Alan Skeoch

Year: 2019

  • SEQUEL..Re: The GRAVE STARTLED ME…WHY WAS private Toghill buried HERE IN 1916?

    My fellow teacher at Parkdale solved the mystery big time.
    Hi Al -hope you’re having a great trip. I have been able to access Pvt. Toghill’s records on line, through the Virtual War Memorial and through Library and Archives Canada. William Thomas Toghill was wounded in action 9-9-16…suffering from a gunshot wound to the head and shell shock. He was treated in various hospitals but died of his wounds at the West life Hospital in Folkestone. The records indicate that he was born in London (1889) and that he was buried in St. Pancreas cemetery. His next of kin was his wife Mary, living in Montreal. There is a photo of him and of the stone on the VWM site. Hope this is of interest -Pvt. Toghill was probably buried near where he lived in London. So many lives lost, so many terrible stories…makes me think of the Irish tune The Green Fields of France. Talk soon! Bon voyage! Jack
    > On Jun 5, 2019, at 12:42 PM, SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com> wrote: > > FORGOTTEN GRAVE > > alan skeoch > June 6, 2019 > > “Strange grave…no, it is a startling grave. What is this grave doing here?” > > > > > Every time I visit London, I take a long walk in Coldfall Wood. The forest has been here for at least 400 years dominated by trees so large > and ancient that the sunshine cannot reach the forest floor. Huge oak trees dominate the skyline with hundreds of Hornebeam trees filling in > the canopy. As a result the forest is delightfully open except where foresters have used chain saws to get a little light to the forest floor. > Coldfall Wood is not my only reason to be here. Besides the Wood is an ancient graveyard with old gravestones all askew because no one seems to care > about this graveyard. No grass is cut. No shrub is pruned. No gravestone is straightened. No strangling tangle of holly is removed. With the > result that this huge graveyard near East Finchley, North London, seems forgotten. Deliberately so. The decision to let the graveyard > become a tangled garden of wild plant and home for small wild creatures was deliberate. > > There are trails that wave randomly through the graveyard. Foot paths taken by a few dog walkers and perhaps a derelict or two looking > for a place to sleep. A hiding place. Some young Lodoners have built a tree fort high high in the branches of one immense bech tree…room > enough for a two storey structure of broken pallets. The fort is as hidden as the graves. > > On this visit, perhaps my tenth, I decided to walk along a very overgrown path. Had to push my way through a dense Holly grove. “What is that? > Looks recent, a grave not festooned with wild plants.” … “Something familiar about the grave…looks like the thousands of similar gravestones > in France. An incised Maple Leaf.” Easy to read the stone… grave of Prvate W. T. > Toghill, 13th battalion, Canadian Infantry, buried here on November 16, 1916. He was 33 ;years old. > > Someone knows that private Toghill is buried here. The stone has been in place for 103 years and yet it has no ivy, no tree roots crossing > the place where Private #132310 lies. But why is he not buried with other Canadians in the special graves of soldiers killed in World War I. > > And I wonder who keeps this grave so clear. > > alan skeoch > June 2019 > > > > > > >

  • The GRAVE STARTLED ME…WHY WAS private Toghill buried HERE IN 1916?

    FORGOTTEN GRAVE


    alan skeoch
    June 6, 2019

    “Strange grave…no, it is a startling grave. What is this grave doing here?”



    Every time I visit London, I take a long walk in Coldfall Wood.   The forest has been here for at least 400 years dominated by trees so large
    and ancient that the sunshine cannot reach the forest floor.  Huge oak trees dominate the skyline with hundreds of Hornebeam trees  filling in 
    the canopy.  As a  result the forest is delightfully open except where foresters have used chain saws to get a little light to the forest floor.
    Coldfall Wood is not my only reason to be here.   Besides the Wood is an ancient graveyard with old gravestones all askew because no one seems to care
    about this graveyard.  No grass  is cut.  No shrub is pruned.  No gravestone is straightened.  No strangling tangle of holly is removed.  With the
    result that this huge graveyard  near East Finchley, North London, seems forgotten.  Deliberately so.  The decision to let the graveyard
    become a tangled garden of wild plant and home for small wild creatures was deliberate.  

    There are trails that wave randomly through the graveyard.  Foot paths taken by a few dog walkers and perhaps a derelict or two looking
    for a place to sleep.   A hiding place.  Some young Lodoners have built a tree fort high high in the branches of one immense bech tree…room
    enough for a two storey structure of broken pallets.   The fort is as hidden as the graves.

    On this visit, perhaps my tenth, I decided to walk along a very overgrown path.  Had to push my way through a dense Holly grove.  “What is that?
    Looks recent, a grave not festooned with wild plants.” … “Something familiar about the grave…looks  like the thousands of similar gravestones
    in France.  An incised Maple Leaf.”   Easy to read the stone… grave of Prvate W. T.
    Toghill, 13th battalion, Canadian Infantry, buried here on November 16, 1916.   He was 33 ;years old.

    Someone knows that private Toghill is buried here.   The stone has been in place for 103 years and yet it has no ivy, no tree roots crossing
    the place where Private #132310 lies.  But why is he not buried with other Canadians in the special graves of soldiers killed in World War I.

    And I wonder who keeps this  grave so clear.

    alan skeoch
    June 2019






     

  • THE UNFORGETTABLE SUMMER OF 1960…BUNMAHON (MAIN COPY PART ONE)

    NOTE:  THIS IS  JUST A ROUGH INTRO TO BUNMAHON FROM MY OLD  JOURNAL…NEEDS TO BE POLISHED…HOPE MY BOSS DR. NORM PATTERSON
    IS NOT OFFENDED.  WE HAD A LOT OF TROUBLE ON THIS JOB. THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS.


