The first episode of our mother/daughter podcast is here and was recorded when we thought we wanted to call our podcast The Podcast Our. We have since changed our name to The Life Lists but this episode captures the essence of the LISTS concept and so we wanted to keep it.
In this episode we talk about the list of things that make us cry as they relate to our own story.
Remember the episode of Friends? The one where Joey has to put a copy of the book Little Women into the freezer as he doesn’t want to read the part leading up to the sadness about Beth? Well our list is like that.
We talk about our family story of living with cancer and how this diagnosis changes the way we view things in life from books, movies, songs and life itself.
[Notes: The song we fail miserably to remember is called ‘Heaven’s Not Too Far’ by We Three and the actress we equally fail to remember is Abigail Breslin!]
‘If you make me bread and jam, I will say thank you’, Paddy would say with a cheeky grin to the neighbours in their kitchens as he passed by and played with friends in Gort, Co Galway. It was 1943 and Paddy was four. He was the much-loved eldest son of my Grandmother Mary Elizabeth Drumm and my Grandfather Michael Drumm. He was big brother to my father, also Michael Drumm.
Paddy was a character. He was known around the whole of Gort. He was feisty and gorgeous and his adoring Mam always said you could tell he would grow up to be one of those ‘fine men of the world’. He would charm the bees and he charmed quite an amount of jam from the other mammies.
My grandparents lived simple lives. Grandad was in the army and my grandmother kept things together at home, collected eggs from her hens and sold them. Her own brown bread was legendary with two freshly baked round loaves made every other day.
Times were different back then and kids as young as three and four played safely on the streets of their town. It was their back yard. Nothing ever happened.
The accident happened in a split second. There was a builder’s yard and Paddy and his friends were always in and out for a look at the work. Paddy was standing where he shouldn’t have been when some of the load came off the truck as it was reversing into the yard. Paddy was hit by some of the blocks. His leg was badly injured. My grandparents took him to hospital where the leg was set in plaster.
My grandmother visited him every day he was in the hospital. She would cycle much of the journey and get lifts some of the way.
Paddy had been in hospital for less than a week when a message came through to say that he was a bit more poorly than he should be. He was so ill that when Gran arrived she was initially refused entry. I still feel proud of her today when I recall what she told us she said to them – that no one would keep her from her child!
The minute she saw her Paddy she knew he was dying. The doctor explained that there was sepsis. The plaster, while protecting the broken leg, had also disguised the gangrene that developed.
Paddy, aged four, died from his injuries in his mother’s arms on a Summer day in 1943.
A grief descended on the town.
‘Paddy, the Drumm boy’, people whispered.
‘Paddy, the bread and jam boy’, the other Mammies said as they shook their heads and held their own children close.
Paddy, the apple of the eye of the entire town.
Paddy, aged just four, was gone.
The day of the funeral came. My grandmother didn’t go. She couldn’t go. It was not unusual in those days for the men folk to take care of things like that. Paddy was taken in his small white coffin to a burial ground called Lavally Lisheen just outside Gort where many other infants were buried.
There was no inquest into the accident. No inquest into the medical care. But some months later, there was a quiet transfer request put into the army HQ and my grandparents left Gort with their infant son Michael. Staying where Paddy had died was just too much for them to bear.
They moved to the other side of the country and with no car, there was no weekly visit to the graveyard, no monthly visit. We never understood why. My grandmother spoke about Paddy all her life and we knew his story well from we were little. Even when we had our own cars and could have taken her, she never asked to go to see him.
And yet, his name was one of the last on her lips when she died in 2006. She told me she was going home to Paddy and to her husband Michael – it was a reunion she had longed for her whole life.
A phone call to my father in 2019 from Gort was a huge surprise. They had tracked him down through the local Garda Station in Ballyconnell, Co Cavan, from an old newspaper article with his name as Garda Mick Drumm.
The call was from a local historian to share the news that the local community of Gort had come together and had reclaimed the burial ground which had been overrun by thick brambles for decades. They wanted permission to refurbish Paddy’s grave and to repair the headstone which had bent over with time. They also wanted my father to be there for a special event in August.
