world.

June 7, 1960

Received word  from McNabb and  Timins that the Ronka has arrived but no sign of the Turam.  Moved my bag to the Hollybrook Hotel

on the Howth Road … had  a nice pastoral setting and comfortable old pub kind of registration desk.  Decided to tour the Guinness  Brewery

again.  “Will you be wanting another pint, lad?” said  the man who joined the tour but did not drink.  “Temperance…call us Pioneers over here.”

Later I decided to line up at Dublin University to see the Book of Kells, an illustrated manuscript.  

The BOOK OF KELLS…

An unfortunate event happened while standing in line to see the Book of Kells.  Mostly my fault. I tapped the shoulder of the man in front of me and asked:

“Are you Irish?”

“No, Scottish…visiting.”

“Is this University secular?”

“What do  you mean by that?”…  he said  in rather angry manner

“I mean is it attached to the church or the state?”

“What do you mean by that?”…  he got more angry, I could not see why.

“Just wondered.”

“Are you Catholic?”… now he was really angry, perhaps disturbed. 

“Born Catholic but not so any more.”  Bad  comment on my part…a mistake…like waving a red flag in

front of a charging bull. 

At that remark the guy went wild.  Seemed to want a fight.  I decided best course of action was to get

the hell away from him but he followed me yelling who knows what for his accent was thick. A policeman

rescued me and advised I take a  long ride on the bus and  keep  away from throwaway comments about

religion.

Why did I say that remark…Why trigger animosity?  It was  a  mistake, of course, but I was thinking back

to the St. Skeoch legend.

 Our Skeoch relatives, ancient kind, were Catholic.  Most Scots were in the early centuries.  And there was 

a  connection with the Book of Kells and the Scottish Isle of Iona.  A misty connection…likely  false.  A connection even more ancient than

the 10th century Book of Kells.  At some point I had heard or read that St. Skeoch was one  of the 12 disciples

of St, Columba  when he left (fled?) Ireland  in the sixth century for the Scottish Island of  Iona.  At that time

the use of the term saint was loosely interpreted…i.e. without the approval  of Rome.  Was St. Skeoch one

of the twelve?  Rome had no records but there are places  in Scotland where this St. Skeoch is mentioned.

Maybe our family legend about the rescue of two boys on the Bloody fields of Bannockburn was true.  And

the St. Skeoch convent could have been a St. Skeoch monastery.   All perhaps nonsense since much relies

on hearsay.  All this was in my mind as lined up to see the Book of Kells.  Were our roots  as much Catholic

as Presbyterian. So there are the  roots of my throwaway  comment that I was  ‘born Catholic but gave it up.’

What was I really doing?  Just putting in time awaiting our high tech survey equipment.  The Book of

Kells was fascinating…a  masterpiece of art that survived the Viking raids.

The Book of Kells is one of the finest illustrated manuscripts in the world. 340 folio pages. Written in Latin and illustrated

 around 800 A.D.  when Most people could  not read.   Sometimes called the Book of Columba 

because St Columba and  subsequent Columban monks did much of the work between the sixth and ninth centuries.

Back to my Journal:  June 7, 1960

Bad weather barreling in from the sea.  Wrote a  letter to Barrie Nicholls and John Hogan.  Hogan is a geologist

representing our client. I am worried that the delay in equipment arrival will  cost the  project a lot of money.

Maye I am the only one worried…hope so . Hotel resident  Joe and Moira invited me to have a drink with them

which made for a perfect evening.

June 8, 1960

Arose late after the party last night with Joe and Moira.  Went downtown and bought field books, electric tape and signs

to alert local people to dangers of our project, particularly the base line wire and generator.  Surprised when a  cyclist

fell off his bike into the Liffey canal.  Ambulance came fast. The German sailors and officers from the Graf Spee are

in  Dublin. Since I am the only guest in the Hollybrook Hotel I feel like the lord of this ancient manor house and get

treated as such.  Nice. The expense money if going awfully fast.

John Hogan made a surprise arrival so we finally got to discuss the project.  I phoned Mrs. Behan and then went to  show

and a dance with John Hogan.  One girl at the dance must have crossed herself 40 times while praising the I.R.A.

An interesting evening.  Washed my clothes and went to bed.

June 9, 1960

UP early and had first breakfast wince I arrived in Ireland…hotel dining room.