    THE UNFORGETTABLE SUMMER OF 1960…BUNMAHON


    alan skeoch
    May 2019


    Flying in to Ireland in 1960 was like flying back into time.  Wonderful…spellbinding.
    This  piece  of the story covers  my first month on the job in the tiny village
    of Bunmahon.   it was not always a village. At one point in the 19th cetury the 
    population exceeded 2,000.  In 1960, when we arrived the population was 200 at 
    best and  likely less than that,  Many were unemployed  and glad to see us.
    There was high hope that the ancient copper mine could  be reopened.  Our
    survey would help make that decision.






    Tuesday June 14, 1960



    At last our crates  of equipment have arrived in Bunmahon.  Long trip by rail then ship  to Liverpool, then trans shipped
    to Dublin and finally put on train to Waterford  then by truck to Bunmahon.  That trip took nearly a  month, two weeks
    of which I spent in Dublin trying to expedite things.  No matter. No surprise really.  The good thing is that  we are now ready
    to get the survey underway which means the pressure on me will increase exponentially.   I think I am ready.






    HISTORY OF KNOCKMAHON COPPER MINE and TANKARDSTOWN COPPER MINE, BUNMAHON, COUNTY WATERFORD, IRELAND

    Once upon a time there were two big mines here.
    The Knockmahon abandoned mine site does not look as dramatic as  Tankardstown with its stone ruins stand high above the cliffs that far the Atlantic Ocean in
    County Waterford, Ireland.   Copper stained these cliffs for centuries so even the  most ancient Irish  people  were aware that there was
    something different about the place.  Mining began  in  earnest at the Knockmahon site in the1820’s reaching peak production in 1840 
     the copper seams were exhausted unless the miners decided  to tunnel under the sea.  A new mine was  found nearby at Tankardstown
    which thrived through the 1850;s when copper prices were initially high and then began to fall.  In 1879 the Tankardstown mine was 
    abandoned.   In the glory days there were more than 2000 men using picks and  shovels and blasting powder to make a near starvation
    living wresting copper from the depths.  Some of their passageways  and  stopes extended far out beneath the sea.  (*Later I would get
    a chance to crawl on my stomach through these old mine adits and  shafts.  Stupid and dangerous but I was young and foolish.)

    The rise and fall of the two mines occurred at the same time as the Great Potato Famine of the mid to late 1840’s.  Where  did all these
    miners go?  Most were  present among the starving Irish families  who risked  their lives  on the immigrant ships  crossing the Atlantic  to 
    Canada and the United States.

    Today, in 2019, the whole 25 kilometres coast from Tramore to Bunmahon is a  walking trail and road  designed to attract tourists
    Called the COPPER  COAST.

    THE  1960 RECONSIDERATION OF THE IRISH  COPPER COAST

    Copper prices  jumped in 1960 largely due to a crisis in Africa where political instability threaened
    the world  supply of copper.   Big mining companies began to look elsewhere.   Denison Mines  decided 
    to give another look at these two old  Irish  copper mines.  Had the mother load been missed?
    Were there still rich copper seams to be exploited?



    JOURNAL ENTRIES OF ALAN SKEOCH, AGE 21, INSTRUMENT MAN

    TUESDAY JUNE 14, 1960

    I guess I am nervous because I spent a terrible night in my new bed,  Body began twitching.  Nervousness
    I imagine.  Much is  expected of me.  Hope I can  deliver. Got up and wrote letter to Marjorie. I should be fine
    since I am now surrounded and I assume protected by quite  a  collection Roman Catholic icons. 
     My room is large but damn cold.  Meals
    cooked by  Mrs. Kenneday are good.  Before we started  laying out our base line and getting things underway
    we had to get our bearings so we went down to the sea, below the cliffs and then on top of the cliffs.  Then 
    the three of us took a close look at the ruins of the old Tankardstown mine.  Several shafts. Dangerous.  One
    shaft has been used as  a garbage site by local people.  Noticed a great pile of old glass milk bottles…antiques
    but worth your life to retrieve them as they are on the edge of a great black hole.  The mine operated here
    in the early to late 19th century…1870’s it seems to have been abandoned.  Must have been a big community
    here at one time for locals say there were once 21 pubs and now there are only two.  Kerwin’s is the Catholic 
    pub and therefore the most active…hub of the community it seems.  The other pub across the road is
    Anglican in clientele.  Few people.  John Hogan very wisely spent several hours in Kerwin’s pub playing darts.
    The place is dark and rather decrepit.  But the bar is fascinating.   Good to show the flag here as it were.
    We  had a tremendous evening meal in our private dining room at Mrs. Kennedy’s.  That was followed  by
    a religious discussion where I was odd man out.  Kept my mouth shut.  John Stam and John Hogan then
    set up a game of pinochle.  Never played the game before but won all the same.  I no longer need  worry
    about expense money as John Stam brought lots.  Wrote another letter to Marjorie.  I need some rough
    clothes.  Lucky that Mrs. Kennedy also operate the only store in the village or in the region.  She sells
    everything from clothes to cigarettes to hard goods and even food.  Her main floor store is big but very 
    dark.   Business does not seem to be good.  Village empty most of the time.  Very little traffic on the
    main road.  One man approached us  about a job.  He would  be the first of many.  Seems the villafge
    is placing great hope in our work.

    Wednesday June 15, 1960


    The Kennedy family of Bunmahon made room for us in their sprawling house above. 
    Mrs. Kennedy ran the only surviving store in Bunmahon which  was a combined dry goods,
    hardware and limited  grocery store.  It was very dark inside indicating sales  were anything but brisk.




