It's a Long Way from Penny Apples - Softcover

Cullen, Bill

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0765310430 ISBN 13: 9780765310439

Publisher: Forge Books, 2004

Synopsis

Tis better to be born lucky than rich....

There are many ways to confront tragedy and hard times. Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt's tragic--and ultimately uplifting--tale of how one man overcame adversity and found happiness in the New World is a compelling story that has touched thousands of readers.

It's a Long Way from Penny Apples is another view of the Irish experience, another man's journey out of the grinding poverty that held an entire generation of Irishmen in its thrall.

Poverty and its ills can rend a family apart and ruin countless lives, leaving individuals on their own to find their way, if they can, out of that despair and on to a new life. But not every family gives in to defeat. Sometimes the choice is to not leave anyone behind... and out of that love, a family can come together, using all their talents to bring all of their loved ones to a better place.

Bill Cullen was lucky enough to have one such family. Born and bred in the rough inner city slums of Summerhill in Dublin, Bill was one of fourteen children. Selling on the streets from the age of six, be it fruit, flowers, newspapers, Christmas decorations, football colors, or programs, was a means of putting food on the table for Bill and his family. He finished school at thirteen to go on the street fulltime. In 1956 Bill got a job as a messenger boy for a pound a week at Waldens Ford Dealer in Dublin.

Through hard work and unrelenting determination, Bill was appointed director general of the company, in 1965. Bill went on to set up the Firlane Motor Company which became the biggest Ford dealership in Ireland. In 1986 he took over the troubled Renault car distribution franchise from Waterford Crystal. His turnaround of that company into what is now the Glencullen Group is a business success story-the group now has an annual turnover of 250 million.
Bill Cullen's story is an account of incredible poverty and deprivation in the Dublin slums. It highlights the frustration of a father and mother feeling their relationship crumble as they fight to give their children a better life. It's a story of courage, joy, and happiness--of how a mother gave inspiration and values to her children, saying to them, "The best thing I can give you is the independence to stand on your own feet."

It's a Long Way from Penny Apples is nothing less than a modern-day Horatio Alger story, told with humor and love; a heartwarming tale of redemption and overcoming adversity by one of the most famous self-made men in Ireland

About this title

About the Author:

Bill Cullen is a director of the Irish Youth Foundation and in 1998 was a recipient of the Lord Mayor's Award for his work with disadvantaged young people of Dublin.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter 1