Sent most of the gear with John Hogan who was driving down to Bummahon … the project site in western

part of County Waterford… Gave Mr. O’Brien a quick briefing the Turam operation.  Checked with Arbuckle but

Turam has still not arrived.  

John Hogan and I toured the Guinness Brewery … my third visit.  Then we had a lousy meal at the Temperance

Hotel. Then visited head office of Irish National Sweepstakes and bought 5 shillings tickets for Marjorie.  Walked

back to hotel then walked to the Behan home where kids were really cute.  Yvonne and Denise kept bringing me

corn flakes on the dog’s plate.  Yvonne  seems to like my lap.  Other kids Anella  and Murial also cute.  Then Kevin.

Ronnie (Mrs. Behan) went to Houth for a drink.  A drunk woman was entertaining if a little pathetic.  Ronnie ironed

my shirt afterwards then Kevin drove me back to the Hollybrook.

June 10, 1960

Had  big breakfast … bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes….topped off with a rack of cold toast and marmalade.  What should

I do for the rest of the day now that John Hogan has gone south?  Tour!  Dublin is a  city of wonderful smells.  Guinness

Brewery covers  over 60 acres making lots of beer.  But there is also a strong smell of cookies being baked at the Jacobs

factory.  So I followed my nose and had a tour.  250 employees mostly girls who gave me plenty of attention…including

whistling and touching.  Good time if a bit intimidating.  

The Quiet Man is great entertainment…surprised me that much of the 1920 Irish stereotypes turned  out to be real in our little world  of Bunmahon in 1960.

The Dark Time of the Tourbles was downplayed.

“Alan, do not miss the chance to see “The Quiet Man” while here in Ireland,” said Kevin and  Yvonne Behan.

So I went alone to see the film featuring John Wayne, Maureen Ohara and Barrie Fitzgerald.  What a grand movie.

My work site in Bunmahon could not possibly be as joyful and humorous as the movie but I wish it were so.

Dublin has an under class.  I noticed  and felt sorry for an old one-eyed woman who was  having bread snd tea while

I had a steak with all the trimmings.

I am picking up the Irish lingo.  Today  was described as a ‘soft’ day which means it was pouring rain.

Got an urgent message from Arbuckle, Smith and Company saying the crates had not arrived in Liverpool yet. What the

hell is going on?  They told me the crates were there the other day.

June 11, 1960

Getting better sleep now that I am having big breakfast.  Afterwards I went down to Arbuckle to pick up the part of shipment

that has arrived…i.e. the Ronka E.M. unit.  I will take it south on Monday. Sent telegram to Dr. Stam in Amsterdam and wrote

a long letter to Barrie Nichols in Canada.  My money is very short…less than 20 pounds left. Kevin asked me up to tea (i.e.supper

in Irish lingo) then Kevin took Ronnie and me to movie “Once More with Feeling” (no  good). After we took girls home Kevin took

me to meet his mother snd father…all  are in the car business.

June  12, 1960

Wind is blowing from the sea…smashing windows.  I walked to Clontarf Presbyterian Church where Rev. Moore greeted me warmly

and  asked me to join him for s few minutes in the vestry  Guest speaker was a methodist, Rev. Livingston who spoke about ‘Happy 

Harry the Hare” which sounded weird at first but made sense in the end. 

Then another day with the Behan family.  I would not intrude normally but they really made me feel so welcome that to refuse

would  be an insult.  Ronnie prepared another great meal. Yvonne was full of beans as usual…crawling all over me.  We drove

to Houth and stopped at Claremont for a couple of draughts of Guinness…back for ‘tea’ and then to the movie ‘sweet smell of success’

This was my last day in Dublin.  Sad farewell to the Behan family.

Brendon Behan and  Kevin Behan were not related.  Two very different people who shared one common wonderful trait.  They loved  people and

an afternoon in their company was an  honour.  

Kevin Behan was my host for the Dublin interlude.  He and his family opened their hearts  and doors to me.  I cannot explain why they did this except to say

the they loved people, loved Ireland and waned to share this love with a young 21 year old  kid like me.  One result was the naming of our first born child, Kevin,

in honour of Kevin Behan.  Sadly, we never told that to the Behan family.

