Tuesday, April 23, 2024

  

Goodbye, goodbye.



The truest gift he gave me was the gift of having met him.

And having worked closely with him.

I had been working for ten weeks as a substitute art teacher in Summerhill College, Sligo. It was where I had attended secondary school myself.

The school was staging the musical, The White Horse Inn. I ended up painting two scenes...one to the left of the main stage and one to the right of it. Two stage extensions had been built to ease the pressure of space and to help the production flow better. I think I painted two Alpine scenes.

Joe saw the show, inquired as to who the artist was and he sought me out. He asked me if I would help out painting the stage settings for the Sligo Musical Society show. Little did I know he meant for me to design and paint the complete set single-handed. The backdrops I had painted for the Summerhill College shows were the only large scale work I had ever done but I had the confidence of youth and agreed.

(.......I digress for a moment...... I am just now recalling how the live orchestra stirred me. Not for the brilliance of their music, but for the loveliness of the instruments too. 

The cases. 

The rich, shiny ebony, maple and willow wood. The strings and bows agleam in reddish-orange browns. 

The double bass. And violins. The cello. 

 

 

The clarinet and the flute. 

The creamed sheet music lit by warm ambient lighting. 

The sea-shell lampshades. 

Silver. 

Dress suits, formal wear. 

Some very Protestant names. 

Nervous tuning of instruments. 

It was special and so magical..........)

 

I was part of it all now and I was valued as a scene painter....and so young, they said.

I even had my name printed in the programme. 

Scenery Painter.......Nelius Flynn.

I felt so worthwhile with my limited talent, and lack of experience.

Joe gifted me the confidence to paint huge backdrops that I never dreamt I could do.

No matter what I produced  for him it was always enough. He never expected more than I was able to give.

I don't ever remember thinking I would not be able to fulfill the many diverse tasks he set out for me in musical theatre and other shows. He steered me through and together we were a team.......and I was his confidant.

We worked together with the carpenters, the lighting crew and the director of the show. 

Joe was stage manager.

And strict with flighty chorus singers and dancers who might be heard chattering in the front rows of the audience. 

Or who might be tempted to look out at the audience through the centre-opening in the front curtain.

 



Somehow on opening night there was always a finished set for the latest production. The Merry Widow, The Pirates of Penzance, Guys and Dolls, Where's Charlie, Viva Mexico. 

Always. I would be handed a prop half an hour before the show was due to start and asked to paint it. It was not unusual for me to be painting on stage  as the orchestra started to play the overture and Joe would be saying,

"Clear the stage! Clear the stage!"

I always muddled through and I learnt something with every passing production. 

We rehearsed the scene changes. 

Like clockwork we performed magical tasks behind the scenes. Together with some freshly recruited stage hands we (dressed in black) set up for the next act in record time. 

Always quietly. 

And when the curtain was drawn back we listened expectantly for the minor gasps, and chatter of appreciation from the audience. 

I became familiar with the backstage vocabulary: flats, cut-outs, proscenium, french brace, legs, fly curtains, house lights, sight lines, stays  and cleats. It all had a charm that I devoured.

I was twenty one or twenty two years of age.

When we moved from Sligo to Monaghan to start my art teaching career the thing that I missed most was working with Joe on shows.

The excitement and magic of life backstage has stayed with me throughout my life. I have performed, done stage make up, directed shows and designed scenery many times.

Yesterday we laid you to rest in Sligo cemetery Joe. You carried your many gifts lightly. You exited the stage in the quiet way you had lived.

It all went off smoothly. 

No unnecessary drama. 

You would have approved. 

No fluffed lines. No missed cues. No props dropped !

The stage is bare now but I listen and hear the strains of Josef Locke singing out

"Goodbye"

 from 

The White Horse Inn. 



https://youtu.be/2JvUkzVFKmY?si=Y4g4VEZKghbq-bsO&t=41


 Joe and Mary at the launch of Eye Level in 1987 

I had my first public art exhibition in 1987 with Mary Quinn.

It was called Eye Level. 

We asked Joe, as a director of The Hawkswell Theatre to speak at the launch in the Emyvale Leisure Centre. He travelled from Sligo and of course he did a great opening for us.

