Month: September 2020

• 

I was lying in bed last week when an old poem I remembered from my school days popped into my head; ‘The Dong with the luminous nose.’ It didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time and it still doesn’t. The Dong was just a figment of Edward Lear’s imagination and I have no idea where I dragged it up from, but it got me thinking about something else.

I’m regularly approached when I’m out and about by locals keen to raise the issue of dog fouling. It’s not the most pleasant of topics but many are driven to talk about it because it’s a huge problem and most of us are fed up with looking at it.  

Stepping in it isn’t pleasant either but that’s difficult to avoid because it’s everywhere. Our footpaths, streets, green areas and even private gardens are destroyed with the stuff. It’s disgusting and I’ve been prattling on about it for years but I’m afraid I’m wasting my time because the local authorities seem to have little appetite for tackling the issue.

They’ve made little headway in the last fifty years, so I reckon it will still be a problem it in fifty more. By then, I will have had first-hand experience of the cremation process, so it won’t bother me. Hopefully, pavements in the afterlife will be poop free but for now, down here in the real world, the problem is getting worse and there are a couple of things I don’t understand.

Why have a dog in the first place if you’re at work all day and the animal is alone in the house or garden barking itself hoarse? That can’t be much fun for the dog and it certainly doesn’t bring joy to the neighbours.

Why do some owners open the front door first thing in the morning and hunt their dogs out for the day, to wander the streets creating piles of poo everywhere? If people don’t want an animal hanging around the house, why bother with a dog? They’d be better off buying a cow.

I don’t have a dog, but I recently found a heap of mess in my garden and I had to deal with it. If I could have proven the identity of the offending animal, I would have had no hesitation in returning the pile to its rightful owner. I have two grandchildren who play in our garden and I have to inspect it whenever they’re coming to visit because a couple of dogs are using my place as a public toilet.

You might think this is a modern problem, but dog fouling is nothing new. It’s been with us a long time and while trawling through the Irish Examiner Archives, I discovered we were complaining about it fifty-three years ago.

In the Evening Echo in 1967, there was a letter to the Editor from a reader who signed himself Brush and Shovel, Cork. He wanted to know why the “Budgetmaker” didn’t put a bigger tax on dogs. “They roam the streets fouling everywhere. People who haven’t a farm should be made pay £5 tax on their dogs. It would also, save money for the unfortunate ratepayer. Imagine paying men to clean up. Please, “Mr. Budget man,” increase the tax on all dogs inside the borough boundary.”

I don’t think the ‘Budgetmaker’ paid much attention to Brush and Shovel because the problem didn’t go away. In 1976, nine years later, the same paper reported that the Environment Minister Mr. Denis Howell received a report from the inter-departmental working party on the control of dogs, concerning the danger to health from fouled footpaths and open spaces. He was considering the report before deciding on publication or further action.

I have no idea what was in that report or what further action they agreed on but nine years later, in 1985, a warden service to round up stray dogs was urged by Mrs Alice Glenn (FG). She complained that the streets of Dublin were being continually fouled by dogs, causing embarrassment to residents and visitors alike and she called for dog licence fees to be increased.

Later that year, greater powers to deal with the country’s stray dog population were approved by the Government at a Cabinet meeting. Dog wardens would be appointed by the local councils to enforce the stricter regulations.

The new laws would deal with the size of the dog population, the prevalence of stray and uncontrolled dogs and the irresponsible attitude of dog owners. The fouling by dogs of parks and other public places would also be tackled. That plan didn’t work out too well.

But we weren’t the only ones suffering from an abundance of dog poo. In 1989, the Evening Echo reported that dog fouling was causing problems in England, but George Buckley had a solution. He was chairman of a parish council in Yorkshire and in that role, he had received dozens of complaints from irate residents with soiled shoes.

He said these dogs were the scourge of pavements up and down the country and because people were now more aware of the problem, many owners preferred to exercise their dogs “under the cover of night”. He said they often used darkness to conceal their foul deeds, leaving night-time strollers to tread a hazardous path in their wake.

Mr. Buckley, who was also a pharmacy lecturer at Nottingham’s Trent polytechnic, suggested that pet food manufacturers would inject their products with chemicals to make Rover’s returns glow in the dark. He thought the glowing poo might embarrass the owners.