    The Kenneday family made us  feel very welcome.  Their handicapped son Gerald was especially enthused  about
    our arrival and he would have willingly followed me into the hills and galleys had not Mrs. Kennedy interfered.  She
    was the boss…not only of the  family but also the leading matriarch of the whole community.   Mr. Kennedy was
    a genial man who loved his large farming operation.  Their daughter was shy but very happy to have us as tenants
    in rooms  that were abandoned most of the time.


    Woke up and got dressed early.  Everyone else asleep.  Nice Irish Breakfast with all the trimmings
    including fried  tomatoes and Irish back bacon (like a steak).  The house is really a row of houses
    all  linked together and  lived in by the Kennedy family.  Sort of reminded me of Charles Dickens
    house where Miss Havisham lived her solitary magic life…A house that Time forgot filled with spider webs and very musty and sad…
     but that is an unfair comparison for the Kennedy house is very
    much alive.  Damp and dark though.  

    Now facing the big test.  I am supposed to be a veteran instrument man who has worked for HUNTEC
    for some time.  In other words  I bloody well seem to know what I am doing.  Got the Ronka E.M. unit
    and took it to the old stage road for a test.  I remembered much about it but took time to read and re-read
    the manual just in case I made a mistake.   When all seemed  correct I switched  it on and the  damn ‘in phase’
    did not register nor did  the ‘out phase’.  Tested again and  again on 60 odd stations at 50’ separation.
    Gave up finally. Then visited the little lumber mill and bought 1,000 stskrd got 5 pound.  Needed to mark
    stations when things get working.  Then I spent the afternoon playing around with the Ronka.  Worried.
    Finally…miracle of miracles…I got the thing working.  Amazed at myself.  We are trying to keep John
    Hogan unaware of my ignorance.  Must Speak a kind  of pseudo professional mumbo jumbo.  

    I expect to be here well into the month of August.  Played  pinochle all evening.  Great meals.
    We drew up a grid for our test survey using the Turam as opposed to the Ronka.  But the Turam has
    not arrived.  It is the backbone of the job.   Bill Morrison taught me how to set it up and operate it
    on the Alaska job last summer.  My memory is pretty good…not perfect…but good.

    Went down the sea for a few minutes.  Weather is changing and some huge waves are
    crashing into the stony beach.  There is  a huge iron ball on the beach.  A reminder of World War II
    …a decommissioned floating mine about the size of a small car.  Holes now evident where once
    the detonators were.

    Thursday, June 16, 1960

    Heavy fog this morning.  John and John planned  to attend a special mass being held  for them but
    heavy fog was a problem. The Fiat car would not start anyway.  I cannot understand why a special
    mass was being done for John and John.   Obviously they know I am a Protestant and are therefore left
    out which is fine by me.  Seems to make me the only Protestant in the village…but that does not seem
    to be a problem so far.  Took the Ronka out for the whole day…62 stations, 3 lines, dual  frequency. We
    came across a  number of old mine shafts…perhaps  air adits…will have to be careful as little warning, false
    step and down we go…lucky there is a cable joining the Ronka hoops at 50 or 100 foot separation.  Fall in
    a shaft and hang there until partner pulls me out.  Bad joke.  Now that
    is more of a joke than anything else but the open shafts  do  exist.  

    Hard to believe how cold Ireland is in June.  Should have packed heavy clothes.  Shivering. But the land
    is beautiful with wild poppies blooming in the lush green fields and stone fencerows.  Donkeys, horses, pigs 
    and  cattle. Really old Ireland, some of the buildings even have thatch grooves while others have no rooves
    at all…derelict cottages testify that the population is shrinking.   Hundreds of miners, many of them from
    The copper mines in Cornwall, left Ireland  when the rich copper seams could no longer be found.  Became
    miners  in Montana and Canada.  

    This is the Mahon River that flowed from the hills deep in the interior.   

    Bunmanhon has two churches…Catholic and Anglican…but only one is ;used…i.e. the Catholic Church
     The Anglican church  was abandoned and is  now cemented at the doors and windows. Mrs. Kennedy
    regaled  us with stories of a  local authoress who wrote ‘dirty’ stories about Ireland. The books  are now banned
    here in  Bunmahon.  The priest has burned  any he finds.  Our ears perked up at this story so we will
    keep our eyes  open for dirty books as we assume they concern sex.  Then again the books could be about
    politics  which is  less interesting.  

    Now  that we have settled into the village the local men are approaching us for jobs.  We will do some hiring
    of course.  I will need someone to help me get through the brier fences…thousands  of sharp needles have
    already ripped my shirt and punctured my skin.   I saw a badger today…seems  bunch of them have burrow
    in a  brier patch.  After we plotted the results John and john got the pinochle  game ready. Hogan told the
    funny biblical story about Jacob tying his ass to a tree then walking three miles into Jerusalem…:That’s
    stretching it,” he concluded.  We get silly at times which is a very good sign.  Maybe I will  not need
    to keep up the bluff that I am a very experienced field man and let John Hogan know i learned how to
    run the Turam last summer on the barren lands  of Western Alaska.  That would make it easier on me.

    Friday, June 17, 1960

    Got up with the sun and  wrote letters then heard Mrs. Kennedy getting breakfast ready downstairs.  Beautiful
    day today…warm, sunshine.  Today was spent setting up stakes on our new  survey lines.  Pickets every
    hundred feet on the lines running at right angles from our base line which is one long line of  shielded  copper
    wire grunded at both ends with iron rods and hooked to our motor generator.  We pump electricity into the
    ground in search of possible mineral conductors.  Seems weird but it works.