I decided a few months ago to have my second Emyvale exhibition this year in the same venue over the May bank holiday weekend. 

It is titled: Ink & Imagination

It will be on view 4th. and 5th. May. 

I have fond memories of both Mary and Joe. 

The exhibition is dedicated to them both.

 

Monday, February 26, 2024

 

 

Evening Visit near Castle Leslie Estate


See above us a small but very brilliant moon, high in the sky, shining through the scattered clouds and onto the lake. It is a night sky, bright with stars and moonlight, a night sky that you only see in the countryside in Ireland.

 

 

The waves seen through the woods were all a ripple.

They glimmered.

And

Sparkled.

It was on such a night that I imagined as a child Joseph, Mary and the Infant Jesus fleeing to Egypt.                                               

Joseph had been warned in a dream that King Herod was intent on killing the child and so he took the baby and Mary to safety.

  

King Herod the Great killed all boys under the age of two in the hope that the new Messiah would be among them.                                         

It was a massacre of the innocent.

"A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted, because they are no more."  Matthew 2:18

 

It was chilly as we walked through an arched tunnel cut through the hedge. I observed a stand of tall trees like black-paper-cut-outs close by me.

The Scots pine trees are now maybe 30 metres in height.

They always give me a feeling of well being.

We had finished our meal in the comfortable old world ambience of The Hunting Lodge.

It was a pleasant two and a half hours in Conor's Bar. The milk chocolate glossy woodwork and warm, pale mustard painted walls complimented the exquisite food.

We were seated at a small, square glass-topped table. Beneath the glass on display was an arrangement of Victorian cutlery. We surmised about the handles...maybe ox horn, bovine bone, or stag antler....the larger pieces had inscribed and pierced detailing on the blade surfaces.

The silverware was of the big house era long before stainless steel flatware and later disposable plastic.....eating utensils.

 

Homeward bound.

A Palestine flag, on the border between the northern border towns of Emyvale and Aughnacloy, shuffles a little.

Uncomfortably. 

This was normally the domain of  two other conflicting flags.

I shuffle a little too.

Uncomfortably.

But helpless.

 

The Israeli military offensive against Rafah, Gaza's southern border town is imminent.

One million Palestinian refugees are sheltering in this area.

My great fear is that if Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyhu's troops mount a ground assault there will be no Joseph to lead the innocent to safety.

No Egypt.

Only border patrols....and high walls with razor wire.

No room at the inn.

No wise men.

No star to follow.

 

A voice will be heard in Rafah, weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeps for her children; as she refuses again to be consoled, because they are no more.

 See above us a small but very brilliant moon, high in the sky, shining through the scattered clouds above the city. It is a night sky, bright with stars and moonlight a night sky that you only see in Palestine.

                                 

 

Photos:

From top:

Castle Leslie grounds: Nelius Flynn

The Flight into Egypt: Vittore Carpucchi

The Rest on The Flight into Egypt: Rembrandt van Rijn

Massacre of The Innocent: Leon Cogniet 

Victorian Cutlery: Curious Atelier

A Full Moon Over Palestine:Tim Frank


 


 

 

 

 


 

Thursday, February 15, 2024

 

Honour Thy Father & Thy Mother

 

The third year student's rooms were above the chapel.

 

 

It was said that Fr. Finnegan had seen the devil there one night when he went in to pray. It was all over the college the next day.

It frightened us.

The wooden desks in our classroom had seen better days. Each one had a bit of history, of something, or someone inscribed on its surfaces. One of the first things I did whenever I sat at a new desk was read it.

We had come up to collect our school bags after playing soccer in the alleys.

 

There were older boys there doing some study. I wondered why they hadn't gone to study in their own classroom but I said nothing.

Class was done for the day.

We were in good form and I only caught the end of what one of the older lads said....

"....because of your appearance"

"What's wrong with my parents?"

Eyes burning

With a piercing rage.

Right fist raised.

Tethering on the brink of a white knuckled assault.

That muscled arm, strong and hand normally unused to any violent action was trembling fiercely.

Twitching.

