John FitzGerald & Mary Teresa FitzGerald
by their son, Nick Apri; 2021
The lives of this pair were so entwined and congenial that it would be inopportune to treat them separately for mini-bio purposes.
John, as he was known within the family but otherwise as Jack, was born in 1919, a second child and only son. His father, also Jack [Daddy Jack], was a tailor, his mother Catty managed a grocery shop in conjunction with her sister. After that sister’s death in 1923, the family moved to live over the shop, which was thereafter managed alone by Catty until her death in 1928.
Thus, deprived of his mother at a young age, Jack missed some opportunities that may otherwise have come his way and that of his sisters. The eldest at 12, Nellie, became the mother figure for the family and evidently also ran the shop after her mother’s death. The arrangement likely curtailed her own reported interest in playing the violin. Jack seems to have had at least the beginning of a secondary education, for in later years he could still decline some Latin nouns. All the same, his formal education had ended by his mid-teens. At that stage, his father sold the shop, the family moved house and Jack went to work for a local bakery. He remained with that business as together they evolved over the next 25 years.
Teasy, as she was always known, was born the last of 13 children to her parents, Martin FitzGerald, a gardener and his wife Kate Hutcheson. Alice, the sister closest to her in age was 8 years older than she was. Her other surviving 8 siblings were up to 25 years older. This may have contributed to her rather serious and contemplative nature. Yet, within a few years she acquired a younger adopted sister, Mamie, with whom she maintained a close relationship until the latter’s untimely death at only 46.
Relatively little is known of Jack and Teasy’s early lives. This is mainly due to the period of history in which they lived. They were born during the final years of British hegemony and grew up in the early years of the Irish Free State, as it was then known. Immediately following Independence, the country was wracked, initially by civil war and thereafter by lingering political strife. It struggled to provide adequately for the populace. So, reliable records of school and other youthful activities are few. We only have the anecdotal evidence of the stories we were told with which to build a picture of their early lives.
Possibly due in part to the age difference with her siblings, Teasy was better educated than might have been expected. She completed her Intermediate Certificate Exam, aged about 16. Thus armed, she won a job in the office of the L&N grocery chain. This nationwide and still extant (as supermarkets) chain had its origins of the small town of Tramore. Teasy was very proud of that job. She would have continued after marriage but for Jack’s dictum: “a wife’s place is in the home”.
At some point before the war, their two fathers became unlikely friends; unlikely due to 20 years difference in ages, to geography and to a lack of shared interests. Nevertheless, friends they became when Daddy Jack made some clothes for Martin, possibly ahead of his daughter Alice’s marriage in 1938, which Daddy Jack attended as a guest. The nature of bespoke tailoring is such that several fittings are required before a suit can be completed. Daddy Jack took the train, 8 miles from his home in Waterford to Tramore. On one or more such occasions the younger Jack accompanied his father. In so doing, he met Teasy. We’re told he was unimpressed with her, initially. Be that as it may, their relationship blossomed and they married during the last weeks of the war in April 1945.
The newly-weds moved into a small flat in Peter Street, Waterford. Teasy hoped to transfer to a local branch of the L&N but Jack wouldn’t hear of it. His breadman’s pay would provide all necessary support for his new family. Teasy acquiesced meekly (we’re told) but retained no little zeal for the family’s betterment. In due course, Catherine (Kathleen) arrived and they needed a bigger home. Jack’s grandfather’s house, occupied at the time by his half-uncle, Nicholas, would shortly become available as its occupant moved to Dublin. So, in 1947, they moved to St. Alphonsus Road, where they would remain for the next 30 years.
In synchronised sequence, three more kids (Betty, Nick and Ger) arrived by mid-1951. There was no impulsion to close the baby factory. Teasy would later confide something close to embarrassment to have produced no more than four kids. However, Teasy did have some ‘female plumbing’ issues at the time of Betty’s birth which, by the middle 1950s, found her hospitalised in Dublin, possibly twice in as many years. During her absence, Jack was obliged to farm out the kids to the care of willing relatives. This minor diaspora cast a long shadow on the characters and allegiances of the children, particularly of the girls.
