Book Review: Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt

A late comer to reading Angela’s Ashes, it was fascinating. As a memoire, it read like a novel. It would be easy to call it a rags to riches story, or a coming of age story and let it be. However, Frank McCourt shows us the rags, lets us wear them, feel the weather and smell the poverty the family endured. It was the 1930’s when Malachy McCourt and Angela Sheehan met in New York City. After a ‘knee-trembler’ putting Angela in an ‘interesting position’, they were married and had four children, Frank being the oldest. Malachy proved to be an unreliable husband and spent any earnings at pubs and speakeasies. The children, Francis, Malachy, Michael and the baby, Margaret were starving and were often sent out of the house to the park to play. Baby Margaret died suddenly, at only seven weeks old, crushing Angela’s will to function. Malachy had stopped drinking until his little daughter died but that resumed unabated. Neighbours intervened to support Angela, clean the two year old twins bottoms, and fed the children from their own supplies. The same neighbours called her cousins in to help sort out the household. After much turmoil, a letter was written to Angela’s grandmother in Ireland, who sent money for their passage back to Ireland. If they hoped that life would be better there, it only changed for the worse in Limerick. Malachy, a staunch Irishman, lived in a dream world of past glories, and had, in his drunken state, his boys learn the songs of the past. He would get them out of bed and have them sing and promise to ‘die for Ireland’. Angela could only try to stop him without success.

Ireland was divided between the Catholics and the Protestants. In Limerick, the Catholic Church held sway. Families and children were under constant threat of eternal damnation and punishment. If children asked questions they were either dismissed out of hand or told they should know. This to me was more disturbing than the poverty, but possibly the result of poverty. Francis McCourt’s story was also laced with the laughter of boys growing up and learning about their bodies and the bodies of the opposite sex.

There were some adults in young Frank’s life that fostered his interest in words and story. Although his father was often drunk, he fascinated his son with his stories. He had a teacher who encouraged his students to learn, and recognized Frank’s ability to write. His Uncle Pa, encouraged him to think for himself; to not tie himself down to work that did not suit him. He learned to write and read, getting a side job writing threatening letters for an unpleasant woman; this ability also got him a job at a magazine that helped establish him as working man. 

Francis McCourt was also a very misguided thief. What started as just stealing food for his brothers, continued throughout his young life. His final goal was to get to America so he started saving money from his jobs and from a bit of thievery here and there. He always determined to pay it all back, but somehow that didn’t happen. He did leave for America which is where the book leaves us. The author’s follow up book ’Tis takes up his story from there.

“Tis’ your life, make your own decisions 

and to hell with the begrudgers, Frankie.”

~ Frank McCourt, Angela’s Ashes

Title: Angela’s Ashes

Author: Frank McCourt

Copyright: 1996

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Type: Memoire

ISBN -13 - 978-0-684-87435-7 

ISBN - 10: 9780-684-87435-7 

Sweet Teardrops

Raindrops fell softly onto 

fragile petals, leathery leaves

~ sweet teardrops from above

“The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Feeling the Years

I don’t know if I’ve ever been afraid of my age ~ all because of an invisible and mighty virus. The fearful ideas in my head clung to the virus as if it were a life raft. I’ve had numerous bouts of upper respiratory illnesses over the years, but with each decade, they seem more vicious. I’ve been taking this one personally. After all, I don’t have time to be laid low for over a week wondering if I will ever recover. 

Imagining myself incapacitated and trapped in infirmity. My writing practice has suffered; the order in my home has suffered. My habit of putting one foot in front of the other has stood me in good stead. Listening to my body telling me to stand still as slowly to get past this bump in the road has eased my fears. 

Having watched a lot of news programs, I reminded myself of those without a home, without finances, without access to a family physician, without family or friends, without food………until I could rest and be grateful.

“Because there is no glory in illness. 

There is no meaning to it. 

There is no honor in dying of.”

 ~ John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Chapter Two, Episode 163 - Family Circle - Situationally Theirs

“Grandma, mom is worried about me and I don’t think she needs to be.” Her little face set, her usual sunny smile missing, Martha set down her tea. She patted the seat beside her. “Now, now, Abby, mother’s do worry about their children. I still worry about your mother from time to time. Tell me about this worry.” Abby sat by her grandmother, stared at the table then looked up at Martha. “She thinks I’m not eating enough.” Martha glanced at Elizabeth. “Well, why would she think that? Everyone has a poor appetite once in a while.”