Brendon Behan

Brendon Behan was a man of the 1950’s snd 1960’s.  He had strong opinions even as a teen ager joining

the Irish Republican Army at 14 years of age.  He was an ardent republican. Regarded the English

monarchy with disdain.  That said, he became very popular and his quick wit amused not just the Dublin Irish 

but the literary world in general.   His most famous play is titled “The Quare Fellow” which is set

in a  prison in the heart of Dublin.  “Quare” is Irish for “Queer.”   Brendon  Behan’s one liners

were quoted again and again by people with both a sense of humour and a knowledge that there

is a dark side to the human condition.

“I am a drinker with writing problems.”

“Ah, bless you sister, may all your children be bishops.”

“When I came back to Dublin I was court mortised in my absence

and sentenced to death in my absence

So I said they could shoot me in my absence.”

“There  is no such thing as bad publicity

Except your own obituary.”

“The most important things to do in the world are to

get something to eat

get something to drink

and get someone to love you.”

Monday June 13  LAST DAY IN DUBLIN

How can I best describe this day?   Like a dam that has suddenly broken free…like  A clock that is out of control  and time spins free …like a race begun once the gun is fired.

Suddenly everything speeded up and I would be gone before the sun set.

This was  be my last day in Dublin.  I did not know that.  I did not know that events would move so fast that by evening I would be in the villsge

of Bunmahon nestled  in an ancient place with the ruins of the Knockmahon mine brooding black and foreboding as the sun set.

        

My first view of Knockmahon where i would have adventures not forgotten in 60 years.

Events of that fine Dublin day:

Began packing at 8.30…then phoned Arbuckle…our shipment had arrived. Dr. Stam coming by air…Hogan ready to pick us up in Waterford.

time to get s haircut then caught bus to the airport…watched  KLM flight land and Dr. John  Stam cleared  customs. Briefed  him on Irish  officials I had

met…back to hotel for dinner and beer. Back to American Express…then over to see Mr. O’brien.  Took luggage to train station…first class tickets to Waterford

where John Hogan met us with his Fiat…drove to Bunmahon on the edge of the sea..passed the ruins of the Knockmahon mine standing alone on the

edge of steep cliffs that fell down to the sea.  Empty.  No  houses.  No  living things.  Then road  dipped down to the Mahon River and the village of Bunmahon

where we were to be based for the duration of the survey.  Met Mrs. Kennedy who would be our landlady and Irish ‘manageress’ … an expert on the inner

workings of this sliver of Irish  society.  Very Catholic…My room has three Christian statues and  a large picture of  Jesus with his heart showing…hangs above my bed.

Surprised to get my mail…letters from Marjorie and  some.  Jan Stam said he was pleased with my handling of the situation.  He would  be in charge from now 

on and would do the interpretation of the notes from my field book each day.  John Hogan was a geologist and the Denison Mines company.  Three of us.  But

many more will be hired.  Eventually I hired the whole village.  More of that later.

“

alan skeoch

June 4, 3030

I have  done  my share  of stupid things so far but one

of the worst was on the prospecting job on the tundra of  western Alaska

in the summer of 1959.

We  had a day with not much to do for some reason or other.

Our camp consisted of a line of dark tents, a cook shack, and

two S52 (Sikorsky) helicopters.  We had lots of  daylight…sun

never really got far below the horizon.   We were a hundred of so

miles  inland from the Bering Sea…even more distant

was the Aleutian Island chain where the Japanese had faked an

invasion  of North America.   This remans an empty land.  Startling.

Fascinating.

This  is  Alaska…flat tundra for hundreds of miles, but occasionally cut by river and  creek valleys which you can see in the distance.

Thousands and thousands of years ago when the climate was colder, great hulking Mastodons and even larger  Mammoths   lumbered

across the land bridge that is now the Bering Sea because the seas were lower around the world and the ice caps of the globe

were larger.  It was thoughts like this that drew me to the tundra.  Historic.  No, Prehistoric.

TUNDRA

Tundra as far as the eye could see in any direction.  Very hard to get

lost I reasoned even if 30 miles or more away from camp.

So I grabbed A good book…I think it was Steinbeck’s East 

of Eden.  Then waited for the lead pilot to greet us like

he did every morning with his cheerful “Let’s Get Fucking Airborne”

One helicopter began the slow  “Whomp…Whomp…Whomp”

Then got up to speed.

“Can you drop me out on the tundra?”

“Sure…no equipment , how come?”

“Not needed today.”

I jumped in over the pontoon and we were airborne heading

north west.  Eventually the S52 would swing due west towards

the Bering Sea where we had a fuel drop.  Forty Five gallon drums

of Diesel.