The Germans Bomb Dublin
Billy Cullen was heading back to bed when he heard it. A faint drone, but slowly getting louder. A bloody air plane. He took the clock from the shelf to the window and saw that it was twenty-five past one in the morning. Listening carefully, he guessed the plane was down in the south docks area, around Ringsend. Heading up the River Liffey. As the drone faded to the west, he sat on the chair and realized that it must have been the plane’s second time to go over, as he had wakened about ten minutes before. Pulling on his trousers, he went over to the bed and shook his wife’s shoulder.
“Wake up, Mary,” he said, and she was awake like a shot. “I’m going out the back because there’s a plane mooching around up there. Remember they accidentally dropped a bomb in Terenure a few months back.”
He lit the oil lamp and moved to the door while Mary hopped out of bed and put her shawl around her.
“Mind yourself, Billy,” she whispered as he let himself out.
“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Just bolt this door behind me and open it on my five taps when I get back.”
Billy stepped down the stairs in his bare feet and out the back door, to the scrubland behind the Summerhill tenements. On the way, he heard scuffles and murmurs from the spunkers in the basement and thought they’d have no chance down there if any bombs fell. When he got out to the yard, he saw the dockland searchlights weaving patterns in the sky. That would happen only if they had no information from Collinstown Airport on the passing plane. It could be a lost British bomber trying to get home, but he should be heading east to the British coast, not west into the Irish midlands. If it was a German, he too could be lost and might mistake Dublin for Belfast, or even a British city, if his instruments were faulty.
In the moonlight, he could clearly see the old stable buildings at the end of the yard stretching over to the Twenty-seven Steps, where his wife’s brother, Bob Darcy, had his horse and cart stabled. Just when he was thinking he could go back to bed, he heard the aeroplane again. The noise was louder now, definitely down by the docks but on the north side this time, and suddenly he saw the plane picked out by the searchlights: There was a German swastika on the side. He turned and dashed up the back stairs. He gave his “shave-and-a-haircut” taps and Mary opened the door.
“Get dressed, get the kids up,” he said. “We’d better get out of here; it’s a bloody German bomber up there.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when he heard the crump, crump, crumpof bombs landing. He pulled Mary to the floor. There was another crump, crump, and then the noise of the aeroplane filled the room as it passed overhead. As the noise faded, Billy thought he heard another crumpbefore everything went quiet. But the silence was broken now by the sound of shouts and screams. Mary picked up the two girls: Rita, who was four, and two-year-old Betty. The baby, Vera, was still asleep.
“Don’t touch any gas taps, Mary. Only use this oil lamp. And get the girls down to Molly’s,” he said, as he pulled on his boots and gansey. “That’s bombs the bloody so-and-so dropped, and it’s not far away, either. I’ll have to report to the Local Defense Force in Rutland Street School.”
Mary had herself ready and was dressing the girls. “It’s okay, Billy,” she said. “I’ll take care of things here and check out Mother Darcy. You make sure you get Big Bob with you down there, so give him a shout first.”
As Billy turned to leave, the door burst open, and Missus Carey from upstairs came in, crying, “Jesus, Mary, and Holy Saint Joseph, Mister Cullen, they’re going to murder us in our beds! Himself is after dropping on the floor with the fright.”
Mary put her arm around the old dear and said, “Off you go, Billy, I’ll look after all this. Take care of yourself.”
Billy moved out the door with his usual “You too,” and he threw a dabble of holy water on himself from the small font nailed to the wall under the picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Down the stairs he went, moving a few people aside on the way, and when he got out onto the street he saw his neighbor Tommy Farrell on the footpath.
“It’s down toward the Five Lamps, Billy. We’d better get moving to the school. Here’s Bob,” said Tommy, pointing down the street, where Big Bob Darcy was coming up the middle of the road. He was fully dressed.
“Bejaysus, a fella can’t even have a bit of a hooley with his pals but either the guards hoosh us out of the pub or some bloody German in his aeroplane tries to blow us all up. This is some state of affairs,” said Bob, and it was obvious from the white froth on his upper lip that he’d still been scooping Guinness when the bombs fell.
Billy looked over at Bob Darcy, his brother-in-law. A big tough man he was, a full six feet four inches and over 250 pounds: He wasn’t called Big Bob for nothing. While he was a gentle sort of fella, he was known to be fond of the Guinness and with the drink on him would take on any man in a fight. Billy Cullen didn’t touch the drink—in fact would never go into a pub—and from that point of view he had little time for Bob Darcy.
Billy knew that no matter how much booze Bob had in him, he would never show it. He had seen him outside the pub after a night’s drinking, still able to outfight a younger, sober opponent keen to be able to say he’d floored Big Bob Darcy. For tonight’s work his size and strength would be needed. Billy felt a shiver down to his boots as he saw the smoke and flames in the distance.
Up Summerhill they went, with people calling nervously from the hallways. Men with only their trousers on and the women in shawls.
“What’s up, Mister Cullen, are we in for a hiding?” someone shouted.
“No, it’s okay,” said Billy. “It was only one aeroplane, and it’s off home by now. Go back to bed, the LDF boys will take care of things.”
As he was saying this, they could hear the clanging of fire brigade bells not far away. They came to the door of Rutland Street School—called the Red Brick College on the Hill by the locals. Jimmy Corbally was at the door. In they went, to find Captain Bolger and about twenty other men in the large hall.
“Well done, lads,” Bolger said to the new arrivals. “We’re just ready to head off. The word on the phone is that the houses up at Newcomen Bridge on the North Strand Road have been severely hit. We’re to get up there fast and help the fire brigade lads, so grab your kit and double up outside and we’ll move into Killarney Street and up to the Five Lamps. Let’s go.”
As they came up to the Five Lamps, they could see that there was chaos. People were running in all directions, some in their nightclothes, many others arriving half dressed. Fire brigade units were already in action. Billy couldn’t believe his eyes: The houses on both side of the North Strand Road up to Newcomen Bridge were in ruins.
“We’ll have to set rope cordons to hold back the crowds,” said Captain Bolger, “and then we’ll need every man we can get to help remove that rubble.”
Billy looked at Bob, who was now grim faced and quietly sober. “We’ve some night ahead of us here, Billy Cullen, and that’s a fact,” Bob said, looking at two battered bodies lying in the rubble just a few yards ahead.
* * *
It was Sunday evening at six o’clock. The whole of Summerhill Parade and the North Strand Road had been blocked off since Friday night. Only emergency crew members were let through. The ambulances had been ferrying people to hospital for two days. Mary Darcy was listening to the six o’clock news on the wireless. It was hard to believe that thirty-four people were dead and hundreds were injured in hospital. The rescue work was coming to an end, and wives could expect the crews from the emergency forces to get home soon. Mary had left her children down in Number 17 with Mother Darcy and had the coddle simmering away on the hearth.
Outside on the street, she heard a shout of “Here they come,” and she stuck her head out the window. Sure enough, a bunch of lads was trudging down from Rutland Street, looking like coal miners. They were filthy and unrecognizable, except Big Bob, who stood out a mile in any group because of his size. And her Billy, who still walked like a soldier on parade, with his chest out and his head high. She rushed down the stairs to the hall just as the group were passing, and Billy and his pal Tommy Farrell turned in to the footpath.
“See ya later, Billy,” said Bob. “Mind him, now, Mary me girl, he’s knackered.”
Billy said, “So long, lads,” and walked quickly into the hall. The smell of decay hit him and he shook his head sadly.
Mary put her shawl around his shoulders. “Come on, Billy,” she said, “let’s get you cleaned up. I’ve some hot water on the boil upstairs.”
She stripped off his gansey and shirt, his boots, socks, and trousers. They were filthy and she saw cuts and bruises all over his arms and legs. His hands were in a terrible state, bleeding and gashed, with some of his nails broken. With a clean cloth and the Sunlight soap, she washed the grime from his body, then sat him down and let him steep his hands in a fresh basin of hot water. He was quiet as she gently cleaned his hands finger by finger.
“We’ll need something for these. Just as well I’ve got some Germolene.” She rubbed the ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Forge Books
• Publication date: 2004
• ISBN 10: 0765310430
• ISBN 13: 9780765310439
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 384