From Glashabee to Tangshan and back in 30 Years

I recently saw Tommy Tiernan on David Letterman. Tiernan is a comedian from Ireland that I happened to see do a show one night in Cork's 'Comedy Club'. After the show I was in the restroom when in walked the man himself and happened to avail of the free urinal beside me. The silence that ensued was broken by my complimenting him on the quality of the show and how funny he had been. He received it generously and with that we both parted ways.

My buddies and I decided to return to the same club the following night having had such a tremendous time there that evening. Unfortunately we hadn't realized that Tommy was playing there again that night and as such we were subject to watching the same show from the same comedian two nights running. Now aside from the inherent comedy in that coincidence, the thing that impressed me most about Tiernan was that on the second night he replayed his act almost verbatim and again had this new audience in the palm of his hand howling with laughter.

It's funny how casual and 'off-the-cuff' he made the first show seem and to see it the second night repeated it made me realize that nothing was left to chance by this professional. He had every gesture, every word, every pause and every joke meticulously rehearsed. It's no wonder then that several years later he is on Letterman and about to have his own Comedy Central special.

One last event from that night worth mentioning is that after the second show, I again felt the need to visit the restroom - they served beer in these clubs. While in the restroom doing the business so to speak, through some fluke of fate, Tiernan again happened to again avail of the free urinal beside mine. This time the silence was a little more awkward especially the moment we both realized that it was a precise replay of the night before at the very same urinals. As we finished our respective whizzes, in true comedic fashion, Tommy simply nodded knowingly at me and then hesitatingly turned to me before leaving and said, "You know, you could easily become material", to which I reassured him that he would never again happen upon me in a restroom for as long as I lived.

Seeing Tiernan on prime time TV the other night reminded me of that incident which in turn started me thinking about how events are connected simply through coincidence. Considering such coincidences throughout my life, I found myself returning repeatedly to one particular event of no consequence to anyone else but one of paramount importance to me despite the fact that it occurred more than thirty years ago.

I grew up on a farm and as a child I reveled in the seasonal bursts of collective activity related to planting season, growing season and harvest. In particular I was besotted with tractors. I was for all intents and purposes a tractor fan (I wonder if my current lack of said subject matter interest now make me an Extractor Fan?)

In any case the sound of a tractor in the distance could send this six year old into a frenzy of curiosity. Tractors were my 'Tomas the Tank Engine', my 'Bob the Builder' for any of you who have kids. You see on a farm tractors are all pervasive. Ford was the primary vendor back then and the Ford 5000 was the big mama sure to instill wonder and awe in me. It was light blue in color and had large rear wheels led by two small wheels in the front. The large rear wheels had a wonderful zigzag grip shape that left a compelling track in damp malleable mud. All I wanted to do was drive tractors and watch them in action.

Now the next in line and more grand without doubt was the combine harvester. This was the be all and end all of farm equipment. What made this even more special than the tractor was that it was about three times the size, was bright yellow, and made only fleeting appearances in mid to late September. For the rest of the year it was cloistered away in covered sheds awaiting the upcoming harvests of barely or oats or in some rare cases wheat.

Back then, adjacent to our house, lying on a soft rolling hill to the south was a four acre field. Earlier in the year I had watched that same field being ploughed in February while the ground was still almost in a permafrost state. I had sat with my Dad on the tractor as he harrowed the field to make it ready for seed. I had labored behind a horse and butt with my brother and my dad removing excess large stones that had surfaced through the earth and would result in damage to the harvesting equipment later in the year. Then I had watched as the seed was planted and the field was rolled to ensure a flat surface. Then before departing for school each morning, I would run to the gate overlooking the field to see if any change had occurred. For the first two or three weeks nothing, but then in mid April the first signs of life were evident.

Watching such a crop grow is magical. At first there is an almost imperceptible green fuzzy coloring the dark brown earth. With each week and sometime almost by the day, one can see the green covering the dreariness of the dark earth until an almost luminous light green velvet carpet of barley shoots cover the field. As spring ends and summer begins, each visit to the gate was rewarded with the sight of taller and taller barley grass. Then in mid-may, the first signs of the actual barley crop could be see on the head of each shoot of dark green barley grass.

With the break for summer holidays in June, and with the onset of improved weather, the barley grass would grow taller and then slowly but surely through July it would turn a golden yellowish brown. For a six year old to walk alone into such a large field, unencumbered by adults, and to peer over such a swaying mass as it reached up to shoulder height was utter escapism. One could hide in such a field, one could get lost in such a field, and one could be a child in such a field - a completely content and care free child. The only thing left was to harvest the barley and that involved the much anticipated arrival of the combine harvester.

I remember the days leading up to the harvest as being interminable but wonderfully warm and dry. With each day in late July we were ready to harvest but there was no sign of the contractor who would bring the combine harvester. The tension was unbearable for me. I had just turned seven years of age and the prospect of witnessing such a beast of a machine in action and possibility of riding shotgun on it was overwhelming. Still with every day there was only a field of standing barely to appease my enthusiasm. It was on one of these days that my mom had reason to visit our local city and since I was on my summer holidays it was decided it would be good for all if I were to accompany her on the day trip to Cork.

