Lockdown has resulted in lots of surprises, phone calls from long lost friends, a card here, a letter there and a lot of early spring cleaning which has revealed treasures I thought were long lost. It was a great joy to come on a faded photograph and a small University note book, each page crammed with my mother’s neat writing telling the story of our unforgettable week in Paris, not a lockdown Paris as it is today, but a city steeped in romance and glamour. She began at the very beginning.
24th April 1965.
Flight Aldergrove to London – snack meal chicken and ham salad etc and coffee. Then by Comet flight 364 to Paris 40 minutes in the air. 529 miles per hour at 21,000 feet. 200 Kingsize cigs for 20/- (£1 today) 10.45 landed in Le Bourget.
Paris Here We Come!
My French Huguenot descendent mother had researched our trip and polished up her school girl French and was convinced she was fluent although the Gendarme at the Arc de Triomphe didn’t think so, however, undaunted she battled on and between miming and her few words she got the information she wanted and a salute from himself. It was moving to stand at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier by the Flame of Remembrance and realise legions of Nazis marched through this hallowed spot in 1940.
The day she wanted tissue paper to wrap a gift was something of a Les Dawson sketch. She acted out a sneeze – atissu atissu – followed by ‘papier’. Logic did not win in this case and we left two confused assistants muttering about the ‘English’ and without our wrapping.
She notes that the bidet was a mystery but useful as a foot bath after a days adventuring or sitting planning our day whilst breakfasting on croissants and apricot jam!
In those days Paris was the centre of elegance, ladies in fabulous couturier Coco Chanel suits, picture hats and poodles. Handsome men who thought nothing of following a young girl with her mother to hand over a little bunch of flowers – romantic or what! As the songs says, ‘April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom’, their white and pink flowers like candles only outdone by the scent of the lilac trees in the late evening.
LIVING THE HISTORY
The Palace of Versalles and the Hall of Mirrors, 246 feet long with 400 mirrors reflected the history of the French kings, especially Louis X1V and Marie Antoinette. On the way we passed the Paris television centre the largest tv studio in Europe at that time. The racing stables of M. Bronssee the richest man in France who owned Christian Dior fashion house.
A bateaux mouche for our evening meal. As the riverboat sailed the River Seine we were shown to a window table on the top deck. It was getting dark and soon the lights on the boat were turned off and we were lit by candles. All was nothing until we reached Notre Dame. I don’t need mummy’s diary to remember that moment. The walls rose from the water and the cathedral towered above us, the famous and beautiful Rose Window lit from inside, it was breathtaking. Fortunately it survived the fire in 2019 and repairs are underway. That night the glorious carved stonework stood out in the sympathetic floodlight, it was awesome in every sense of the word. As we approached the music was Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring but at just the right moment, Bach’s Toccata and Fugue took over, filling the boat and bouncing off the walls of the cathedral adding to this majestic experience. The waiters were ultra attractive, Frenchmen appreciated women in love with their city and they were most attentive.
Romance was in the air and April in Paris 53 years ago was life changing for both mother and daughter, especially the afternoon she was chatted up as we sat at a pavement cafe in the sun. A wealthy American gentleman offered to show us the city – “It must be difficult for two girls alone in Paris at night.” Didn’t like to disillusion him by telling him that we’d already done a dubious night club and walked the Champs Elysee at midnight, eaten snails, escargot sounds better, frogs legs and escalopes, we rejoiced in the smell of garlic, surely we were Parisians by now.
THE MUSIC OF ROMANCE
Memorable also was the evening we spent in the Pam Pam restaurant a place with a history which had been recommended by our hall porter at our quaint little D’Angleterre hotel. Always music in the restaurant he said, at one time Stephane Grappelli played, so did Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald sang there, it was the go to place for Charles Aznavour, it was Edith Piaf’s rendezvous and film stars from Rita Heyworth to Roger Moore graced the banquette seating which, according to mummy’s note, was in soft beige.
The head waiter conducted us downstairs to the grill where we sat for about five hours, an evening meal, drinks and fun for £2/16 for two, less than £3 in todays money! Not to be outdone by my mother, I was chatted up by Gilles, a Peugeot car employee and although I turned down his invitation to meet the next day he gallantly walked us back to the hotel and the following morning he’d left his business card and a huge bouquet of flowers at reception much to the delight of our romantic hall porter. I think I sent him a thank you card, I hope I did as it was a beautiful life affirming gesture.
