LETTERS SERIES

Dear Dad,

IWONDER if you can remember Christmas Eve, 1954. You bought the Christmas tree in the Coal Quay, and it transformed our living room. You placed it in a wooden butter box, which you decorated with red and green crepe paper.

The tree was adorned with baubles, tinsel and snowflakes, but most of all I remember the sparkling fairy lights, which you bought from Mr McCormick in Burwoods. Twenty-one lights, all different, and I remember each one of them… the snowman, the angel, the snow-covered house, the purple pine cone, the reindeer, the snowflake ball and, of course, a jolly Santa.

The smells of Christmas were in the air… pine cones, spiced beef, ham... and fresh paint. New lino was in the hallway — colourful to the eye but cold to the touch of little bare feet.

We had mince pies and plum pudding, baked by Mum and Thompson’s cakes with exotic names like Madeira and Dundee! We had a tin of USA biscuits, which Mum had already opened in advance of the big day, served with hot milky tea.

Santa’s glass of lemonade and Rudolph’s carrot were near the fireplace; my brother’s letter was on the mantelpiece. I had written it for him; I hoped Santa could read my writing. Alongside his letter was a card from my godfather, Uncle George, from Scarsdale, New York. I gave you the two dollars he sent me to mind.

A red, green and gold paperchain decked the ceiling, and inside the front door was a holly bough decorated with red berries, brown pine cones, and a golden bell.

In the distance I heard carol singers sing that loveliest of all carols, Silent Night, Shandon Bells rang out at 11; everything was just perfect.

Mummy came into the room and lifted me up to light the Christmas candle. My sister put the baby Jesus in the crib.

You came in crooning White Christmas and said I was a great boy. Your old grey jumper was spattered with UNO paint; you always had a bit of painting to do on Christmas Eve.

We talked about Santa, how kind he was. I marvelled at how he did it all! Tomorrow I might be Roy Rogers, or an engineer building bridges with my Meccano set, or best of all… a train driver! Mummy reminded me, as always, that Santa might have a problem fulfilling every child’s wish that Christmas.

I climbed on to your knee, and you nuzzled your stubbly chin against my cheek and we both laughed. Mum stood there smiling at us. The lights flickered on the Christmas tree. I couldn’t have been happier; that was the best Christmas ever.

Sometimes I wish I could step inside the shoes of that little boy, just for one time, to see again the sights, smell again the scents, hear the sounds and feel the feelings... to be that little boy again and to tell you and Mum you were the best parents for me.

Greg Butler Douglas, Cork

Dear Shane,

FOR years I carried around guilt; guilt that I now realise should be yours not mine. What have I got to feel guilty about? I was 17, a child, naive, lost. You a city slicker in your twenties. Still young, I admit, but you took advantage, I see that now.

You walked away, didn’t blink an eye. “I have a girlfriend,” was your response. Pathetic. I did the right thing. I took responsibility. I raised my baby while you got on with your life. Did you ever stop to think the impact your words or actions had? How I coped as a young girl bringing a baby in to the world? Well I did, with incredible family support. It was hard; a small town, the whispers and taunts I endured. I wish I could say it was just teenagers but there were adults too. People can be cruel. Soon enough my baby was born and only a mother can ever tell you what it feels like to love this little person so deeply and profoundly. I was smitten. My little man kept me busy — never wanting for anything except a father. An affectionate little rogue with a personality to be admired, he brought joy wherever he went. Years went by, milestones, school sport days, football and rugby games. I know it hurt that it was only mum on the sidelines clapping and encouraging him but he didn’t show it; he inherited my strength. Now 20 years old, how proud I am. A warm-hearted, handsome young man stands before me, a talented sportsman, in college, working parttime, enjoying life and still bringing joy to the lives around him.

