ROSE-TINTED: Memories of the Tullamore Swimming Pool inevitably come through rose-tinted glasses. Some can be explained: The glorious weather – you didn’t go to the pool unless the weather was good. But there were heatwaves!! I vividly remember tar bubbling up on red hot road surfaces beyond Hop Hill Church, destroying the soles of our bare feet or God forbid THE NEW SANDALS!! from Owen Marron’s sweet smelling leathery shoe shop [in Patrick Street]
GETTING THERE: It was a long walk from the northside of town, i.e. north of the canal, so in the absence of owning a bicycle let alone a car needs must provide an alternative mode of transport to shank’s mare. It came in this form. Sprinting and then latching on to the tailboards of slow moving tractors or if it had no tailboards, clambering on to the floor or deck of the trailer. These trailers were often overladen with sacks of coal the dust of which attached itself to our sweaty skin, which made it utterly necessary that we got to the cleansing showers at the pool before entering the water. How we descended, sorry alighted, from either of these precarious moving positions I do not remember save that sometimes we had to remain aboard well beyond the entrance road to the pool for the tractor to slow down enough to allow us to alight, more or less defeating the need for the risks incurred.
GOING HOME: On the way home, we ventured up the Tanyard, a place of ill-repute beyond our understanding, into O’Shea’s or O’Reilly’s bakery for a cake, usually a delicious colourful two-storey cuboid with creamed icing between and on top of the layers, covered in a version of sprinkles, were they called ‘hundreds of thousands’? This cake we greedily devoured without any accompanying liquid to appease a ravenous hunger sharpened by hours of fresh air and water-based activities.
BANAGHER: In Banagher there is a new ultra-modern facility, ALL COMPONENTS OF WHICH WERE MADE LOCALLY IN BANAGHER!! WHICH SURELY BEATS THE DEVIL!!, Speaking with Jim Madden, a civic minded local historian, learning to swim before the earlier manifestations of the brand new pool involved a progression of various stage: first walking and paddling the shallow pools at the river’s edge, then to the nearby copings at the bridge quayside where stone steps afforded easy access to and from deep waters. Next, venturing out to the main navigation channel, and finally swimming across the mighty river to the West Bank, in County Galway, crossing all at the one-time parish, diocesan, county and provincial boundaries.
PHASES: For myself Tullamore pool had a similar hierarchy of phases in your learning-to-swim-career. The baby pool or was it a thinly disguised footbath with some form of (not Jeyes’) fluid, smothered by the smell of the all prevalent chlorine administered liberally by ‘Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley’ as we singingly referred to him, the caretaker of whom I have pleasant memories.
Then the ‘roundy pool’, where, assuringly, the water was just up to your knees. This reminds me of Groucho Marx’s experience entering a pool when intercepted by officialdom to be informed that Jews were not allowed in the pool. This dismayed his granddaughter who accompanied him so he pleaded could she enter the waters up to her waist as she was only half Jewish.
By thrusting our hands across the surging fountain in the roundy pool we created a dome-shaped cascade all above our heads drowning or dousing rather, unsuspecting passersby, clothed and less clothed, in cool or cold water. This was an impudent exhilaration and a joy seldom if ever denied to us by officialdom.
THE BIG POOL: Then to the BIG pool and into two feet and a half-foot of water. No more paddling – this was where you were going to learn how to swim. Here the apprenticeships of the baby and roundy pool stood us in good stead. Here we ducked and held our breath under water and grew at ease with water up to our necks. Apart from the odd gulp of infected or rather disinfected water we soon learned to confide in the trusty wooden boards as we lunged forward from increasing distances grasping the board for dear life, propelled by swishing feet to the safety of the overflow gulley in the pool’s wall. Then without boards, relying on the propulsion of all four limbs to ensure flotation and movement. Gradually, confidence grew as breath control harmonized, dare I say synchronized, with physical endeavour and the joy of actually swimming unfurled. A mark of great progression was your first swimming of a width of the pool before the attempting the full length and the terror of being in eight feet of water. There was no holding us back now. Soon we were at ease floating and swimming backwards.
DIVING: Next came diving, which I really enjoyed particularly when I could cross the pool without surfacing, a thing I still like to do in more private and comfortable surroundings. Anyway, I never took to the diving boards. One would be out on a limb, literally too conspicuous and I was rather shy, believe it or not!! The sting of a few belly-flappers ensured I would be happy enough more or less folding or falling, in from the banks, CERTAINLY NOT DIVING
A BEAUTIFL STRUCTURE: Memories of the building or structure itself are golden: was it always freshly painted?, with clean toilet facilities, a grand range of changing cubicles and an abundance of wooden doored lockers to leave our modest belongings. It was a happy place and being outdoors did not suffer from being noise filled like today’s indoors facilities. It was an exotic and attractive location, well-appointed, easy of access, safely railed off, grassy surrounds, characteristics so often taken for granted. In later life it was a joy to learn that it was designed by Michael Scott, a daring and visionary architect of our slowly maturing republic.
BUY AT LEAST ONE COPY: Needless to say you should purchase at least one copy. Every Tullamore home should have one as it will revive recollections of family outings, picnics, sunglasses, galas, and more. Wouldn’t it be just about the most appropriate seasonal gift for someone who will not get home for the Solstice, bringing a warm glow to long wintering or indeed summering evenings wherever else in the world that might be.
It is hard not to bemoan or lament the passing of TSP but COOL POOL with its treasure of photographs and reminiscences which will ease such regrets. We are greatly indebted to Damian Byrne for undertaking the creation of such a precious memento, and bringing it through all the phases of the printing process and allowing us to enjoy its FRUITION HERE TONIGHT.
CONGRATULATIONS, WELL DONE AND MÍLE BUÍOCHAS
The new book is available at Midland Books and Offaly History, Tullamore, and online at http://www.offalyhistory.com
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