Archive News
C’mon y’all! Do do do the Galway Shuffle!
Date Published: 09-May-2013
SOMETIMES you’re just not in the mood; sometimes you just don’t have the time, but it’s not up to you. If you want to walk from Spanish Parade to Cross Street on a sunny midweek afternoon, you have to do the Galway Shuffle.
Way back in 2004, this colyoom christened Galway ‘The City of 10,000 howyas’, but beyond that short sweet “howya!” there exists a higher level of Galway greeting.
Sitting outside The Quays, I spot a friend of mine walking up the street. ‘Haven’t seen her for ages.’ I think to myself. ‘Must try to catch her and have a chat.’
Fifteen minutes later the chef, artist, restaurateur, author and general Galway legend has only made it as far as Martine’s Wine Bar. Everybody wants to say hello to her, have a wee chat and a hug.
By the time I stand to greet her, she’s explaining how she’s already late for an appointment. She’d stopped to talk to people on Wolfe Tone Bridge, and with the sun shining, Quay Street was lined with folk such as myself who were delighted to see her.
If we lived in Hollywood she’d be crying “everyone wants a piece of me!” but thankfully we live on the shores of a different ocean, where we appreciate the profundity of human contact, and are willing to walk the Quay Street line, shaking hands, kissing mwaaahs and . . . oh hell, maybe we do live in Hollywood after all!
No. There’s no red carpet on Quay Street. If you’re recognised and talked to, it’s because you’ve a red carpet soul.
Do do do the Galway Shuffle!
If you’re in a hurry, dealing with howyas is a lot easier than doing the Galway Shuffle.
A couple of weeks ago, walking along Dominick Street, I met three howyas in the tiny distance between the Arts Centre and Bridge Mills. Being a bit of a recluse, I hadn’t been into town all week and it filled me with joy to feel I still belonged, since I’ve moved out of the city yet again.
The sun was shining that day too, so people’s chins were raised, their eyes looking out towards each other, rather than cowed to an Atlantic gale and lashing sideways rain. The weather definitely plays a massive part in Galway life, but no storm is stronger than bonds forged in fun.
My first smiling “howya!” that morning comes from another English lad, with whom I used to enjoy a chat and a pint, back in the days of Taylor’s Bar. As we pass in the street and exchange howyas, a smile brushes my lips as I remember the slagging he gave me across the street last year.
I’d written a colyoom about the misery I’d experienced being a fat teenager, and as I came down Henry Street, he’d called across from William Street West, his sardonic northern accent the perfect foil to his sandpaper dry wit.
“ ‘Ere, Chaaaarlie! Read that piece you wrote about you being a fat kid. Shocked me it did! Never thought in a million years you’d’ve been a fat kid. Not Charlie, not with his natural athleticism. Shocked me to the core, t’did!”
Passing Aniar, I almost knock over yer man from Galway Market. Seemingly plucked intact as an extra from godfather part II, he’s sartorially perfect and, as ever, aesthetically beautifully turned out, from flat-capped top to the tip of his arcane bike trailer.
He is an example of a perfect howya. Such is the complexity and subtlety of life in Galway City, the fact that we’ve barely ever shared a word spares us the compulsory and potentially lengthy Galway Shuffle encounter. Yet because we both have a pretty good idea of who the other is, it’d just be plain rude not to acknowledge that mutual recognition, even though we don’t actually know each other.
So another smile and a howya exchanged puts a bounce in my boots and a smile on his lips, and how bad can that be?
Crossing the road towards Arabica I spot the print shop owner. for years I’d see him in his shop, but back then, clutching a mere three sheets that needed photocopying, I was barely a blemish on his platen. Years later, with much thanks due to his wonderful staff in their main depot, his company has done all of my printing jobs, so we now know each other well enough to be genuine howyas.
“Howya!”
“Howya Charlie!”
“How’s life?”
“Good! Mighty! Yourself?”
“All good mate! See you later!”
“See you.”
How simple is that? How happy am I to be living near a city where I share three friendly smiling greetings with three human beings I only partially know, barely 50 metres out of my car?
I’m not even over the river, but as I stroll over O’Brien’s Bridge I know I’m leaving behind the world of the howya. I’m entering the dance floor that is Galway City Centre.
Do do do the Galway Shuffle!
On those days when you’re not in the mood you simply have to pretend you haven’t seen a soul you know. They’ll forgive you, because their lives are not void of interest. They aren’t exactly sitting there hoping against hope that you’ll turn up and save their day. They’d have been happy to talk, but hey, no biggie.
Ah, but when you do have time to do the Galway Shuffle, or when you’ve been so missed that you’re given no choice, it’s far from a terrible trial. Outside Fat Freddy’s, hands are outstretched towards me from arms raised to be shaken. Bottoms rise from the mock wicker chairs outside Tigh Neachtain, where smiles are shared with recollections of shameful times past; where hugs precede new mischief to come.