A road trip was necessary and so my son Cathal, Mum and Dad and myself set off to Lavally Lisheen just outside Gort. The graveyard was down a long and winding track that could just about be classed as road. The graveyard itself was really just a hollow in the ground adjacent to a train track.
We reviewed the old grave – three generations of family seeing it for the first time. It was ornate and decorative with four pillars, metal bars almost fencing it in and a beautiful Celtic Cross. We agreed the work and said we would be back for the celebrations by the community later that Summer.
Two months later we were all back in the graveyard for the blessing and service. Paddy’s grave was the centrepiece of the day, beautifully restored. All the other graves were flat stones on the ground and some were names on beautiful marble and stone slabs secured on a new memorial wall. It was surreal to be back 76 years after Paddy was laid to rest there. After decades of no one visiting the graveyard was packed with the sounds of voices of all generations, and the laughter of children caught on the wind.
The son of the man who owned the yard where Paddy’s accident took place heard that we were in Gort. He asked if my father would go and see him. He did. The man said his family never really got over the accident and that his own father had taken the guilt to his grave. We finally solved the mystery of why Paddy had such an ornate grave – the man who owned the yard where the accident had happened built the finest memorial to Paddy that my Gran could never visit. There was healing in the conversation between my father and that man.
Back at Lavally Lisheen burial ground, there were prayers, music and poetry and the names of all of the children that were buried there were spoken aloud for the first time ever. There was tea and sandwiches provided by the townfolk. It was like a wake for Paddy and the other children.
As the crowds left and the sun started to set on Paddy’s grave, the Seamus Heaney Poem Mid Term Break came to mind, especially the lines:
“He lay in a four-foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars…..
A four-foot box, a foot for every year.”
Sleep well Paddy, the boy who never grew up. The uncle I never knew.
It takes a village to raise a child and it took a village of people, of family, to give you back your name.
ENDS
Paying his respects to his brother Paddy My mother Margaret and my Dad Michael The beautiful celtic cross
Remember when video content was supposed to kill the written word and create a more visual web? Remember when video was supposed to have killed the radio star? Once again it seems the ‘experts’ may have written audio off prematurely.
In our digital age where time is the new currency, there is an increasing pressure to take advantage of every second. As a result, it’s the rise of audio and the evolution of podcasts that is now taking centre stage.
Many people are also turning to audio assistants in their daily lives like Siri, Amazon Alexa, Microsoft Cortana, and Google, because it is has become easier to search for information using our voice. Mainstream users are already getting comfortable with speaking to their devices rather than tapping things out on a keyboard or a phone.
It was back in 2005 that Apple first added podcasts to iTunes back in 2005 but we are only just beginning to understand the value of the human voice. Engaging with an audience on the other side of the world by beaming your voice into their ears is now possible for anyone via a podcast. But one of the reasons why podcasts have suddenly become so popular is that they are almost effortless on the part of the consumer and they can be engaged with while you are doing something else like exercising, commuting or walking the dog!
Is audio replacing music? Not quite. We all still love the idea of being able to access any song or any album at the touch of a button but Spotify continues to add more podcasts to their platform.
Podcasts are also finally bursting out of the limitations of iTunes and available on other platforms such as Amazon Echo and Spotify.
The Vatican is getting in on the audio act too with a new APP to help listeners to tune into the Pope now available for mobile devices in five languages.
Created by the Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication, the app “Vatican Audio” can be downloaded free from the App Store and from Google Play. One can also scan the QR code above to open the link to the download page of “Vatican Audio”. After installing, all you need to do is to choose your language and simply listen.
Pope Francis, who generally speaks in Italian, can be heard live in Spanish, English, French, German and Portuguese. When he speaks in his native Spanish, the app also provides the audio in Italian.
Pilgrims and visitors attending papal events in Saint Peter’s Square can also follow the Pope in the five languages.
This service is in addition to the live broadcasts in different languages already available online and on radio.
Search for “Vatican Audio” in the App Store and Google Play as a free download and tune in to Pope Francis.
This is a wonderful development that will now bring Pope Francis even more followers on the various digital platforms that he is present on.
I read a quote online recently where someone described the way we consume information now, saying that we are all raconteurs now that share our unique stories around virtual campfires. Video may attempt to kill the radio or audio star in the future and platforms will continuously change, but how we consume content remains largely the same.
