My grandmothers were two very different women. Granny O’Toole was an elegant, witty doctor’s wife, who lived in an ivy-trellised, mid-19th century Galway townhouse. She wore fur stoles and bright lipstick. I have a mental snapshot of her kneeling at flowerbeds in her well-tended garden, wearing chic leather gloves and a wide-brimmed straw hat nicked straight off Audrey Hepburn, a cigarette hanging, gravity-defying, on her lip, smiling up at us in welcome as we walk through the wrought-iron gate, carelessly patting the earth, as if beautiful things just flowed from her fingers.
Granny Fahy was a tireless, warm-hearted cleaning lady, school-dinner lady, and whatever else kind of lady would pay the bills while avoiding mortal sins. She lived on a council estate in Corby, England, to where she had emigrated so her husband could work in the steel mills. The steel mills closed and, suffice to say, there wasn’t a lot of time for gardening. She dressed like a nun. She swore like a sailor. And she was hilarious. I like to remember Granny Fahy taking her teeth out and dancing around the sitting room in her dressing gown and slippers, a parody of a jig, gummily singing “diddle diddle eye die die,” to screams of laughter from her grandchildren.
In some ways, however, these two Irish women were alike. They were both mothers of nine. And they shared a controversial conviction. Namely, that had better contraceptive options existed, their families might have been more modest. As Granny O’Toole told my cousins and me, ice tinkling in her G&T as she charmed the drawing room: “If they’d had the pill 50 years ago, there’d certainly be a few less O’Tooles.” Or, as Granny Fahy regularly put it: “If there’d been them things in my day, half ye shites wouldn’t a been born.”
Now, I am not wishing the trials of nine babies on any woman, but, things being as they are, I’m grateful that my Grannies weren’t on the auld smarties. Because, as Irish families shrink from oppression-size to fun-size, there’s one thing that deserves eulogy: cousins. Loads of brilliant cousins. Unlike most of you cousin-poor unfortunates, I’ve had the good grace of an inbuilt personal mafia from birth: a web of stalwart genetic allies who can be dicks to each other, but will cement-shoe anyone else who insulta da family.
I have 39 first cousins: Conor, Sinéad, Fiona, Tadhgh, Coile, Rosie, Bella, Niall, Saoirse, Róisín, Darragh, Brendan, Brian, Felim, Laoise, Seán, Sarah, Paddy, Eoin, James, Gretta, Rory, Dáithí, Aoife, Paula, Jim, John, Tina, Anthony, Jonathan, Rachel, Catherine, Emily, Megan, Declan, Liam, Paul, Julie and Rebecca. And that’s before counting my second cousins and cousins-once-removed. It’s before counting my cousins-by-marriage or my cousins-in-law (you know, my cousins’ cousins).
Family occasions mean I’m surrounded by many of my best and oldest friends, people with whom I laugh until I suspect that someone spiked the brownies (not an impossibility). And, while I’m happy that Irish women of Mum’s generation were not baby factories by mandate, it’s a little sad that my future children will be among the ranks of the cousin-deprived, probably regardless of the number of times I surreptitiously break into my brothers’ bedrooms and poke holes in their condoms.
In tribute, then, to my grannies’ culturally coerced fertility, I’d like to take some time to celebrate the boons of mass cousindom. Here are 10 advantages of being a happy member of that dwindling institution – the humongous Irish family.
Early political training
You’re one of a herd of small, genetically similar humans, all braying and mewling about their individual needs and desires. Crying erupts approximately every 15 seconds and thus ceases to be an effective method of attracting adult concern. What can you do to ensure that your lollipop/My Little Pony/favourite stick is not stolen by your current cousin nemesis? You quickly learn the importance of assertiveness and allies. Incidentally, my childhood cousin nemesis was Jonathan, evidenced by the number of old photographs in which we are giving each other stink eye. Apparently, we got into violent altercations every time adults left us alone for five minutes – both reasonably assertive, clearly. Once, my five-year-old brother Ronan, sick of us fighting, picked up three-year-old Jonathan and locked him outside our front door, where he sat very distressed until the adults found him. I learned for the first time that brothers are useful. I like to think Ronan’s intervention was due to my early skills at forming political alliances, but it was probably because it was his house and, if anyone was going to fight with his sister, it was going to be him.
Cousin casting calls
Given the number of potential artistic collaborators and/or minions around at all times, Cousinland is a hotbed for creativity. Cousin Sarah has been dressing us up, bossing us about, and making us sing since ever she was old enough to say “daaahling”. That’s why she’s a theatre director now. And Seánie and I are in a band called Cousins, capitalising on the obvious gap in the market for cousin-themed musical projects. Expect to find our first single If You Wanna Be My Cousin on iTunes just as soon as we’re picked up by a cool, independent record label. Sing it now: “Oh, if you wanna be my cousin, you godda get with my other cousins …”
Wedding domination
There are two sides at any wedding. Our side and their side. Do you know which side is always bigger, better, and way more craic? That’s right.
