All language subtitles for Ballymanus_en

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(wind blowing)

Yes, it was a very nice place.

A good community to grow up in.

My name is Anna Rogers.

I was born on the 18th of January
1935.

I lived most of my life
in Mullaghderg Mountain.

There was lots of people around,
and there were families

in every home around about us.

Everybody knew everybody,

and the people in the community were
very close,

and if one was in trouble or needed
help,

all the families gathered and helped
out.

There were a lady that lived
with her mother.

Her father was dead,
and when she went away

we went up and helped that old lady
out.

And my brother Brian would go and
take the turf home for her

with the donkey and the cradles.

And people ran about in their
bare feet in the summer time,

they didn't have shoes.

You would go the shortcut through
the bogs,

and over wee streams, and...

we had lots of fun.

My father would take us down
the lake in the boat to the sports.

You have a great view from
out there.

You see right out to sea,

out to the horizon.

I'm just trying to think.

Go back and think.

It was all happy memories.

It was all happy memories here.

"Where's the dance tonight?

And where's the dance
tomorrow night?"

It was all music, and going
to houses at night to talk, and...

You had to depend on what you grew.

You had to make use
of what you had yourself.

We had to look after the cows,

and take the cows home, and we had
to milk the cows

when we got older, and it's not
what you call a very fertile land.

And you had to work hard to look
after it.

Me father bought a bicycle for me
once,

and the bicycle was made up of all
different parts! (laughs)

And I thought I was a millionaire.

People didn't have a lot.

They didn't need a lot,
different times.

It's not like now,
for everybody, there's too much.

* (quiet, sombre music)

It wasn't an easy place either.

There were a lot of sadness
in the area, was all...

But the saddest moment we had was

all them coffins lined up in the
hall in Mullaghduff,

and the blood seeping out of them,

and they weren't.... they weren't
whole people.

It took a long time to get over
that.

A very long time.

But somebody else will
talk to you about that.

(dog barks)

It's Monty Don, is it? (laughs)

Yeah, well, we have the...

(dog whines)

Rosie!

Rosie?

Right, well, we'll just have the,
eh, flowers

and all sorts of things there.

And then we have the herbs.
We cook a lot with the herbs.

My name is Jimmy Duffy.

I delve into local history,
and all that goes with it.

I was born listening about it.
I heard about it,

my mother talked about it all the
time.

We used to go to Mullaghduff
to my grandad, closer to the area.

They wouldn't talk too much
about it.

Right, Rosie!

You happy out?

She's a bit of a hard life.

She had an accident
when she was a year old.

She'd a leg came off about five
years ago.

She's been through it.

Aye. On my wee foot there. She...

She's been sick again.

She's like a baby.

This community at the time
probably had about 200 people.

Everybody was on the one level.

Nobody was any much richer
than the other, per se.

But they had a system.

They would put the thatch on their
own house, they would, for the...

They would do lot of things that a
lot of people today couldn't do.

They were self-sufficient.

There is this wider theme of where
Donegal fits in

when it comes to priorities.

The theme that goes right back,
you could argue,

to previous centuries,

even the idea of Donegal at the
outer edge,

that there are communications
issues,

that there's distance from Dublin.

And as a consequence of partition
as well,

there were those who felt that
Donegal, whilst, of course,

being a part of the Republic,

felt quite on the edge of that
Republic.

That feeling lasts to this day,

and it's not an irrelevant issue

when it comes to the Ballymanus
disaster either.

I'm still surprised to this day

how neglected it is, given the loss
of life.

It was devastating,

and for such a small, isolated
community in West Donegal,

it must have reverberated
down through the decades

in a very traumatic way.

Was there a tendency for it
to lie under the radar?

It being known that these families
were unlikely to be

a thorn in the side
of the political establishment.

(film camera running)

The last stroke of midnight dies.

All day in the one chair

From dream to dream and rhyme
to rhyme I have ranged.

In rambling talk
with an image of air:

Vague memories,

nothing but memories.

(Jimmy Duffy) People as they get
older, they tend to look at

who they are themselves and what
moulded them.