Official hashtags for WMOF2018 and a new Pope emoji
Many will receive this September issue of Intercom Magazine in August just as we are about to begin the World Meeting of Families 2018. The official hashtags for linking in with the visit are #popeinireland and #papaineirinn
There will also be a Pope emoji which will activate during the visit of Pope Francis when these official hashtags are used on Twitter.
For more on the digital output of WMOF2018 follow us on Twitter and Instagram as @wmof2018 and find us on Facebook as World Meeting of Families 2018
This article is courtesy of Intercom Magazine, in which I write the monthly Get Connected column. This article was first published in the September 2018 issue of the magazine.
Those of us who were teenagers in the 70s and 80s, grew up without technology as we know it today. We had a vastly different experience to the age of digital and technological disruption that we all find ourselves living in today.
I grew up in a family of five siblings in a small town in Co Cavan. We had no telephone in the house. We had one colour television and the act of watching television was mostly a family affair. We had a small black & white television for when Top of the Pops clashed with something my parents wanted to watch.
I had the opportunity recently to reflect a little bit on just how disruptive technology has been when I was invited to speak to 600 teenagers about social media and technology.
When I described my teenage experience of technology and the lack of a landline many of the young people told me that they just could not imagine a house like that.
Then I described the list of technology in my home today and most of the young people said they had the same sort of list and some had even more technology. The list in our house includes a landline, smart TVs, game consoles, smartphones, Apple TV and Netflix. We even have a washing machine that plays music to announce when a cycle is finished.
There are also smart vacuums that you can programme to clean the floor by themselves and apps that allow you to ‘communicate’ with your pets when you are out of the house and to use technology to release a doggie treat for them! [I feel I should clarify here that I don’t have a smart vacuum or a dog!]
I do believe that our technological advances are positive but I also believe that the way many of us are using technology has impacted negatively on quality family time.
Take the television – everyone wants their own screen, or to sit and watch something when it suits them. In many cases we no longer sit down to watch TV together. Then there’s the arguments between husband and wife when one person goes ahead in a box set or Netflix show without the other!
Look at social media – I do believe that it has been and can be a positive tool for communication and networking. But, as a parent, I can’t ignore the headlines about children and young people being bullied or children as young as 11 taking their own lives because they are not seeing in their mirrors what is being reflected back at them from the ‘perfect’ lives of their idols on social media.
The example that many of us adults and parents give in our own consumption of technology is less than perfect. I see so many couples out for a meal together looking at their phones instead of each other. I see parents ignoring their kids because they are too attached to their smartphones.
A recent survey showed that Irish adults who have smartphones check their phone a minimum of 10 times a day and that 34% of men and 17% of women smartphone owners check their phone up to 40 times a day.
Pope Francis has spoken often about the many benefits of technology and social media, he uses it well himself! But, he recognises that over-reliance on its way of managing our lives can lead to an expectation that human relationships can be managed in the same way as social media, and can be switched off and reconnected at a whim.
He has also spoken about how young people are bombarded by social media messages that are not beneficial for their growth and maturity. He has said that young people, in particular, need to be educated to recognise the values of social media for what they are.
The family home is where children first learn about God. Parents hand on faith and life lessons to their children not only by what they say but, more importantly, by what they do and how they treat others both inside and outside of the home.
This includes their example and stewardship of technology in the home. This also includes the online spaces we inhabit.
The family is precious. Technology is everywhere, so let’s use it well and do all we can to protect our quality family time.
ENDS
This article is courtesy of Intercom Magazine, in which I write the monthly Get Connected column. This article was first published in the April 2018 issue of the magazine.
In full colour
a pic on this day nine year’s ago
midway through stem cell transplant
and showing
the effects of chemo
Not your basic poison
No the high dose kind
Graphic
Gross
Grotesque almost
On this day 10 years ago my beloved grandmother died. She was a good age as they say and she passed away after a short but very challenging battle with Esophageal/Stomach cancer.