    Sounds like an  easy job putting in pickets every hundred  feet on our survey lines.  I thought it would ve a
    piece of cake compared with doing so in the Canadian boreal forest with its thick btush and  millions  of biting
    insects of varying sizes but all on a blood diet.  Not so fast, Alan.  Problems  here as well.  I fell headlong
    into a six foot wide gulley of brier.  Did not see the dip and  in a  microsecond  I ripped  pants and skin and
    lay there with the brier needles  all  around.  Dared  not move for a few minutes  so spent the time swearing
    using fine sentences taught to us by our dad…”Goddamn son of a bitching bastardly brier,” etc. etc.  Not sure
    if  Irish swear like that.  Slowly and carefully I moved backwards  and snaked  my way out of the needle trap.

    “These  gorse bushes are trouble…big time trouble, John.”
    “Why?”
    “The are impenetrable.”
    “No worse than a cedar and tag alder swamp in Canada.”
    “Far far worse…each branch  of gorse is covered with needles…rip my clothes and puncture my skin.”
    and to make matters worse the damn gorse lines these tiny Irish farm fields. Today I could not get
    through from one field to the other without shedding blood.”
    “Surely we can cut holes with axes or machetes.”
    “Can be done but it will be difficult and slow. And then there is going to be another problem…the stone
    fences under the gorse.    How will I be able to climb these fences when strapped to the Turam console,
    receiving coil and battery pack…ear phones  and field notebook as well.”
    “What do  you suggest?”
    “I suggest we hire a man to help me get over the fences.”
    “There going to laugh at you back in Canada.”
    “More worried that Norm would see me as a bit of a baby.”



    “Nothing worse than gorse in your pants  and shirts…needles  that could reach through almost
    any material to make a person bleed.  Hence gorse made excellent fences.  In May and June
    the gorse is deceptively beautiful.”



    WHEREVER we experienced beautiful yellow flowers in June we also found thousands a stiff sharp needles  capable of
    penetrating clothes, boots and flesh.  Good and evil on the same branch.



    Saturday June 18  1960


    Both E.M. units, the Ronka and the Turam, are designed to pick up signals from  an artificial electrical impulse forced into the ground
    by s motor generator attached to a base line of yellow shielded copper wire.   Barney Dwan (above) is setting down this three mile long
    strand of  wire across an open field section.   Our ‘lines’ were set out at right angles on both sides of  this base line.   NOTE: We 
    had big problems with this yellow wire base line…BIG PROBLEMS. In Alaska I had a roll like this strapped to my back once when jumping
    from the helicopter pontoon to the cabin as we took off.  I did not make it but fell between pontoon and cabin as we lifted.  Unhurt because
    of the melted  bed of sloppy summer muskeg above the permafrost.  Our problem with the wire in Ireland was much different.  WHAT PROBLEM?
    You will see.

    Saturday June 18, 1960


    Base Line #2 North west 30,
    Up a little late….8 a.m….on job at nine, worked until three extending the base line from 2400 to 7600feet over some very rough patches of brier (gorse) and
    nettles.  Lots  of cattle in  the small  fields which could be a problem if they get curious about our yellow electric base line cable.  John Hogan joined me in
    the field as  he is quite curious about the project naturally.  Had lunch in the pub…2 shilling bottle of corona (apple cider…hard kind) Then back to our rooms
    took a bath, washed clothes then we drove to Tramore for a game of miniature golf on the strand after which we found a pub for 3 beers and a five course supper
    (12 shilling, 6 pence) then carried  on to Waterford for a glass of creme de menthe and the movie ‘Carry On Nurse’.  Wish there was more to do other than drinking
    and pinochle in evenings.  Must keep client happy however and John Hogan does love touring and socializing.  An  easy life except when doing the dirty work
    crawling through gorse fences and bleeding.   Saturday is a day of rest in the normal world.  It has never been such doing Geophysical surveying…seven day week.
    But 7 day week does not work here in Ireland.

    Sunday June 19, 1960

    Bridey woke me.  Who is Bridey?  She is our caregiver…gets  us up in mornings, makes our beds, and  supervises our spiritual lives.  Today she entered
    my room and hauled off my covers commenting, “Time for Mass, Master Skeoch…out of bed.”  I am not sure if she knew I was Protesant or not.  Did not matter
     to Bridey for she was determined I go to mass, perhaps to make me into a better person.  That posed a dilemma.Should I conform and go to mass or should
    I just take the opportunity to sleep in on Sundays?   I chose mass…with Bridey’s encouragement.  Glad I did as our presence at Sunday mass made us part
    of the Bunmahon community.  John Stam and John Hogan are both Catholic.  Spent the afternoon writing and playing pinochle then we went down to Kirwinn’s
    pub where the village drinkers gather.  Only stayed  briefly as I decided to take a long walk along the cliff footpath above the ocean. Looked  down upon that 
    huge cast iron land mine on Bunmahon beech.  Reminder of World War II..  Later in the evening I quizzed Mrs. Kenneday about Dunhill Castle. “Stormed by
    Cromwell,” she said.  Then she casually mentioned that a previous Canadian mining crew (McPhare Group) set a bad reputation for Canadians.  The inference
    was that they did not go to church and raised  hell in the evenings.

    It was only 15 years earlier that floating mines like this were floating submerged along the Irish coast.  

    “When Mrs. Kenneday found out I was Presbyterian she commented “the new bridge over the Mahon River was built by a Presbyterian” .  John Hogan respnded
    “Christ, that bridge will never last long.”  

    Sad to see so many local people spending all their money in the pub.  None of the Kennedy family go to the pub though so there must be others who avoid
    drinking.  Perhaps the expression that Guiness is a “meal in a glass” makes  sense.  Someone told 
    us a local joke about a visitor to ireland asking: “When do the pubs close?” “September, I think.”