Wired now for justice.

For the honour of his lovely parents.

I could see his urgent need to protect their integrity after this affront to their good name.

It overshadowed all consequences of what might unfold in the principal's office later.

"I said your appearance not your parents!"

My friend dissolved.

Embarrassed.

Shrunk.

The fight was gone from him.

He had not seen a trinity on that pedestal. 

 





Friday, February 9, 2024

 

 

Agus Anois, An Aimsir

 

 

In Ireland we love talking about the weather and observing it.

We even have more than twenty words or terms for rain:

 

Soft rain,

mizzle,

drizzle &

mist.

 

Showers.

 

Lashing, 

pelting &

torrential rain.



The Heavens opened, 

Cats & dogs !

There was a cloudburst, a downpour and it was coming down in 

Buckets !!


Met Éireann is Ireland's National Meteorological Service. It is a division of the Department of Housing, Local Government and Heritage. It is the leading provider of weather information and related services in the State.

I measure the daily rainfall in North Monaghan at 10:00 am every day for Met Eireann.

Even on Christmas Day.

I record the measurement on Form 714.

I get a stipend twice a year for my efforts. My rain cheque !

 

 

At the end of each month I send off the monthly rainfall information to Met Eireann's head office in Glasnevin, Dublin. 

 

 

My official job title is Rainfall Observer.

I have been doing it for 28 years.

In Ireland, like all countries with a temperate climate we have four seasons . Spring Summer, Autumn and Winter.

Sometimes we experience all four seasons in the same day.  

If you ask an Irish person the difference between Summer and Winter in Ireland they will probably tell you that in Summer the rain is a bit warmer !

The weather in Ireland is never boring.

Or predictable. 

Just like its people. 

It is 22nd. January......

There will be a full moon in four nights.

A storm started to blow about 5:00pm. It had been forecast and arrived promptly at the appointed time. Strong winds knocked down my garden fence and the village was dark.

The street lights were out first of course.

Heavy rain swept down and danced frantically around the back yard.

The Christmas tree I planted in the early 1980's seemed to struggle against the violent ebb and flow of the storm surges.

Then the house was without power.

Gradually the windows of surrounding houses were warmly lit by candlelight only.

 

 

There was no cold.

We walked down the garden path and looked at the black and grey clouds driving wildly and tumbling uncontrollably across the sky. 

Sometimes the Moon poured in through gaps and illuminated the garden.

It was eerily quiet though.

The only sensation was the power of the storm rising and falling and blowing through the Winter trees. 

 


A January  storm.

No electrical sounds.

The occasional light of passing cars on the street flitting past the front of the house.

 

And now the wind outside my window will be my lullaby.

It will have passed before I wake.

I will have some rain to measure at 10:00.

 

Teeming,

pouring

&

sheeting........

 


 

 

Sunday, January 28, 2024

 

Sweet Lemony Wax

 
It was a nice walk around Dublin City today. 
 
Surprisingly mild for the end of January

A very interesting place to visit is Sweny’s (pharmacy) in 1 Lincoln Place Dublin 2

It is mentioned in James Joyce’s Ulysses.
 
 Photo: Peter Chrisp

-Standing outside the church in Lotus Eaters, Bloom checks his watch and figures that he still has plenty of time before the funeral:
"How goes the time?
Quarter past. Time enough yet.
Better get that lotion made up. Where is this?
Ah yes, the last time. Sweny's in Lincoln place.
Walking southward along Westland row to its end, and crossing the perpendicular Lincoln Place, he enters Sweny's pharmacy under a façade that says "Chemist" and "Druggist-


This business closed in 2009, but the physical shop has been lovingly preserved and repurposed by Joycean volunteers.
 
Surprised to have found it so easily, we opened the two half doors and I put my head over the threshold and into the shop.
 

 
Half in, I heard someone reading some pages from Ulysses. 
 
The reader stopped. 
All present looked in our direction and beckoned us in.
We entered. 
Stood awkwardly in the crowded space.
Thought about leaving. 
Someone gestured and proffered cushioned seats behind one counter.
So nice. 
We were glad of them.
 