In this case, their lives have been
moulded by the actions

that happened on
the 10th of May 1943.

They probably never got away from
the ghosts

that haunted them through their life.

* (brooding music, birds calling)

They basically lost a generation.

There's no other way to
describe it.

The story goes that on that fateful
day, something was spotted

on the shores off Ballymanus.

They didn't really know
what it was.

They wasn't sure, but it was
bobbing in the waters

just off the, as we call them now,
the Disaster Rocks.

It had spikes like horns coming
out of the side of it.

Word would have trickled through

that there was something coming in,

and I was heading that
direction towards

the Mullaghderg, Ballymanus shore.

She was in the vicinity, very
close, right,

the tide, I think, was just getting
higher.

I think it was six o'clock
on a lovely summer's evening.

Of course, young people as they
are, had to go and investigate.

My father was in Mullaghduff at the
time.

He remembers crowds of people going
down to have a look,

and it transpired that it was a
mine.

* (sinister music, waves lapping)

There was always going to be
huge interest

in what was being washed up

or coming close to the shore during
the Second World War,

because it was an opportunity,

perhaps, for some valuable material
to become available

to them in their everyday
lives or in their working lives.

Boats at that time were coming
across the Atlantic in convoys,

and German U-boats were sinking
them.

And as they were sinking them,
cargo was coming overboard.

Logs of wood, lumps of
lard and candle wax...

The level of awareness,

education that would have existed
about the

potential for great damage
is another question.

How much was known about mines?

What the consequences could be

if there was interference with an
unknown quantity.

It was coming in close to a place
called Port Tabhóige ,

which means "the landing place of
the crows".

The coast watcher was
Morgan Dunleavy,

and he was there,
present there,

because he was local
and he heard about it.

He was probably stuck between a
rock in a hard place because

he tried his best to stay,

to warn the people off it, and
observe the situation.

But also if he was to phone for
help,

he would have to leave.
(waves crashing)

I was described that it was

8 to 10 foot high, when beached.

It came in. They all ran for cover
down here on these sand dunes,

and I suppose there were a kind of
a silence.

Nothing happened.

She must be okay.

At that point, it was nearly dark.

Mr. Dunleavy had to go and alert
the ordnance people

to come and defuse the mine.

He told everybody "Stand back",

and at that stage,
he left on a motorbike.

And he was at Mullaghduff Hall
when the mine blew up.

(wave crashes)

This almighty blast went off.

My mother was standing on the door.

She said "What happened?"

I said "I don't know,
I don't know!"

It was heard in Derry,
70 miles away.

The shock broke the windows of the
houses in Ballymanus.

A relation of my own was
milking the cows in the byre,

and he thought the byre fell on
top of him.

He lost his two boys.

So the byre did fall on top of him,

his life fell on top of him.

* (dramatic music, waves crashing)

Then the news soon got out,
and everybody started going down,

women and men, screaming, crying.

Most of my school friends,
you know,

there were a lot of them killed.

Well, it was described
in newspapers and different places.

I think it was gruesome.

Newspapers at the time were quite
frank

in referring to the mutilations,

to the mangled state of the bodies,

to these low groans from those

who had survived, but were dying.

On this strand that we're standing
on now,

there was people carrying their own
relatives' body parts

identified by their colour
of their jersey or whatever.

Sixteen of them killed outright.

There was one of them kicking back,
and he died that night up at home.

The next day, another body came
from Letterkenny

and the other boy died the
following week

from the loss of blood.

Eleven of them was under 18 years
of age.

There was also bodies
sitting there...

with the last expression
that was on their face...

of laughter.

(click)

Everybody was so happy, and

the girls stayed on one side of the
hall and the boys on the other,

and you had to wait for somebody
to come and ask you to dance.

(laughing) And if you were a
wallflower, God help ya!

All the young people would gather
there,

and there were a priest in
Kincasslagh,

and he would go up, and a big
blackthorn stick with him,

and he would chase them all,
and he'd be

hitting them with the stick.