    Monday June 20, 1960

    Rose early…beautiful sunny day. Did 12,000 feet of line with John Stam and our Irish employees (Bandy, John and Larry).  The going is very slow…obstructions
    everywhere, especially those gorse covered stone fences.  Nightmare. Used the Brunton Compass to try and keep lines straight.  Worked steadily with just 20
    minutes for a fast lunch.  Returned to Bunmahon at 6 p.m.  Letter from Arbuckle arrived saying the Turam E.M. unit would arrive tomorrow.  About time as the
    Turam is our key unit.  The Ronka is our back up. Stopped at Kirwan’s pub for a beer then home to Mrs. Kennedy’s for a grand supper.  Did some writing before
    going back to the pub where I was shown a collection of old weapons, some from “the time of the trouble”, an” expression meaning the 1920’s and gaining of
    Irish Home Rule.  Just as I was looking at the weapons a gentleman arrived  with a shotgun and his hunting dog.  Dressed like a lord.  The dog befriended me
    although the hunter said “that was not his habit.”  Four girls seem to congregate in front of the house each evening.  Seems vain to say but they seem to be
    interested in me.  Played another game of pinochle which is becoming very tedious.  I am really getting to enjoy the village life of Bunmahon which has a lot
    of similarities  to the John Wayne and Maureen Ohara film ‘The Quiet Man’ even down to the friendly toleration of a Church of Ireland (Anglican) minority who 
    visited the pub across the road from Kirwin’s. (seemed empty most of the time though).

    Tuesday June 21, 1960

    Today we drove to Waterford to get the Turam.  We?  Hired the local owners of Kirwan’s pub (Frank and Kevin) and their aged Ford truck.  All was ready and soon
    loaded then we retired to a local pub where I bought the boys a  glass of Guinness and lunch.  Quite a different atmosphere in this pub…very political…had to be very careful
    cautioned Kevin and Frank.  Sort of interesting.  No smart remarks.  We drove back to Bunmahon and began unpacking while cleaning up the Kennedy garden shed
    which would be our workshop and paymaster shop.  Hired two men…Andy Kirwan who is very shy and will not talk unless forced to do so and Tom Powell who talks a
    lot…perhaps too much.  John came back and assisted another man to coil 15,000 feet of shielded  copper wire.  All set for tomorrow with the Turam.  It has been a long wait.
    Tried a new drink called a shandy…ale and  lemonade…probably I will stick to Guinness as most do.  Nice to have clean clothes to wear thanks to mrs. Kennedy and Bridey.

    Wednesday June 22, 1960

    Wrote home then packed cable on the back reel for our first Turam baseline of 14,500 feet…nearly three miles. Very rough going.  We set up our generator base down by the
    Atlantic Ocean.  Cranked motor…held my breath.  It would not start.  Gas was  wrong…put in regular gas and the motor purred. I know that sounds simple but it was not so
    simple.  I was  supposed to be the expert on the Turam but I had no idea what was  wrong and just changed the gas on impulse.  Floyd told me years ago that all problems are
    usually simple to solve.  “Al, do not make things difficult.”   Floyd was my first real wilderness scholar and teacher back in Canada.  He nicknamed me Fucking Al for some 
    twisted reason.  It was not used as a hateful term. I think he liked me.  Maybe he spoke in opposites.




    We hired two new men, Andy and Tom.  Today I saw my first Irish hare…big speedy creature.  At night John Stsm and John Hogan got into a religious discussion with me.  I am
    not really up to speed on religion…never will be…although I stood my ground as a Protestant and they took theirs.  No hostility.  Very Canadian.  I think most Canadians  are
    really Humanists.   Then we got down to another serious game of pinochle.  I would rather be out walking the cliff trails at sunset.

    Thursday June 23, 196-0

    Now our real troubles began.  Started the motor generator but not generating.   Took a long time to figure out why.  Again the problem was simple…the base line
    wire was broken in three places along one thousand foot stretch.  Some creatures had nibbled…foxes? rabbits?  Simple to repair.  Looks like we  will spend hours
    and hours repairing our base line each day.  Did not know which  creature was doing the damage but as usual it was simple and should have been obvious right from
    the start.  The fields had herds of cattle.  Cattle like to munch grass but they also liked to munch yellow copper cables.


    Three of our employees are resting after lunch.  Bandy, on the right, became my right hand man.  We were good friends in not time
    and he shared some wonderful adventures with me.  More of that later.  Behind the men are the cattle…peacefully chewing up ou
    grounded cable.  Then ruminating and vomitting balls of copper wire about the size of baseballs.


     the Turam operated perfectly on 660 cox frequency so the rest of the day was a success. We had data for Dr. Stam at last.  Began training more men as instrument 
    helpers.  I was surprised to discover that one our new men, Willy, could not count.  He never said so.  Wish he had as that would have made my job easier.   I would not have asked
    him to mark the pickets.  Larry on the other hand cannot hear which makes things difficult.  Not their faults.  All and all things went well today and we found two anomalies which
    were plotted on graph paper in the evening.  Surveying in a country as old as Ireland brings lots of discoveries such as the stone bridge we found today covered in ivy but no
    sign of ever been connected to a road network.

    Got a long letter from Marjorie.  She is a wonderful writer…better than me for sure.  She seems to be enjoying herself back in Canada.

    John Hogan and I went down to Kirwan’s for cider and the owner bought us each a pint of Guinness.

    There is an old black Labrador dog that belongs to the Kennedy’s and has a special job.  He is trained to keep Gerald from drowning in the sea.   Gerald is Mrs. Kennedy’s disabled son.
    Mongoloid little boy who is sure friendly and good natured although severely handicapped.  When he strolls down to the sea the Labrador dog goes  with him.  He is allowed to wade
    a bit but never deeper than his ankles before he is pushed back out of the water by the dog.  

