Out On The Ocean

This is a podcast about living and this episode has a lot of it: the Fitzroy underground scene; the excesses of youth; being in a band; being in a society sleepwalking towards environmental catastrophe. You know, happy stuff. Doomscrolling, yelling into the chasm; books, crooners and gentrification. AND crackin songs. In this episode Stan plays: I Fell Over Flag of Progress A Little Light 21st Century Lullaby and a quick song that doesn't yet have a name... You can find Skyscraper Stan and the Commission Flats music at bandcamp: https://skyscraperstan.bandcamp.com/ And videos, gig details and other stuff at https://www.skyscraperstan.com.au/ Thanks so much Stan - what a treat.

In the almanac of Ireland on RTE the writer Manchán Magan talks about the word magh – a measurement of distance in the old Irish – the distance that a bell or a cock-crow can be heard. Magh. I’ve been thinking of that idea for a couple of years now since I first heard it from my friend Colette Kinsella who produced that show – a fantastic radio producer and like-minded lover of sounds and the way we inhabit a world of sounds, and they – sounds – they inhabit us. You can find the episode I'm talking about here. I met Colette when I was living in The Hague in 2023 and we hit it off immediately, not least because we shared a love for a bakery called Kitty’s Kitchen run by a most inspirational woman called Mary Bruton – though that’s another story. So me and Colette would meet in the morning, have scones and coffee, and talk about radio and sound and splashes and history and crack. And in the way of all the most fantastic friendships do, I’d always come away with my heart abuzz and my head ringing with ideas, the freshest of breezes blowing through me, and joy – how’s that for a far north Antrim man – joy at having spent that time with Colette. The distance a bell ring can be heard from the church – on a Sunday morning in The Hague the bells still ring as they have for centuries it seems like, a sound I miss now I’m no longer living there. The ringing, the voices of those bells, carrying out from the church tower through the air, over the hedges and ditches and streets and canals, grachts and puddles and briars and lawns and trams and shops – to us, me and Colette, sitting drinking coffee together. I’m going to play you something today – it’s very short. much shorter than this introduction – that I recorded in 2012 or so. It’s a poem by a fella called Phil Sprang, who became a friend very dear to me. I met him when he was 70 or so and he was a still a broad, slightly forbidding figure in an eternal plaid shirt. Who shook hands like a man who’d been on the tools all his life; would greet you with an arched eyebrow and a grim sceptical at eye, then a smile and he’d ask you in. He was a poet, Phil – a storyteller, house-builder, dramatist and writer, a San Francisco beatnik in the 60s, a sufi mystic in England in the 70s, a trekker and bluffer, and a lover of baseball, who’d pour a couple of glugs of Baileys into his morning coffee; a ghost of times past in Seattle’s great once literary boozer The Blue Moon Tavern and a string of other andcient drinking shops in Pioneer Square in the 60s; a student of the great American poet Theodore Roethke at the University of Washington, a skier a football player and a drinker of a couple of bottles of starpramoen pilsner each winter afternoon as we would sit talking in the glowering twilight; a man who described his life as a mystery in which he somehow managed to remain upright with no visible means of support. Who told me he didn’t fear death, he was curious to move onto the next stage of the journey and find out what was up ahead, round the bend. I last saw Phil in 2022 a few months before he died…I visited in him his retirement home, he’d had his beard shaved off and didn’t look like himself. He seemed shorn of more than his beard somehow, lying in a bed with the TV at the foot of the bed on all the time. When I told him I was there he reached out his hand, and called out to his first wife, then already gone, ‘Noni, Dominic’s here.’ I played him some of the things we’d recorded, sat with him on afternoons as the sun shone bright and blustery outside – that deep, West Seattle sunlight. I need a word that does for friendships what magh does for that ringing bell…a word for the distance from which friendships can still be felt within us, despite the passing of time and the vast spaces separating us. That they CAN still reach us even after all the seconds minutes hours days weeks months years that have passed, those friendships, seems miraculous, miraculous, and yet we feel them – ringing as they do within us like – well, a bell, what else…out across the water on a clear morning. This is Phil Sprang, my friend, the poet, Out on the Ocean. You can hear more of Colette Kinsella's work at Red Hare Media - check it out. A treasure trove of lovely audio pieces. https://www.redharemedia.ie/

