Back in the 1950s, Ireland was a very different country, with no wealth in evidence and basic foodstuffs rationed and in short supply. Each year our family grew by one brother or sister, although in one year we got one of each. My dad was a hard-working bricklayer and earned good money, which gave us a decent standard of living.
Disaster struck in October 1956. Our dad was killed in a road accident and my mother was left with 11 children, ranging from me, the eldest to my baby brother, who was just three months old. Our lives had changed forever. It is impossible to explain now how hard it was back then for our mother to keep us together against all the odds. She worked as a waitress in hotels at night, and when the children were at school she worked in a clothing factory. We survived but life was hard.
One day, about three years after my dad’s death, a photographer called to the house offering to take a family photograph.
My oldest brother and I were out at work, so my 13-year-old sister, who was in charge, got everyone together. She gave their faces a quick rub, brushed their hair and posed them for the photographer.
Two weeks later he presented himself at the door with the photograph and a bill for a substantial amount of money. Our mother, who knew nothing about the photograph, was shocked. However, after making her feelings known, her soft heart took over and she agreed to buy the picture, much to the delight of everyone.
Hardship can bind a family, and each of us has a copy of that treasured photograph hanging in our houses to serve as a symbol that things were not always as comfortable as they are today, notwithstanding the recession.
Sadly, my youngest sister Patricia – the little girl on the right, with the slide in her hair – died in Perth, western Australia, last year.
We want your family memories, anecdotes, traditions, mishaps and triumphs. We’ll pay €50 for each one published. Email 350 words to familyfortunes@irishtimes.com with your nostalgia, family traditions, recipes or photos.