Deus nobis hæc otia fecit 
(Latin) a god has made these comforts for us.

And they handed us two copies of Ulysses and told us the page number they were reading aloud. 

We joined in and Noreen and myself read an excerpt too.
 
 
 
Bloomsday boaters in abundance.

The character of the shop has not changed since Leopold Bloom bought a bar of lemon soap there while on an errand for his wife Molly.
The errand: to buy his wife her favourite face cream.
 
 
"On Thursday, June 16, 1904, (Bloom) calls into Sweny Chemist Druggist, on Lincoln Place, to buy his wife Molly her favourite face cream. Drawn to the sweet wax smell, he buys a cake of Sweny's lemon soap:

"… and I'll take one of those soaps. How much are they?

"Fourpence, sir."

Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax…

He strolled out of the shop… the coolwrappered soap in his left hand."

 

 

Noreen's Lemon Soap

 
There are some prescriptions left unfilled in some of the many dark drawers behind you I was told.
I nodded. 
The place reminded me of my trinket cabinet in the studio back home.

Like Leopold Bloom, Noreen, bought a bar of lemon soap.
To take back to Chicago on Tuesday.
 
I brought home to my wife Mary too,
 
A small jar of her favourite face cream.
 
A sweet (but not lemony) floral fragrance. 
 



Nora Barnacle, James Joyce on their way to be married and Fred Monro, 1931
 
 
 

Saturday, January 6, 2024

                               

                   Half Moon Bay, Hazelwood, Sligo                      

                    

     I was driving along the winding road to the framer. 


It was at the turning of the year, not quite evening but getting atmospheric as the darkness was starting to settle over Armagh fields.

Quiet.

There was flooding and some tractor tracks in nearby fields were filled with water and reflected the sky. 

I am tuned in to trees, their black lines, trunks and branches in inky black. In the folder beside me is my completed pen drawing, in the style of Fumio Yamaguchi or some other Japanese print-maker. 

Its imperfections are what make it perfect to me.

I am happy.

A field of stubble reminds me of my visits to the off-shore islands of Ireland that I have visited.

On that fine first day on Rathlin Island I walked among long dappled grasses. 

I may even pluck the silver apples of the Moon and perhaps the golden apples of the Sun some time.

I, am not too old from wandering through hollow lands and the stony gray hills of Monaghan.

I pull into the framer's drive and the West Highland White Terrier walks towards me, as always.

I have been to Hazelwood many times and I have walked the sculpture trail near Half Moon Bay.
 
Half Moon Bay.
 
Sun days stealing golden red apples from the twisted trees at Lissadell in Autumn. 
Laughter and pride as my mother looks up at us,
Eternally.

William Butler Yeats had a fleeting mystical experience there near Half Moon Bay on the shore of Lough Gill.

A vision of a glimmering girl with apple blossom in her hair who called out his name. "William". 

And disappeared.

It is that type of place. 


The Song of Wandering Aengus

by

W.B.Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
 
My own experience by the shore there was far less descriptive but still clearly memorable to this day.
All around me everything glowed with an intense bright light.
Something like the lighting in an El Greco religious oil painting.
Shielding my eyes with my hands, I felt elation, maybe even rapture.
It was ethereal and passed in an instant.
The brief counter-emotion, of two weeks filled with ugly grief.
A turning point in that year.
A sign of a brighter future.
 
Maybe.
 

Mary just booked a trip for us to Washington DC in March.
 
Just now, as I finished writing that last  piece she said her brother Danny had just messaged her to say
that The Cherry Blossom Festival will take place the week we are there.
 

My glimmering girl..... with cherry blossom in her hair. 

 


Washington DC 2024

 

 
 

 





 

 

 




Monday, May 22, 2023

 

 How many Saints do you know who Wore Converse and Hipster Glasses?

 



"We choose to go to the moon."

I had forgotten the excitement  I felt about the Apollo Moon landing in 20th. July 1969. I was 11 years old. It was gripping even in 105 Doorly Park. I worried for the three men so far out in space if something went wrong. Michael Collins, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.