I hope life has been good to you. I wish you no ill, but my parting words to you are ‘Shame on you, your loss’. Name and address with Editor

Dear Son,

IAM writing to you to tell you how much I miss you every day, especially at Christmas time, since you left us five years ago. You were born in the 1970s and suffered severe brain injuries at birth which left you unable to sit up, stand, walk, talk or use your hands all your life. Intelligence wise you were perfect and very clever. You mastered how to operate a speech device, computer and electric wheelchair which was a great achievement. We got on with life and tried to live on the Green Platform.

You had some difficult times as well with many admissions to hospital and major operations. I stayed with you then. The days were long.

It was great when you joined the Irish Wheelchair Association, and you enjoyed many holidays and outings and made good friends. At times we watched Prime Time when disability issues were being debated. At that time you used to ask me how you would cope when I was unable to care for you. This was a daily worry for me. I would tell you with the advancement of modern science that hopefully you would be able to look after yourself in the future.

Five years ago you became unwell and were diagnosed with cancer. You were admitted to hospital and the news was not good. We did not tell you that there was no cure. We stayed with you the whole time. You asked me if you were going to die. I could not tell you the truth. I said we must be positive and pray. You died on a Monday morning when we were all there. We were heartbroken and still are. I think of you every day. I miss you so much. You were my life. We will meet again.

Your loving mother. Name and address with Editor

Dear Granny,

YOU passed away when I was seven. My last memory is of my Holy Communion Day when we went to the zoo, and you bit the end off my cone and I was so terrified the ice cream would drip on my dress. I was not impressed. That was 1979 and you died soon after.

I am very lucky in that I am the only one of my cousins who knew all our grandparents. My Nana (my mam’s mam) has dementia, but I have learnt much from her. I do think even in absentia I have learnt much from you. I have such great memories — you brought me to get bunting when the Pope came; you took me out of school to buy me fur-lined boots (hence my Louboutin love); you read every day (hence my Eason’s reward card is full!); you wrote a short story about Nelson’s Pillar — I write (and have been published).

However, what you don’t know is I have a pendant of yours. My Dad gave it to me, and I have no idea if it is of any value. It is a watch one side and a picture the other, and I wear it a lot. I imagine you wearing it as a young girl going for interviews when you first moved to Dublin from Kells. So I wear it when I do the same. I don’t know this for sure, but it gives me a nice and special feeling — and to date some luck.

I also want to thank you for something — my Mam married my Dad (one of four boys) in 1970, and she always said you made her feel like the daughter she never had. As her own parents emigrated, she loved the motherly touch you gave her. So Granny, I wish I knew you more! Until we meet again. My love Aileen Aileen Canning, Waterville, Dublin 15

Happy Christmas Mum and Dad,

MUM you left this world 30 years ago at a young age, and Dad you joined Mum 28 years later... you always spoke of the day you would meet Mum again... you dedicated those 28 years to hard work and your family. I hope you are both enjoying life and reaping the rewards you both so richly deserve.

You were amazing parents to a large family and instilled in us core values which are so important now in the world we live in.

Mum, in your short life you were so selfless and put everyone first... you were involved in so much local community and charity work. Where did you find the time for it all?

We had such a happy home because of you. You welcomed neighbours and friends in our home and there are great memories of a home full of laughter.

I believe you are my guardian angel and gave me the strength to cope this year which was so tough and most challenging. Thank you, Mum. Miss you and Dad so much and think of you both all the time. Name and address with Editor

Dear Uncle Michael,

IDON’T think you ever realised how much happiness you gave to eight children every Christmas. We made very little money in the 1940s and 1950s. Your letter and money was very much needed every Christmas week. We waited for the letter to arrive, watching the postman. You never let us down. My mother would head off to town for the tin of biscuits and the bottle of Rosa (Raspberry) from Kyles. Thank you again for making eight children so happy at Christmas.

From Helen, one of the eight children (now in my seventies). Helen Harding, Douglas Road, Cork

Dear Nana and Granda H,

AS I decorate my Christmas tree with fairy lights and baubles, I can’t help but reminisce on the Christmases of my childhood and how you both had such a huge influence on them.