It’s a pity that didn’t work out because it would have given us an opportunity to replace Edward Lear’s poem with one that would make a lot more sense; ’The dog with the luminous poo’.

• 

I came across a little story over the weekend that I would like to share with you. It started with a black and white photograph of an elderly man and a boy standing beside each other in the wheelhouse of a boat and it was taken almost sixty years ago. It’s the kind of photo that you would probably toss aside if you found it in your drawer but this one had a name written on the back of it.

Bear with me while I set the scene and I’ll try not to bore you to death, but I need to give you some insight into my family tree first. To be honest, it’s not a subject I am very familiar with, but I know enough to be getting on with and it’s relevant to the tale. Kind of.

My great grandfather came from Northern Ireland and I think he came to Cork to work in the maritime industry. Anyway, he had two sons Michael and Bill Carson and both of them ended up working on boats around Cork Harbour. Michael was my grandfather.

His brother Bill worked on the General McHardy, a naval launch that ferried military personnel around the harbour between Spike Island, Haulbowline and Cobh back in the day. His daughter Peggy is in her eighties now but has all her wits about her and she has a great memory.

Peggy has the photograph in question, and it was taken in the wheelhouse of the General McHardy. The young boy in the photo with him was wearing her father’s cap and the name Lee Lawson Stockdale was written on the back of it. She had an idea that he was connected with a visit to Cork by the American Ambassador to Ireland in the early sixties and she was wondering what ever became of him.

It didn’t take much detective work to discover that the American Ambassador to Ireland at that time was Grant Stockdale. He was appointed to the position in 1961 by President John. F. Kennedy and in May of that year, Mr. Stockdale set sail with his family, on the SS America to take up his new post in Ireland.

When they arrived, the SS America dropped anchor outside Cork Harbour. These days we’re used to liners coming right up to the quayside but back then, things were different. Larger ships remained outside the mouth of the harbour and passengers were ferried ashore on tenders.

The arrival of Ambassador Stockdale created a stir and this visitor was far too important to be sent ashore with regular passengers on an ordinary tender so Bill Carson was despatched in the General McHardy, along with a welcoming committee, to fetch the VIP and his family and bring them to Cobh.

Mr. Stockdale was obviously very impressed with his first view of the harbour judging by a report in the Cork Examiner. “This is one of the most beautiful spots I’ve seen,” said the newly appointed U.S. Ambassador to Ireland, as he stepped aboard the naval launch, General McHardy, from the liner SS America in Cork Harbour to-day.

Mr. Stockdale was accompanied by his wife, his two sons. Grant (14), Lee Lawson (8) and his two daughters, Anne (17) and Susan (6). The Ambassador was wearing a light green tie which he said was planned and directed specially for the occasion. The children, too, wore green emblems and Susan had green bows in her hair and leprechauns embossed on her dress.

It was while they were on the launch to Cobh that young Lee was photographed with Bill Carson. As they approached the town, the bells of St. Colman’s Cathedral rang out with the American National Anthem, the Irish National Anthem and “Faith of Our Fathers”. When the party landed at Cobh, they were greeted by Mr. Frank Steele, Chairman of the Cobh U.D.C. and Mr. D. J. O’Connor, Town Clerk.

Mr. Stockdale didn’t last long in his role though and his time here was short lived. In February of the following year, 1962, there were rumours of his impending resignation which he denied but by July, he had returned to the States to manage his business.

He had a close personal friendship with President Kennedy and when he was assassinated in 1963 Stockdale took the news badly. He is said to have cried when he received a phone call informing him that his close friend was dead. A fellow worker reported trying to comfort him, but he was inconsolable and unable to speak he was so upset.

Ten days later, Grant Stockdale fell from the window of his 13^th storey office. Investigating detectives recorded the death as a suicide and said Stockdale had been in almost constant despondency since the assassination.

The loss of his father had a big impact on ten-year old Lee Lawson and it altered the course of his life. He had met President Kennedy when he was only eight years old and the youngster asked him what he needed to do to become president. JFK apparently advised him to learn his history and mind his mother.