I’ve lived in London; Melbourne; San Francisco: some of the world’s most wonderful cities, yet there’s nothing anywhere that compares to the sense of comradeship, kinship and caring that awaits those who walk the Quay Street line.
Do do do the Galway Shuffle!
People’s living conditions less than 100 years ago were frightening. We have come a long way. We talk about water charges today, but back then the local District Councils were erecting pumps for local communities and the lovely town of Mountbellew, according to Council minutes, had open sewers,” says Galway County Council archivist Patria McWalter.
Patria believes we “need to take pride in our history, and we should take the same pride in our historical records as we do in our built heritage”. When you see the wealth of material in her care, this belief makes sense.
She is in charge of caring for the rich collection of administrative records owned by Galway County Council and says “these records are as much part of our history as the Rock of Cashel is. They document our lives and our ancestors’ lives. And nobody can plan for the future unless you learn from the past, what worked and what didn’t”.
Archivists and librarians are often unfairly regarded as being dry, academic types, but that’s certainly not true of Patria. Her enthusiasm is infectious as she turns the pages of several minute books from Galway’s Rural District Councils, all of them at least 100 years old.
Part of her role involved cataloguing all the records of the Councils – Ballinasloe, Clifden, Galway, Gort, Loughrea, Mountbellew, Portumna and Tuam. These records mostly consisted of minutes of various meetings.
When she was cataloguing them she realised their worth to local historians and researchers, so she decided to compile a guide to their content. The result is For the Record: The Archives of Galway’s Rural District Councils, which will be a valuable asset to anybody with an interest in history.
Many representatives on these Councils were local personalities and several were arrested during the political upheaval of the era, she explains.
And, ushering in a new era in history, women were allowed to sit on these Rural District Councils – at the time they were not allowed to sit on County Councils.
All of this information is included in Patria’s introductory essay to the attractively produced A4 size guide, which gives a glimpse into how these Rural Councils operated and the way political thinking changed in Ireland during a short 26-year period. In the early 1900s, these Councils supported Home Rule, but by 1920, they were calling for full independence and refusing to recognise the British administration.
“I love the tone,” says Patria of the minutes from meetings. “The language was very emotive.”
That was certainly true of the Gort Rural District Council. At a meeting in 1907, following riots in Dublin at the premiere of JM Synge’s play, The Playboy of the Western World the councillors’ response was vehement. They recorded their decision to “protest most emphatically against the libellous comedy, The Playboy of the Western World, that was belched forth during the past week in the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, under the fostering care of Lady Gregory and Mr Yeats. We congratulate the good people of Dublin in howling down the gross buffoonery and immoral suggestions that are scattered throughout this scandalous performance.
For more from the archives see this week’s Tribunes here
Date Published: 23-Jan-2013
SLIGO 0-9
GALWAY 1-4
FRANK FARRAGHER IN ENNISCRONE
GALWAY’S first serious examination of the 2013 season rather disturbingly ended with a rating well below the 40% pass mark at the idyllic, if rather Siberian, seaside setting of Enniscrone on Sunday last.
The defeat cost Galway a place in the FBD League Final against Leitrim and also put a fair dent on their confidence shield for the bigger tests that lie ahead in February.
There was no fluke element in this success by an understrength Sligo side and by the time Leitrim referee, Frank Flynn, sounded the final whistle, there wasn’t a perished soul in the crowd of about 500 who could question the justice of the outcome.
It is only pre-season and last Sunday’s blast of dry polar winds did remind everyone that this is far from summer football, but make no mistake about it, the match did lay down some very worrying markers for Galway following a couple of victories over below par third level college teams.
Galway did start the game quite positively, leading by four points at the end of a first quarter when they missed as much more, but when Sligo stepped up the tempo of the game in the 10 minutes before half-time, the maroon resistance crumbled with frightening rapidity.
Some of the statistics of the match make for grim perusal. Over the course of the hour, Galway only scored two points from play and they went through a 52 minute period of the match, without raising a white flag – admittedly a late rally did bring them close to a draw but that would have been very rough justice on Sligo.
Sligo were backable at 9/4 coming into this match, the odds being stretched with the ‘missing list’ on Kevin Walsh’s team sheet – Adrian Marren, Stephen Coen, Tony Taylor, Ross Donovan, David Kelly, David Maye, Johnny Davey and Eamon O’Hara, were all marked absent for a variety of reasons.
Walsh has his Sligo side well schooled in the high intensity, close quarters type of football, and the harder Galway tried to go through the short game channels, the more the home side bottled them up.
Galway badly needed to find some variety in their attacking strategy and maybe there is a lot to be said for the traditional Meath style of giving long, quick ball to a full forward line with a big target man on the edge of the square – given Paul Conroy’s prowess close to goal last season, maybe it is time to ‘settle’ on a few basics.
Defensively, Galway were reasonably solid with Gary Sice at centre back probably their best player – he was one of the few men in maroon to deliver decent long ball deep into the attacking zone – while Finian Hanley, Conor Costello and Gary O’Donnell also kept things tight.
For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.
Date Published: 23-Jan-2013
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