Her name was Mary Elizabeth Drumm (nee Egan). She used to joke that she was called by one of the Queen’s names. She was also known as Babs by some of her family as she was the youngest. When we visited relatives with her in Athlone she went from being our ‘Mammy Drumm’ to Babs.
I think I was the one who first called her Mammy Drumm. When I was just short of two my younger sister arrived into the world. My mum was 25 but she had three girls under the age of 4. That was more than a handful so I was sent off to live with my grandmother Mammy Drumm (My Dad’s mum) and my other gran came down to be with my Mum, the new baby and my older sister. After a couple of weeks with my ‘Mammy Drumm’ my Dad arrived to collect me. I am told that I didn’t want to get into the car, that I wanted to stay with my Mammy Drumm. I believe my gran also asked my Dad to leave me with her for a little longer.
We were her only grandchildren. As a young married woman my gran had a number of miscarriages and a stillbirth. She had also lost her beloved eldest son Paddy when he was four and when my Dad was just nine month’s old.
They lived in Gort in Co Galway at the time. Paddy was known all around the village as he was feisty and full of character. He would call to some of the houses and speak to the housekeepers and he would say ‘I will say thank you if you give me bread and jam’. They would always comply and he would always say thank you. Paddy was hit by a car/truck when he was outside playing. He was taken off to the hospital where they kept him in and where initially they refused to let my gran see him. She was having none of it and demanded to see him. Her husband Mick was in the army at the time and they were part of a very close-knit community in the army and in the village. They spent time with Paddy in the hospital over the days that followed. They had no car so they would get lifts and cycle 20 miles to be with him. Paddy had a broken leg and so it was covered in plaster. The medical team didn’t pay the attention they should have to the large cut which got infected and which eventually caused blood poisoning and the death of their beloved son Paddy. He was buried in the children’s graveyard in Gort and the people of the town never quite recovered from the tragedy. Neither did my grandparents.
I know that my gran held Paddy in her heart for her whole life and she spoke about him often. She lost her husband at a young age too. I sometimes wondered how she went on after all that tragedy.
But if you knew my gran you would know that she was quite simply THE most amazing woman. She was way ahead of her time in terms of thinking, fashion, opinion and all manner of things. She drew us to her like a magnet with her wit, kindness and her love. She would say that it was her purse which also drew us to her as she spoiled us – just enough, so as not to get into trouble with our parents.
She was my Godmother, my sponsor at Confirmation, the first person I told when I found out I was pregnant with Emma. She believed in tradition and legacy. She insisted on buying my wedding dress for me – I was her Godchild, her Grandchild and the first of her grand children to get married.
She used to say to me ‘When I am dead and gone, I can’t take it with me and you will look at that dress in years to come and remember me’. The dress is far down a long list of reasons I will remember her always.
She had a tremendous wit and a love of company and conversation. She was brilliant at games, cards and asking for a bargain. She would put on this air of being a poor old lady when she was in fact quite the opposite – and you would fool her and deceive her at your peril. She was firm with us when she needed to be but I will remember her as kind and funny and a hundred other ways, before I will remember her as a cross person.
She was teetotal but she loved tea. She was a pioneer but later on in her life she allowed herself a glass of bubbly at a wedding.
She was a woman of deep personal faith in God and she was always in the middle of a Novena when we went to stay with her. She would always have a candle lighting on the mantelpiece in the kitchen for some intention. I can’t begin to imagine how many candles she expended on our exams and on tests! She kept them lit!
She had five grandchildren and she loved each one of us. She never took sides. She had nieces and nephews too whom she loved like they were hers.
Bryan and I gave Mammy Drumm her first grandchild. When Emma was two weeks old I surprised my gran by driving from Newbridge to Longford so as she could meet her. She was besotted and so began another wonderful relationship between Mammy Drumm and her first great grandchild. She was blessed to get to see three more great grandchildren before she closed her eyes.
My gran was an Egan from Clonmacnoise where she grew up in a farming family. While she lived in the West of Ireland, in Dublin,Athlone and Longford, her heart was always in Clonmacnoise. She never missed the pattern there and we were regular pilgrims to Saint Ciaran there and grew to love that sacred place as much as she did. It’s in our blood.
Mammy Drumm was a regular visitor to us in Newbridge and Emma loved her. She spent time with Bryan and me when we were newly weds after a serious accident left her in traction for 7 weeks.