“I was on a path for a political career,” Stockdale said. “Had my father lived, I would have gone into politics, but his death changed all that.” He joined the US Army instead, studied for a law degree and eventually became a colonel, serving in Berlin, Afghanistan and the Pentagon.

Today, Lee Stockdale runs a successful law firm in North Carolina and has raised five children with his wife Gail. He enjoys playing electric blues harmonica and wrote a novel, Murder of Law.

That’s what became of the boy who was photographed with Peggy’s dad almost sixty years ago and when she heard that story, it brought a tear to her eye.

• 

Up to a few years ago I didn’t have much of an idea about prostate cancer. My father had it and I think my grandfather may have had it too but as far as I was concerned back then, it was something that old men got. Even though I knew some of them died, I still wasn’t too concerned because it was a long way off becoming a problem for me.

That all changed in 2018 when I received that diagnosis myself. It didn’t make sense to me because I had just turned sixty and I didn’t think I was elderly. I Googled the symptoms and that only added to my confusion because I didn’t have any of them.

The symptoms include having to rush to the toilet to pass urine, or passing urine more often than usual, especially at night. Having difficulty passing urine including straining to pass it or stopping and starting and not being able to empty the bladder completely.

I didn’t have any of those, so I reckoned it was a false alarm and another test would explain it all away. It didn’t work out that way though and before I knew it, I was on my way to an MRI and a biopsy and then surgery in September 2018.

That was two years ago. I’ve just had my latest check up with the consultant and I’m happy to report that so far, it’s all good. I feel great, I’ve lost just over a stone in weight, I walk four miles a day and I recently started playing tennis again. It’s good news but it could all have been very different.

September is Prostate Cancer Awareness Month and the message is simple. This type of cancer is very treatable if caught in time so early diagnosis is critical. For that to happen, we need to be aware of what’s going on in our bodies. We should be talking to our GP’s and having regular check-ups but that’s not something men are good at.

I’ve written about my own experience previously and as a result of those articles, quite a few men have contacted me. Some were worried about facing into surgery while others were post- op and worried about the future. I’m no expert so all I could do was tell them about my experience as someone who has been through it. I’m happy to do that any time because it’s really important to get the message out there that prostate cancer is not an old man’s disease. John Wall can tell you all about that.

At 48, John Wall is a father and husband living life with an advanced prostate cancer diagnosis. When John heard about the Marie Keating Foundation’s “Stand Up For Your Prostate” campaign and learned about how the campaign was encouraging the men of Ireland to be more open about their health and take the stigma out of prostate cancer, John wanted to share his story.

“For 46 years of my life, I never thought that my health would ever be an issue. I was happily married with a loving family, a good job and a great future to look forward to.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly the fittest person in the world, but I had given up drinking and smoking many years ago and also had an annual medical at work each year, so I thought I was fine. That was me living blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.

I noticed during the early months of 2017 that I was having to pay frequent visits to the loo, especially at night. I never paid much attention to it. As awkward as it became, I thought it was just part of my middle-aged status. I did go to my GP twice but because of my age, nothing was considered other than an infection, so off I trotted with some antibiotics.

I did have my PSA (Prostate-Specific Antigen) checked as part of a blood test and the results were off the charts but I was not a candidate for Prostate Cancer. I didn’t fit the age profile. I was too young.

In July 2017 I began to experience slight pains in my right leg. Initially didn’t think much of it, but it got to the point where even whilst sitting, I had difficulty lifting the leg. I’m was never one to head straight to my GP on a whim, but my instinct told me this time was an exception. That evening, I was referred for a scan that would change our lives more than we could ever have imagined.

My scan showed an enlarged prostate, along with a significant enlargement of my lymph nodes. After several days of poking, prodding and discussions using words that we couldn’t even spell, our worst fears were confirmed. The diagnosis was Stage 4 Prostate Cancer with advanced secondaries in my lymph nodes. I was only 46.

I’ve reached out to other men on Twitter to offer advice based on my experiences. We need to talk, talk to each other, support each other because we have no idea what the future holds.”

John is right about the uncertainty of the future and that’s why we must do what we can to increase the odds in our favour. The best way to achieve that is to catch the disease early. A simple, regular blood test is a good place to start and don’t be afraid to talk to your GP.

