TRE - Comhaltas Archive

TREOIRMemoriesof Camp LifePadraig Mac SuibhneI began my working life in Britain inone of the great camps scatteredaroud the country housing workersinvolved in many projects for the wareffort. My firstcamp was two milesfrom the vilalge of Stone Leigh andeight miles from Coventry. The campwas set in the heart of thecountryside and anyone interested inagriculture will know that where wewere billeted is now the headquartersofThe Royal Show.There were eight hundred of us in thecamp, almost all young Irishmen fromevery corner of Ireland. We lived inwooden huts reminding me very muchof Finner Camp in my native Donegalwhere I had two spells during my LDFdays.Across the fence was a hugeAmerican Camp with 5,000 soldiers.We were brought to work in fleets ofcaoches and on the way we paeesPrince Thorpe Boys College. Little didI know that many years later I wouldbe visiting Prince Thorpe whereComhaltas ran a very traditinal Tion61and for the past few years has beenthe venue for the Midlands RegionalFleadh. I can assure you that camplife was nothing like the Gresham orShelbourne.There were twenty men to each hutwith a row of two tier bunks, eachside a table, some chairs and a smalllocker. The heating was a coke stoveand the job of the last man to bedwas to stoke up, but by three in themorning the fire had died and theplace was like a fridge. It wasn'tpleasant pulling on freezing clothes inthe month of January. There were twosmall rooms inside, one with awashbasin and the other with a toilet.The main toilets and shower roomswere outside with no heating andagain it wasn's pleasant having ashower in mid-winter. I'm afraidsome of us went without.We had little by way of entertainmentexcept a film show every two weeks,which was usually war propaganda.Fortunately there were lads whobrought their instruments, mainlyfiddles,m flutes and whistles. Theywould often come together on a longsummer's evening and play until dark.There is no doubt at all that it helpedus to overcome our loneliness, mostwinter nights however, were devotedto playing twenty-five. I lived in hut 17and I will always remember a mannamed Paddy Jones from Enniscorthy.He was one of the few men whowere aged around forty and over theyears had been coming and going toEngland. Every night at ten o 'clock wewould kneel down and Paddy Joneswould give out the rosary. At thattime many of us wore the brownscapular and the miraculous medaland our rosary beads were hung onthe side of our bunks: my God, howthings have changed. Paddy Jonesknew a host of stories and was an27