    Friday June 24, 1960

    New gas for the generator.  Expected a fine day with lots of distance covered.  That did not happen as a serious of small disasters tumbled out.  First, the cable was broken in three
    places none of them close…had to cover 8,000 feet to find them.  Second, something wrong with the gas again.  Suspect water got in somehow as rain is regular occurrence.  Third,
    there were two broken instrument cables and some kind of short circuit.  Fourth, the motor itself broke down once we got clean gas. Why?  Fifth, another  cable broke just as we
    finally got started.  Suspect cattle.  Solution is to hire a man to walk the cable each day and make repairs.  Even with all thsse problems we managed to get 3,000 feet of survey line
    completed.  

    Good news when we got back to Bunmahon.  My university results arrived.  I passed.  I would like to have had higher marks but word I was getting that a number of my friends did
    not pass.   John Hogan came back after a short visit to Killarney.  I think he rushed back just to play $%^%$ pinochle.

    I made up the pay checks for our employees and they lined up outside the garden shed office.  Got cash through Mrs. Kenndy.  I bet the boys back in Canada are wondering why we need
    so many men on the payroll.   I have an answer.  “The wages here are 1 pound per day…about $2.50 a day…so we can hire a lot of men for very little money and they need it badly otherwise
    Kerwan’s pub will go bankrupt.”


    Here is our crew, most of them, lining up on a Friday evening for their weekly pay.  John Hogan
    is the man  on the left.  He  represented  our client Denison Mines.   Dr. John Stam is
    our company geophysicist (far right).  His job was the most important for he would interpret
    my survey results and write a report that would either support the idea of a new mine in 
    Bunmahon or state there was nothing worth retrieving.

    Payday in the Kennedy Garden Shed.  The wage was one pound per day…about $2.50
    Canadian.  Not much really.  Some days the men  worked overtime though for more money.  And as
    my job as paymaster proceeded I got a bit carried away and gave each man a
    pack of cigarettes then added  a  chocolate bar.  Dr. Norm Paterson would be amused back in Canada
    if he saw  this picture..which he will  never see..

    “ALan, just who do  you think you are…some kind of philanthropist using other people’s money?”
    “Right, I guess I made payday a  little excessive.”
    “Where did you get the idea of adding cigarettes  and chocolate bars?”
    “John Wayne!”
    “Do you mean  you were beginning to think you were The Quiet Man?”
    ‘Suppose it looks that way.”
    “What did they think  back in Toronto?”
    “I think Norm Paterson…Dr. Paterson…used the term precocious applied to me.”
    “And  Floyd?”
    “He continued to call me Fucking Al.”

    We became quite the community celebrities as the local police constable kept close eye on us as did
    the local priest who was  often seen standing along the road as we crossed nd  criss-crossed.

    Saturday June 25, 1960

    “Why hire so many local people?”  The answer is not so simple.  I am not trying to run a charity on
    Huntec money.  We need people that we never needed in Canada.  We need a  man to check our grounded 
    cable and make repairs.  The cattle chew chunks regularly…must taint the milk a bit but they regurgitate
    the balls as they ruminate.  A bigger worry is cattle biting into the live cable.  One farmer claimed a cow was
    knocked down and out by the electric charge.  That my or may not be true but we want to assure the local farmers that
    we are being careful.  The government of Ireland made me paint a danger sign in English and irish and place 
    that sign where our generator is located.  We have hired a local handicapped boy to guard the motor generator site.
    Then there is the problem of the fences and the gorse.  We need a man to help making a path and lifting me over
    these places and there are many of them as the fields  are small.  We also need a linecutting crew of three men
    to survey and mark with pickets the 50 and 100 foot spaces for readings to be taken. We are lucky that so many
    men are available and willing.

    This young handicapped lad just loved his job protecting our base line.  He set up his campsite wherever we moved
    the motor generator and took his job very seriously.   The first job he ever had  and perhaps his  only job.  The other 
    employees covered for him so that I  would not notice he was mentally handicapped.  I  knew.

    Drove to check cable as usual with Bandy as helper.  Today I discovered his real name was  Barney Dwan but
    the local  dialect was so hard for me to understand that “Barney” became “Bandy” much to the amusement of
    everyone who started calling him Bandy.  I wondered  why the men laughed so much. 

    The instrument failed again.  Wasted three hours trying to find the problem. Narrowed  it down to the amplifier which
    I could not fix so gave the men half a day holiday while I took he Turam to Waterford for repairs   Very depressing.  Spent
    some time in a Waterford  pub waiting then drove back west to Tramore for supper.  Saw  the movie “Sirrocco” after playing
    a round of miniature golf with John Hogan who accompanied me on the trip.

    We  were all startled at bed time when John Hogan found a tick buried  in his thigh.  Gorged in blood so the damn
    thing looked big.  Got it out using a cigarette and careful work with tweezers.  Mickey offered  us his bicycle for our
    use if we needed to get a doctor.  We slathered the wound with rubbing alcohol and hoped for the best. From now
    on we will examine our bodies  after work as the area is infested  with ticks.  A close look at the cattle herds show that as
    most of their noses have ticks hanging there like little sacks.




    Ticks Were something new to me.  At first I dismissed them as creatures of no consequence to me personally for they
    seemed associated with sheep.   Surely in Canada the hords of black flies, moose flies, deer flies,
    mosquitoes and midges were far worse than ticks.   Ticks cannot fly and if  sheep or cattle or horses were carrying ticks I 
    was unlikely to pick them up for petting domestic animals was not part of the job.

    Ignorance is no excuse.  Irish  ticks may not fly but they do know how to leap from a  waving piece  of long  grass to
    a piece of exposed flesh and then begin their burrowing and  do so  painlessly.  Once engorged with blood the female tick
    just drops off and continues its’ life cycle.  It is possible to be a tick host and never know it.   Ticks are not themselves dangerous
    The serous problems arise from the bacteria the tick transfers to the human or animal host.  Ireland in 1960 had  lots of ticks but
    most were not too dangerous.  Hedghog ticks  were the most likely to grab us  as  we climbed over and t through gorse covered fencerows.