And so in the end up where did Granny Brown go And what about Granda Leo Aunty Julia, Uncle James and their wee dog Rona Bernard, and Gerard and Roy Something to do with roving at night Something to do with the water A backyard lit by the kitchen light Something to do with the water Mum and dad, Bernie and John Ellie and James and Gerald, John Cochrane, John Francis and Uncle Ben Mary, Marie and John Butler Something to do with the kettle not boiled Something to do with the meal Something to do with the best china cups and The smokers around for their tea Something to do with the sycamore tree Something to do with the rowan Something to do with the hazel bush Something to do with the season Polly and Jeanie and old Billy Greer Paddy and Jack and Arthur Arty McAllister, Dessie McKeown Tony and Mrs. McKinley Something to do with the river in flood Something to do with the blackthorn Something to do with the red shade at night Something to do with the morning Something to do with the wheels of the world Something to do with the gulder Something to do with the wheel of the hurl And the eternal chip on the shoulder Something to do with the rose in the heather There’s cows coming down through the orchard Something to do with the weeds in the lane And evening out on the ocean Something to do with the chapel and clay Something to do with the sound Of a dog barking down round the end of the road Wet was the day, cold was the ground

Maguire's Strand, sun worship and the Barwon Estuary on a transcendent blue morning; biting flies, flights of memory, amazement; pathways to the past and the glory of the present; '78, '79. The last days of summer.

Episode 4 of Out On The Ocean tells the first part of the story of Harold Moss - listen to that first. Thenmeet us back here. Recorded on March 14th 2016 in Tacoma, Washington, this second recording picks up the story from the early 1960s, and details the formation of the Tacoma Urban League; Harold's work with the NAACP; his route into local politics and the events that led to him being appointed Mayor of Tacoma in 1994. Harold's own reflections are fascinating and affecting, and he speaks with such a passionate intensity at times - though with a laugh always just around the corner. What this interview also gives us is an insight into the political landscape of the city of Tacoma throughout his time there. And while that might seem, on first listen, like a very particular set of circumstances, what's most striking is how so many of the fractures in American political life that Harold describes seem traceable right up to the prersent day. There is a treasure trove of material on Tacoman politics at HistoryLink.org - the online encyclopaedia of Washington State history. If you want a fuller account of the recall process that led to Harold first joining Tacoma City Council, check out this essay by Bill Baarsma - himself a former mayor of Tacoma: https://www.historylink.org/File/22806 The audio interview with Harold Moss was recorded as research for the HistoryLink essay on his life. Special thanks to Jennifer Ott and HistoryLink for granting permission to broadcast this audio. You can find the full essay here: https://www.historylink.org/File/20125 Harold Moss died on September 21st, 2020. If you liked this episode, please do share it and give it a review in ye olde podcast styllee fashion. Thanks, and see you soon, Dominic

In this, the first of two episodes, Harold Moss describes his childhood in Michigan, his move to the Pacific NorthWest as a National Guardsman, and the reality of how racism played out in his everyday life, from childhood right through to when he and his wife tried to buy their first house. It's a compelling piece of audio, in part because he is such a great talker, and in part because the issues and ideas he's talking about are even more urgent and even more current than they were when this was first recorded in 2016. When even 2016 seems like a more innocent time, you know things must be bad in 2025. This audio was recorded as research for the biographical essay on Harold's life in published in HistoryLink.org, the online encyclopaedia of Washington State history. Special thanks to Jennifer Ott and HistoryLink for permission to broadcast this audio. You can find the full essay here: https://www.historylink.org/File/20125 And you can find more information about housing discrimination in Tacoma here: https://www.historylink.org/File/22992 If you like the podcast, please share it and give a review (a positive one...heh...) and thank you. See you soon. Dominic