It all came back to me when I listened to 13 Minutes To The Moon, a wonderful BBC podcast  presented by Kevin Fong. All the skepticism about a staged moon landing in a film studio fell away completely as I listened to astronauts, technicians and flight controllers recounting their stories of the incredible moon landing.

John F. Kennedy had delivered on his promise at Rice University on September 12, 1962:

"We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard....."

And they came back safely. I was so relieved. Their tiny space capsule landed in the Pacific Ocean and the astronauts were taken away,  sprayed with disinfectant, and quarantined for two weeks. 

Such an adventure.

The greatest voyage of exploration ever undertaken by mankind. 

President Kennedy's goal had been achieved.

But he had not lived to watch it himself. The 35th president of the United States was assassinated at 12:30p.m.on November 22, 1963 in Dallas, Texas.



 Irish people everywhere were devastated.

 


JFK was an energetic, charismatic young president proud of his Irish ancestry. He was the epitome of the Irish emigrant success story. The fact that he was a great grandson of an emigrant from New Ross, County Wexford meant he really was seen as symbolizing Irish success in America. 

His good looks, charm and beautiful wife did him no harm either! 

His ascent to the pinnacle of US politics was an ‘Irish’ success story to be proud of and often his portrait could be found beside that of the Pope in Irish homes long after he had departed from the island.

Ireland had claimed him as their own.

His four day visit to Ireland was the best overseas trip of his presidency. This foreign head of state was greeted by nearly the entire population of the country as a son returning home in 1962.

I was just 5 years old and could not appreciate this emotive and poignant joyous visit.

Our neighbour in 104 Doorly Park, Kathleen Connolly sometimes brought me in to her sitting room to listen to Kennedy's speeches on long playing vinyl records. (LPs). 

I liked the album covers but the speeches were way over my head.

John F. Kennedy was the first person to be so jubilantly  received by the Irish people since the country seceding from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in 1922.

 

 

Some time later I cycling to the Allied Irish Bank building in Stephen Street, Sligo to see a display touring Ireland following the Apollo 11 moon walk. I might have been 12 years old and I am sure I must have still been in primary school.It was daunting for me to go in to a bank but I was on a mission of my own. 

There in a large, crystal clear, plastic globe was a piece of moon rock. It was grey, about the size of a walnut and mounted centrally on a narrow, vertical chrome plinth. I had a good look at it and examined it from all sides.

I was surprised by its ordinariness and in awe of its journey.

 

The Northside of Dublin has an extraordinary and almost forgotten  link with the Apollo space programme.

A different piece of moon rock  had been presented to Ireland. It was encased in a small, transparent plastic ball and mounted on a wooden plaque with the Ireland Tricolour attached. The Irish ‘goodwill’ Moon rock – which was collected by Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the historic first Apollo 11 mission – was kept on display in the Meridian room at Dunsink Observatory in Dublin.

 

 

But in the early hours of the morning on October 3, 1977, disaster struck when a suspected electrical fire broke out in the basement under the room.

The fire brigade arrived within 20 minutes of being alerted but the room along with other parts of the observatory was completely destroyed.

The precious rock was unknowingly taken along with the rest of the debris across the road to Dunsink tiphead and was never found.

A former NASA employee  Joseph Gutheinz, estimated the rock was worth $5 million.

There is now a virtual pot of gold under a dump in Finglas.

 


 

President Kennedy identified as Irish all his life.

 And he was Catholic. 

In Ireland Catholicism and Nationalism were intertwined. Ireland’s history as a Catholic nation dates back to the 5th. century.  Despite the best efforts of English monarchs to make Ireland take up the new British Protestant Faith the Irish clung to their religious beliefs, customs and practices. 

This was not only because of their faith but also because it became a symbol of their identity and a statement of of defiance to British imperial policy.

 

 

Ireland emerged from the 1916 Rising and War of Independence 1919-1922 as The Irish Free State.

It aimed to  to preserve the Irish language and promote Irish culture in a modern independent setting. However the new Irish Free State was financially bankrupt. It may have had the highest of ideals but the funds were not there to finance them.