    NOTE:  TODAY, 2019, Black Legged ticks are spreading through Ontario perhaps  aided by global warming.  These ticks  are
    extremely dangerous for they transmit Lyme disease to humans. People die.

    Sunday June 26,1960

    An uneventful day.  Went to mass at the Ballyaneen RC church.  Then we played  pinochle until noon, had  nice lunch,  read 
    part of  Forster’s Passage to India and dosed off until evening,  Repaired  cables and switches and then went to the dog
    races where I lost three beers to John and John.

    Monday June 27, 1960

    Bandy (Barney) had  long ground  cable repaired from cow damage by 8 a.m.  Worried about Turam but took it out on wild
    hope it would work but once again it let us down.  John Stam is very depressed and  even considering giviing up the contract.
    So I took out the Ronka for the day.  On our first set up disaster happened when a car drove right between us tearing the 
    connecting cable apart.  Could have dragged  us along the road if  cable had  not snapped. We made rough repairs  and continued. 
     At four p.m. the Ronka stopped working, likely the rough
    connection reoair.  No matter because John Stam  arrived from Waterford with the newly refurbished Turam which  seems 
    OK now.  

    Andy offered to buy me a beer…very generous as his income is close to poverty level.  I bought a bottle of cider for John and  John
    to drink at our pinochle game where, as  usual, we discussed religion.  I  was  surprised  to learn that Catholics actually believe
    in Adam and  Eve.  Maybe they were putting me on. 

    Got nice letters from Marjorie and Russ Vanstone.  Spent sleepless night worrying about the Turam.


    Now here is an interesting  pair of photos.  On the left we are working across an Irish grain field in 1960 while
    the right I am doing the same kind  of survey in Alaska in 1959



    Tuesday June 28, 1960

    Got up early and soldered some cable heads in our little shed.  What a beautiful  day and even the Turam seemed to notice
    the sun on the irish greenery.  The Turam worked perfectly until noon when once again our cable was severed by some cow
    located somewhere along the three mile base line.  Sure enough.  A cow had bitten the live wire and got knocked out.  “She
    fell like a  stone!”  We are lucky that the local farmers have not launched law actions if we have been stunning or knocking out
    their cattle.  I wonder if the knock out story is true?  The Irish  are good story tellers after all.  Some farmers are after us according
    to my Irish crew who are not too concerned.  There seems to be a cultural division between the largely unemployed cottagers
    and the distinctly better healed farmers.  They do not like each other.

    John Stam is more cheerful today since our expense money arrived in Dungarven. My day was terrific because the Turam  worked
    perfectly.  We crossed over some old mine shafts which  are hardly guarded or protected,  Some seem to be used as garbage pits.
    “Some animals fall down them but not many…no worries.” Some comfort!  I did my washing in the evening, wrote home and 
    as usual did some light repairs this time to the voltmeter connection.  Mrs Kennedy served us tea while we played yet another
    game of pinochle.  Outside the night was stunning with Golden clouds and a crescent moon.  

    How can  I say to John and  John that i am getting to hate pinochle.  Bunmahon is so interesting.  I would rather walk the cliffs 
    and have a pint of Guinness  at Kerwan’s.  I would  like to have a pint at the Anglican pub but fear that would cause trouble.
    It would be interesting to hear what the Anglo Irish minority have to say.  Perhaps they would say nothing.  Amazing how close
    to the stereotypes created in the Quiet Man fit the local social dynamics of Bunmahon.  I am sure, however, that such a comment’
    by a newcomer like me would be resented so I try to take everything in but keep my mouth shut.   The men seem to like me.

    This is  Kirwan’s pub on every Friday evening when a percentage of income was  spent
    on a few pints of Guinness.   We joined as often as we could.  Sometimes the fellows
    wanted to treat us to pints of Guinness.  Without insulting we thanked them but
    avoided these ‘free’ pints.    John Hogan is lighting up a Wild Woodbine cigarette on
    the far left.  Mrs. Kerwan is presiding over the bar on the far right.



    Kerwan’s pub has a  dark sitting room featuring slabs of pine nailed to the walls  and stumps tables.
    In this case John Hogan and  I are relaxing.


    Wednesday June  29, 1960

    John Hogan took off early to drive to Dublin for some reason.  I had a successful day with the Turam finishing 2.5 lines in the morning
    then Andy brought me a quart of Cidonia (hard cider) for lunch in an Irish field before finishing line 4400 and  finding a very large
    anomaly.   Then the motor stopped and we had another two hour delay.

    In the evening Willy and Bandy took me to a hurling match in Dunhill.  The game can be rough if they hit each other
    with the curling sticks that look like shortened  hockey sticks.  Clubs if you will.  The outdoor washroom was  interesting.
    A few sheets of corrugated iron were anchored  in place by steel posts and that was  a washroom.  I do not know what
    women used.

    Hurling is an Irish brute force kind of game.  










    Thursday June 30, 1960

    Got an early start today which was spoiled as usual by a broken base line cable.  We are now getting used to finding baseball
    sized rolls of  our base line wire here and there in farmers fields.  Farmers are getting more and  more concerned that our wire is
    endangering their dairy herds.We did 4 lines today working from 8.30 to 6.30.  A long day here in Ireland.  In Canada I would cover
    much  more territory doing Turam work pushed on by the millions of flies f

    Willy had to be sent home when his lumbago began acting up.  Then the console connection broke and had to be soldered.

    Today we saw an old fort…2,000 years old according to Bandy.  “Supposed to be filled with fairies, you know.” “There are ghosts
    in this valley.” “Then there is the mystery of the postman that just disappeared one day.”



