Cavan Cola and a Monaghan mystery

Gerard Smith recalls how Monaghan was a place of mystery to him in his childhood in his WordSmith column this week...

Since the Northern Standard ceased publication, my mind’s been meandering around Monaghan. Especially since serendipity recently put two Monaghan folk into my orbit, both of whom provided a positive life-experience.

As a child I looked upon Monaghan as a place of mystery; a perception that had its catalyst in Cavan – here’s why. I was eight-years-old and a glorious summer in Cavan lay ahead. I was a loner of a lad who enjoyed losing myself in the drumlin-landscape. But I enjoyed adult company; or more correctly, listening to their conversations. I wasn’t a sneaky kid, more a quiet one who was often so invisible the adults wouldn’t realise I was in the room when having their grown-up talks. Many of these whispered conversations were gripping mystery stories to me. Sometimes I’d be so overcome with solving the story that I’d butt-in and blow my cover. Like the time I sat on the stairs while Mam and her friend spoke of a man who’d left Cavan for England, “He’s after leaving that poor girl broken hearted,” said Mam. The friend lowered her voice, “I’d say he’s one of them, shur that’s why he took the boat, I’m told England’s full of em.” My ears honed in to hear Mam’s response, “Do you really think he’s one of them?” I couldn’t hold back and jumped in, “What’s one of them?”

Mam’s face tightened, “Never you mind; get out in that lovely day…” I ran out relieved I’d had a lucky escape from her wrath.

I wandered and wondered what the ‘one of them’ was? For I knew the man, and found him a nice fellow, full of gaiety who looked just like one of us. Yet the adults in my world suggested he was some kind of alien-species; I racked my brain wondering what planet he might be from.

And so it was from this perspective that I began to hear adult whisperings suggesting Monaghan was perhaps, another planet. This time when the mystery came up in hushed talk I was mindful to keep quiet. Instead I made like Fred Jones from Scooby-Doo, determined to unravel the mystery with his stealth like strategy.

I was in a pub enjoying a Cavan-Cola in the company of family and friends at a celebratory function; when the mystery most notably presented itself. Amongst the revelry a woman’s raised voice brought up the name of an absent friend “…I haven’t seen her this while, where did she go?” When the pub fell silent my ears pricked up. The woman lowered her head; in that slightly shameful way when we fear we’ve said something wrong. Eventually the proprietor approached, picked up her empty glass, leant in and quietly said, “She’s gone to Monaghan, for a wee while.”

There was something in the way the publican spoke that bothered me, it suggested an ‘otherness’ about going to Monaghan. The following day after Mass I began Mission-Monaghan. I started with an uncle, “Have you ever gone to Monaghan?” He looked at me like I had two heads, “Indeed I have.” I shot back with, “What’s it like?” Irritation flashed across his face, “Much the same as here, only we have the better team.”

Frustrated his response uncovered nothing, I moved onto granny, “Have you ever gone to Monaghan?” She continued kneading dough, “Indeed I have...”

My frustration turned to failure, Fred and his Scooby-Doo team solved their mysteries in twenty minutes; over twenty-four hours later I was none the wiser about Monaghan. And as that summer progressed I gave up on solving the story, my detecting skills were simply not up to it, sadly.

Until years later when the Monaghan-mystery presented itself to me once more. It was on the most joyful of days, my college graduation. Now, what was supposed to be a celebratory day was somewhat sullied by a long-standing feud; and I could feel the simmering tension between the two family members in attendance. My sister Maria and I, were mindful to keep them apart. But despite our best efforts; the drink detonated the dynamite. Their volley of words hit off each other causing ever increasing damage. Then one used their final round to lambast the other with – “It’s in Monaghan you belong!”

As the dust settled, I said to Maria, “I remember this Monaghan thing as a kid, what’s the story?” She rolled her eyes, “There’s a Psychiatric Hospital in Monaghan, they think it’s a big insult to be put there.” We shook our heads at the madness of the mindset.

Today, I’m happy we’ve moved on. Although there’s still stigma around mental-health, it’s not the put-down it once was, thankfully.