 The Catholic Church stepped in and played a central role in the subsequent State-building project by providing schools, hospitals, and social services across the nation. This special relationship  between the Catholic Church and the Irish nationalist elites flowered and culminated in the visit of a second visitor to Irish soil. 

 

Pope John Paul II

1978 was the year of three popes.

 

 

 

Pope Paul V1 died on 6th. August.

He was succeeded by Pope John Paul 1 who we all were very fond of. He was the Smiling Pope but died after only being in office for 33 days. We were in Birmingham, England at the time of his death and were very sad to hear of his passing.

On October 16, 1978 white smoke rose from the Vatican chimney to proclaim to the world that a new Pope had been elected. The Polish cardinal Karol Wojtyła stepped out onto the papal balcony and spoke to the huge gathering in St. Peter's Square. He took the name of John Paul II which we thought was a great touch.

Mary and I got married the day before Halloween.

He was the first non-Italian Pope to be elected in four centuries. That was new. It piqued our interest straight away. As time passed we came to know John Paul II and there was something about this man that made him extraordinary.

He had a passion for the theatre as a teenager. As a priest he had enjoyed outdoor activities like kayaking and hiking. Sometimes he celebrated Mass on an overturned canoe. He travelled to more countries than any other pope. He helped bring communism to its knees. He was shot and lived to tell about it. He suffered a debilitating disease heroically. He inspired millions around the globe to pursue and live the teachings of  Jesus Christ.

He seemed ordinary, even approachable to me and I was very happy to have a Pope that I could relate to and be very proud of, for the first time. 

Yet, there is one more more achievement than can be added to his long list of incredible accomplishments: 

He was cool.

How many saints do you know who wore converse and hipster glasses?

 

 

 

 

 

 

In November 1978 I was appointed sexton of The Cathedral Church of St Mary the Virgin and St. John the Baptist, Sligo. 

Mary and I were the first  Roman Catholics  appointed to the post and our approval was rubber stamped at a Select Vestry committee meeting that we were asked to attend.

Looking back I am impressed the committee afforded us the opportunity. I had two more years of study to complete, we were both so young, inexperienced, with no income and a child, Jeremy.



We had the house rent free as payment for the duties of taking care of the cathedral, its grounds and the adjoining church hall.

Our coal and electricity bills were also paid. Our expenses were few. No car. No television. No phone. 

I was enjoying my final year as an art student in Sligo Regional Technical College.

The following year I had to do my teacher training year in the National College of Art and Design, Kildare Street, Dublin.

In the meantime we enjoyed the frequent visits of family and friends to our house in the town. We bought some furniture, made some furniture and decorated our first  home. It was  cosy and comfortable with a nice open fire in the living room.

 


Rev. Cecil Browne was Dean. We had a lovely warm relationship. In a fatherly way he guided me through my duties and trained me in the many roles I was to undertake. Every week and new event was like the turning of  a page in an exciting new  book and I am sure the Dean enjoyed my youthful enthusiasm.

I loved the house in 22 John Street and I enjoyed the day to day duties pertaining to being sexton.

I worked as a sign painter 



In the following months we opened and closed the church daily and cut the grass in the graveyard. Mary and our younger family members helped to polish the brass plates and altar railings with Duraglit. (Mary says it was Brasso and she is probably right).

They vacuumed everywhere and dusted everything. 

I became familiar with the names of the people in the congregation and enjoyed finding out about the Church of Ireland and the religious ceremonies in the cathedral every Sunday. I stood in the porch before each service, opened the door and greeted each person as they entered.

In my final year of study at Sligo RTC I  researched and wrote the History of St. John's Cathedral as my thesis. I ended it by saying that I hoped the hammer of the bell would soon be repaired so that its tintinnabulation would be heard throughout Sligo town and beyond.

After being broken for years it was repaired and I became the bell ringer every Sunday morning before the service.

I don't  know when it was announced that Pope John Paul II was going to make a three day Papal visit to Ireland  between Saturday, September 29 and Monday, October 1, 1979.

The country came alive with excitement and pride.

It would be the first visit of a Pope to Ireland.

Ever.

Not since a young president named John F. Kennedy in the summer of 1963 had visited Ireland was there a similar momentous occasion when the nation flew its brightest colors. And the Vatican flags would soon be seen everywhere.