It was a beaUtiful day around  mid-August.  The bugs were not nearly

as bad by then because  the birds had been feasting for months on the

little bastards.  So many birds nested in the tundra that we had to be

careful walking.

“Drop me here’” About 20 or 25 miles from camp.   It would  be

very hard to get lost since we could see great distances on the flat

treeless tundra.

My plan was simple.  I would find a nice folded slope on the tundra and tuck

myself into a depression…out of the wind…then spend a couple of hours

reading Steinbeck before walking back to camp.  That would take  a full

day…and  be delightful.   The Humble Oil Company of Texas to whom we

were subcontracted had armed us with big 30-06 rifles but we never felt

the need to carry a rifle on the open tundra so we stacked the rifles at

the helcopter drop sites.   This day I did  not even take the rifle. Too damn

heavy.

All worked  out quite well for an hour or two.  Then I got a bit worried. Suppose

a Kodiak bear did  happen to be crossing this great expanse of flat land.

It would get my smell I supposed and maybe want to check me out.  What the hell

could I do?   Climb a tree?  That’s a laugh.  

The only trees were down in the creek and river valleys that criss crossed the vast

flatness of the tundra.    Those valleys and creek bottoms were Kodiak country because

they had easy access to thousands  of big salmon heading up river to spawn.  And there

were lots of dead salmon floating down.  Up top on the tundra I felt safe.   Safe?  Felt

safe until I realized I was  all alone.  Alone!  No one even knew I was out here.  I had

walked miles  from the drop site.  I was alone.

That’s my partner Bill Morrisson, doing some fishing down in a creek bottom near our camp.  These deep incisions in the

tundra are where the Kodiak bears feast on salmon.  Around camp we were safe as there were so many guns.  Thirty men armed with 

rifles and pistols.  Disgusting.  In Canada, geophysical prospectors like us never carried  weapons. “Why are we not armed?”, I asked

on one  job.  “No guns for good reason…so we cannot shoot each other”.  In ten years prospecting this  was the only job

where there were guns.   

I had  been told  that the bears stay away from humans because we smell bad.

Hope that was true.  Must be true.  No bath for weeks except occasional dip

in tundra meltwater pools.

Then my mind shifted from Steinbeck to Kodiak bears   When alone, the mind

plays tricks…fears grow.  I decided

it might be best to start the journey back to camp which  was miles

away but visible.

The two big Sikorskys seemed busy for I could see them flying back

and forth far in the distance.   One even flew near me but I would be invisible

in my military bush  clothing.  And I did  not want to bother them.

To get back to camp I had to cross a couple of small creeks that were cut

into the tundra but no big river.   There was  some brush which made me a  little

nervous but not enough to raise the hackles  on my neck.

I  got back to camp.  And there was trouble.  “Where the he’ll have you been?”

“We found you missing.”  “Sent out the S-52’s”  “Heard you were dropped somewhere”

My partner, Bill Morrisson, sitting with feet dangling from a Sikorsky helicopter.  Doing what he must have done

the day I decided  to go for a long walk with a good book.  “Why the hell did you do that..got me worried sick.”

“Just reading a book?”

“Well, you are a goddamned fool.”

(True)

Those lectures were nearly as bad as  my slow awareness that spending a few hours

nestled in the trackless wilderness may not have been a good idea.

This story may  seem inconsequential.  Minor blip in life’s journey.  But I think of

it often.  

alan  skeoch

June 5, 2020

And so it ended.  I was chastised by everyone.  Then the whole incident was forgotten as the sun circled along

the horizon and then popped up again.   And the Sikorsky went to sleep.

alan skeoch

June 2020

(western Alaska, about 100 miles  inland from Dillingham, an mostly aboriginal

village, town, on the coast of the Bering Sea.)

Employed by Dr. Norman Paterson

Hunting Technical  and Exploration Services

-Canadian arew —Bill Morrison, Moe Chinery, Dr. John Stam, 

Don Van Every, Ian Rutherford, and  Alan Skeoch

-along with 25 American  diamond  drillers.

EPISODE 58    EUROPE ON FIVE DOLLARS A DAY…WE TRIED IT N 1965

alan skeoch

June 2020

I think…no,  I know…the author of EUROPE ON FIVE DOLLARS A DAY…expected us to live like the monks of Ireland once

lived in these stone houses on the West Coast of Ireland, called  the Dingle.  At times our trip to Europe came close to

this kind of existence.

alan skeoch

June 2020

We  were new teachers.  Eric and I taught at

Parkdale C.I.,  while Marjorie taught at Emery Junior

High.  Salary around $6,000 per year.   