Kathleen was sent to her grandfather (Daddy Jack) and his three as-yet unmarried daughters in Waterford. Betty went to the Convent Lodge in Tramore where Teasy had grown up and which was still occupied by her aging father and two of his unmarried children. We two boys, being younger, were packed off together to Teasy’s sister Alice and her family in Riverstown, near the beach in Tramore. The girls got on famously with their substituted parents and never missed the opportunity thereafter to revisit and to stay as long as possible. Kathleen (later, Kaye) became integrated with Jack’s tight-knit family, developing a sympathy with their ethos and values. Betty, on the other hand took to the very extended Tramore FitzGeralds like a duck to water and came to know and love the complex nature of that family. The two boys were too young to fall under the influence, good or bad, of the Kellys of Riverstown. By mid-1955, the family finally was reunited under one roof, albeit a rather small one.
Having recovered her strength, Teasy set about feathering the nest and securing the family’s future. Regardless of their true origin, all plans in those directions were made manifest by Jack. Teasy would concur, as ever, entirely supporting of his perspicacity.
If, as Jack’s wife, Teasy’s place was to be in the home, then she would make it the most comfortable, inviting and efficient home to the best of her considerable talent and ability. It is not clear how she learned to cook or to develop her home economics ability but in these she excelled as few others did. Every Sunday, after early Mass, she would bake several varieties of delicious soda bread to last until mid-week, prepare lunch (“dinner”) for the family of six, including the indispensable “pudding”. Afterwards, she’d bake a variety of Victoria sponges, cup-cakes and suchlike for tea. We children took all this for granted and only in later years did we come to appreciate fully her unique talents in the kitchen.
Apart from routine cooking, she was a master of preserves. Every year she made up to 20 kgs of raspberry and of strawberry jam, plus some blackcurrant; Jack’s particular favourite. In the conserving processes, Jack was an interested and able adjutant. They would debate together whether the sample taken from the boiling mixture had yet passed the “crinkle” test on a cold saucer. In the same way, he always helped with the making and hand-mixing of Christmas puddings and rich fruit Christmas cakes. Our mother experimented with other fruit preserves with mixed success, like the damson jam she made with the stones left in. That failed to meet with the usual approbation. Once, having come by a large quantity of Seville oranges, she made marmalade. She stored the completed marmalade in eight large stone crocks rather than in the usual glass jam jars. Each of these contained perhaps 2-3 kgs of the product. Again, it is unclear why but her efforts were not greeted with universal approval. So, Teasy passed it out among the neighbours who, for years afterwards, raved about the quality of the marmalade. She never repeated that particular exercise.
Monday was wash-day. In those early days of the 1950s, we had no washing machine. Outside the back door we had a small yard and here was located a primus stove. Over the primus was place a galvanised milk crate with the bottle-divisions cut out. Atop this was placed a huge (or so it seemed) pot in which the clothes were boiled. Afterwards, these were transferred to a galvanised bath tub where they were scrubbed on a wooden washing board. We didn’t have a wringer either, so Teasy wrung the clothes by hand. She was neither big nor was she especially strong but she could wring the last drop from a double-bed sheet in no time. She had a special way of achieving this if any of us kids were available. She would wind and wind the sheet tightly, like a corkscrew. She’d hold one end and the kid was instructed to back away down the garden. As the corkscrew straightened out, so the sheet was wrung remarkably dry. The clothes were then pegged onto two lines stretched from the rear of the house to a tall pole from which was also strung the AM wireless antenna. Over the fence conversations with the neighbours focussed on how much “drying” there was likely to be that day. In the evening, after tea, she would iron all the clothes, including underwear, etc., as she listened to “The Archers” on the wireless.
In those early years in St. Alphonsus Rd., Jack was or gave every appearance of being a happy, contented and well-fed man. He loved his job. He loved his involvement with his colleagues as their Bakers’ Union representative and prided himself in achieving betterment of their circumstances. The bakery became easily the largest in Waterford. It afforded an unusual (for the times) amount of social and leisure activities to the employees. On some indoor courts provided by the bakery, jack played badminton; rather noisily as it seemed to me. Instead of plimsoles, he wore a pair of boxing boots. Jack often had a unique perspective on the world. He revelled in his role as Santa Clause at the Christmas Party. I didn’t recognise him in his Santa garb. So ‘realistic’ was he in the role that I recall being scared by the experience of “Meeting Santa”. Betty said she recognised him because of his extremely hairy hands and arms. Possibly for that reason, he always wore yellow woollen gloves in subsequent years.
Jack subscribed to “Practical Householder” magazine in the mid-1950. In this he found details of how kitchen units might be constructed for the home; mass produced units didn’t exist in those days. Jack got hold of some old timber bedsteads and with these he framed up the units in our original kitchen. So successful were his efforts that he was commissioned to build some more in his father’s house, then in a friend’s house. In the end he may have kitted out four or five kitchens. He was forever a man for gadgets!
