The Long Day

I was ten and half years old when my father was killed crossing the road in England. This happened on a Friday night the 11^th of 12^th 1976. At the time it was not easy to get in touch with us as we had no phone or neither had the neighbours.

As a family we got up Saturday morning not knowing what had happened to our father. My mother and my sisters went to Tralee to a dancing feis. My Nan was looking after my brother and me.

Myself and my brother met up with two of our neighbours. They were brothers too. We headed off around the bogs and fields with our dogs hunting as we thought.

The news came back from England to the Garda barracks. The Sergeant knew our family and he knew my mothers first cousin quite well.

They headed off to look my mother in Tralee. But we were missing with our friends. As the afternoon was now here we were heading off home to do our jobs. When we were almost home we were passing one of our neighbours’ house laughing and joking like young fellows do.

The lady of the house appeared and said “Have ye any respect for the dead? Have ye any shame?” She had heard us laughing. We still did not know what she was on about.

Then it came “Yer father was killed in London last night.” I remember looking at my brother and he looking straight back at me. He was a year and half older than me.

We headed off home and our Nan told us the news we did not want to hear. We just headed off to do our jobs, which was to milk our Nan’s cows which was by hand. Our Nan joined us.

The three of us started milking in our buckets. None of the three of said anything to each other. But you could hear the three of us crying. I don’t remember the reaction of my mother or my sister at the time.

My next memories are of us heading off to Cork airport by mini bus to collect my father's remains. It was a long day. I sat in the back of the bus on my own thinking “This can’t be true, it has to be somebody else.”

I remember meeting my mother in Cork airport. She was with my aunties and their husbands. We got no time together as a family. As well as all these there was all the neighbours their as well.

So it was back on the bus again alone again with my thoughts. We stopped off in Macroom for something to eat. All I did was look at the coffin in the hearse. All I did was watch it all the way home, cry and think of my Dad. I was in my own little world.

We got back to our church. It was dark and cold. There was a crowd waiting outside it in the yard. As we got out of the bus, we were swarmed by people wanting to offer their sympathies. At the time they thought they were helping us but all they did was separate me from our Mum and brothers and sisters. But this is what I remember next was my headmaster pulling me in to him and cuddling me. I will always remember that kindness. It was the one good thing to happen to me on that long day.

The next day was OK because the Galway crowd, my Dad’s crowd, was there and I was their pet so I was well looked after those days. But nobody asked me was I OK until thirty years later and I was not.