The school football court where friendships were born

One recent wet and miserable evening as I scrolled through social media I was stopped in my tracks at the sight of some images of my childhood school from St. Paul’s NS in Castlerea.

There were a group of young students playing on the football court just as we did over 30 years ago, and as many more boys from the town had for decades before that. The image couldn’t help but take me back to my royal blue jumper, grey itchy pants wearing days. The court looked so much smaller now in reality compared to the one in my childhood eyes as the steel goals, which matched the colour of our jumpers, sat at either end willing us all to hit the target.

My first introduction to the school was when we moved from St. Anne’s NS to St. Paul’s Boys’ NS in Second Class. As we left our female classmates and most of our milk teeth behind it felt daunting entering a school full of boys who referred to the younger Second Class entrants as “chicks”. We were all quick to learn that respect was going to be hard earned and the only way of achieving it was through your actions on the football court.

School began at 9.20 a.m. but an eager father looking to get to work early had me in school around 8.40 a.m. at the latest.

The court was dominated by the older classes during this time but if you were lucky enough the opportunity for a brief appearance might present itself.

One morning there were plenty of players but no football. What made the predicament even more frustrating was that there was a perfect Derby football “Mulvihill’s finest” sitting on the top of the flat roof of the school. I asked Darragh O’Gara, who was a few years older than me, for assistance in getting a hand to climb up on an oil tank at the back of the school. Once on the tank I levered myself onto the roof and strode with pride across the flat roof, which was covered in stones, in search of the ball, to the background noise of a few cheers from the onlookers below. The cheers didn’t last though as my coming-of-age epic, I'm on top of the world moment was drowned out by a “GET DOWN FROM THAT ROOF” from teacher Ms Nolan in the adjoining Castlerea Community School. I kicked the ball down to the lads below, scampered down the oil tank (no sign of Darragh O’Gara this time) and lived in fear for the best part of a month.

As silly as my childhood actions were, it did manage to get me a starting position in goals every morning with the older lads.

For majority of our time in St. Paul’s our obsession revolved around the football court. Moods were dictated if it was our day to use it or not and on special occasions teachers even organised games between two classes outside of break/lunch hours. If anyone misbehaved it could result in a dreaded court ban. During one ban, students, through desperation, even took to song writing that we all chanted in unison in the halla “Who’s that knocking on the window, who’s that knocking on the door, Brother Mel and all the boys, making all the flippin noise, because they won’t let us play football anymore.”

 We were very lucky in that we had junior and senior Gaelic football leagues every year on the grass. The lunch time league was the soccer league for Fifth and Sixth Class students, played throughout the year, culminating in a big final where all 120 plus students watched from the sidelines just before the summer break.

As someone too young to participate I remember watching an epic Webb v Kelly final where friendships were put aside in the hunt for lunch time league glory. I recall going home thinking “that was absolutely class” as the school cheered them on and each player literally gave everything for the cause.

Thankfully when I got to Sixth Class the opportunity presented itself for me to play in a final alongside Geoffrey Claffey, Denis Carberry, Robert Bredin and Roy Copper. I was consumed with nerves beforehand but once the ball was kicked off on what was a hot summer’s day we went on to win 3-1. As I lifted the trophy into the air, the lads on the sidelines drenched us all in water but we still felt on top of the world.

To many, a picture of the court in the school simply looks like a piece of tarmac. For those who attended St. Paul’s NS down through the years it’s so much more. It’s where friendships were born and sometimes temporarily broken; it’s where laughter and tears have poured; it’s where some boys kicked a ball for the first time and where some learned their trade before going on to conquer for their clubs and counties. The only rule was if you wore anything above 24 hole Doc Martins then you had to play in goal.

The football court at St. Paul’s NS, Castlerea has generated many emotions and memories for most who have graced it. From the pictures I recently viewed it’s clear to see that it will always be so much more than just a piece of tarmac.

I think it’s safe to say that over the years whoever is singing or knocking on the window or door in St. Pauls, the court has become a type of sacred ground which creates an immeasurable feeling of childhood delight. Play ball lads.... except if you're wearing Docs !