Our father had a great love of sports although, apart from some badminton, he played none. He owned a bike early on. This had a small swivel saddle attached to the bar. He would seat me on this and cycle to Kilcohen Park, the greyhound racing stadium, where our local football team played. My hero there was goalkeeper Tommy Taylor. The Waterford hurling team had some great success on a national level from the mid-50s to 60s and Jack became a hurling fan. By then the bike had disappeared and we would walk up to Walshe Park where the GAA games were played. The stadium had plenty of normal turnstiles, as in Kilcohen Park. Nevertheless, entrance tickets were sold on the streets surrounding the ground. These would then be collected by the man at the turnstiles. I was curious about this odd arrangement but Jack wouldn’t discuss it. One day, no doubt following pestering by me, he questioned a ticket seller about the arrangement, asking whether they were paid (as those manning the turnstiles were) for doing the job. “Not at all, Jack” was the reply, “but we’re allowed a mistake of up to five shillings”.
Our house, originally built in the 1890s of local stone, was of the two-up, two-down terraced variety. Small enough for a family of six, nevertheless others like it in the street accommodating many more. Additional accommodation was built on during the next 6-8 years before Jack was finally persuaded to buy the house.
As was a common habit of the time, our family recited the Rosary every evening, just as soon as The Archers finished on the wireless. It’s not a long prayer but Teasy had the custom of adding some “trimmings”, which could extend the Rosary’s natural length by ten or more minutes. During the Rosary, no interruptions were permitted. Groceries, greengroceries and other bulky or weighty purchases were delivered in the evening after shopps closed. The delivery men who called were obliged to kneel down and join in until we were finished. This they did without murmur. At some point in the late 1950s, Teasy added a “prayer for a special intention” to the usual trimmings. We were given no hint as to what it might be. One suspected a case of TB (then fairly common) somewhere in the family. This went on for some months with no outcome in sight. Then, one day Teasy announced that her prayer had been answered. Jack was to have a new job, won in the face of intense competition. Jack was the undemonstrative sort and gave every appearance of equanimity in relation to this answer to prayer. Teasy was quite different. She was visibly lifted that her husband was to be a “Traveller for Gâteaux”; later amended to “South Eastern Rep”. Gâteaux Ltd was the largest cake manufacturer in Ireland and Jack would be its representative within a radius of about 25 miles of Waterford. In those days of poor roads, it was indeed a sizeable patch of country to traverse. Jack would be required to drive up to 40,000 miles a year. It was clearly to be a huge step-up in his career. There was one small problem, however – Jack couldn’t drive!
The characters and personalities of Jack and Teasy could hardly have contrasted more. Jack was easy-going, good humoured, tolerant, and popular with his colleagues. He had a strong voice, quick to spot a weakness in argument and so, was a powerful negotiator; a protector of “the working man”. However, he never voted Labour in his life, despite the fact Labour was then a prominent political party in Waterford. Being content with his lot, it would also not be unfair to say he lacked personal ambition. Teasy was the opposite in most respects. She was generally quiet, not especially popular, completely lacking in humour and not at all tolerant of any perceived impropriety. Jack loved to read the newspapers cover to cover, especially on Sundays, when the papers contained the “funny pages”. When Jack would chuckle or laugh out loud at the cartoons, Teasy might come and look over his shoulder but could never “see through” the comedy. She would ask Jack to explain but her face, following any such explanation, would present a picture more comical than the original cartoon. On the other hand, Teasy was highly respected by all who knew her. She had a wise head with 20:20 ‘forward vision’. Whereas Jack was happy and contented, hobnobbing with the owners of other local bakeries discussing ways to improve the baker’s lot, he was not well-paid. His children were growing and would need proper education. Time for change; time for appropriate ideas to take shape and for the same to give every appearance of originating in Jack’s head – like maybe a new job!
It would not have occurred to the Gâteaux interview panel to enquire as to Jack’s driving competence. The concept of a “clean licence” was unknown. Indeed, driving tests would not commence in Ireland until the 1960s. Anyway, who would apply for a job which would involve driving 40,000 miles a year, who was not already an experienced driver?