He would be saying
you were going to hell!

He just didn't like them all to be
having fun,

and he thought that
wasn't good for the soul.

Yes, we had good fun at the
dancing.

Yes, and, eh... I had all me
brothers,

me cousins going to the dancing,
and they would always come

and dance with you.

So you never had to sit out.

(waves breaking)

They lifted all the remains, that
they could see anyway,

and took the coffins to
Mullaghduff Hall.

Later that night,
around maybe half 10

or 11 o'clock, there was going to
be a dance in it.

And instead of a dance,
it was a wake.

If the doctors and things came out,
they would have to be

paid, I suppose.

The people had no money then,
to pay for anything.

They probably could have saved
them,

some of them fellas that were
killed.

But they had to just leave them and
let them die.

My aunt, Cissy, she was on her way
back home,

and she met a man called
Mickyfiddy Hamish,

and he told her that her brother
was

dead and that her mother,
Anne, had gone missing.

Anne took it real bad.

She basically disappeared for the
full night,

and, eh, she returned the next day,
but she was

a broken woman for a long period of
time.

You can imagine the
hysterical nature of it.

They had a makeshift morgue
in the hall in Mullaghduff.

You had the Gardaí,
you had the ordnance people,

you had the Red Cross, you had the
army, and you had the priests.

And the priests, I suppose,
wanted to be in ultimate control.

Over 90% of the population of
southern Ireland

in the 1930s is Catholic.

In many respects, it was a Catholic
state for a Catholic people.

And when we think about pillars
of the community,

we have to, of course, place the
parish priest at the very top,

because that's how they were seen
in their communities at the time.

Many of them enjoy that.

Some of them abuse that power.

When you consider the manifestations
of Catholic identity,

of Catholic power, of Catholic
control, they're everywhere.

Industrial schools, reformatories,
Magdalene laundries...

There's widespread obedience
to the strict rules that are being

overseen by the Catholic Church.

There's a widespread belief amongst
Irish Catholics

that the Catholic Church is the
greatest force for good

in the country.

Some of the older women born around
about the hungry times,

they still had the old tradition of
caoineadh.

Coming from the Irish word,
caoineadh,

it was a custom It was just about
dying out at the time.

It was akin to something a bard
would do for his chieftain,

where he would praise the chieftain
to no end.

It was done in Irish,
and it was mixed with prayers,

and a kind of a wailing sound like
a banshee.

The priests were totally against
this

because it was associated with
Celtic religion,

and they were trying to suppress
that.

So they thought
"We'll stamp this down,"

and they did stamp it down.

They reared up and they took
control.

The priest stamped one of the
coffins with his blackthorn stick.

And at this man of the cloth
stopped the people from mourning

in their traditional way.

Comments that are reported at the
time about respecting the collar,

and the clergy banging the
coffins and, you know,

talking about making the community
look like fools

because of what happened, and
really blaming the victims

for the fact that they were on the
beach.

It was unreal because the mourning
was completely different.

It was removed from the
family home.

The privacy of the mourning
and everything was interrupted.

If there was a wake about,

all the neighbours would come and
they would sit up,

and they would pray the rosary at
twelve o'clock.

And they would sit up to morning,

and they wouldn't leave the house
until

somebody would come in in
the morning to relieve them.

And everybody was very attentive to
things like that, yeah.

And very supportive.

It got worse because the people
were removed from the wake.

That was for the process
of identification.

Everybody was told that was his
coffin, that was your coffin.

But maybe in that coffin,
there would be only a shoe.

They couldn't tell who was in them,

but they would pretend that they
knew.

And after a year, the hall in
Mullaghduff was reopened.

Dances were resumed,
and the physical mark of the blood

of the victims was still
on that floor, forever more.

Lieutenant Dunleavy could tell
people of the danger,

but he couldn't tell people what to
do.

He didn't have that authority.

That was the authority that lay
with the Garda Síochána

and he didn't have that help.

The Irish police force for this new
state, what was the Civic Guard,

and then becomes An Garda Síochána,

one of the great challenges is to
get An Garda Síochána accepted

as the legitimate police force,
as an acceptable police force.