“I’m watching my weight, grandma. I want to be like the girls at school. My appetite is ok, except sometimes I get really hungry. But I always eat something at each meal.” Elizabeth stepped in. “So that’s why I’ve missed you after school. You always come in for cookies and chocolate milk until the last week or so.” 

For the remainder of the afternoon, they talked. The three of them, Abby’s grandma, her Auntie Cook and Abby, decided that Abby would see their doctor before she followed any diet. Martha hoped that would be enough, but decided to look up counselors in Hartley for her granddaughter.

~~~~~

“We may have caught a problem in time, Joanie. Abby’s been here this afternoon.” She told her daughter the plans they had set up. Joanie sounded relieved but still worried. She had seen in her students, girls and one or two boys, that succumbed to eating disorders and did not want that to happen to her daughter. “You and the children come to the cottage for supper on Sunday. I’m doing a pot roast that will be too much for just James and I.”  

“Thank you mom! For your talk with Abby and for the invitation. We’ll be there ~ as a matter of fact why don’t we come early. I’ll bring a salad.” Plans set in motion, hopefully life would settle into a comfortable routine again.

“There is no school equal to decent home and 

no teachers equal to honest virtuous parents.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

 

Re-post: Something's Fishy ~ #1

Frederique’s waters -
 Ogden Point, Victoria, B.C.

Something's Fishy - #1

“What’s this?!” Freddie said to no one in particular. He allowed only his best friends to call him to call him ‘Freddie'. An odd looking, but very dapper fish, Frederique Poisson had been reading an interesting, but very troubling article, in the James Bay Beacon. Front page news informed readers that Pier B would be undergoing repairs. Major repairs. 

Frederique's scales, a lovely shade of purple, seemed to be all fins. His two large eyes rimmed in black made him look quite distinguished and intelligent. Purple scales with four large white dots marched down his belly, assuring everyone that he was one of the more interesting, and refined, tenants living under Pier B. His golden fins, with spines of red, were wavy and tastefully ragged.  

When he got upset, as he was now, his flamboyant fins seemed to take on a life off their own sending him swimming around in his little condominium till he bumped into the shiny rock wall, knocking the soggy newspaper out o the grip of his side fins.

Frederique had followed many stories in the little community paper, but this one was positively upsetting. His condominium was to be demolished! It was only a widened, but small, crack under Pier B, a cosy condo that he found quite by accident when he was being chased by one of the diving birds in the bay. Pier B, and therefore his condominium, was where those intrusive humans were going to begin their repairs. The words 'cement' and 'stainless steel' had been used and he knew both were intended for cracks - in other words, his home! 

Taking in a great gush of water through his gills and letting out an equally great mass of bubbles, Frederique's swimming slowed, his wavy fins settling themselves into some sort of order, as he continued to read. The disturbing article also explained about the pressures on the piers at Ogden Point. The newspaper reported that newer technology on the massive cruise ships coming into harbour, in the form of ‘side thrusters,’ had shaken the pilings and the piers so badly that there was increasing erosion to the piers. No wonder there had been so many convenient cracks for him and his friends to live in. He had felt the shaking but just thought it was the earthquakes that the little paper insisted on reporting ad nauseum to its readers.

Having finally settled his fins, and given it some more thought, Frederique decided that he would be safest in another home. He did want to stay safely under Pier B; however he decided that a temporary move to Pier A would be much more prudent. Tucking his newspaper under the rock by the front entrance, his golden, red lined fins gently moving the water around his purple, and white 'buttoned' form, Freddie swam out to do some house hunting with his friends.

                “I find the great thing in this world is, not so much 

where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.”

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Author's note: since 2012, Fredrique did in fact find a new condo but was not happy about the noise level. The wharfs had been expanded, more cruise ships have come in since then, buses rumbled across his new condo, the rolling wheels of suitcases and stomping of feet. He was so glad he didn't have feet! He flipped his beautiful fins and left for the day, still house hunting.

This is based on an actual event reported and published in the Victoria newspaper, The James Bay Beacon.

Edited: November 21, 2023

Re-post: An Idea's Time

An idea 

