Jean's Journal: Hens and stags and more

By Jean Farrell

This boat (pictured right) is not ours. It’s a cruiser that I saw moored in Carrick-on-Shannon. You can see the flower garden at the back. At the front, it had a full vegetable garden. I saw a fine head of fresh cabbage growing there, amid a great array of herbs, plus more. I have never seen the likes before on a boat!

Carrick-on-Shannon was buzzing with tourists of all kinds. Many Germans, there to hire boats, were walking around the town. Many hen and stag parties were also. Sitting on our cruiser, we watched these pass by. The hens were dressed as cowgirls, Barbie and more. The stags were cowboys, pirates and more.

My three granddaughters were with us one day. As we walked home from a restaurant, later that night, about six different groups passed us, very drunk and very loud. “What are stag and hen parties for?” the children asked. As I teacher, I feel that I must always answer every question! As I spoke, I realised that the whole concept is quite ridiculous and outdated.

I told the young girls how the idea of stag parties began. Men thought that once their friend got married, he’d never be ‘let out’ again by his wife. So, before his wedding day, they took him to a pub, where they bought him much drink. It was supposed to be his last night of fun. Then, girls decided to have one last night of fun too, so they have hen parties now.

My youngest little granddaughter pointed at one very drunken groom-to-be and asked, “So, will he never be going out to a pub, ever again?” We all smiled at such a notion!

The next inevitable question was asked by the older grandchildren. “Where did you go, Granny, for your hen-party?” All of you my age know the answer! Hen partiers hadn’t been ‘invented’ yet when most of us got married, 50 years ago.

The custom back then, amongst some men, was to go out for a few pints together before the wedding. Was it even called ‘a stag'? I always thought that the worst idea ever was for them all to go out on the night before the actual wedding. The result of this was that when the fresh-faced bride walked up the aisle, in all her grandeur, the groom awaited her with a hangover from Hell. Very bad idea!

There is a fine library in Carrick-on-Shannon. I was able to return books to it that I borrowed in Athlone, and then take out more. I could then exchange these in all the libraries along the river, in Boyle, Lanesboro, Banagher, Portumna and Killaloe. This is a great service indeed.

I had many interesting chats with folk, along the river-bank. One woman had just returned from climbing Croagh Patrick, on Reek Sunday. I smiled at her comment. “There were more mobile phones than rosary beads on it,” she sniffed, sourly!

I met another woman who was very shocked by the death of the Mayo woman, Kathleen Devine. Aged 73, she was attacked by bees while working with her husband at their own hives. You will have read about this.

The very next day I saw an advertisement for Bee Beds. It read, “As the name suggests, bee beds are when you rest or sleep on top of the bee hives. As you lie on the bee bed you will smell the healing particles of the hive – wax, honey & pollen. Your body will feel and absorb the micro vibrational energy & heat given off by thousands of bees happily working beneath your body. You will hear the soothing sound of the bees which will act as a meditation tool for the mind. All you have to do is lie down on the bed and rest while the bees do their work beneath you.” The ad stressed that you will be perfectly safe. I think I’ll give it a miss for the moment!

Another older woman and I had a chat about her husband. She told me that she loves him very much. “I hate when he goes to sleep at night,” she told me. “I am very lonely without him.”

I’ve given this much thought since and I’ve decided that it’s actually sad. She must have no sense of herself at all, to be so dependent on someone else. Once upon a time, when we were silly teenagers, we would have considered this to be ‘very romantic.’ That was when we thought a boyfriend was (as Joe Dolan sang) the answer to everything. I read, recently, that a man should be the icing, not the cake. As teenagers, we wouldn’t have understood such a sensible thought. We were, at that stage in our lives, too enthralled by nonsensical songs like, “You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you.” I blame Mother Nature!

I laughed to myself as I listened to another woman talking to her daughter, on her phone. “He died last night. Of COURSE you know him. His second son was a few classes behind you in national school. You DO remember him! His brother’s sister-in-law had a miscarriage twelve years ago in Australia, or was it America? I KNOW you KNOW him! His aunt always told us that she was in love with Dick Moran in Glenroe. Of COURSE you remember him. He uses to have long hair, once. Are you still on the line? Aisling? Aisling?” (I got a bit carried away there – but you get the gist!)

I laughed to myself because we have all received (and made?) such phone calls!!