John Mc got me thinking about the Irish phone-call to the old sod (land, not old fella!) in his response to my comment over at his place.
It made me remember the hoops my parents had to go through to phone home in the early 70s, when we lived in England, as part of the Irish diaspora.
Mam would write to her parents to tell them that she would phone the one and only local phone box at 6.30p.m. on Thursday, 17th of June - she'd give about 2 weeks notice in case someone else wanted to get a call on that day at that time - on that phone!
Then, the day before the big event, I would be given the job of phoning the operator, asking for the international operator, then the "Irish service" to book the call for the following day. I never questioned why I was given this job - even though I was only a kid!! Thinking about it today though, it was probably because I was the eldest kid, and because the operator might not understand my parents' Irish accent? As I think on it, they used to have quite a bit of trouble being understood by the natives. It didn't affect us too much though, because the Irish tended to stick together.
Anyway, the big day would come, and we would all be crowded around the phone. I would go through the rigmarole again at 6pm - 1. operator 2. international operator 3. Irish service - speaking to each operator in turn. Eventually, we'd get through to Ireland. Then the fun would start!! I would be put through to God knows how many exchanges, asking for Ballymagash 4 * (roaring down the phone because they couldn't hear me!!), spelling it, saying what county it was in - looking back, it was a scream, at the time though it was quite serious, because my parents contact with home lay in my young hands!
At long, long last, I'd be put through to another person and I'd say, "Hello, is that Ballymagash 4*?" and if everything had gone right (it didn't always) then I'd hear, "Hello, is that you, Mairéad, this is your granda. You're a great girl. Is your Mammy waiting there for me?" I'd hand over the phone, and Mam would get all the news of the weather, the weddings, funerals, illnesses - just like John Mc gets today when he rings home.
Like I said to John - some things have changed utterly, while other things haven't changed at all.
*Ballymagash 4 wasn't the number, but it was close. We didn't get an automatic service where I live in Cork until about 1984?? maybe later. We were physically "put through" by a local person whom we all knew, and by God but she knew all about us too, thanks to her excellent listening skills!!!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
9 comments:
Good memories, Mairead. I got my broadband today in the middle of nowhere. Everything's changed since communications went digital!
This brought back so many memories.The 80s too- We were on the receiving end of my Dad's calls from America to the phone booth in town. We would park with the window open, jump out when it rang and then one by one we'd chat to him with all our big stories of quizzes and matches and medals etc. I'd forgotten all about that.
I remember when we would misbehave my mother would pick up the car keys and pretend to be out the door to ring him and threaten us with "if I have to tell your father........"
We instantly would stop.
Can you believe that?
He was 3 thousand miles away for God's sake :)
My Indian father-in-law, who grew up in the Himalayan foothills, and moved to the US in the 50's, has a similar story. He says, that you always knew that the operators were listening, and what ever was discussed would soon be all over his hometown.
Congrats on the broadband, Conan! I compare it to an electric kettle versus boiling it over an open fire! You'll never go back!
eastgalwaywoman, that's gas! I remember my Dad having superhuman powers of knowing when we were bold too, but not from America! Didn't we believe everything we were told!!! No wonder the powers that be (all of them!) had such fun with us!!
John Mc, yes, our ladies were "very well informed"!
Hate to say it Mairéad, but electric kettles are no longer 'hot'! Watch your electricity meter when you put one on to boil... they guzzle the units! Nowadays it's back to the stove (wood burning) or the gas hob for the kettle.
O God, the green manifesto is taking hold already! I'll have to do a green audit... but not yet! "Let the last hour be the hardest", as my mother used to say! I'll wait for peak oil and then get all green, like the sinner on his / her deathbed!
That's right. There was a massive investment in telecomms here back in the early 80s, paid for out of our taxes. It made our system the most advanced in Europe.
Then, twenty years later, we gave the whole fucking lot away to Tony O Reilly for a pittance, so that he could sell it on to Australian asset strippers, leaving us with no way to install economically-vital broadband.
Hey! That's FF for ya. Go, Beverley!
What wonderful memories. How easy it is to forget how things used to be. I was on the Blasket islands last week thinking about all the people who emigrated without ever being able to get inn contact with family again, no phones some were even illiterate so were unable to write. Impossible to imagine how difficult that must have been for both sides.
Hi Conortje, yes, the American wake and all that. Very, very sad. Our diapora have suffered a lot and continue to suffer. When we were in England during the 70s, even though we came "home" every year, the Irish were very homesick. I often caught my mother being a bit teary. It was very hard.
Post a Comment