I contacted John to make sure it was ok to use his story and I’ll leave the last word to him;

“Why wait for something to go wrong before we visit our GP? I mean we service our cars whether they need it or not. It’s time we started to service ourselves!”

• 

It’s not too long ago that I was feeling sorry for my late mother because she couldn’t get her head around the Internet. The whole thing overwhelmed her. She was a worrier and didn’t like taking chances or trying new things. The thought of making a mistake terrified her.

She had a tablet but was afraid to experiment with it in case she did something wrong and it didn’t matter how often we told her not to worry, it made no difference. When she came to a point where she wasn’t sure what the next step was, she would just put it to one side and leave it rather than trouble someone for assistance.

She loved her crosswords and was a big reader, so we bought her a Kindle. She used it until she ran out of books that I had loaded onto it and then went back to her crosswords. The thought of trying to upload new material was a step too far. She wouldn’t ask us for help because that would be wasting our time. In her mind, she would be bothering us.

It drove me nuts and there were many times when I found myself getting frustrated with her, but it was her way and she wasn’t going to change. She fell down the stairs at 5am one morning and ended up in a heap in the hallway, bleeding from a head wound. I got there soon after she rang and when I saw her, I called an ambulance.

She spent the next hour apologising to me and the ambulance personnel for the inconvenience she caused by having us out at that ungodly hour. While she was being put onto the stretcher, she asked one of the crew members to put a towel on their pillow so she wouldn’t get blood on it.

She never returned home after that and came to live with me when she was released from hospital. She fell because she was seriously ill with cancer and she kept quiet about that too. She died a couple of months later in my house.

During the time she was with us, I only heard her complain a couple of times and that was when the doctor called after 9pm. She told him he had enough to be doing without visiting her at that hour of the night and he should be at home with his feet up. That gives you some idea of the kind of woman we were dealing with.

She would have struggled with Covid-19. She would have been stressed to the last, not for herself but for the rest of us. She would have worried herself to death that maybe she could become a victim and a burden to those charged with minding her. If she contracted it, she would probably have kept that to herself as well.

She’s not alone because as far as I can see, that’s typical of the Irish mammy. They’re a tough bunch and they have been through the mill in the past and survived. They are a resilient generation and you can always count on them to do the right thing. They will follow the HSE guidelines and maintain social distancing, wash their hands and wear their masks because they care. They care about their family, friends and neighbours and they want to beat the virus.

Covid-19 is a ruthless opponent and I’m glad my mother has been spared the experience. As a nation, we did really well for the first wave of the virus. We locked ourselves down and did as we were told but as soon as we dropped our guard it snuck back into our lives to torment us again.

It hasn’t been easy by any means and it has been particularly difficult for those who lost friends and family. They watched funerals from a distance and some never even got a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones. Many family members couldn’t travel home for funerals and had to follow proceedings on the Internet.

That’s what my mother would have done if she was still with us. She would have followed the advice and abided by the guidelines. She wouldn’t have wanted to pass the disease to anyone else because she was responsible.

My daughter was due to get married in April but when the virus struck, she cancelled it and postponed it until August. When the restrictions weren’t lifted by then, she decided to postpone it until next year. She took it on the chin like many others and did what was right.

Then Golfgate happened. The very people pleading for adherence to the guidelines went for a game of golf and a meal. Eighty-one of them. They gave the middle finger to the rest of us and went for a day out in contravention of the very rules we were asked to comply with.

Phil Hogan, Jerry Buttimer and Dara Calleary showed an astounding degree of arrogance with their total disregard for the guidelines and, as a consequence, put a serious dent in the morale of the nation. Some are now questioning why we should obey the rules when those who should know better are doing their own thing. 

Those same people are now telling us it’s vital for Phil Hogan’s position to be filled by a strong candidate. Apparently, we need another Big Phil type character to look out for our interests in the run up to the Brexit negotiations. An experienced politician.

I disagree. What we really need is someone who will lead by example and put the country’s interest before their own. If my mother was alive, I’d nominate her but as that’s not possible, I propose any other Irish mammy for the position. Then we’d have someone to follow.