Alice taylor: instant fame, my critics and family tragedy (2024)

Alice Taylor is the author of the five biggest selling books ever published in Ireland - and her first memoir, To School Through The Fields, remains the most remarkable phenomenon in Irish publishing history. Mum-of-five Alice (67), who lives with husband Gabriel in Innishannon, Cork, has just published her latest novel, House Of Memories. She talks to Gail Walker about overnight success and the loss of a loved one that made her question her faith

Your first book To School Through The Fields, about the characters in and around your village Innishannon, 15 miles from the city of Cork, catapulted you to the top of the bestsellers list in 1988. That must have been a shock?

It was a bit overwhelming, to be honest. I thought it would just have a bit of local interest. It was about a generation that was dead and gone, and it was really just a record of that way of life.

But I remember when I handed the manuscript to the publisher, he asked me whether I would agree to go along with any publicity? I asked him what exactly he was talking about and he replied that The Late, Late Show might be interested. When he said that I got a shiver down my spine.

Then a few weeks later when the telephone rang and this caller said she was a researcher from The Late, Late I was petrified. But Gay Byrne was fantastic. He was a great interviewer.

And the book really took off after that.

The following Saturday I had to go to Easons in Cork to do a book signing. I got there just before 9am and the place was packed. I thought, 'This is very busy for a Saturday', but then when I started to do my signing at 11am, it turned out they were all there to see me. I signed until 5pm and in the end Easons ran out of my book and had to go round all the other bookshops in Cork to get extra copies for me to sign.

Why do you think it was so popular?

I think it hit a nerve. I'd thought there'd only really be a bit of local interest in it, but straightaway people loved it. It was almost as if there had been a curtain over a window and when I drew that back, people said: "Oh my God, that's my childhood."

The Ireland my children were growing up in was so different from the one that I had known as a girl in the 1940s and 50s.

I spent my childhood in Newmarket, a village in north Cork, and eight generations of our family had lived in our farmhouse.

You never saw a stranger there, we had no bathroom, no running water, no electricity, no telephone. The radio ran on a wet and dry battery that had to be taken to the local pub to be charged. You certainly didn't leave the radio running all day then the way people do now.

Ah, the good old days when we were all poor but happy. But not everyone liked your book?

I remember one woman saying to me that I shouldn't be writing about any of that because people wanted to forget about all the poverty, the hardship. But you can look back and see all that was wrong or see all that was right. And every year has its good and bad.

Besides, I wasn't saying those years were any better or any worse. But I do feel it's important to have respect for where you come from.

What about the fellow inhabitants of Innishannon? How did they feel to suddenly have the spotlight turned upon them?

I was very well-earthed at home, very laced into the community. People in the village were interested alright, but because I was part of them, they weren't hugely interested. From outside in it looked as if it impacted more than it did.

And people knew I did a bit of writing because for some years I'd been putting together our Christmas magazine, Candlelight. When I first came here a lot of the old people were dying off so I started that as a means of getting their memories down on paper. There were a lot of the old ways that I wanted to record - the woman who looked after the church, the man who lived in the shed opposite our house.

Really, that's probably where the book sprang from.

Then, when my eldest son was changing jobs, my sister suggested that I ask him if he wanted to come back and run the home place -the shop and guest house. He agreed, and that gave me more time to write.

Bizarrely, your book proved hugely popular in Japan. Why was that?

Toyoko Takahashi - I love saying that. That's the name of my interpreter and the only two Japanese words that I know.

She told me that the way of life in Japan had changed greatly in recent years and the things I wrote about - quiet days, a loving family, nice neighbours - were very comforting to the older generation there.

You came to Innishannon in 1961 when, at 23, you married Gabriel. You went on to have four sons, Michael, Gearoid, Sean and Diarmuid and a daughter, Lena. You also ran the Post Office and opened a guest house. It was a busy life.

Yes, but I have learned a lot from it. My husband's mother had died when he was six months old and he was reared by his aunt and uncle. When I married Gabriel we set up home in one house and his aunt and uncle lived in the one adjacent to it. Both houses were joined by a connecting door and stood behind the shop.

I remember before I went to live there my mother saying to me very firmly: "You are marrying into another unit. Don't you cause any trouble."

You also looked after Gabriel's aunt and uncle when they were old, as well as relatives of your own. More recently, however, you were deeply touched by tragedy when your cousin Conn died. He came to stay with you for a few weeks in 1968 and stayed for 32 years. Tell us about that.

Conn taught maths and science and came to stay with us when he got a job in a nearby school. But he never left. He became part of the family. He was my husband's bridge partner and a favourite uncle to my children.

In the run-up to Christmas in 2000, he thought he had a touch of the flu and went to see the doctor. It turned out he had lung cancer - he'd never smoked a day in his life - and he was dead two weeks later. It hit us like a typhoon. It was like losing a brother, and there are not many brothers who live with you for that amount of time.

He was a big, strong, robust man yet also very gentle and fine. He would never drink and led a very regular life. There is no explaining some things.

You'd mourned other relatives before, but Conn's death had a greater impact upon you. Why?

I had buried my father, my mother, Gabriel's aunt and uncle, but I had not lost a contemporary - and for it to happen so suddenly.

And when I was six a brother who was four died and I think Conn's death brought that all back to me. I do think there are deaths in life where you grieve other earlier bereavements all over again.

You've always been a devout Catholic. Did Conn's death impact upon that?

It did make me question my faith.

It's strange, growing up in the country there is a very fine line between death and creation and God - in fact there is no line at all. The whole cycle is so near.

My mother would always have been very staunch when it came to praying. She would have said the rosary every night. But my father was very different; he was more into the God of nature.

He was also a very tolerant man and would have listened every Sunday to the broadcast of the Church of England service. He would say that no one had the right to put God in a box and say that He was theirs.

I reckoned that when I was growing up I listened more to what my mother was saying than to what my father was saying. But since Conn's death I've realised that it is my father's God of nature that has proved more long-lasting with me. When he was out ploughing all day he found God in the fields and since Conn's death I think I've done that in the garden. I've found that the best thing of all. It heals your soul.

I've also changed my interpretation of my beliefs. Before his death my faith was more black and white, now I think I have a softer interpretation. Nothing is as cut and dried anymore. I've also come to the conclusion that people who have gone ahead of us stay very close to us.

Was Conn's death the most shocking event you've experienced?

It was the worst, but not the most shocking. That happened when my eldest son Michael was four and was playing out the back. He climbed up this little ladder, fell off and cut his tongue. I came running out and his teeth were stuck in his tongue. I will never forget the absolute terror of rushing him to hospital.

How's life now?

Life is good for myself and Gabriel. It's not as hectic as it used to be so we've more time to enjoy, say, the garden. Growing older makes you more appreciative of the good things in life.

Of course, all the royalties you've pocketed from your books must be very nice.

(Laughs). Lots of money! Certainly the books have made life more comfortable but they have not made me a fortune.

Settle an argument. Is change a good thing?

Yes, it's good to let go. The other day I got a postcard from a friend and it read: 'Let go off the past so that you can sail into the future.'

But we should still hold on to certain things. We are like trees - our roots are hugely important.

House Of Memories by Alice Taylor (Brandon, £10.99)