As you both well know, me and my six siblings grew up on an isolated rural West of Ireland farm, in the foothills of the Slieve Aughty Mountains, which were covered in beautiful forestry.

Mom moved here from her home in a prosperous midlands town — Dad’s brother died tragically in London so he inherited the farm. You, Nana and Granda H know all of this already but I want to set the scene for the readers of this wonderful paper. You must have missed Mom so much, as she was your only daughter in a family of four. I guess moving to the West from the midlands town was a huge move back then.

“She really must have loved your father a great deal to move to such an isolated area, and she a townie,” a smarttongued neighbour once remarked to me.

Well Nana and Granda H, you know the Christmases of my childhood were simple, happy ones. What I don’t think you realised as you lived in a big town was that electricity did not arrive in our area until the early 1970s. Thus we had a very natural Christmas. We got our Christmas tree in the back yard, dragged it in and placed it in a bucket of stones, and decorated it with tinsel and baubles. We put coloured paperchains across the kitchen ceiling criss-cross all meeting at the mantel in the centre. On Christmas Eve Granny prepared the long red candle, placed it in a turnip wrapped in shiny paper at the centre of the table. This was lit on Christmas Eve.

We children hung up our socks at the end of the bed and hoped for the best. Before going to bed we were given a treat of diluted blackcurrant and a slice of currant cake with treacle in it made by our country granny.

It was magical as was our pre-Christmas trip to see you, Nana and Granda H, in the big town in the midlands.

Every Christmas week, as you well know, before the festivities got under way Mum and Dad would pack us into the Cortina and head to your ‘urban world’. Dad got all the jobs done on the farm and Mam organised food and baking for Granny and Granddad at home. She then organised all of us, which included packing bags, bottles, nappies and whatever else was needed for our ‘magical’ overnight stay with you Nana and Granda H in the big town in the midlands. At that time this was a huge excursion.

This was the most magical time of all, that I have ever imagined before or since. As you will know it took most of the day to get there, and it was always dark when we arrived and you always told us Nana H that Granda H was all day waiting for our arrival.

The drive through the town in the dark added to the magical atmosphere, as the long, narrow streets were all lit up and a huge outdoor crib was placed outside the church, with a big red bulb shining down on it. The only thing we couldn’t see was the starry sky of the countryside.

Oh my God, I could feel my heart rising in my chest — we were nearly there. I couldn’t wait to see you Nana and Grand H! This was a moment in time I will never forget.

Dad pulls up outside, we all jump out of the car and run up the steps to the front door. I can still see vividly the coloured fairy lights through the partially stained glass door sparkling and twinkling on the Christmas tree. We banged on the knocker and it was like knocking on heaven’s door.

When you opened the door to us Nana H into your dimly lit hallway, with the fairy lights twinkling and winking, it was like walking into heaven (or what I perceived it to be).

I can still see your beautiful face glowing with happiness at seeing all your grandchildren and your loving daughter and her husband. You hugged every one of us and I feel my eyes filling up with tears just as they did back then.

I was so happy at that moment in time, that I cried every time! You gave each one of us our very own present, wrapped with our name on it and oh how special I felt. This was the best, Nana H.

You Granda H, you were always in the background, tidying up after us and making sure everything was just right for us. You warned us of the dangers of switching the light switches on and off incessantly and constantly charging up and down the stairs — our home was a bungalow with no light switches. Granda H you will never know the thrill and the magic we got from that. No theme park or funfair ever replaced the fun. Granda H, I want to apologise now for all the worry and distress we gave you and for the mess we left after us. I’m sure you let out a big sigh when we left!

So back to my decorating, and I now switch on the lights on my tree and again, my mind goes back to that moment in time, a week before the festivities began and I find myself in your magical home, Nana and Granda H.

Here’s wishing you both a wonderful magical Christmas in heaven. Love, Anna PS: Sorry I didn’t write sooner. Anna Casey Donohue, Gort, Co Galway