Dear Little One,

WHAT a buzz we had the morning you were born. I met your dad, running in a panic up the driveway of Terenure Garda Station. He had been trapped in the usual gridlock on his way from your home in Tallaght.

“Quick, quick, guard, my wife is having a baby,” he shouted. There was a pleading in his voice that sent every nerve in my brain racing.

“OK, slot in behind and I’ll give you an escort to the Coombe,” I replied coolly, not showing any outward display of panic. “We were supposed to go to Holles Street,” he said. In this traffic the National Maternity Hospital in the south inner city would be impossible to reach, even with the benefit of the Garda lights and siren.

“The Coombe it is,” I said uncompromisingly. “I don’t think we’ll make it,” he replied.

This was turning into an emergency. Decision time. I was joined by my partner John, who looked on bemusedly.

I opened the door of your dad’s big beautiful Wolseley motor.

Your mum was lying across the back seat. “My waters have broken,” she announced plaintively.

That didn’t mean much to an innocent young country boy, but it sounded serious.

“Do you think we could make the Coombe?” I said uncertainly. “It’s too late,” she said, clearly in no mood for debate. I swept the two of you up into my arms and headed for the doctor’s room in the station. I passed Tim, my sergeant, in a flurry. “She’s having a baby,” I shouted. “Call Dr Percy.” Patricia, our female Garda, joined us. Your mam was the calmest of us all, and talked us through what we had to do.

“Is this your first baby?” I asked. “No, my fifth,” she said, cool as a breeze.

That was a relief to us. John realised the significance of that.

You arrived very quickly and let out a beautiful baby sound.

“Give the baby to me, guard,” she requested. You were placed on her chest.

“What should we be doing with the umbilical cord?” I queried. “It will be fine until the doctor comes,” she said. Your mum only had eyes for you. “It’s a girl,’ she announced, looking pleased.

It had all happened so quickly we had forgotten your dad who was patiently waiting outside. I went out to him. “What is it?” he said. “It’s a girl, go on in.” Dr Percy arrived shortly afterwards and you went off in an ambulance with your mum to Holles Street, escorted by Tony on the Garda bike, like the VIP you were.

We shared that brief special moment in your life — your birth. I never saw you again, don’t even know your name.

I hope your life, your mam’s and your dad’s, panned out well for you all. Perhaps you are even a mum yourself now. You never left our thoughts. With all our love, From Unit C, Terenure Garda Station, 1980-85. Fergus O’Brien, Detective Sergeant, Wicklow Garda Station