A Family memory by Betty Maguire.
A Piano for Margaret.
One of the highlights of the year when I was young was our annual holidays on my aunts Farm in Baltinglass, Co. Wicklow. After the city’s smells, O’Keefes the knackers in particular, a short distance from where I lived in the Liberties in the centre of Dublin, it was wonderful to get out of the bus at Deerpark and immediately the heady scent of the flowering currant bushes in the hedges outside the house assailed our nostrils first. Then the smell of turf burning and the warm welcome from my Aunt Connie and Uncle Lar and family not forgetting Jess the family sheep dog who wagged his tail so much one would be afraid It would drop off.
Once upon a time my cousin Nell also happened to be visiting there at the same time as us. We got to yarning about a house simply called “ The Lodge” which Nell’s father and mine were always talking about. It was where their mother was born and reared, and it seemed to us to have held a kind of magic for them. Neither Nell or I had ever been to visit it. No information was forthcoming by our relatives. So we decided to sneak off to Rathdangan to visit the Lodge and see for ourselves. We had our bicycles with us so we were mobile. It was about seven miles mostly uphill. The Sun shone, the birds were the only sound we heard on our cycle run and we stopped now and then to admire the countryside. Red poppies intermixed with blue cornflowers were growing at the roadside. The elderflower was in blossom and the scent of new mown hay was all
around us. We went from brilliant sunshine to dark shade as we went through Hume Wood. The trees met overhead. Here and there a shaft of sunshine broke through. It was like natures Cathedral. We felt we were on a pilgrimage, and fell to whispering. A hen pheasant sitting in the hedge nearby gave us a sharp eye as we passed by. We also stopped to look at Finn Mc Cool, his wife and his dog Bran on the side of Ceadeen Mountain. The figures can still be seen in the general flora of the mountain to this day. At last we came to the village of Rathdangan where we enquired our way to the “Lodge” and we were directed down a boreen. As we came towards the house an old crone was standing at the gate, dressed in black from head to toe with a black high crowned hat just like a witch.
She said “ I know who ye are ! Appleby’s !“ ( I was more than ever convinced that she was a Witch as in my innocence I didn’t realise that she put 2 and 2 together and also saw a family resemblance.
We were invited into the house and a great fuss was made of us by “ Peter of the Lodge and His sister Kate of the Lodge “ ( Thus they were always known by our fathers) Nell stayed to chat to Kate and I followed Peter as he had some farm chores to attend to. Peter brought me on a tour of the farm. It nestles in a beautiful glen on one side of which was Ceadeen Mountain with a wonderful panoramic view spread out before me and I was quite lost in admiration of the scene, but Peter said “You are seeing it at it’s best. It is not so inviting in the winter when it’s cloudy, wet, and windy.’’ I didn’t believe him. To me it was just pure magic as I was brought up in the inner city of Dublin with slums and tenements all around where I lived.
We returned to the house and had a real farmhouse tea, boiled eggs and brown bread with fresh country butter.
I had a chance to experience a favorite memory of my father when he was young. It was sitting in the inglenook and looking up the chimney at the stars in the heavens, I only saw blue sky and powder puffs of white cloud drifting past.
Presently Kate brought us into the parlour. Nell and I both exclaimed at once “ A piano ”. We both played the piano and we dashed over hoping to play a bit of music to entertain Peter and Kate, but alas it was not to be for when we opened up the lid of the piano we were shocked to see all the keys were black and mildewed and the wood was rotten, due to the damp, as the room was never heated or used. Having said our good byes and thanks we returned to Deer park and told of our visit to the Lodge.
One of the first things I said to my mother was about the state of the piano. Being of a musical nature I was deeply upset by this.
“There is a wonderful story about that piano, I’ll tell you about it” she said.
My great grand father had one daughter, Margaret. At that time about 1860 or shortly after, there was hardly any employment for women except domestic work, which was hard labour, unless you could acquire a bit of education and aim for something better.
He knew Margaret was clever and musical as well. So he decided to do something about it. He had a few guineas saved up so he harnessed his horse to the common cart and set out for Dublin, 50 miles away. Most of the side roads were little more than boreens. The main road to Dublin from Baltinglass was probably macadamed.
He stayed one night in ballyknockin at his cousin’s Mary Ann before travelling on to the city, and making his way to the auction rooms on Ormond Quay and Bachelors Walk and there he purchased a piano for Margaret. He loaded it on his cart and set out on the return journey. The embankment road was not built then. He would have had to travel to the Naas road through Robinhood lane and Saggart village and on up through the very steep road to the Slade valley and on to Brittas and Blessington, all mostly uphill. There were no weather forecasts then, but of course country men were great judges of the weather ( they had to be) but even so we all know how fickle our weather can be. He had to walk all the way himself to save the horse who had to pull the cart with the piano on it. It is hard to imagine what the journey was like in those day’s but a commitment for a better life for his daughter was what motivated him.
What a wonderful thing for a poor farmer to do for his daughter. To spend his little nest egg and set out on this hazardous journey was a great adventure in those days. The end result can be seen today. All the descendents of that young girl have contributed greatly in different levels of achievement to the present Celtic Tiger in, Business, Government, Nursing, Medicine, Teaching, Justice and Public Services.
I wonder as he approached home and saw the candle left lighting in the window, did he know at all and thought of Portia’s words on returning home from Venice.
“ THAT LIGHT WE SEE BURNING IN THE HALL
HOW FAR THAT LITTLE CANDLE THROWS ITS BEAMS
SO SHINES A GOOD DEED IN A TROUBLED WORLD”
The picture is the earliest photograph in my collection. It is of Joseph Appleby, Margaret Appleby, Nell Appleby and Maureen Appleby.