flowed onto my head between droplets of warm water

blew through my hair between the branches of an old oak

fluttered onto my shoulders cupped in a falling leaf

floated into my ear on bird song, insistent for capture on the page ~ moulded and shaped in image, metaphor and language tools of heart, soul and mind.

“The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it 

slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.”

~ Maya Angelou

Authors note: 

Original muse written May 16, 2014

Edited November 20, 2023

Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Sitting alone, he reached into his pocket and found a coin. Pulling it out, it was just an old penny. Pennies meant nothing any more, but he thought he’d keep it anyway. Kind of a keepsake now that Canada wasn’t making them anymore. And it truly was his last penny. His once shiny shoes were dusty and his wrinkled suit was dusty as his shoes. He was tired after a long day walking the streets. ‘Pounding the pavement' that’s what his dad used to call it. The offers of handouts, he was sorry he hadn’t taken. He was hungry - his stomach tight and sunken. He had been so sure that today would be the day he would find a job - a job that lasted. He had done a one time stint the day before at a restaurant washing dishes so he at least got fed a good meal. The sun was warm. The streets were quiet - everyone home. Home for supper, with a family. Living on the streets was so foreign to him. He didn’t belong with those folks gathered around the fire in the park after dark. He didn’t belong in the line ups at the soup kitchens. He shook his head. How had he gotten here? He’d heard his own story told many times - but it was at the water cooler or over dinner with a friend - and then it was always about someone else. Someone with no name or no face. He hadn’t learned how to survive without a pay cheque. Those lineups were filled with laughter, arguments or flat blank stares. He just didn’t belong there. He had had a good upbringing - sure there were arguments and dissatisfaction but it was just normal stuff. He followed his big brother through school always trying to keep up to him. He played a lot of sports. He got a good education that got him a good job. Almost even got married, but she found her career more important than having a family with him. That was OK. That’s kind of what women were expected to do.  

Then the company he was with went bankrupt. He didn’t know all the details, just that he was out of a job. Done. In a city far from any of his family or anyone he knew.

“Hey buddy. What are you just settin’ there for? Don’t you know it’s time to eat?”

An old fellow with a long fuzzy white beard and a long white braid had stopped in front of him. His clothes were neat and clean, but completely mismatched. The young man smiled at himself for the judgments tumbling through his head.

“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry, but thanks. My name is Steve.” He automatically reached out his hand in greeting. “Well I suppose I could eat a little bit. Do you mind if I join you? I haven’t a chance to visit with anyone all day. Been looking for work. By the way, how do you people survive out here? I’m between jobs and am getting back on my feet.”

“Sure, Steve, come on with me and I’ll introduce you to the folks that run this here kitchen. There’s a buncha pamphlets that’ll tell you all kinda things. Where meals are, job info, somethin’ called resume writing and how to get a clean room for the night - if you’re quick.  My name is Joe and I kinda talk a lot but I’ll try to slow down a bit. Here we are.”

Joe greeted a few of his friends with laughs, back slaps and gently for some ‘How’re you doin’ today?” Embarrassed, Steve stayed close, and was introduced around. 

“Steve, I finally got me a place to live but I keep my feet down here so I can spot you young fellas that need a guide. I can show you good and bad. Point out those folks to stay away from and those that are real helpers. Did you ever learn that in all your schools and jobs? Livin’ on the street you get to feel the sun and the rain. That’s good. Livin’ on the street, you can’t lock your doors - that’s bad.

“I’d never thought of those things I’ve been doing what I thought I should be doing - until now. But there’s no manual for suddenly being homeless with no money. The money I made at my jobs, I spent as fast as I made it. I guess it’s time to learn about surviving on my own wits and learn what’s important to me.

“Yep. You can be angry and feel sorry for y’self. Or you can come on with me and have supper. There’s some real learnin’ to be done here if you’re willin’ to be humble and ask for help.”

The young man still didn’t feel like he belonged but the old man had spoken to him as an elder to a child, all the while walking him to his first meal in a homeless shelter.

“People who are homeless are not social inadequates.

They are people without homes.”

~ Sheila McKechnie

Authors Note: 

First written May 16, 2013

Minor Editing November 19, 2023