I'd heard of Aoife Dermody long before I met her, on the day before she was due to move back to Dublin after a spell in Melbourne. An activist, a singer, a teacher, a musician. On a sunny, chilly morning we met up in Preston, and ended up chatting about all manner of things - including Joe Fitzgerald and Joe Heaney, two true originals. In fact, this is the first of three episodes that sort of circle around Joe Heaney - his songs, and his life. So I hope you enjoy it. I left Aoife's house, dodging between the suticases in the hall, feeling like I'd been given a great parting gift from her. I hope you feel the same after listening. If you like the podcast so far, please subscribe, give it a five star review and share it with your pals. Out on the Ocean is an independent production edited and mixed by me, Dominic Black. Drop me a line any time at - [email protected] And I'll see you when I see you...thanks for listening, Dominic

It was a glorious night when we saw David Munnelly and Shane McGowan at Casa Bruti in The Hague. Dermot, was there - an old acquaintance who I went to a few pubs with while living in The Hague, though I never learned his surname. Santi and Marianna were there, dearest of friends much missed these days. And a wheen of other lovers of the finest of music and food, warmth and gezellig-ness. And what a treat to get to talk to David a week later in Utrecht, about gigging, band-leading, tunes, and how he fell in love with The Netherlands. David's touring with Les Muller, their album is called Middle of Life - and you can find the dates at David's website. http://davidmunnelly.com/ My heartfelt thanks to David for taking the time to share a morning during his tour with me. And to Menno de Meester for his kindness in allowing us to record in the lovely Tivoli Vredenburg complex. Recorded on Friday 26th January, 2024. And you can support him directly by buying his music here: https://munnellymusic.bandcamp.com/ Thanks for listening - drop me a line anytime - [email protected] - and see you soon. Dominic

I was lucky enough to spend an evening chatting with Mrs. Kitty Moran in early 2021. About life: childhood, songs, rugby league, Ireland, England, nursing and all points in between. What a woman - wise, funny, and one of those people who you sense was just 100% herself. If ever I need reminding of what a blessing and a gift it it is to record someone, I listen to this. So it seems like the perfect way to open this first series of Out On The Ocean, a podcast about living. The opening mix was composed from found sounds I had around the place; the alto sax version of Out On The Ocean was played by Johnny McKeague; and the tunes in the episode are performed by Jody Moran. And as mentioned in my outro, here is Jody's eulogy for his mum, from June 30th 2021. It’s a real shame mum couldn’t be with us today as she loved a good funeral. She had more names than anyone – Kate, Cath, Cathy, Kathleen, Kath, Kitty, mum, nan, nanny, nanny moran, and she’s the only person outside the queen I know with 2 birthdays. As it was a bad winter, her dad, Joe only made it to the registry office in Galway 2 months late so her official birthday is actually 6th April. Her mum, Jane, was livid that he hadn’t put his foot down and changed it to the correct date! She was born with the gift of caring and this was a gift that stayed with her until the day she died. I’m sure you all have wonderful memories of her generosity of spirit and not letting anybody be left wanting. At a very young age she was sent from her homeland in Tysaxon to look after her grandma and 2 bachelor uncles in Tyquin as there was no-one else to do it. Her older sister Margaret was needed at home and her younger brothers and sisters weren’t old enough. Everyone will know the story off by heart how she would have to milk the cows, collect the eggs, make the breakfast, cut the turf and stack the hay all before walking the 2miles to school, sometimes in her bare feet! The tale seemed to grow more elaborate the more she told it. She got her love of the land and farming from being there, although she dearly missed having her brothers and sisters close by. I often wonder what impact that had on the person she turned out to be? She would eagerly await her dad coming over the hill on the horse and trap and look forward to the trips into Athenry with Margaret, Paddy, Peadar, May, Celia, and Brid to charge the battery or go to the local shop for sweets, only to be dropped back to Tyquin and the older generation. She never showed any outward resentment about this. She would have preferred to have been back in the thick of it with the other kids but it was just a duty she knew she had to fulfil. She often said she would have loved to have had her own bit of land and a few animals,but God had a different path for her. When mum was only 16 she got a nannying job in Tourmakeady, county Mayo for the Burke’s - a family with 6 young children. She then made her way to Bolton in 1957 to pursue nursing and eventually midwifery on the district in the streets of Wigan, cycling between