Since then I have visited Paris half a dozen times always a great experience, eating in chic restaurants or picnicking in the Tuileries garden, being a street artist, paying homage at Oscar Wilde’s grave but nothing touched April in Paris 1965. I came home with a close cropped hair cut and a white crocheted suit and a real confidence in myself – thank you dear departed mother for keeping your diary.
You can almost enjoy the spat between Boris J and Dominic C. It certainly dominates the headlines and will for some time and this takes the attention away from the Government’s other pressures. I suspect it’s all contrived and as a result we are being manipulated. Seems to me the public come last in their thinking, their wasteful spending is being passed on to us the tax payer. And what about those poor post office officials and the years of pain and distress they have endured thanks to total mismanagement by their masters. Compensation won’t go any way towards healing the wounds, some have died, some have had breakdowns, families have suffered even children have been targeted by evil people. And it wasn’t necessary. And Boris Johnson is worried about decorating his front room.
The President of Ireland Michael D. Higgins said : ”To have known him as a friend was a great privilege. He was loyal in his friendship and generous in its expression.” Phil Coulter called him upbeat, bohemian and a lovely guy, tributes came from Father Brian D’Arcy and Daniel O’Donnell, – the list goes on all paying tribute to Shay Healy who died earlier this month.
Shay had legions of friends and admirers, he was a man of all trades and professions, musician, writer, singer, journalist, documentary maker, host of RTE popular talkshow Nighthawks, an enthusiastic in everything he did, a man known as Famous Seamus, a well deserved the title.
I first met this glorious man in the Ardmore Hotel Newry over 50 years ago when Ulster Television and RTE met to party. He was always the life and soul, there was something electric about his personality, he fizzled and sparked and lit up the room. From being one of the first cameramen in the new TV station in Dublin, “We were like fighter pilots” he said, “swooning and shooting anything that moved.” He went on to spent a career in front of camera and will forever be remembered as the man who wrote the 1980 Eurovision winner ‘What’s Another Day’. It was sung by Johnny Logan who expressed his heart break at loosing such a special friend.
Shay Healy was no stranger to the north in fact he was a real hit at our wedding! In Belfast he was a regular on a number of BBC programmes and his wit was fast and furious/. During the 1977 UUC strke of disruption and protest he exclaims: “Sure you’re only to stick your nose out of the door these days and someone will picket.”
Although in 2004 he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, he keep working harder than ever: “The stage is my natural home. That’s where I belong . . . for 40 or 50 minutes there’s no pain and the Parkinson’s goes away.” In his tribute Taoiseach Micheal Martin said Shay’s death at 78 years of age had come after a brave and dignified battle with illness. He was further effected by his wife Dymphna’s death four years ago but, despite the hardships of latter years or maybe because of them, his comment on life was: “Enjoy the climb rather than the view, because sometimes the climb is more rewarding than the view.”
Who’d have guessed that one man’s life could be crammed with so much vibrant colour. We didn’t look ahead in those days of heady fun when we first met, it all just seemed to happen, and it happened big style for Shay Healy. Always one to bring a smile or to make you think, he told me he had even written his own gravestone inscription which he said he hoped would read:
He had an adventurous life and a lot of laughs – do not resuscitate.
Paul Tylak’s Facebook posting is thoughtful and remembers Shay’s moving song ‘When You Become Stardust Too’, “You were a gem and a gentleman, clever, kind, witty and wise. You’re stardust now twinkling down on us all.”
Our sympathies go to Shay and Dymphna’s sons Oisin and Fionain and their families and friends.
Today is Anzac Day, the national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand. Recognised annually on April 25, the day marks the anniversary of the first major military campaign fought by Australian and New Zealand soldiers during the First World War. On this date in 1915, the troops, who became known as the Anzacs, landed in Turkey, joining the allied expedition that planned to capture the Gallipoli Peninsula.
It’s also Good Shepherd Sunday. I’ve just been on a zoom service from Ypres Belgium where the informal service highlighted this day and the padre spoke of his youth in England where he was surrounded by sheep and shepherds and the hard work it takes to look after your herd. It’s a delight to see the little lambs gambolling in the fields but getting them there and rearing them is a skill, farmers have to be ready to rise and shine at all hours of the night when his sheep give birth. Andrew McMullon then went on to talk of Jesus being the shepherd who’s on hand day and night to tend his flock. Lovely service on this beautiful day.
