The author reflects on his childhood and adolescence in Dublin, glimpsing occasionally into his many places of exile. Told in twenty-six stand-alone stories, illustrated with photos and cartoons. As World War II ends, his mother dies, leaving his dad with four young children. Postwar years are tough on Dubliners: socks are darned repeatedly; clothes are worn until they rip. Bowl haircuts like The Three Stooges are in style. But every Christmas there are toys. He and his pals walk out over the sand flats in Dublin Bay, taste the raw smell of the sea, and feel gritty sand stuffed between their toes. He has happy summers on a farm in County Mayo: raking hay, footing turf, chatting with colorful characters, but gets into trouble with his catapult. Goes hunting rabbits at dawn, smearing footsteps through the drenching dew. Proustian flashbacks evoke the country kitchen: the smell of turf smoke; praties boiling in a fat-bellied pot; a black kettle "singing peace" on the hob. His farmer uncle teaches lasting lessons in work ethics. School is mixed: indiscipline, indifference, animosity, mediocrity; biffs to the hand with the strap, lashes to the psyche with the tongue, the teacher openly calling one an eejit. Discovers Yeats's "terrible beauty"--in the classrooms where Pearse sat, before he was shot for his part in creating it. A Christian Brother inspires him in time to slip across the stile into the field of higher education. Rock 'n Roll upsets parents, grips teenagers; James Dean rebels, Buddy Holly thrills; their impossibly young deaths bewilder the young. Things change; some find no satisfaction. Pirate radios force staid national programs to embrace pop. The Beatles win all sides over in the tumultuous 1960s. He gets hooked on the suave contours and savage crags in the Wicklow Wilderness. At twenty-two he takes the emigrant boat, returns to Dublin for University, leaves again, pays tribute now to the city that mothered him.

Why do we send children to school? Who should take responsibility for children's health and education? Should girls and boys be educated separately or together? These questions provoke much contemporary debate, but also have a longer, often-overlooked history. Mary Hatfield explores these questions and more in this comprehensive cultural history of childhood in nineteenth-century Ireland. Many modern ideas about Irish childhood have their roots in the first three-quarters of the nineteenth century, when an emerging middle-class took a disproportionate role in shaping the definition of a 'good' childhood. This study deconstructs several key changes in medical care, educational provision, and ideals of parental care. It takes an innovative holistic approach to the middle-class child's social world, by synthesising a broad base of documentary, visual, and material sources, including clothes, books, medical treatises, religious tracts, photographs, illustrations, and autobiographies. It offers invaluable new insights into Irish boarding schools, the material culture of childhood, and the experience of boys and girls in education.

This collection of stories depicts the life of a young boy growing up in an Irish countryside in the nineteen forties. It conveys a glimpse of some of the daily and seasonal chores and events that comprised a dairying community in County Cork, in full view of the beautiful mountain range which stretches from Mushara to the Kerry Reeks. These stories are drawn from personal experiences and recalled fifty years later.

'An incredible portal to our past' The Sunday Times On 7 January 1922, Ireland became a free state. Born into that era of turbulence and hope were the twenty-six women and men whose stories and memories of a lifetime are captured by cherished Irish journalist Valerie Cox. From living memory come stories of the arrival of electricity, story-telling at 'rambling houses', raising a family in an earlier era, the scourge of TB, the big snow of 1932 and hiding out when the Black and Tans raided. These evocative pieces reflect both a simpler time and a tougher one, where childhood was short and the world of work beckoned from an early age. Growing Up With Ireland is a compelling portrait of an Ireland in some ways warmly familiar, and in others changed beyond recognition, from those who were there at the beginning. 'A comprehensive and evocative insight into a century of Irish life ... a valuable record' Irish Examiner

Seán O'Connor was born in Francis Street, in the Liberties of Dublin, a neighbourhood famous over the centuries for the sturdy independence of its people. Now, in this evocative and affectionate book, he recollects the unique and colourful district of his childhood: the neighbours who lived there, their traditions, talk and lore, the music and poetry of the laneways and markets. Remembrances of the 1940s classroom, of bird-watching in Phoenix Park, of roaming towards adolescence in the streets of his ancestors are mingled with tales of ancient ghosts and the coming of change to the Liberties. O'Connor, father of the novelist Joseph, tells his story with honesty, warmth and style, and the often wry wit of his home-place. This tenderly written testament of one Liberties boy builds into a vivid and heart-warming picture of his own extended family as part of a proud community and its all-but-vanished way of life.

Before the 1970s flipped the switch to colour, Irish children ere raised in a world of black, white and an awful lot of grey. But kids, being kids, found endless ways to have fun. Do you remember Dáithí Lacha, Radio Caroline and holidays in Butlin's Mosney? Then this is the book for you! Damian Corless takes us on a tongue-in-cheek trip down memory lane to the age of Let's Draw With Bláithín, instant mashed potato and 'Yellow Submarine'. Set against a backdrop of the space race and the miniskirt, this is a delightful celebration of the days we thought would never end (and some we're glad are gone forever).

Between freedom and ostracism: The world of the Irish Traveller Children