Now, Teasy’s nephew Freddie, Tramore’s local undertaker was deeply absorbed in all things “cars”. Today, he’d be dubbed a “petrolhead”. Freddie was an all-round ‘good egg’. He often came to take us for Sunday drives in his green 1953 Ford Anglia. At a particular stage in the late 1950s, it became imperative that Jack should quickly acquire some driving skills. It wasn’t that he was entirely devoid of experience navigating city streets; he’d spent years driving an electric bread-van around Waterford. So, at some point during our afternoon drives, Jack and Freddie would swap seats. We in the back were admonished to “be quiet while Daddy is driving”; not easy for young lads who wondered why we bucked and bounced along the road as Freddie appealed for smoothness with the clutch, whatever that might be.
In due course, the day came when Jack had to take the train to Dublin to be kitted out with the essentials for his new job. He was met at the station by a colleague who whipped him round to the dealership to collect his brand-new Ford Thames van, freshly painted in the ‘café-au-lait’ Gâteaux livery. The colleague, clearly used to the procedure, completed the paperwork, chucked the keys to Jack and shouted: “follow me”!
Some immediate problems arose: i) the gear-change in Freddie’s car was a “three-on-the-floor” arrangement whereas the Thames van had a “three-on-the-tree” setup, ii) Jack was a virtual stranger in Dublin and, iii) the Gâteaux factory was miles away to the north of the Ireland’s capital city. Accounts of what transpired over the coming hours are multiple and apocryphal; the only certainty being that Jack got himself and the van home to Waterford undamaged.
Driving wasn’t the only initial problem posed by Jack’s new job at Gâteaux. He was also required to order and manage stocks and make weekly returns to the factory, etc. He also had to come to grips with the complexities of the banking industry for the first time. The machinations of the Ulster Bank served only to set his face against the whole concept of banking. Immediately upon his retirement, aged 62, Jack closed his account with Ulster Bank and never again held a bank account. Happily, the paperwork side of the job was just up Teasy’s street. She took over the books and, save for the actual banking, managed them meticulously. One wasn’t privy to the domestic arrangement regarding this Gâteaux paperwork arrangement but Teasy continued in her role of bookkeeper for a few years. Then, rather suddenly, as it seemed to us kids, Jack had learnt the ropes and assumed the helm.
Keeping accounts was second nature to Teasy. From the beginning of her marriage she keep a succession of special notebooks, always of the same type, into which she entered details of every single purchase she made. For this purpose, she used a special ‘biro’. Ballpoint pens were in their infancy then but Teasy had a special maroon coloured one with a cap. As she renewed notebooks, so also did she replace the biros, always of the same type. She kept all of the books, pens, receipts and the like in a special old handbag with a broken strap, which she “put away” so nobody could interfere with it. Later in life, the perceived pressing need for accurate expenditure records may have receded but she still retained those old red notebooks in that disreputable old handbag. Years later, after she was gone, we could view wistfully, in minute detail her record of the source and application of every penny of household expenditure.
Never content to rest on her oars, Teasy felt we should own our house at St. Alphonsus Road, which various members of the family had been renting (then, at about 10 shillings a week) since it was built. The landlady was a Miss McLaughlin. She owned most but not all of the houses on the street. A spinster of advancing years and with a desire to realise some capital, she entered willingly into protracted negotiations with Jack for the sale of the house. I well remember her first visit, when Jack offered her £80 for the house. Even at the time, this was a preposterous price. She cackled with laughter (she had a distinctive cackling voice) and suggested a much higher price at which Jack feigned anger, having regard to the “fortune” the family had paid in rent over the previous 75 years. She was a wise old bird, was not put off by Jack’s aggressive negotiating tactics and in due course, months later they settled on £590, if memory serves me. It was, of course, a ridiculous price for a three bedroomed house.
The house was further extended by the construction of a new kitchen and bathroom. We were in the lap of luxury! Into the new, tiny kitchen was inserted a tiny washing machine. Out went the tub and the washing board. But we still had the old valve wireless with the long AM antenna stretching down to the bottom of the garden, where it was fixed to the tall wooden pole, mentioned above. Despite the elaborate nature of the aerial, the radio reception was poor. The pole got the blame for some reason. So, it was taken down periodically, pitch applied to the bottom few feet and re-erected. The reception was said to have improved measurably. It hadn’t, really, but nothing more was said, - until the next time. Transistor radios were becoming popular and Jack (ever the sports fan) borrowed one to listen live to the Sonny Liston v. Cassius Clay boxing match. He marvelled at the instant signal and complete absence of crackling. Still, that was one gadget he didn’t buy. We’d only recently bought a shiny new electric model with push-buttons. we made do with that one for many more years.