The last Summer she came to stay with us was the Summer of 2005. I knew she wasn’t well when I heard her being sick in the middle of the night. She brushed it off and said it was just an upset tummy. I accepted her explanation. She was devious at times and hid how bad she was feeling. Weeks later when she was back at home we realised it was something more serious. It all went downhill after that.
A few weeks before she died I was in work and I suddenly felt anxious about her and about the lack of a firm diagnosis. My brother was in Cavan with her and was trying to get answers about treatment. I left work and drove to Cavan and myself and my brother received the news that she was not going to get better. The doctors said she was not going to survive the cancer, that she would eventually succumb to it. I went back to see her on the ward and I was terrified of having to talk to her about death. She knew before I said anything. She had been afraid of cancer her whole life and when saying the word she would whisper it or spell it! As she lay in her hospital bed looking frail and pale she reached over and beckoned for me to lean in and she whispered to me ‘I am ready to go. I am not afraid’. I asked her if she wanted to see the Chaplain and she said she did. I had him paged and he spent time with her. When he came out, he looked at me and said she is happy and at peace. She is ready to go.
None of us who loved her were ready to let her go. She was the Matriarch, the head of the family, the glue that kept us all together. My mother deserves the credit for being a living angel to my gran when she was sick. She nursed her at home when she was in and out of hospital for the months before her final diagnosis. She sat with her at night and cleaned up the mess that this type of a disease brings. No one did more for my gran in her final weeks and days than my mum did.
My Mum, Dad and brother were with my gran when she died in the early hours of the morning of 10 May 2006. I wasn’t there and it is something I will always regret. I got the call just moments after she had passed. It was the saddest moment and there is a gap in our lives that nothing and no one can ever fill.
We knew what we had to do. I was asked by her to phone a priest friend of hers in Longford with the news. When I called him to tell him the news he said ‘I know what I have to do’. I am not quite sure what he meant but suddenly all sorts of things swung into action. We followed her wishes to the letter – She was waked near our house in a funeral home. She wanted a removal to the Church and a requiem Mass and she wanted to be buried beside her beloved husband in Longford.
We all had our part to play.
When we received her remains to the nursing home from the hospital, there was work to be done. She had the most wonderful silver grey hair and my Mum always set it for her. It would have been important for her to be well presented so my Mum and I worked on her. My Mum set her hair. I did her make up. I had never done anything like that before and I was shaking as I did it. I cried and cried until my tear ducts were dry – we all did – but we all played our part.
She had a beautiful wake with prayers and then we had family time with her until late into the night. Her removal and funeral Mass were beautiful. As we brought her remains into the church there was a ferocious rumble of thunder – she always hated thunder and it was as if she was having a last joke.
She would have loved the idea that two bishops officiated at her funeral Mass and burial in the cemetery in the Longford. Her old friend Bishop Colm O’Reilly was there waiting for us in the graveyard when we arrived as was her lifelong friend – the priest I had to call. It suddenly made sense.
We said goodbye to her at the graveyard in Longford. My brothers stayed to fill in the grave. We all played our part.
Ten years on she is still missed, still talked about, still loved.
I miss you Mammy Drumm. I hope the tea is good in heaven.
I know that one final exam can seem unfair
to show the sum of your worth.
I know that you are nervous
I can sense it,
even behind your smile and assurances that you are ok.
I know that you are tired and that
words are blurring on the page,
so sometimes a break from the books
is the best thing to do.
I know that you are doubtful
of finishing long papers in time.
I know that you are hopeful
for favourite poems coming up.
I know that you are ready.
I have watched you for six long years.
I know that the hard part is waiting
for the first exam to start.
So, I am praying for the nerves to settled
as soon as you pick up your pen.
I am praying for the answers t come to you
as soon as you see the question.
I am praying for Plath and McCarthy
as topics in English and History.
I am praying for enough time for you
to get it all down on paper.
I am praying for strength and endurance
to get through the next few days.
I pray that you talents will shine through
and that your words and efforts will
inspire generosity in the examiner.
I pray for perspective
for the knowledge that in the long run
this won’t be what defines you in the world.
