Dear David,

ALL alone, I walked up the road on that sunny morning in June 1959. The butterflies increased in my tummy at every step.

Passing by O’Grady’s house, as I had so many times over the past eight years, I met Maggie. She was a lovely lady with a big smile. She wished me luck in my primary cert examination. I felt a little better for a moment or two, as my Mom and sisters had earlier wished me well, too.

Josephine and Eileen were sitting on the big cement flowerpots by the school door when I got there. We didn’t talk too much that morning, all three of us were so nervous.

We saw you coming over the hill. You were a tall man and to us seemed like a giant on his bicycle. Eileen joked you must be riding a high Nelly — we only managed a smile.

Opening the gate, you slowly walked up the path. You told us your name was David, shook hands with us and asked us our names. You told us we would be fine. Did you detect our anxiety? Bet you did.

Opening the red door of the school, we walked in. Closing the door behind us — that freaked me. That door was never closed in the summertime. Somehow I followed Eileen and Josephine into the classroom, and we were told to sit one to a desk.

David, you then gave us a pep talk. Told us not to be nervous — if we had worked on older test papers, then we knew the format, as they were all much the same.

English was first. We had an hour and 15 minutes to complete it. More panic – there was no clock in the room, and certainly no watch. David, you calmly told us not to worry. You would tell us 10 minutes before the time was up. I found that paper easy.

Then, we had a short break. We walked around the school a few times, and back to the exam hall again.

Maths was next and that was okay, too. You walked around the desks quietly looking at our endeavours. Oh, David, you must have been bored on that sunny June day.

Lunch time came. My lunch was tasty: Mom had made my favourite and I ate it with relish.

We didn’t play that day, but sat on the step of the turf shed talking. We didn’t hear you coming, David, until you were standing before us. You talked to us and asked us what our plans were. My God, this man is treating us like we were grown up. Nobody ever asked us of our plans before. David — you did.

I told you I was coming back and would be in 7 th class. Without asking me why, I told you. We had only two ladies bicycles at home and my two older sisters were in secondary school and using them. However, Anne was doing her leaving next year and then I would have that bike. You smiled and asked what age I was. Twelve, I told you. Smiling again, you said I would be a great help for teacher next year.

David, we were only in your company for a few hours, but you gave me confidence that stayed with me all of my life. I never again got nervous over exams or interviews. I remembered your advice: do your best and the rest will happen.

So many times I wanted to mail this letter to you — now it is too late. Maybe you will be aware of it, far across the great divide. Rest in peace, David.

Joan Patten, Castlebar, Co Mayo