There was a book written around 1960 titled “Europe

on $5 a day.”.  In  1965,  Marjorie, my brother Eric and I

decided to give it  a try.  Well, we did it…a whole series

of adventures that might interest readers.  I know it is

ego driven but some of the adventures were universal

like the chilling visit to Dachau and the rescue of a rabbit afflicted

with the poison Mixamatosis and the discovery we could

live on Bulmer’s apple cider and cheese and bread.

Marjorie was a great sport about the whole thing.

She could take the privations and enjoy the adventures.

My brother, Eric, refused to go 50/50 on the expenses which

meant I had to pay 2/3 which I now know was reasonable.

Marjorie was a little disturbed on one day when we did  not

eat at all while crammed into a sleeping car in bunks

that were stacked so  tight that there was little room to breath.

A few choice adventures selected below.    Just keep in mind

that we were all in our 20’s.  I was 27…Marjorie and Eric were 25.

I hope readers can remember those years.  Otherwise you might be

offended.  We were young and foolish and enjoyed life to the fullest.

 Ireland first and last.  We landed at Shannon, west coast of Ireland and headed

south to Bunmahon, the mining village in which I worked five years earlier.

This was our world tour.  Some readers might think the memory would

record great events.  My memory only records small events.

1) CRAWLING THROUGH AN ANCIENT MINE…KNOCKMAHON

“There are ancient adits on the cliff face…we can crawl through them.”

“What’s an adit?”

“A hole punched through to help ventilate the mine.”

“How big a hole?”

“Big enough for us to walk stooped over but in some places

we will have to crawl on our stomachs.”

“Dangerous?”

“Suppose so.  Air is the big danger…running out of air I mean.  When  Barney and

I crawled through these adits we took a candle.   If he candle would not light,

we got the hell out.”

‘What about collapse?”

“Unlikely.  Weak spots would  have collapsed  by now…last used as  a  

mine 100 year ago.”

“Why are we doing this?”

“Just for fun…we will only crawl in a  short way…to the big shaft which

has filled with water from the ocean.  The miners tunnelled out a fair 

distane under the ocean.   They had pumps  to remove the seepage.:

“Alan, this is stupid… I want out.”

“Eric and  I will just crawl a little further…meet out the seashore in 

half hour or less.”

“Stupid thing to do.”

“must admit you are right.”

“Here we are out, Marjorie.  What is that god  awful stink?”

“What  stink?””

“Marjorie  one of those huge rocks where you are waiting is not

a rock…it’s a dead pig that floated in or fell off the cliff.  Bloated.”

“Let’s get out of here”

(And so we did.  Since then the Knockmahon mine has become a tourist spot 

on the Irish South coast called the Copper Trail.  Tours of the inside of the mine

can be arranged using the old  shaft entranceways rather than the adits. I imagine

what we did, is  now forbidden.)

at farm.

We  were new teachers.  Eric and I taught at

Parkdale C.I.,  while Marjorie taught at Emery Junior

High.  Salary around $6,000 per year.   

There was a book written around 1960 titled “Europe

on $5 a day.”.  In  1965,  Marjorie, my brother Eric and I

decided to give it  a try.  Well, we did it…a whole series

of adventures that might interest readers.  I know it is

ego driven but some of the adventures were universal

like the chilling visit to Dachau and the rescue of a rabbit afflicted

with the poison Mixamatosis and the discovery we cold

live on Bulmer’s apple cider and cheese and bread.

Marjorie was a great sport about the whole thing.

She could take the privations and enjoy the adventures.

My brother, Eric, refused to go 50/50 on the expenses which

meant I had to pay 2/3 which I now know was reasonable.

Marjorie was a little disturbed on one day when we did  not

eat at all while crammed into a sleeping car in bunks

that were stacked so  tight that there was little room to breath.

One anecdote with picture.  

In London we visited an antique market where

a British crook offered us  derby hats recently’stolen

no doubt.  Mine had Harold McMillans initials.

We became Toffs (I think that is the word).

This story will be done in a point by point form…just to remove chance of

boredom.

But it may not come today. So use this as an introduction.

alan