    Bandy alerted me to another danger today when we crossed a field dominated by two huge boars.  Big tusks and angry 
    demeanour.  “Be careful with the herds  of pigs, Maser Skeoch, a nun disappeared around here once when she crossed
    a field with pigs.  All that was found was her boots with her feet inside.”  The men love telling me stories.  Maybe some of the
    stories are true or have a kernel of truth.   Enjoy them immensely.  Today we worked  until 7 p.m. and then I spent the evening
    trying to fix the Ronka with no luck.   The men are all good workers and I hate pushing them but we are expecting Holmes to
    arrive any day from India.  He is a top man with the company.  Needs to be impressed.   Tired tonight…”Too tired to 
    climb the stairs,” as my grandmother used to sing to us on winer evenings at the farm.

    Small thatched  roof cottages  were located here and  there on the outskirts of Bunmahon.  Small  holdings
    of an acre or less.  Some of these cottages turned most of their land over to potatoes.  Others  managed
    to keep a few animals, even a  horse or two.


    Friday July 1, 1960

    “Mass! Master Skeoch get out of bed…time for mass.”  Bridey hammers on my door then enters the room
    and rips of my covers  reminding me all the time that  I must not miss mass.  She even carries a BELL that 
    she rings with gusto.if I am not out of bed fast.   Lucky I wear in a bIg night shirt because Bridey  
    rips off the blankets to speed me up.  Mass is very important to Bridey and she  has made mass feel
    important to me…a Protestant…a  Humanist.

    Quite amusing…nice really.

    STOP FOR A REST


    END OF THE INTRODUCTION TO BUNMAHON…LOTS MORE TO COME
    SUCH AS AN INTRODUCTON TO THE BOYS WHO  MADE THE SURVEY 
    SUCCESSFULL.

    AND THEN THE PRIZE OF PRIZES WHEN BARNEY SUGGESTED “MASER SKEOCH
    DO YOU WANT TO GO UNDERGROUND IN THE OLD MINES….I KNOW THE SECRET
    ENTRANCES.”

    alan  skeoch
    May 2019


  • BILL SCOTT, TREE TRUNK ART, YUKON TERRITORY 1960’S


    YUKON JOB

    Art is what you think is art.

    BILL SCOTT and I spent an unforgettable summer doing geophysical  prospecting in the Yukon Territory in the Early 1960’s.
    Our base was  Mayo Landing (red  false  front store below) which was just a tiny village really whose centre  was  that
    grey nondescript hotel.

    In the bush where we spent most our time there was  a place where a forest fire had swept through decades ago.  The trees still stood…bare and
    wind scoured by many winters.  As a result their shapes were wonderful.  Two of them I was able to rescue and send back to Toronto by a truck
    along with a  big set of caribou antlers.  Our boss, Dr. Norman Patterson, might have been amused had he known.  I paid  the freight bill but had
    a very tough time getting the trucking company to hand over the shipment.  They thought something important was missing and figured my tree
    trunks  and antlers were just junk.

    The scoured tree trunks were interesting in another way as well.  The growth rings were tiny.  The trunk that Bill and I are
    shortening for instance is more than 100 years old yet only the witch of a goal post..   

    As I remember Bill Scott was not as enamoured of the dead tree as he seems in the picture below.

    Our client was Dr. Aho who often treated  us to a ‘double OP’ which is overproof rum and a little Coca  cola.  Deadly.  This might explain
    our behaviour.

    alan skeoch
    May 2019

    PS  Norm…send this forward to Bill Scott … he might be amused

  • UNFORGFETTABLE SJUMMER 1960….13 days in DUBLIN, IRELAND

    Note:In June 1960 I spent 13 days in Dublin…did not expect to do so…but it was quite fascinating…If  you
    are  expecting mining stories you will have to wait fro the next instalment…I did not get
    to the quaint village of Bunmahon until June 13.    


    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.

    One of the results of my stay  in Dublin was  the naming of our first born child Kevin.  The Behan family
    adopted me as if I was  their son, took me around Dublin to pubs I would  never find and allowed me
    to become part of an Irish family.

    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 Are 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 as pictured
    above and expense.  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.



    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 then?  Because the barley
    is roasted rather 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 which…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.

    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 been similar.  Vast amounts of manure was linked to outbreaks of Cholera but not from human rather
    than horse
    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 pubs 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 an American girl who was with 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. Paerson 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 an 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 be 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 the wet 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 clothe 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 toHouth 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 sn old one-eyed woman who was  having bread snd tis 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.


    Brendan Behan

    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.

    A poem by Brendon Behan

    RED ENVOY

    I bring no songs of rolling drums
    Of pennons flying gaily
    I sing of filth and dirty slums
    Gaunt man with hunger crazy
    Canticles, not of virtue bright, nor holy austere lives.

    I chronicle consumption’s blight
    And the haggard face of wives
    Who gaze on children, pale and wan
    Who see no flowers nor hear birds song.

    I see no beauty rave in dreams of justice, unto those
    Who keep the wheels of old earth moving
    And oil them with their woes
    Of burning towns and brimstone red
    A phoenix from the ashes dead
    Our city, truth and justice wed arise.

    I see this old bad order die
    In a great swift blaze of fire
    A structure, clear and mighty high
    Born in its funeral pyre
    Worker, know the world’s for thee
    Were thou to raise the servile knee
    From off the ground.

    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 wold be gone before the sun set.
    This was  be 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 inWaterford.
    time to get s haircut then caught bus to the airport…watched  KLM flight land and Dr. John  Stam cleared  customs. Briefed  him onIrish  officials I had
    met…back to hotel for dinner and beer. Back to America Express…then over to see Mr. O’brien.  Took luggage to train station…first class tickets toWaterford
    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  ve 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.



    “