In due course, as the family fortunes improved, Jack bought a 1955 Austin Cambridge from Freddie. This served to take us to the seaside and to the beautiful mountains on the border between Waterford and Tipperary. Although he amassed a colossal mileage over the years, Jack never came close to mastering the art of driving smoothly.
We kids were lucky that both parents remained good health throughout our formative years. Teasy, despite her problems early on, recovered well and was thereafter a vigorous bundle of energy, well into middle age. She went briskly about her business, never stopping for idle chat. She was a good neighbour, always willing to intervene, lend a hand or advice, if and when requested. She was also fearless in a good cause, as I discovered at a young age. As she and I crossed the park close to home, a group of young men were beating up another. The victim, from our street was something of a “Teddy Boy” but was of decent stock. He now found himself in need of help. Small as she was, Teasy passed me her bags, told me to stand back and wait. Then she wading into the brawl, extricated young Joe, sent him scurrying off home and scattered the others. I was astonished; Teasy became a hero!
Jack wasn’t tall but physically, mentally and constitutionally, he had strength and endurance in abundance. He was fazed by neither long hours nor hard work. He regularly topped sales lists. Possibly, the sheer size of his catchment area had something to do with that. Although ever the strong, silent type, still he would have been quietly proud of his efforts. Forty, when he joined Gâteaux, the advance of anno domini determined the need for a reduction of his territory. This became a recurrent Sunday afternoons theme. Whatever the catalyst, his territory did shrink and shrink again until finally, his empire spanned a bare 20 miles.
If Jack’s daily drive was seriously curtailed, his leisure outings were not. Teasy loved nothing more than a spin in the countryside. During his annual fortnight’s holiday, they toured Ireland, always ending in Dublin for a few days of shopping. Teasy was particularly fond of Northern Ireland. In those days, most would have thought twice before driving a Southern-registered car into Derry or Belfast but this pair seemed quite relaxed about it. Certainly, they had no untoward experiences there. As the children drifted off on their chosen paths, Jack and Teasy were left happy and content, comfortably off and living for each other’s company. But sadness was just round the corner.
Although she wasn’t one to complain, or maybe we missed some signals but Teasy went back into a Cork hospital “for tests” in the Spring of 1976. It seems incredible now, looking back but the purpose and scope of these “tests” weren’t explored by us, nor even by Jack, I suspect. I lived in London then, as did Gerry but I came home for a visit just after she left hospital. I thought she’d never looked better. She had lost some weight, which I thought suited her. I suppose we must have chatted about her health in a general kind of way but without any sense of real concern. They were just “tests” and when people had “tests”, one didn’t enquire too deeply as to their nature. Some few months later, she was back in a Waterford hospital “for more tests”. Still no great concerns were expressed. Jack carried on working as usual.
On 26th December 1976, I received a call from Kaye, telling me: “she’s got 6 months”. Jack, in his own robust health, must have sleepwalked through recent occurrences. At any rate, he was unaware of the true state of Teasy’s health until Kaye confided the dreadful news after Christmas Day. Betty was living in Kells, so Kaye had been the only one locally to interrogate the hospital. This she did in early December but, with Christmas approaching, decided the awful secret would keep awhile. Gerry was managing some tourist hotels in the Paddington/Queensway area. I shot over there, picked him up and headed for Heathrow. Within a few weeks our Teasy was no more. Her husband was disconsolate!
Jack was no bachelor! As a lad, he had been spoilt by his sisters. As a married man, he’d been idolised by Teasy. As a widower, he was a fish out of water. He didn’t adapt well.
Kaye had lived in Cork for some years but, in 1976, she bought a small shop in Tramore. She was heavily pregnant that summer and Teasy helped her to set the place up and get it off the ground. Jack had spent all his working life in shops, selling and marketing. He loved to add his shake of salt and pepper to Kaye’s project. During the following years, in Teasy’s absence, he delighted in the further development of the shop. But such delights are best shared. And Jack was alone; companionless.
For a very sociable man who loved to spend time with colleagues and friends, he was not a drinking man. He never visited a pub until late in life; never tasted Guinness or whiskey. Once, on a wintery road he was feeling chilly. A country shopkeeper offered him a glass of brandy - to settle him, as she thought. He knocked this back, staggering with the instant burning effect. Being unaccustomed to alcohol, the warm, fuzzy feeling that embraced him (and which is much appreciated by the rest of us mortals) was utterly alien to him on that day. How different may his life as a widower have been had he been accustomed to pop into the pub for a pint of the black stuff - and a good argument about manly things?