Well maybe not in St. John's Cathedral.

We attended the Youth Mass in Ballybrit Racecourse in County Galway. We travelled at night by bus The weather was dry and all along the route, houses were festooned in yellow and white flowers,  bunting and banners. 

There was a palpable sense of heightened expectation in the air, nothing like I had experienced previously.

When he had disembarked at Dublin airport, the pope kissed the ground. It was a gesture that melted our hearts.

 

 

300,000 of us travelled from across the country to see this Polish pontiff who made us all feel our time had finally arrived. It was the first occasion in our  history  that we able to celebrate being free Irish people and proud to be Catholics.

We trekked along paths and fields until we arrived at our designated pens. It was dark but we could see we were so close to the huge platform where the Pope's Youth  Mass would be celebrated. 

We could not believe our luck.

Everyone wanted to be as close to Pope John Paul II as possible.





 

The wait for hours in the dark and cold was long but it was exciting to be out and about in the middle of the night among thousands arriving in the dark. We tried to sleep. As dawn broke and the Sun rose we realized we were at the very back of the altar.  But we were still happy enough, just to be there. 

He arrived in a red helicopter very close to our pen. 

The crowd were ecstatic.

Everyone cheered. 

Flags were waved  frantically. 

We could see him dressed in white waving to us. He was smiling as if he too was happy to see us.  


 


 

 

Nearly three million people turned out to welcome the pontiff at five venues: Dublin, Drogheda in Co. Louth, Galway, Limerick, and Knock in Co. Mayo.

But our Mass was special. 

"Young people of Ireland, I love you," turned out to be the most memorable line of his visit. When he uttered these words in his endearing English with a Polish accent we all cheered wildly and felt so valued. Afterwards he travelled throughout the congregation on the Pope-mobile and we all pressed closer.

It was a slow journey home.

The roads were backed up with traffic.

We were tired but it had been great.

I could not have been more happy. Even If Jesus himself had arrived in Ballybrit, and sang Whiskey in The Jar  with Thin Lizzy. 

It had been one of those moments in a life.

 

Why did Pope John Paul come to Ireland. For many reasons.

For years Monsignor John Magee was private secretary to three successive popes.

He was the son of a dairy farmer from just outside Newry and as a child he had helped his father herding their cattle.

He was the gatekeeper

Magee was at the heart of the Vatican and in a position of great influence in the papacy of Pope John Paul II.

He had the ear of the pope and probably was the person who planted the seed there to travel to the Island of Saints and Scholars. 

He decided who could and could not talk to the pope to a very great extent.

He was the doorkeeper.

 

 

The visit by Pope John Paul II to Ireland in September of 1979 marked the high point of 1,500 years of Catholicism in the Ireland. Afterwards the influence of the church in this country waned. It was  beset by scandal, failure of leadership, and loss of moral authority. 

I continued

as gatekeeper

and doorkeeper

in St. John's Cathedral

until

 November 1983.

One Sunday morning I had been chatting to Dean Browne in the Vestry before  Morning Prayer. The sun spilled in through the Gothic arched windows. It was going to be a nice day. The Dean became very animated and reached into his pocket and took out a small picture.

Smiling coyly he handed it to me.

"I thought you might like this," he said. " It was given to me by a friend of the Pope's secretary, Monsignor John Magee.

I looked down. It was a small picture of Pope John Paul II. 

How lovely, I thought. 

I turned it over and there written in the man's own hand was his signature in Latin,

 Totus Tuus (Totally Yours)

 Joannes Paulus PP II

9 - XI - 1978 (9th. November 1978)

 



No, it's not a print.

How ironic.

Who would have thought a young Catholic sexton be given Pope John Paul's signature in a Church of Ireland vestry by an Angiclan priest. 

The pontiff died on April 2, 2005. He was 84 years. He was beatified in St. Peter's Square on May 1, 2011, by Pope Benedict XVI, and canonized on April 27, 2014, by Pope Francis.

I am the very happy owner of a trinket of such

 a much loved Pope

 and...

The Coolest Saint Ever.