My Streets
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"Every day I walk past my childhood." One of nine children growing up in Cardiff, Malachy gives us a glimpse into his schooldays.
Transcript
"I face my history every day. Most people have to look at photographs to remember their past, I just have to look out of the window, walk down the street.
What are you supposed to remember about your childhood? I just lived it, fighting for a bit of space and attention. Going to school because I could get a bottle of milk and free dinners. Fed up of wearing my brother's clothes when they didn't fit them any more.
There was no one to make me go to school, it was my choice. My mother had too much to do, just looking after eight sons and one daughter. My father died when I was very small, I've no memories of him.
For twenty years the Plymouth Arms was our 'local'. Kevin, Bernard and me. Three brothers, all married with children only a few years between us. I always imagined we'd grow old together, three old farts propping up the bar remembering the good times and the bad. They're dead now. I miss their old clothes. I don't go to that pub anymore.
Every day I walk past my childhood ... The green where we played football or cricket - just the shout "cricket!" and kids would appear like magic, sometimes 50 a side! The shops - where it was once liquorice and spangles, now it's newspapers and bad news - another old friend's gone.
I don't live in the past. I have my own family, my own life ... but I still remember. My grandson's laughter is timeless. I could be playing with my brothers all over again."
An interview with the author
Please tell us a little about yourself.
I am a mature student studying for a degree at Glamorgan University married with three children. I live in Cardiff where I have lived all my life. Although part of the United Kingdom, Wales is a country with its own language, customs and culture and also its own digital story telling site, thank God or I never would have been able to tell you my story.
Why did you choose to tell this particular story?
I wanted my story to reflect how the streets themselves and the neighbourhood where I grew up can become a part of someone's history, by walking through a door up the street or into a shop. These are the same places I walked as a child, and I still walk to this day. I don't live in the past, as I said in my story but I do walk through my history every day. It's all around me: the laughter and tears the memories of friends and brothers no longer with me. They are all a part of my streets. They could also be any streets, in any part of the world, from the great capital cities of the world to the smallest villages, not just my streets but your streets.
What did you find most rewarding about the workshop?
The other story tellers I met on my workshop were all strangers to me but that soon changed. We were sharing one another's story's some happy some sad, through laughter and tears after five days I felt like I knew them all. There is a truth in a personal story that touches you; it can make you laugh or cry because they are told by real people with feelings and emotions that makes them so important. Stories once lost are gone forever.
Your comments
"Hi, Malachy Hope you and your family are well? I couldn't believe my eyes when i saw your story on the internet!!! My father Kevin taught me how to play marbles when i was a small boy in the living room with a circle made out of cotton and placed the marbles inside. We would take turns trying to hit them outside the circle, he always won!!! and if i was losing and started to sulk he would ruffle up my hair and say " Where there's a will there's a way." I miss him and uncle Bernard too!!!! Im glad that you have done well in university! Take care best wishes your nephew John."
John O'Donnell from Cardiff."Hi, MalachyWow this takes me back a few years,Yes I remember your dad,Kev and bernie and your marbles story, I still have my marbles, Onensy, twosy, dutchy,Glassys,And my bomper 2" round was confiscated by perksy,the local bobby, for cracking (CCWW cast iron water tap covers) with Kev in Phillys cres,I wondered later if he gave it to his son? can't remember his name, was it Ronald? Twas hard times looking back, but we knew not then, I will be in touch."
Peter Anderson west wales.
