I walked into a wall that talked…

In his latest WordSmith column, Gerard Smith found himself talking to a wall that talked back!

“Will we go for a walk at lunchtime?” asked my friend. I was in the mood for a good cardio ‘walk-out’, so said, “Let’s do Swellan.” It’s a great route to get the heart pumping, a good power-walk up the Barrack Hill, then a recovering descent, before powering back up through St Patrick’s Terrace and down again by the old train station. It’s a short yet effective blood-pumper.

Despite it being mere days before that storm; I could feel and smell spring in the air, which I saluted with a sprightly spring in my step up the hill. Then I hit a wall!

There’s the old adage: “If walls could talk.” Well, this wall didn’t talk to me, it roared, “STOP!” A gargantuan grey block of a structure standing stoically under a blue sky, while clumpy altocumulus crowds cruised overhead. Hearing its call loud and clear, I stopped and took a photo, “What is it?” asked my young friend, curious. I replied wistfully, “An old handball alley.”

The wistful feeling stayed with me as I continued walking. Memories of blissful Sunday’s watching my uncles play handball at St Patrick’s College Handball Alley. The students were on holidays from school and we had the whole place to ourselves. My uncles worked hard, and on Sundays they played hard and fast in those twin-alleys. Today, I look at those alleys as monuments to their memory.

Later, I posted the image of the Barrack Hill Alley to social media with the caption ‘DERELICT HANDBALL ALLEY, SAD.’

Soon after, and through the positive power of social media, those walls began to talk. There came an outpouring of reflective love and affection for the place, “That’s where I spent my childhood summers with all the kids from Barrack Hill, Glenside and Highfield. We had so much fun. How nice would it be to see it done up to introduce kids to handball, it’s more craic than their phones. Feeling nostalgic now…” said one.

For some kids who found school a hideous place, those walls were a haven, “We used to mitch school there, happy days.” And moreover, the alley was a trusted friend, a confidante who kept the secrets told to it embedded forever in its formidable three-walled-hulk, never to be told, “The alley, the tales it could tell, and the secrets it will keep, they’re for those of us who know and cherish, and for the alley to keep.”

For one it was their rite of passage, “That place was my childhood…playing football…smoking fags…breaking an ankle, and that was just one day.” And then of course came the pleas for its revitalisation, “Should be restored. It’s shameful to see what could be a valuable asset just go away. Cavan town and county has produced many famous handballers like Paul Brady and Greg Sheridan. We should not let the tradition die.” Most of the local comments were variations of, “It should never have closed.”

And then people spoke of alleys stoic prevalence far and wide, “So many of them around the country, Gerard. I wish they could be revived.”

Personally, I recall seeing one alley by a church in Monaghan and finding it a most mournful sight. It reminded me of a giant headstone, that needed an inscription like: ‘Don’t cry because the game’s over, smile because it happened.’

Yet the game isn’t over, handball is experiencing a resurgence. But I’m unsure if the old outdoor alleys will rise with a game now predominantly played indoors? I’d like to think they will.

Regardless, it’s sad to see these monuments of Ireland’s sporting and social history standing alone, and seemingly unloved.

After that weather event (I won’t dignify it with a name), I went back up to the Barrack Hill Alley. It stood stoic as I said, “That evil-divil didn’t dent you.” I looked around, the street was empty and seemed to sigh softly, exhausted after the storm. I spoke again, “You’re held in great affection by generations of Cavan folk.”

Seeing a man approach, I shut up, fearing he’d think I’m mad if he saw me talking to a wall.

But you know something, those walls spoke to me via the medium of social media. So, I stopped to talk back to a block wall – and I’d like to think it listened.