I pray for gentle and untroubled sleep
for you on the nights before your exams.
I pray that you will always know
how much you are loved, cherished
and valued in our family and in the wider world.
I pray that you will have faith that all will be well.
AMEN
Written for my daughter Emma as she prepared for her State examinations last Summer. It’s a tough and challenging time so hang in there. All will be well.
Many of the civilian bodies lay in City Hall for several days after the Rising, but they were never claimed because their relatives lacked the financial means to bury them. “These were the poorest or the poor.”
If you live in Ireland or have any interest in Ireland then you will know that the country is right in the middle of commemorating the events on Easter 1916. State, Church and civilians are all involved in the celebrations and in remembering the events of those days over Easter, one hundred years ago.
This is a condensed one paragraph overview of what happened in 1916:
The Easter Rising (Irish: Éirí Amach na Cásca),[2] also known as the Easter Rebellion, was an armed insurrection in Ireland during Easter Week, April 1916. The Rising was launched by Irish republicans to end British rule in Ireland and establish an independent Irish Republic while the United Kingdom was heavily engaged in World War I. It was the most significant uprising in Ireland since the rebellion of 1798, and the first armed action of the Irish revolutionary period.
There are acres and acres of pages you can read on the Rising and I am not going to repeat them here.
My focus in this blog are the civilians who were killed in the 1916 Rising. Late last year I did an interview on the weekly arts show which I produce and present each Wednesday on Kfm radio in Kildare. My interview was with Ciara OKeeffe and she told me about her idea to commemorate the civilians who were killed. Her project was called the 1916 Sackville Street Art Project. Sackville Street was the name for O’Connell Street before it was changed.
The aim of 1916 Sackville Street Art Project was to hold an exhibition of houses in any 3D art form commemorating the lives of the ordinary civilians that were killed in the 1916 Easter Rising. 485 people were killed in the Easter Rising 1916, 262 of these were civilians. The objective of the Art Project is to tell their story by constructing 262 3D art form houses representing each of the civilians killed. It was hoped that this art project will in some way contribute to commemorating these innocent souls who died during the conflict of 1916 Easter Rising. Ciara and her colleagues needed 262 people of 2016 to create a house to remember a civilian who was killed in 1916. They set up a website and when you clicked onto it, you selected a civilian you wished to remember. There would only be 262 pieces to create.
I don’t do art. I can knit a bit (as long are there no curves in it or complicated things like sleeves). But, in the middle of the radio interview with Ciara I said that I would create a house for one of the civilians.
It was only after the interview was aired that I said to myself ‘what were you thinking’.
I registered for my civilian in an optimistic moment. I chose Margaret McGuiness aged 50. She died from wounds received during the fighting in Dublin. Her death is recorded on 3 April 1916 and she is buried in Deansgrange with her husband who had passed away two years before her. She lived in 3 Pembroke Cottages in Dublin. Additional research did not throw up a lot more information on her so I was on my own when it came to inspiration for the house.
I chose her because she was the closest in age to me. I will be fifty in a few years time. I was thinking about what she would have been doing back in 1916 and the type of crafts that might have formed part of her day to day life. I knew I wanted to knit some aspect of the house.
I parked the idea after that. I was delighted to read a few weeks later that all the civilians had been matched to a 2016 civilian and that all 262 houses would be made.
Christmas came and went and a sudden realisation came over me at the end of January this year that I had a house to build. The dimensions were quite small so it was not going to be a massive construction project, but still, I had made a promise to 1916 Sackville Street and to Margaret McGuiness.
I got to work. I used some wood templates, some cork board, some buttons from my own button box, some thread, some measuring tape, some pins and some spools of thread. There was a lot of superglue used and fingers stuck together and to the buttons, as a result.
Little by little it all came together and this is my house in memory of Margaret McGuinness.
I am surprised and delighted that it all came together for me. I have never done anything like this before do it has been a joy to do.
The exhibition is on at the moment in the Botanic Gardens in Dublin and it will run there for another two weeks until 24 April. I think the houses are coming to Kildare then for two exhibitions and there is talk too of finding a permanent home for this wonderful exhibition.