That eventually happens.

There is a certain distance,
of course,

between the police and those they
are responsible for policing.

That's inevitable,

but they do have
significant social standing.

A Garda is regarded as a pillar
of the community.

They were fishing at the back
of Inishfree,

and they seen the mine,

and they put one of the
younger guys up to Annagry.

He went into the Garda station,

and he said "There's a mine
approaching the shore."

The Garda never lifted his head,
never acknowledged him.

So the mine was reported at least
three times,

if not more, to the Gardaí.

They had, by law, to have an
inquest, and that inquest was held

a month after the disaster.

By the flickering dim light of
three matches and a small hand lamp,

the verdict of the coroner's jury
on the Ballymanus mine disaster

was recorded late on Friday night.

The very Reverend Canon MacAteer,
the parish priest,

counselled the bereaved

to now let the matter rest,

and content themselves with prayer

for the happy repose of the souls of
the victims.

The inquest gave some information.

That was published in the papers,
and that was the narrative,

but it wasn't the true facts.

Researching about it and trying to
get a bit of truth,

everybody had their own version
of it.

They asked Garda Boylan when did he
get the notification,

and he said it was a quarter to
seven in the evening,

which was maybe when he got the
first notification,

but it wasn't the first
notification

that went to the barracks.

They asked him who was present
in the barracks, and he said it was

him, the other Guard, and
Sergeant Allen.

This is the statement of
Sergeant F. Allen.

"Beyond conveying the report
to Lieutenant Dunleavy,

I did not do anything in the matter.

I did not proceed to the scene,

nor did I send any of the other
members to the scene.

I knew, however, that Lieutenant
Dunleavy had gone to the scene,

and I remained to wait word from him

as I took it that if the mine was
coming ashore,

he would send me word."

That would suggest, of course, that
he was passing the buck,

that this was the responsibility

of the coastguard,
of the Marine Watch,

as opposed to being my direct
responsibility.

The instruction
to the Garda Síochána

relating to mines which are
washed ashore reads as follows.

"The member in charge will
immediately take such steps

as are necessary to ensure

that no one approaches to within
500 yards of the article...

You will observe from the reports
that this instruction

was not observed by the local Gardaí

inasmuch as they did not take any
steps

to prevent members of the public
from approaching the mine.

The Department of Defence do
not consider that any useful purpose

would be served by holding any
enquiry

other than an inquest in this case."

There seems to be an attempt to
close this down

at a very early stage.

We don't want this developing
a lifespan beyond the inquest,

the difficult questions that the
Ballymanus tragedy gave rise to.

Why the hell wasn't
that area cordoned off?

There were very clear instructions
to Guards about what to do

in the event of a mine appearing
near the seashore.

You cordon it off.

You don't let anyone within
500 yards of that area.

Why wasn't that done?

* (sombre music, waves lapping)

And like many other scandals,

within 24 hours of those young men
losing their lives,

the Garda was shipped out to a
different area.

The night of the inquest,
he wasn't present.

He should have been present, but if
he was present,

he would probably be lynched.

Some people were blaming
the coast watcher, but ultimately,

they were blaming Sergeant Allen,

because he was the man who could
take charge.

But in saying that, I think that if
your sergeant is intoxicated,

there's somebody
who should be next in charge.

And they seemed to have,
in the inquest,

brushed over the Garda in the
barracks.

They said they had no authority.

Present at the inquest was members
of the clergy,

the Garda Síochána, and TDs.

There was a number of things noted.

One of the things was that there
were going to be an inquiry,

but that inquiry never happened.

"The Chief Superintendent has
expressed the opinion

that the request for the inquiry
was made

on account of hostility against the
local sergeant,

who was, of course, guilty of grave
neglect of duty in this matter.

On Saturday last, Canon MacAteer,
the local parish priest,

had a conference with the two local
curates...

and they came to the conclusion

that nothing would be gained by an
inquiry."

There are an awful lot of things
going on here at local level.