the houses with her head lamp on and not a phone in sight. She was the original ‘Call the midwife’, and all of the babies she assisted with, which were well into the 100s and many in breech position, were all delivered safely and only a few times did she have to call for extra help. She would often be stopped in the street years later and thanked by the mothers she had helped through their labours. It was at a dance in Bolton in 1959 she met Pat, the love of her life and, after getting married in 1963, they initially moved in with dad’s family in Norley Hall and eventually to Ormskirk Road where she resided for 44yrs until retiring to Billinge. As well as raising her own family of 4 young boys and working as a nurse, she looked after dad’s mum, their next door neighbours, his two elderly aunties, and plenty of others over the years, none of whom were blood relatives! Her selfless pot of care was unending. She was the school nurse at St Thomas More where we went to school and also a matron at Mahogany, the nursing home down the road. It was difficult to ever remember a time she raised her voice or got cross. Dad admitted he tried manys the time to make her vexed but he said ‘not once did she take the bait’! She scolded the nurses one day who were whingeing about going to see one of the patients. Mum said, it doesn’t matter what he has done or what you think of him, he deserves to be treated just the same as anyone else. She loved her work as a nurse and it really suited her caring personality but not once did she complain or, if she did, it was in silence. Rugby league was the sport of choice in Wigan – she thought it was brutal and, if she had had her way, none of us would have played it. She said you just had to be able to run and be as daft as you could be to play rugby league. There were many times after we had come off with a black eye or broken nose she’d say (quite rightly!!), ‘I don’t know why you play that stupid game’. Mum was the designated taxi driver, the maker of food, the washer of clothes, the cleaner of boots, the darner or socks, sewer of hems and fixer of wounds. She secretly loved watching Wigan Warriors though and would be full of chat about who they were playing and who should have done what. She didn’t seem to mind rugby if her kids weren’t the ones getting injured! She’d patiently stand on the sideline in the freezing cold and embarrass us at the end of the game because when the other lads would have half an orange, she’d have a bag full of tuna and cucumber butties for us to munch through! She never asked for help with any of it but even so, we all stood by and let her do it which lead to another unthanked caring role. So, if we didn’t say it often enough, we appreciate every little thing you did for us, mum. When dad got sick towards the end, mum cared for him and was widowed far too young in 1989 when he passed away suddenly, leaving her to support and nurture us boys. Even though she would have been heartbroken and grieving terribly, she did her utmost to not let it impact us. She did an amazing job as a single mum - no-one was left hungry, disappointed or without anything they needed. In hindsight it would have been wonderful if she had met someone but she just had the one love and that was enough for her. Despite leaving Ireland when she was young she had a nostalgic flame and kept actively involved with the Irish community through the Brian Boru and would drive the length and breadth of the country to bring us to competitions which she also herself competed in,performing ballad songs. She was proud of her Irishness and pined for her homeland which we visited annually as a family during our summer holidays. She loved the week in Miltown Malbay at the Willie Clancy festival, taking part in the singing sessions in Marrinan’s pub with her trusty Dictaphone by her side. She’d learn the new songs when she came home in time for the next festival. If she was a spectator at a music session, she’d just wait patiently with a Schweppe’s orange until we were ready to leave in the early hours. She never once grumbled about being tired or ever suggested we should leavebefore we were ready. She was a willing volunteer to sing at the drop of a hat – on a Sunday evening at the Brian after being asked to come up and sing something she’d say ‘what do you think I should sing?’ Only then to see her take the words from her pocket of a song she’d been learning!! And who can forget ‘Christmas time in Ireland’ at the session on Boxing Day?! She absolutely adored all her daughters in law, Catherine, Helen, Rachael and Anna and was besotted with all her grandchildren – Finn, Tadgh, Ruairidh, Cullain, Liam, Patrick, Caragh, Seanan, Caitlin, James, Michael, Ailish, Pascal, Dympna, Fergal and her great grand daughter Ella, also their partners and welcomed them all, no matter what time of the day or night. She was famed far and wide for her ability to ‘nursey tight’ and managed to rock even the most unsettled child to sleep within minutes. She’d never forget a birthday and was the world’s best at finding the most appropriately worded cards – “to a dear son and daughter in law and her second cousin twice removed” Or wrapping up a little present for you whether it be socks, deodorant, or an old cassette. She lovingly found a packet of nice handkerchiefs with the letter D embossed on them for her grand daughter caragh. She said they didn’t have anyones left with the letter C on them! Her favourite radio station RTE was on all day long, crackling in the background. Even when she had the opportunity to get digital quality, she stuck to the old small wireless with antenna. She had an uncanny ability of turning a small bit of chicken and mushrooms into a feast for anyone who turned up. She made a killer apple crumble and her mince pies were to die for. She could rustle up a meal regardless of your dietary requirements. I think she learnt her lesson after meeting Catherine for the first time. She’d been told by Shaun that Catherine was a vegetarian but I’m not sure she knew what that meant and ended up making a chicken casserole. When Sean explained she lovingly said, ‘well that’s ok, can’t she just pick out the bits of chicken?’ If you came for a visit you were the world’s most welcome guest and she couldn’t let you go without coming out to the street to give you a good old wave. Her house, was your house, and it was a higgledy piggledy treasure trove of bric a brac. Organised chaos some people would call it. Scraps of news cuttings about Jurgen Klopp stuck on the wall with a sewing needle, the Child of Prague next to a pair of shoes, or a spool of cotton, right next to a pair of knitting needles and a lonely cassette on top of Billy the stuffed dog who happened to have one of our dad’s ties loosely around his neck. There were umpteen photos scattered here and there and her favourite albums which she dusted off if there was someone special coming. Despite the feeling of walking into a jumble sale, she knew where everything was, and if she didn’t it was always in the slightly ajar second drawer. After Helen and Rachael had searched high and low (including the second drawer!) for a pair of socks to dress mum in for the funeral, they turned up on top of the mantelpiece. And if she thought someone needed a bit of help she’d be the first to light a candle and say a rosary. At least once a month she’d send a clipping from the Daily Mail to us in Australia with something she might think we’d find interesting like how to combat osteoarthritis. Didn’t do us much good mum with 5 hip replacements between us! And, if you were ever stuck for something to read on the loo, there was no shortage of a well out of date Reader’s Digest. Mum loved her little blue mini. it was like the tardis and she’d take pride in fitting several big strapping lads or girls into all corners of it and trekking around the country to rugby training, a music session or slipping about the snowy Pennine roads on the way up to Crow Edge to visit Shaun, Catherine and the boys. Whilst mum insisted she’d never had an accident driving in over 50years I often wonder whether that was because people stayed out of her way, especially on the roundabouts! Later in life, mum realised she had a real talent for writing short stories and loved being involved with the local creative writing group. She also helped out for years as a helper at St Mary’s childrens’ nursery; reading, singing and playing games. And she couldn’t help making friends. As her grandchildren were going through her possessions, they even came across the phone number of an anonymous lady she had met on the bus! Mum had some classic turns of phrase. If she’d had a lovely homecooked meal somewhere it would be ‘well they wouldn’t know what to charge for that in a restaurant!’ When the twin towers collapsed I rang mum just to debrief and she said ‘you know what Joe? I knew something like that was going to happen!!' .. well why didn’t you ring George bush and give him a bit of a warning mum…?! it appears she thought the planes had run into the towers by accident as they were so tall!!! She’d randomly say when she was on the motorway – ‘where do you think everyone is going’ or if anyone wasn’t sure how to get to Wigan and needed directions mum would say ‘just head for Preston’. No good if you were coming the other way mum!! If anything bad was happening in your life, she would kindly try and trump it with one of her own tales. It wasn’t anything malicious, just her way to try and make you feel better and to put your situation into perspective. If you had broken your leg, she’d say something like 'i knew someone who’d broken one leg but had to have the other one amputated'.. When Anna was doubled over with morning sickness throughout all of her pregnancies and had tried every possible cure, mum said ‘have you tried a tangerine’? If you were trying to take a short cut out of traffic she’d say ‘why don’t you stay where you are, you always get your turn at the lights!’ Her mum was stopped going to America when she was young and she didn’t want that to happen to us. She insisted that we should go and see things if we wanted to– and she said ‘if you never went you couldn’t come’. She never stopped us going anywhere. She embraced travel and had fond memories of her times visiting Australia and cuddling the kangaroos and koalas. She said if she’d had her time over, she would have moved to Australia when she was younger. She had a crack at learning to swim but never quite mastered it. She nearly came a cropper in Wodonga when she started walking up the pool not realising that the depth was changing. The kids managed to get to her just in time! She had a great giggle about it later. And she was a silver surfer when it came to technology. When she turned 70 she learned how to email, text and use the internet. She’d pay for goods with a wireless debit card and she would regularly use skype to call her grandchildren and hear them tell her stories and play her music. She even recorded an interview for an Irish podcast only a few weeks before she passed. Our group chat in Facebook over the last few months was a great way for her to keep in touch with everyone when the restrictions meant she couldn’t leave, and we couldn’t come. And everyone just loved seeing the odd capital in the middle of a sentence. And you all know how much mum loved a good chat - she could literally talk for hours and had an unbelievable memory of what happened long ago, a gift that never left her. Us 4 boys and dad developed a natural instinct for selective attention. Tuning out at the right moment, going to put the kettle on, then coming back in just at the right time to ask mum another question. If she knew what we were up to, she never let on! Her and dad both loved gardening and she was a green finger with the plants, supplying us all with her memorable hanging basket or window box displays. Her mum always prayed for a peaceful death and, if her passing was anything to go by, she must have prayed for that too. I am indebted for the unrivalled care and attention given to her by my two brothers, Pete and Tom. They said you couldn’t have paid a million pounds to get the round the clock attention she received from the staff at Whiston, or the ensuite room with a majestic view over the country. We would like to take this opportunity to thank each and everyone of those who attended to mum in her last journey, including our own family who assisted Pete and Tom to remain at her bedside throughout. It seems a little unfair that mum served others for literally all of her life and was only served on for just 3 days. But that’s exactly what Jesus was sent to do and mum wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. She was the ultimate Christian. We were blessed to be asked whether we would be happy if her corneas could be used for donation which we know mum would have loved. There were a few personal questions from a nurse which were fielded by Tom including date of birth, address, whether she’d had any piercings, botox, breast implants, tattoos or sexual intercourse in the last 6 weeks. Tom replied ‘well she didn’t mention anything’! She would have been doubled over at that one. When I went to her brother Paddy’s funeral I remember the priest describing him as a simple man who lived a simple life. I was a bit taken aback and didn’t know what to make of it at the time but now I know. Mum was a simple lady who lived a simple life but that life that was absolutely full to bursting! She didn’t desire wealth or fame and was happy with her lot. She had a naiivité about her of a previous generation but was also wordly wise and knew just the right thing to say at the right time. And there’s no chance we’ll be able to forget her as she was the most photographed mum and nanny in the whole wide world. She never swore, drank, smoked or gambled. She didn’t judge or gossip and just got on with the things put in front of her with the utmost grace. She was the most selfless person I have ever known and never had a bad word about anyone. She had smiling eyes with a twinkle in each of them. She was modest, enjoyed a belly laugh and a bit of mischief, was quietly spoken about her strong faith in God, and was the loveliest and most loving lady anyone could ever meet. We are all much better people for having had you in our lives mum and you’ve left a truly amazing legacy. Dad used to sign off his love letters to you ‘goodnight godbless’. So from us 3 boys and the rest of your friends and family – good night godbless mum, cath, nan. Say hello to dad and Shaun for us up there will you? x