Blowing in the wind, sounds and smells from the 1960s

WHEN I was growing up in Castlebar in the 1950s and ‘60s there were sounds, noises and smells that could be heard or smelt across the county town, writes Tom Gillespie.

The most vivid I have is that of each Sunday morning when members of the FCA’s 5th Motor Squadron gathered at the military barracks for shooting practice.

The crack of .33 bullets reverberated from the small shooting range at the Convent of Mercy side of the barracks, while the rat-tat-tat of Gustav submachine guns emanated from the range closest to Barrack Bridge.

As this was all pre-1969 when the Northern Troubles surfaced, the sound of gun fire was just a common occurrence every Sunday.

And in those days members of the FCA took their personal .33 rifles home with them after shooting or marching practice. The matching bullets were kept safely locked away.

There was another shooting range outside Castlebar at Townyculanee, but the sound of shooting there did not disturb those living in the town.

In 1966 I was a member of the FCA in Castlebar. We were kitted out with a heavy green uniform, sturdy black boots, a beret and an even heavier top coat.

Dubbin had to be applied to the boots to make them waterproof, a product I still use today for my walking boots.

Some of the more entrepreneurial recruits secured a second pair of boots by ‘baking’ the original pair in the oven and presenting them to the quartermaster to secure the new ones.

The ‘baking’ resulted in the uppers parting from the soles – easily put together again by the local cobbler.

The army coat was a God send in winter as it made a wonderfully warm top blanket and graced many cosy beds in the town.

The beret, too, had another use. It provided great padding for your shoulder when you were engaged in shooting practice, and countered the kick-back from the stock when the trigger of the .33 was pulled.

The ‘60s was the height of the showband era and Paddy Jennings' Royal Ballroom at the Travellers Friend Hotel was a Mecca for dancers.

Being a big fan of the showbands, but too young to attend the dances, I had to resort to listening to them outdoors. But the wind had to be coming in the right direction from the ballroom on the Westport Road towards Marian Row, where we lived, to carry the sound.

In order get the best sound we would go to the top of our back garden from where we had a clear view of the ballroom and enjoyed the songs of the Royal, Dixies, Capital and Pacific showbands.

Another sound that was carried on the wind, again if it was blowing in the right direction, was the whistle announcing the arrival of trains at Castlebar railway station.

Our house was over a mile as the crow flies from the station, yet the sound travelled so well that you could set your watch, if you had a watch, once you knew the arrival times.

Another eerie sound from that era was the bleating of a siren to summon firefighters to duty. The siren was located on top of the courthouse at the Mall and its wailing could be heard all over the town.

This was the most modern communications of its day to alert the firemen, under Captain Cathal Garvey, to assemble at the county council’s machinery yard, where the fire appliances were housed - now the site of Aras an Contae, and much earlier the old infirmary before the Mayo County Hospital was built.

The siren could sound 24/7 and it was not until the firemen were eventually issued with bleepers that the siren became redundant.

Marian Row was close to the Western Hats factory and exactly at one o’clock for the lunchtime break a shrilling whistle sounded and could be heard many streets away.

When the factory was in full production the dyes used in the production of the hats was discharged into the town river at the rear of the factory. There was a pipe coming from the factory to where the old wooden bridge was located at the end of Brett’s Lane and the different dyes coloured the waters like a rainbow.

Another sound, usually at 4 p.m. on a Friday, was the blasting of stone at the Roadstone quarry at Moneen.

The underground vibrations of the blast could be felt all over town and again you could set your watch by the timing of the blasts.

One of the most unpleasant and unpopular memories are of the stench from Castlebar Bacon Factory when they were processing bonemeal.

Doors and windows had to remain shut tight all across town and yet the putrid smell found its way in and lingered for hours in the air. Again, the wind factor played a major role as to which areas of the town were worst affected.

* Read Tom Gillespie's County Town column in our print edition every Tuesday