All the new first year students were gathered in the cafeteria of Summerhill College. We were with Father Greene who was checking to see if everyone was present on our first day. He called out each name and the corresponding student replied "Here" or "Here Father". Some of the smart town boys said "Anseo!" louder than necessary and there would be a ripple of giggling across the hall. Some boys had a middle name of Mary and this provoked a wave of laughter which Father Greene subdued with a cross "Quiet" and an impatient gesture with his hands. He gradually was working his way through the long list of over one hundred students when the name "Cornelius, Gerard, Anthony, Flynn" was called out. Laughter followed and whisperings, mimicking the strange name. I was timid but I probably smiled or laughed myself. No one said "Here" or "Anseo". Father Greene repeated the name again. Louder this time and impatient. Flynn. Gerard, my baptismal name, Anthony, the name I chose for Confirmation but the first name was wrong. The laughing continued. Father Greene got more impatient. I said "Here". Father Greene brought order to the hall. I had a name that I never heard before and I was not even sure it was me.
I was named after my father's father,Cornelius Flynn(Con) who was a builder in Tralee, County Kerry. He had two sons, Jeremiah(Jerry) my father and Bartholemew(Bertie). My father passed away on 4th. July 1975 at the age of fifty two. He was cheerful, loved and respected by everyone he ever met. Mary and I named our first son Jeremy William after him, and after his other Granddad, Bill Kelly.
"It's dark and dreary outside this evening but very warm", Mary tells me.
"It was 23 degrees earlier" I reply.
When I was sixteen I went with my sister Ann to stay with my sister Kathleen and her husband Brendan in Handsworth, Birmingham, England. It was the Summer of 1975 and I worked in a small machine tool workshop where the machines were operated by a kindly group of women. The tool machines they operated cut and shaped rigid sheet metal into various forms. My job was to take away the waste material for recycling. I liked the work and the pay was good. No one had telephones in our street at home in Sligo. I would write occasionally or call the public telephone in Doorly Park at a prearranged time. My mother would be there to take the call and relay my news back to those at home. I remember my father never came to the phone but wrote to me and it was a great novelty for me to receive a letter from him. The letter was warm, enquiring, funny in places and kept me up to date with all the happenings in the house. I still remember some of the contents after so many years.
The library door opens. "Tea?" Mary puts the cup down beside me with two biscuits and a square of dark chocolate. Beside the cup is a little Schleich plastic pony that I bought today for my lovely, first grandson, Fergus. I know that he will carry it around, as his prized possession for at least a day and not let it out of his sight for more than a few seconds.
Some toys like letters take on great significance with the passing of time.
My sister Kathleen died of breast cancer eleven years ago. She had remarried and in the intervening years since her death I had more or less lost contact with her husband, David. Last month he visited Sligo to re-establish contact with my mother and brothers and sisters. We travelled from Emyvale and met in my sister Ann's house. It was a very pleasant reunion and the years since Kathleen's funeral melted away. We chatted, visited my mother and he said he would be back for a second visit in a few weeks. He was true to his word. Ann texted me to say he was home and that he had a letter for me. The letter was the one my father had sent to me forty three years ago in England. Kathleen had kept it under her pillow throughout her illness with a couple of other sentimental items. The following day I saw the envelope on her mantelpiece in front of an old colour photograph of the family I had taken on a blue bench down beside the Garavogue River. As I lifted my letter there was my Daddy, sitting on the end, smiling out at me.
"Well, well, well," Mary announces, "I was down in Centra and John Loughran has just told me that he has been asked to paint and tidy up the house next door by Darren Mc Kenna"
The Mc Kenna house has been unoccupied for a good number of years and is very dilapidated.
"That's great news." I say.
On 29th. June last our daughter Cathriona and her husband Graham were blessed with a beautiful little boy. It was about six in the evening and Mary and I were sitting in a cafe in Dublin waiting, anxiously for news from the Rotunda Hospital. My phone rang. It had been a long labour but my girl was able to announce that we had a new grandson. News of babies is great news, the best of all news. We rushed over as quickly as we could to meet Reuben Jeremiah Harper. He is a beautiful, quiet baby with very fine features.
"I hope you don't mind us using the name Jeremiah" Cathriona says. We wanted to keep it in the family in memory of your Dad and Jeremy."
"Of course not," I said. "I was hoping you would."
It's perfect.
Mary calls from the hall.
"Cathriona, Graham and Reuben are coming down to visit tomorrow!"
His first visit to Emyvale. I can't wait to take him for his walk down the garden.
Mary's phone pings.
I went back to Summerhill College. This time as the substitute art teacher. I loved my time there. Fr Greene, now Principal of the school was still there.He often dropped in to visit me in the classroom, always smiling and genuinely happy that I was getting on so well.We became good friends and I still remember him fondly. He gave me a lovely reference when I left. He also personally recommended me to the Principal of St. Macartan's, the school where I spent the rest of my career.
I find the last lines of my father's letter heart-warming and funny.
"Best wishes to everyone. Take care. Best love from
Daddy
PS. Mammy is back from the phone. She could not hear you very well and all the terrace heard Mammy trying to make herself heard to you."
Fergus' little pony has his head tilted coyly towards Addad.
Reuben is coming on his holidays tomorrow.
Life is good.