We can speculate about some of them,
but there are also some things

that are emphatically clear.

It is stated here without any
ambiguity

that the sergeant, of course,
was guilty of grave neglect of duty

in this matter. And this reference
as well

to the local parish priest having
a conference

with the local curates.
Well, it's clear

where the decision-making forum is.

This is an account from
Superintendent Lean,

who mentioned he was approached Mr.
Cormac Breslin, TD.

"He said that it would be ridiculous
to hold an inquiry,

that would only show up the local
people

as an ignorant, stubborn lot who
had no respect for authority."

This is quite remarkable
that Cormac Breslin,

who went on to represent Donegal
until 1977.

So he's at the beginning
of a very long career.

The use of that word "ridiculous",

that it would be ridiculous to hold
an inquiry.

And that great fear of how
the locals would be depicted.

What will this reveal?

Will this provide an opportunity
for people to depict the people

I represent as some kind of
half-wits,

who don't respect authority,

who are ignorant of the realities
of modern warfare and its dangers.

For a TD, and it's in the name,

there was a big debate when
this state was set up

as to what would members
of parliament be called,

and it was settled on that there
would be Teachtaí Dála,

they would be the messengers of
the people.

It appears that the TD in question
had a different agenda,

and that isn't, in my view,
the role of a TD.

I think the role of a TD was to
listen.

"It was then decided that a further
meeting would be held

to decide definitely the question
of the demand for an inquiry.

I received a phone message from the
Reverend Canon MacAteer,

parish priest... He expressed
himself very strongly

about being double-crossed by
these people

and intimated that he would find out
as to who was responsible

for this further demand, etc.

stating that he was under the
impression that the question

of an inquiry was finished."

Wow.

The question of an inquiry was
finished

because he had decided that it was
finished,

and he's not one bit happy about

what seems to be either a direct or
an indirect challenge

to his authority, to his word.

It was an Ireland that never had
ordinary people's interests

at the heart. That allowed for, and
this is what I can't understand,

how somebody put pen to paper

and basically said,
"no public inquiry here".

You do have the esteemed pillars of
the community

that do revolve around priest,
police, politicians.

They are watching each other's back.

They would have worked in concert
with each other, and perhaps

would have regarded an attack on one
as being an attack on them all.

What the state has said on a number
of occasions now,

because I'm not the only person to
raise this in the Seanad,

a couple of years previous,

is that they've expressed
condolences.

Condolences is when something
happens

that is outside your control.

But that's not what
we're talking about here.

The fact that it happened so many
years ago

doesn't make it any different.

You know, if you come to that
community,

it's a very proud community,

a community that still hurts.

Because there's never a wrong
time to do the right thing.

Now is the time to actually
stand up and say "We failed you."

By not cordoning off that area, by
shutting down the questions

that you had, that many of you are
no longer here

to actually hear the answers of.

I think the hurt that people had

at the time helped the authorities

to brush it under the carpet.

There's definitely a degree
of manipulation there.

If you have suffered that level of
trauma,

consider what those people had seen,

you can only imagine
the devastation of the scenes

on that beach as the light faded.

There were body parts everywhere.

They're the kind of scenes that
would never leave people.

Sometimes when you're reading these,
what really are instructions

from the parish priest,
they do seem very...

patronising.

Em... Yeah. It is.

Put your faith... put your faith and
your trust in God now.

There's nothing more that can be
done on this Earth

for your dead loved ones,

Which, of course, is not true,
but it's very convenient.

The thing that I see about
inquiries,

you can either have closure

or it can open wounds wider.

How many inquiries have we got
throughout Ireland at present?

Do they help?

I don't know.
I don't honestly know.

There was...

you know, whose fault was it?

There was... that went over and
over and over.

Everybody was sort of blaming other
people

who done what, and who should have
came there,

even my brother-in-law,
his father was in the army,

and you know, they blamed him for
not going down quick enough.

Why did they take their son down?
And why didn't they...?

Oh, yes, they went through
all that.

Maybe I'm saying... they can't
say things

that they would have liked to say.

