A Message From My Father (revisited)

 

One from June 2016. I was right about Brexit and wrong about Trump. He has turned out even more of a disaster than I feared.

Sorry Reader. I cannot settle myself to properly update Nelly's Garden until this bloody referendum is over. Who cares about Trump? Even though I have detested him since first becoming aware of him. He'll be a disaster for the world and the USA if he gains the presidency but, at worst, it's only eight years. For us, leaving the EU will be irrevocable. I just can't understand why anyone, anyone with a grain of intelligence would think leaving would be a good thing to do. I hate what the debate has become, the exaggeration, the lies, the fear of  'the other'. I also hate that Northern Ireland's particular position has been almost totally ignored.

And another thing, you people, you otherwise good people who do not exercise your right to vote - it is time to grow up. Opting out is Not An Option. Opting out is not you being too fine a person to get involved in ugly old politics. Opting out is letting the bad guys win. It's Father's Day today and my father Seamus Byrne would metaphorically kick your arse. He always said that those who don't vote are like beasts in a field. Think about it.

Seamus and Bert. They always voted.

Twenty Years Later

 Today is the twentieth anniversary our father's death. This photograph, featuring Daddy and his granddaughter Katy is a particular favourite of mine. It was taken by my sister Tricia, one of a series of black and white pictures she took of him as he went about the farm. The pictures are from the mid-eighties. He would have been in his sixties then, probably around the same age that Bert is now. 

I only noticed today that he is wearing a tie so it must have been taken on a  Sunday. His cardigan is half-decent looking too but those are definitely 'working' trousers. He wouldn't have risked his Chapel Sunday trousers out fothering cattle. 

Daddy and Bert at our old place.

Portrait of  Seamus by his granddaughter Naoise. 

Portrait of Seamus by his granddaughter Zoe. 

Fifteen Years

Fifteen years today since my father died. The first two pictures were taken by my sister Tricia, the third by me. He is in his working clothes in all of them as he usually was. I wonder what he'd have thought of today's goings-on. Some things I know. He would have despised the current leaders in the UK and the USA. He would have greatly admired the leaders in Scotland and New Zealand. Daddy was a believer in the advancement of women whilst retaining a smidgen of chauvinism when it came to things like laundry and cooking. Women's work.

I'm glad he went first. He'd have found life without Matty very hard.

An Early Start and an Anniversary

Today started rather well. I got up just before 5:30 am and drank the cup of coffee my daughter made for me, then into the van, Ziggy on board for company and for our viewing pleasure a huge, nearly full moon setting in the south-west. Hannah was dropped off at work about a quarter to six and we spotted Daniel the Tesco cat approaching the staff entrance for his breakfast. Then Ziggy and I headed for Antrim to search for the exact pair of pale pink slipper boots that Miss Martha wants for her birthday. Approaching Asda, Ziggy alerted me to the Asda cat (name unknown) heading for the staff entrance for his morning meal. In the door at 6:00 am and slippers and croissants purchased by ten past. By 6:30 am we were outside my daughter's house posting Evie's forgotten homework book through the door. Met the next door neighbour, Hannah's colleague departing his house and wished him good morning. Like my conscientious daughter he too is expected to be on duty at six but apparently this does not trouble him.

Off home for more coffee, croissants and apricot jam. Hens out. The other bantie is sitting on eggs but I'll deal with that tomorrow. Bert is still in bed and will remain there for a further two hours.

It was my father's birthday today, his exactly a week after my own. I found myself thinking about him throughout the day, trying to remember specific things, early memories. I remember the feel of his large hand enclosing my tiny one as he walked me down the kesh beside our first home in Cannionstown. Going out in the green AEC lorry, me and my sister, both of us sitting on a thick rug in the middle where the heat of the engine beneath warmed our legs and bums. No call for seatbelts back in those days. There are other memories that aren't mine, ones my mother told me. She said he carried me down the stairs on the 9th of March  wishing me a happy half-birthday and she said that I'd stand in my wooden cot rattling the sides with excitement when I heard his lorry arrive in the yard.

I don't know if my younger siblings would agree with but sometimes I think that we older ones knew the best of him when he was in his thirties and had less to worry about. For there were four more children in his forties, he bought the farm, worked two jobs and sometimes times were hard for both my mother and father. And as if that wasn't tough enough they found themselves the parents of teenagers. Oh dear. Daddy just didn't get teenagers. But that is quite another story. Today on the 97th anniversary of my father's birth I'll only be thinking about those early years.

Our Ould Fellas

My father, Seamus Byrne - gone from us nine years today. 

Bert's father, Johnny Orr - gone from us seventeen years yesterday.

Matty died in late April. Our parents, so far,  have all died late Spring/ early Summer when the evenings are lengthening and the flowers are in bloom. I associate this time of the year with sadness and loss.

The Last Request

daddy, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

On his 84th birthday my father said,

I want you to do something for me.

So what d'ye want me to do?

I want you to take me to Leitrim to see Deirdre.

Aye. I will. Some day soon.

It never happened. He took a stroke just a couple of weeks later. This weekend was the first time I went back to Leitrim. It was his birthday weekend.

Happy Birthday Daddy

Last year on his 84th birthday we took Daddy and Mum out for lunch. Zoë joined us. We went to the Carvery, as that was Dad’s favourite. He has unsophisticated tastes. He was quiet enough during the meal; he talked a bit to Bert and as always, ate a hearty meal. We took photos and they show him looking rather distant. Afterwards Bert said, “Seamus looks really fed up.” I asked him to explain and he said that he looked as if he couldn’t be bothered with hassle any more. Daddy was like that – he did like a quiet life but did these things because he thought it would please us. During the meal he asked me if I’d do him a favour. I said I would. He said he wanted me to take him to Leitrim to see Dede. Of course I agreed.

It wasn’t to be. He took a stroke within a couple of days and it hit him hard. He was in hospital for months but there was little could be done. He wouldn’t get better. By Christmas he was in a nursing home.

They’re good to him there and he seems to have settled. He never shows any signs of distress nor of wanting to be home. We visit him often and those of us who don’t live locally come back as often as possible. He cannot walk, hardly talks and cannot feed himself. It is exactly what we wouldn’t have wanted for him.

He was and is a great father, not perfect, but who is? He was always on our side and always ready to help in any way he could. When we were younger we thought he was hard on us. Now we can see that everything he did was done out of love. We have all had the privilege of making our peace and telling him how much we love and appreciate him.