My reluctance to leave was overcome by the prospect of cream doughnuts and tea at some of the city's finest purveyors of said delectables. My dad drove us in our red Austin Morris off to the bus stop and there we waited in the early morning sun for the bus that would take us to Cork. As with all trips to the city with my mom, I had a fantastic day. Traveling on the bus was as much fun as the day in the city itself and so when we descended the steps of the bus in Mournabbey there was a fleeting wave of disappointment that the day's end was at hand.

The journey home from the bus stop took about fifteen minutes and all the way I sat quietly in the back seat day dreaming as the sun descended warmly below the horizon leaving the typical 'long-day' eerie silence and twighlight that would last for another three hours before bed beckoned. This reverie was soon to be shattered by the cruel sight that greeted my eyes on rounding the lane into our yard.

The first sign of the malign that lay ahead was a knocked pier. One has to realize that my environs were constant with some structures and lays remaining unchanged not just for decades but for centuries. Now, to see something as abrupt as a huge chunk of pier that would otherwise have stood with its partner pier as stone sentries holding up the wrought iron gate leading into the haggard was unsettling. Transfixed by the sight, for a few fleeting seconds I was speechless, and as the car came to a halt in the yard outside the house what hope I had for words was dashed as I glanced down towards the large field of barley to see it was devoid of the majestic golden carpet that had been there earlier that morning. While I had been in the city, the combine harvester had come and had harvested the whole field of barley leaving me with nothing but a rough stubble of seedless straw and a deathly silence of late evening.

A wave of sorrow overcame me and watery eyes betrayed as much to my parents. Coupled with the sadness was a growing anger. My mom took the shopping bags of groceries into the house and my dad tried his best to empathize and cajole me to leave the car to join him in the house. I refused and in protest remained in the car overlooking the field. All alone, I sat in shock. The tears fell unabated for the next ten minutes and I was consumed with grief at having missed such a monumental event that I had been anticipating for weeks if not months. After forty or so minutes, I started to regain some composure but now felt a degree of shame at having had such a dramatic outburst and to conceal my embarrassment I resigned to remain in the car. I felt horrible. Darkness descended and then out of nowhere I noticed the white hair of my Dad's sister 'Aunty Eileen' approaching the car from behind. She opened the door an asked me how I was and with my watery reddened eyes I braced myself and stated as only a seven year old could, that "I was fine". She tried every trick in the book to reassure me that it wasn't a big deal and that there would be other occasions to see the combine harvester, but she could never have understood how humongous an event this was for me to have missed. As far as I was concerned, I would never again see barley harvested in that field or ever anywhere else on our farm.

Our discussion continued and then she said the strangest of things to me. She pleaded with me to leave the car to come and see the Earthquake in China. This non sequitur shook me out of my grief and into curiosity. It also helped me save face as now the topic would be this earthquake whatever it was, and China, and not my dismay and outburst at having missed the big occasion. My last memory is not of leaving the car but rather of the invitation to go watch the news regarding the earthquake. With that, one of the most searing moments from my childhood ended with a reference to an earthquake almost ten thousand miles away.

For years afterwards, I couldn't figure out the year this event had occurred and for years I was doomed to repeat it in my head. To this day I can still get a strong sense of the day and the time and all other reminders of the moment. Only recently did it occur to me to google for earthquakes in China and sure enough there was a major earthquake in China at that time. It was the Tangshan earthquake that resulted in almost 300,000 deaths. It's almost as if the knocking of the pier holding up the gateway into the haggard so that the combine harvester could fit through, was somehow a sympathetic indicator of the larger massive destruction several thousand miles away in China that same day.

So what do I now take away from all this? Well to start with events in childhood though seemingly trivial and unimportant to the adults and parents of the world, can be grave and monumentally formative for the kids of the world. We should be more cognizant and sensitive to this if or when we ever have to deal with such perceived loss in our own kids. Last Saturday as Fionn was finishing breakfast, I told Adri I was popping out to get a newspaper. She asked that I take Neal with me for the few minutes that I would be gone and I agreed. The trip to the store took no more than fifteen minutes, but when I returned, upon opening the door of the house I was greeted by a teary eyed Fionn standing ready with his shoes on anxiously awaiting my return. "Daddy, you shouldn't leave without me" he pleaded with a hint of indignation and hurt. I completely understood his sense of loss. It wasn't a magnitude 8.1 but it was certainly something I took note of and addressed immediately with a hug and complete understanding and sympathy. Hopefully he won't be writing about it in his blog thirty years from now.

Finally, as a footnote, the pier still lays on its side over thirty years later, and as for the field in question, well it has never since had any crop grown in it. Perhaps my reaction was to portend the end of an era on that farm which now lays fallow and a home only for the occasional horses that graze among the weeds.

Comments

[Chip Clark]

As a parent of adult children, I was aware (when they were small) of many of my actions, concerned how my actions would affect the children and their adult lives. Looking at the kids and listening to them speak of their trials and tribulations as adults, or regale events of their childhood, I am amazed at how resilient children are. And how the oddest things are retained when other events which seemed so seminal to me, are no where to be found... or even worse, how one child sees an event in a positive light and the other in a negative one... which means there are times when, as a parent, there is no right course.

Love them... and tell them (in numerous ways) you love them... and all the rest will get sorted.

[El Spud]

It's a funny old rock'n'roll world is it not....

[Eddie Louise]

Sod it all Old Man! Now ye've gone and made me greet like a bairn at work! What're ye like?!?

[Eddie Louise]

Sod it all Old Man! Now ye've gone and made me greet like a bairn at work!