Spearin Surname Project |
Where & When ... Temporal & Geographic Distribution NO NEARER THE TRUTH I
never asked my father about the Spearins after that. I left him alone to pursue
his latest obsession with growing sunflowers in the back garden. In the school attendance book my name appeared in its Irish form.
Speirin (pronounced Spayreen) was how Brother Savage translated my surname. Speir being the Irish word for sky, I became known as Little Sky. When we
played cowboys and Indians I was always one of the Indians. Little Sky stood
well alongside such legends as Geronimo, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. The
Dalcassian Archeological Society conducted an excavation of a site near Carraig
O Gunnell castle and they unearthed some ancient arrowheads and quivers made from buffalo skin. This got me thinking
that maybe Little Sky's (Spearins) ancestors had sailed up the Shannon once
and landed near Tervoe. This might explain their latter-day presence all around
that area. Tattered cattle-skin manuscripts found near the dig site were
studied by experts who deciphered references to a group called Clan na
Craiceann dearga (Family of Redskins).
I visited the place and found it to be a hotbed of bog-snorkling which, as everyone knows, is a very Spearinish
pastime, being always curious about what
lurks beneath the dark and murky surface. But back to the schoolyard and while the Apaches and Cherokees were battling against the early settlers and
pioneers something strange was happening in our back garden at home. The
sunflowers sown by my father were
beginning to emerge above the ground in a most bizarre fashion. The pattern of
their initial sowing became obvious when, at just ten inches tall they
described a perfect swastika. Uncle Distaff arrived on his sideways bicycle,
took one look at the display and declared it to be the sign of an underground
Nazi plot. Murphy next door said it could be the work of the Freemasons. "I
don't think so" said Uncle Distaff, "sure all the Freemasons do is build
walls for nothing". He sprinkled the swastika with liquid from a Fanta bottle
whilst speaking in Latin. "What are you doing?" demanded my father, "I
watered them only an hour ago" "This water" Uncle Distaff assured us, "is genuine holy water, passed
recently by the Bishop of Lourdes". Well it must have been good stuff as the sunflowers blossomed and grew
taller. We had a six foot high botanical replica of wartime Germany's national
symbol. Word came to my father that the Parish Priest was about to call. A
hurried cropping of the outer arms of the emblem left a credible cruciform
shape which seemed to please the PP no end. Uncle Distaff called again a week later and said prayers in the back
garden. There were heated words between him and my father. "Dragging it all up
again" was one of the phrases Uncle Distaff used. My father laughed and began
to sing the HORST WESSEL LEID whereupon Uncle Distaff doused him with the stuff
from the Fanta bottle. "That will scorch you" he cried. Then he blessed us
all and gave us sweets. As he departed on his bike, one leg resting on the
handlebars, the other leg pushing the left-hand pedal, I couldn't help thinking
that he knew a lot more about the family background than I hitherto realised. It was some time after the sunflower episode that my father started
doing night duty. This upset his metabolism and caused him to turn pale from
lack of sunlight. He also began to suffer from boils at the back of his neck.
Two large pustules in the jugular region were unsightly and he sliced through
them one morning while he shaved. Blood poured from the wounds. He stuck two
plasters on the site and drank whiskey. He was asleep on a chair when Uncle
Distaff called. He asked about the neck wounds and I told him about the crop of
boils. He hummed and hawed. "I'll be back" is all he said. When he left I
woke my father and told him Uncle
Distaff was returning and I was fearful of another row. My father donned a polo
neck jumper and headed for the pub. When Uncle Distaff arrived back he carried a
canvas bag into the house. "Where is he?" he asked. I told him I didn't know. While he searched for my father upstairs I opened up the canvas bag and
peered inside. It contained a crucifix, some garlic bulbs, a hammer and a
pointed wooden stake. I was glad my father was gone to the pub. Joe Spearin August 2011
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Last update: April 2011