Going back on the Wanderly Wagon to forget all our troubles

Sunday Tribune, 28 February 2010

The following is a Wanderly Wagon story that may shock fans of Mr Crow. (Close your eyes… now.)
In 1979, a friend sneaked off on an unofficial tour of RTE's studios while waiting to record a TV show. After inspecting Bunny Carr's Quicksilver set (and Norman's organ), Jimmy Smyth found himself standing in the shadow of the iconic wagon. Being a fan, he climbed inside to discover, to his disappointment, that it was just a shell. There was nothing inside but bare wood.
Jimmy also made another discovery that rattled his childhood memories. Just below the hatch someone had written – in thick, black letters – the revelatory sentence: 'Mr Crow is a W***er'. I sometimes lie awake wondering what went through the puppeteer's mind as he stuck his hand up Crow's backside, with 'Mr Crow is a W***er' staring him in the face. Thank you, Jimmy, for that charming story.
(Open your eyes... now.) I have my own memory of Wanderly Wagon. On a trip to Montrose with my father, I also discovered that the wagon was just a prop. I was nine and still remember that day. It was like losing a friend.
Last Wednesday, I had the same sad feeling when I heard that Eugene Lambert had died. Most Irish people between the ages of 35 to 50 felt the same way.
Wanderly Wagon was a 'bookmark' in our childhood. Lambert's death briefly stopped the clock and brought a rare, unconscious moment of national unity. The country's grown-ups stopped squabbling and ran splashing into a sea of nostalgia. There was a collective sigh as the wagon carried us to an age of talking crows and witches.
For a short while, the utter crapulosity of life in 2010 was forgotten and memories were traded. Remember the magic handle, which you turned to get your 'dearest wish'? Or Foxy, who lived in a barrel? Or the Moon Mice and Sneaky Sssssnake? And Rory with his fringed cowboy jacket and cravat (now there's mixed signals).
Mortgages, Trevor Sargent and Willie O'Dea were briefly shunted aside by a brightly coloured caravan from the 1970s. We recalled a time when our only responsibility was to be children.
It brought back memories to me of being driven to Laytown for the summer, with the dog on my mother's lap and the cat hissing like a slow puncture in the basket beneath my feet. Three children squashed into the back of a Triumph Dolomite roaring 'Here comes the Wagon, the WANDERLY, WAAAANNDERLY WAGGGGON!!!' and me wanting to go for a pee. I remember running in and wrestling with the rabbit's ears before settling down to watch Judge and O'Brien through a swarm of black and white interference bees.
Wanderly Wagon didn't challenge and it wasn't educational or scrupulously politically correct – it was just fun. It made you laugh while the strikes and violence of the '70s raged outside.
It was thoroughly Irish and was wedded to the landscape. In a child's eyes there were Wanderly Wagons in every Travellers' field and every bearded, ragged tramp was Fortycoats.
On Wednesday, it felt as if O'Brien was giving us a hug from the past. It was hard to resist him. The small details kept coming. I remembered soggy, sandy tomato sandwiches and TK lemonade on a windy beach. Dripping ice cream sandwiches, sherbert fountains and Gollywog sweets. Tokens for Texaco's 'signed' Liam Brady footballs, marbles, kick-the-can and scraped knees. Hand-me-downs and swap shops, sardines on toast and oxtail soup in metal bowls. Smog and candy cigarettes.
There was the childish belief that everything was possible. If a caravan could fly, what couldn't be achieved?
Fast forward to 2010. What has been achieved? We're where our parents used to be. We're the adults now. Judge's Safe Cross Code boy grew up to be Fianna Fáil TD, Chris Andrews. We grew up into a world as chaotic as any Wanderly Wagon plotline.
We have national disunity, huge unemployment and crushing debt. We gave the banks Nama and they've given us increased rates on personal loans. We have a political system in turmoil and there's been a return to '70s-style violence in the north.
Family life has changed. According to the ESRI, more married couples are breaking up after the birth of their first child. More are deferring having children.
These are some of the reasons why many of us felt grateful for the respite Lambert gave us last week.
With all the cynicism about, it's easy to forget that this country can produce inspiring, unsung heroes like Lambert. It's good to be reminded of that. He was a man who entertained children just for the love of it. He was the mad uncle who babysat us while our parents fought a recession. Our generation wasn't the 'Pope's Children', we were 'O'Brien's Children'.
Dublin is festooned with statues to patriots who mean less to us than Lambert. Luke Kelly has a bridge and Philo has a statue – Lambert deserves, at least, a park named after him. Somewhere we can sit and remember our childhood.
Somewhere we can hitch a lift from adulthood on the memory of a gawdy caravan, with a crow and a Godmother.
Somewhere we can sit with a huge man, with a huge heart and a cloth dog in his arms.
Thanks for the memories, Eugene.

dkenny@tribune

February 28, 2010