Cousin education
There comes a time in every cousin’s life when older cousins know important stuff that you don’t know. Older cousins are, therefore, a rich source of age-sensitive, censored information, and essential to maintaining your cool-cred in the playground. For example, aged seven, I borrowed 10-year-old Sinéad’s copy of Sweet Valley Twins #42 Jessica’s Secret. In it, Elizabeth gets her period but Jessica doesn’t. But what is a period? Elizabeth just woke up one morning and it was there, but where had it come from? Was it some kind of exciting toy? Why was Mrs Wakefield cooking a celebratory meal? And, most baffling of all, why was Jessica pretending to have one too – couldn’t she just borrow Elizabeth’s? Frankly, the book made very little sense, and Sinéad refused to divulge her obvious knowledge about its central theme. So I ruined my mum’s weekend by asking her instead, and had a lot of material for discussion back at school.
A cousin for all seasons
Due to generational, gender and individual variations, cousins come in all sizes and shapes and are thus useful for different purposes. Something up too high? Get a tall cousin to reach it. Locked yourself out of the house again or want to commit a breaking-and- entering felony? Simply slide a small cousin through a bathroom window. Need to play limbo, but lacking a pole? Position a sufficiently long, light cousin between two cousins with good core strength, and bend from the knees!
Cousin shoulders
Cousin shoulders are a particularly useful cousin body part. If you are upset, there are plenty of them to cry on. If you have a dispute to settle with another cousin, a traditional and effective way of doing so is to put a small cousin on your shoulders, invite your opponent to do the same, and engage in battle until one or other of the small cousins has toppled over. You might think this is an irresponsible conflict-resolution strategy, but in many years of organised cousin shoulder battling there have been zero injuries, and, frankly, it seems a good deal healthier than the passive aggression so often displayed by those with a lesser supply of lightweight relatives.
Cousin celebrations
Gretta played a blinder in her Leaving Cert! Paul had twins (with some help)! Catherine got married! Seánie got a master’s degree! Róisín found her dream job! Sarah’s play got a glowing write up in the national papers! So many cousin birthdays. So many cousins to celebrate. I’m never sober.
When I do occasionally muddle through the cloud of prosecco to see my cousins out there travelling places and learning things and making art and helping people and being parents and just turning, year by year, into ever more cool and interesting people, it makes my heart smile.
Cousin consultancy services
With 39 first cousins and many other cousinly figures, you have free expertise in almost everything. Are your teeth aching? Call Saoirse: she’s a dentist. Want to turn the cousin shoulder-battle film on your phone into a gif, thus immortalising your victory? Call Ciarán: he’s a film technician. Want to know the name of that Pokémon that looks like a giraffe and makes a noise like a windshield wiper? Call Laoise: she’s an anime obsessive. Is your kitchen on fire? Call Jonathan: he’s a fireman.
Unconditional cousining
You don’t have to be in a good mood around your cousins. You don’t have to be polite or nice, or even borderline socially functional. They all know that you once picked snot out of Auntie Bernie’s nose when she was sleeping on the couch and tried to put it back in again when she woke up, so, really, who are you trying to impress? If you want, you can be crap around your cousins, and it’s fine. It takes a lot of the pressure out of social situations.
For example, once when I was sad I turned up to my cousin Sadhbh’s dinner party, drank too much, locked myself in the bathroom to cry, and was eventually coaxed out of the bathroom and put in a corner with tissues while Sadhbh turned the dinner party into a misery rave where everyone danced around – at my musical request – to Elliott Smith. Crying corner cousin. Not a problem. Sometimes cousins need cry-time. Just accommodate her depressing musical tastes and keep dancing.
Cousining is unconditional. I like it when my cousins are around. I don’t care if they are heartbroken or hungover, or don’t feel like playing cousin Limbo. I would never cousin-divorce any of my cousins.
Free cousin refills
Are your cousins getting old and a bit boring? Are they a lot harder to drag out for late-night pints and dancing? Don’t worry. Soon they’ll start producing new, more exciting cousins. And if you have babies, then the new cousins will be their second cousins, meaning that maybe the next generation won’t be so cousin deprived after all, meaning that maybe the legacy of Granny O’Toole, Granny Fahy and the many thousands of other Irish women like them – who provided not just boatloads of babies, but also, somehow, the oceans of love that kept them together – will reach far into the future, keeping us close, keeping us kin.
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