That's what happened.

(click)

was to keep questions for another
day.

It's just a pity that they didn't
ask them more questions,

but that was as near as we ever got
to the truth.

* (sombre music)

Though leaves are many,
the root is one;

Through all the lying days of my
youth

I swayed my leaves and flowers
in the sun;

And now I wither into the truth.

My grandmother, for a long time
after,

she would go out onto the hills,

up in the Farragans outside her
home,

and she would basically cry for
hours.

Em... She was so devastated,
but that was the same, Rannyhual,

my mother said she could hear
the women crying in the evening.

And then the man across,
not far from here,

he would start about six o'clock
in the evening,

calling the names of the boys
that he lost,

Patrick, Dominick, and he would be
screaming and crying.

And that would never leave my mind,
this...

that man out, and it would come on
every night, you know...

So much hurt and pain that people
experienced

through their whole life, in days
when there were no counselling or

bereavement therapy,
or anything like that.

There were reminders all the time
of where people should be.

Come the next year, when what we
called meitheals,

gangs of maybe eight able men
from different households

would congregate to cut the turf.

There were fellas missing.

All of my uncles, every one of them
would have emigrated to Scotland.

John would have been there as well,

to send money back to the mother
and father,

you know, to keep things going,

because you can imagine trying
to make ends meet

on the the small holdings that we
have around here.

It was not easy.

In June then, all the young men and
women would have left

to go back to Scotland to work.

All that was left in that community
then was the old folk grieving.

I mean, if you lost your three
brothers,

you wouldn't want to hang around.

I can... It was being in a...

a hole that you couldn't get
out of.

I stayed away from down there,
from Ballymanus.

I didn't want to go down there
any more and see where it was.

Then that... the hall, then,
was terrible.

You couldn't pass it at night with
the loneliness.

Oh, even to this day,

I wouldn't pass down at that.

I'd be afraid of ghosts!

Afraid of people coming... Oh!

So I'm Frank Sharkey.

I'm 19, and I've been living here
since I was 2,

I think 18 months we moved over.

Around here, there's always stuff
to do, and, eh...

Donegal, if you have the right kind
of lifestyle for it,

if you want to be out playing on
the water like we always did,

out on the lake.

We've had boats since as long
as I can remember anyway.

Everything draws me towards it.

So peaceful, you know, and it gives
you a break from everything else

'cause whenever you're on the
water,

you're not stressing about any wee
problems you have,

and you're just glad to be on the
water.

'Cause that's what it was for them.

They were probably with their
parents out fishing,

bringing in food for the family.

And then this came in from the
water then,

and they just didn't know what it
was.

I think it's strange....

I, like, never really thought,
when we were doing it,

em, to be really
embodying it.

But thinking back on it now,
the role that you're playing, em,

these lads were even younger
than I am.

Most people around here know of the
disaster, but the names of people,

unless they're in your family,

probably aren't remembered
very well.

There'll still be some people left

who were the same age as the
people who died.

They won't want to talk about it.

You hear of it, but you don't
get the personal

kind of connection.

I just think that it's quite a
taboo, almost, subject.

Yeah.

There were a lot of sadness,

and the area was all really down.

But the saddest moment we had was,
em,

all them coffins was lined up in
the hall in Mullaghduff,

and the blood seeping out of them.

And they weren't... they weren't
whole people,

lots of them was just blown up to
bits.

Our cousin, Jimmy Anthony,
they knew he had his wellies on,

and they knew that it was his
wellies,

and they knew by the socks that was
in the welly,

and they were picking up bits of
pieces of his body.

I'm sure they would be... eh...

(exhales) They're...

Like, we're a very close family.

Em... I think it would be
devastating. Abs... there's no...

I don't really even want to think
about the...

eh... like, my mother and that,
what...

Eh, yeah.

I got a lot of family from
here.

I've got personal history
with the disaster.

It was my great uncle
that had died in the disaster.

His name was John Joe Carson.
He was 15.

Well, it's not really
talked about that much.

