A rocky road but one worth travelling

- Another tale of old, told beautifully by Fr Jason Murphy in his own inimitable way in Let the Busy World be Hushed...

It’s hard to imagine that, when the young Hugh McGovern was growing up in Glangevlin in the 1940s, there were 15 shops and two pubs in the parish, four national schools and a technical school, supporting a thriving population before young people emigrated in their droves after the war to England and America.

Among the eldest of eight children, always conscious of helping his mother, Hugh used to work with Ludge McGovern aboard his travelling shop, after coming from Tullycassin national school, which attended little homesteads situated on hills from Doobally to Tullynamoyle, Gubaveeny to Corlough and all around the parish of Glangevlin. They served rural people who hadn’t the means of travel and who depended on Ludge for tea and sugar and other provisions that they couldn’t provide for themselves.

Breffni Blossom jam, produced by Lairds in Drumshanbo, was always a popular treat in the box of groceries that the woman of the house might buy by way of a little foosie for the children to spread on their bread at teatime.

Lairds paid out good money for empty jam jars that might be returned for reuse, which became an additional source of income for anyone who took the initiative to gather them up. Ludge, as the middleman, paid one old penny for a 2lb jar and halfpenny for a 1lb empty jar. Needless to say, the young Hugh was always on the lookout for any empty jars that were lying about by way of a little nixer.

In the warm summer months, he helped foot turf in the several bogs and, after rearing it, drew it to houses as the only source of fuel for the long winter months. One of those houses was Roseanne McGovern’s who lived far up the mountain. Roseanne had a family of 14 children and, with so many mouths to feed, bought a lot of jam over the years. While Hugh was filling Roseanne’s shed with turf one evening, he came across used jam pots by the dozen all lying in the corner covered with turf mould. In fact, on counting them, there were something like sixty 2lb jars and over 100 smaller ones, which she had gathered unbeknownst to herself over time.

In his mind he knew he had struck gold, the only thing now was to ask Roseanne if he could clear out the shed of the jam jars and take them with him. Indeed, not only did she let him take the jars, but helped him in washing them out in a running stream. Having laid them side by side to dry in the warmth of the evening, he had the dilemma now of how to carry them carefully down the mountain so he came up with the idea of to hiring from a neighbour, two asses with creels, to transport his jars of plenty as far Ludge Mc Govern’s shop and claim his money in return.

Up the mountain he led the two quiet asses who followed along without much hassle, expecting in their minds, to be carrying home, a load of brown turf. But on reaching Roseanne’s house, their surprise was evident as their ears flickered back and forth at the unusual sound of the clinking jars being packed tightly, one by one, into the creels cushioned with fistfuls of hay to ensure they wouldn’t crack on their way down the mountain. Hugh took tea after his day's work was done and gave Roseanne a luck penny by way of thanks for her kindness to him before he began his journey bound for Ludge’s with his precious load.

Thankfully the two asses passed little remarks of the sound of the clinking jars as they carefully picked their steps down the track as if they knew how valuable was the load they were carrying.

All the way home he thought of how he might spend the money, letting his mind wander far over the hills to the shop windows of Belturbet of a fair day.

That was until all his wanderings came to a shuddering halt by way of a cross dog who came running out from the back of a house barking at the top of his voice at the donkeys passing. They each got such a fright at the noise of the dog that they took off at full gallop down the side of the mountain flinging their precious cargo in all directions, smashing all of his jam jars into smithereens but for eight big ones and ten small ones just enough to pay for the hire of the two asses.

He could have cried after all his efforts; the man of the house making him gather every piece of broken glass along the way filling the creels to the brim.

Worse still, he was filled with deep disappointment when he arrived at the door of his home after promising his mother the world with the money he would earn from the jars. With little more than two shillings for all his efforts, his mother put her arms around him in reassurance knowing well that one day this enterprising little boy would achieve more than all jars in Drumshanbo could buy.