There are so many beautiful houses and the feedback from those who have attended the exhibition has been emotional and moving. There is a special quality to this unique exhibition.
Fine out more about the project and see more of the photos on their website and social media pages:
I joined the In Caelo Choir in Newbridge Parish in January of this year. We rehearse every second Tuesday night and we sing at Mass every second Sunday. I am very much one of the newbies to the choir so I had no idea that from time to time the choir gets invited to sing in other churches. I was delighted to hear that we had been asked to sing at Mass in Saint Mary’s Pro – Cathedral in Dublin on Saint Patrick’s Day. I was nervous too! I was doubly nervous when I realised we would be singing most of the parts of the Mass and the hymns in Irish and that we would be doing so in the presence of President Michael D Higgins and his wife Sabina.
The Saint Patrick’s Day Mass is an important service in the liturgical calendar and no more so this year as it is 1916 and we are commemorating the events of 1916. As well as singing in the presence of Uachtarán na hÉireann, we would also be performing to a packed church with a congregation made up of people from Dublin, from around Ireland and from around the world. Archbishop Diarmuid Martin was presiding at the Mass and Father Bryan Shorthall from the Capuchins would be the chief celebrant and the homilist.
We had intensive rehearsals in the weeks leading up to the Mass under the direction of Cora Coffey. Sharon Lyons, who would be the soloist on the day of the Mass in the Pro-Cathedral, also came to spend time with us in rehearsal.
We left Newbridge bright and early on Saint Patrick’s Day (17 March) and made our way to Saint Mary’s Pro-Cathedral, through the streets which were cordoned off for the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. After weeks of rehearsals we felt ready but nervous at the prospect of being part of such an important and established tradition of the annual Aifreann Phádraig Naofa.
Thankfully there was time for a quick run through of all our pieces with Sharon and Cora. We were accompanied by Padraig Meredith on piano and we had some organ accompaniment from Gerard Gillen. Our singing was given a real traditional Irish flavour by the addition of a harp and some uilleann pipes and we had a very talented brother and sister playing cello and violin. We sang most of the pieces in Irish and our finale piece was Hail Glorious Saint Patrick.
After the Mass was over we had a chance to enjoy some refreshments in the side rooms of the Pro Cathedral. We met some of the priests attached to the Pro-Cathedral and Archbishop Diarmuid Martin came out to say hell and to stand in for a quick photo!
We were all wearing a beautifully crocheted green shamrocks made by hand by one of our choir members Sinéad Buckley. Sinéad had made an extra one in the hope that she might get a chance to present it to the President’s wife Sabina. The chance came and a delighted Sabina Higgins is now the proud owner of a beautiful piece of crochet made by Sinéad.
One of the highlights of the day was when we all had a chance to pose for a photo with President Higgins and his wife. We were lined up the stairs of the side entrance to the Pro Cathedral house. We decided to kill the time we were waiting for the Presidential party to arrive by reprising a verse of Hail Glorious Saint Patrick. When the President and his wife arrived for the photo they invited us to sing for them again. We were only too happy to oblige and as I reviewed the video afterwards I noticed that both of them were singing along with us to Hail Glorious Saint Patrick. Afterwards, they thanked us and wished us a Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.
This is a short video of the verse we sang for the President and his wife.
We waved them off from the Pro-Cathedral where they sat into a waiting car to immediately officiate at the opening of the parade.
We left on a high, with wonderful memories of a day which will never be forgotten and with a great feeling of pride in ourselves, in our country and in our President and First Lady.
Didn’t I pick just the right year to join the choir?
I received an email into my inbox a couple of weeks ago from the lovely people at http://www.herfamily.ie. They asked if I would consider writing a guest blog about being a mum who lives with cancer.
I said yes, but when I sat down to write it, I had no idea where to begin. How do you fit a whole year of treatment and nine years of life after treatment into a blog post?
I managed to fit a good chunk of the story into what they had to call a ‘Sunday Read’, which translates as ‘a very long read so make sure you are sitting comfortably with a cup of tea when you sit down to read it’.
Here is a link to what has appeared on the HerFamily.ie website. If you like it please feel free to share it from there or from here. We won’t fight over blog hits!
do.
An Irish Girl Interrupted 