It's just... I don't think he
ever really talked about it.

I think Grandad would have been...

13 when it happened? 'Cause it was
his brother.

I guess I was, like, his close
family,

I were probably one of his closest
friends

'cause there wasn't much of an age
difference, so

I'm guessing it probably
was very hard for him.

Yeah, I'd say so, actually, yeah.

I don't actually think I've
ever heard him talk about it.

I've heard Mum and Dad talking
about it, but I don't think I've

ever heard him talking about it.

Yes, going to school and that,
and...

young and herding cows, and
going up to the bog,

to get turf and that, you know?

We were only young, fighting all
the time, too. (laughs)

(laughing) I dunno, the football,
or something!

You're just kicking football on the
strand there. (laughs)

You know, the usual.

Brothers, yeah. Aye.

Remember it, surely, aye.

Well, I'm Gerry Carson of Braade,
Kincasslagh,

and I was born in Belfast.

Me and me brother John.

And I weren't even six months
old and we were brought down here.

Me mother came from here.

So, eh... he was about 15 years
of age

when he was killed in the
Ballymanus mine disaster.

I would be about 10 that time.

I remember down in the house,
an explosion.

We heard it in the house there
that evening.

He was wounded, badly wounded.

We thought he would have survived
once he went to hospital,

that he'd be okay, but...

he just bled to death in
Letterkenny hospital.

That was the worst part to it,
like, you know.

Just all of a sudden, one
evening they said that he had died.

If it was now, he would have
made it, but

that time, they just... they
weren't up, the doctors

wouldn't be up to it at the time.

I still cried about it, with me
aunt there, and, you know...

for the years after that.

Because they brought him up,
you know, to that age.

Even after I went to Scotland, too,
you still thought about him,

you know, and...

Nobody to talk to there, either,

I was just on me own,
more or less, you know?

That time.

And, eh...

as you get older, you thought more
about it, and

you missed him more, you know?

It's pity it wasn't prevented just
when it did come in,

onto the beach.

It was just the part of Donegal
there, you know, we're

kind of a forgotten place.

God knows what would have
happened, you know,

where would he be?

Married someplace, maybe, you know?

Of course, he would have gone away
like meself, just...

maybe he would have stayed away.

Could have settled down, maybe,
in Glasgow, or some place.

I want to go to university to do
pharmacy.

Become a pharmacist,
sell it all in one, you know...

Then I've also got sports on the
side and that, so,

yeah! So I'll hopefully be
successful anyway.

Just as you get older,
so much more to do as well, so...

Get a car, go anywhere, yeah.

(Gerard) That's right, aye.

He is like him a bit, you know.

It's good to have them about.
You know what I mean?

Johnny, too, you'll probably meet
him later on.

Daniel's brother.

Oh, about 88.

Years piling on!

(laughs) Years are all slipping by!

The disaster is a distant
memory now, you know?

I get worried when I start
remembering things myself.

From when I was four years old or
six years old,

you know, I remember things like
that.

There's something wrong here.

Maybe I'll be lying in bed at night
and I'd start thinking of

somebody that I knew 80 years ago
or something like that.

But I wonder, did all that do that?

That mine and all that.
I don't know.

It definitely changed the whole...
place.

It changed over and it's
going to change again.

Not really, but maybe he was that
young, I just...

didn't bother, you know. Aye.

I think people just accepted
that was it.

New generation came up and you
just didn't say nothing about it.

Well, I suppose it would be better
if you talked to the young crowd

about it, but it's just the way
things were, you know?

They probably should have been...
should have been told

about it, all that happened
and that, you know, but...

Maybe some of the young ones
just wouldn't be that interested,

now, in this day and age, in it,
you know?

That's just life, eh? (laughs)

I don't believe in omens or fear
Forebodings.

Death does not exist.

Everyone is immortal.

No point in fearing death at
seventeen,

Or seventy.

There is only here and now and
light;

Neither death, nor darkness,
exists.

We are already on the seashore;

I am one of those who will be
hauling in the nets

When a shoal of immortality
swims by.

(click)