Fr Kevin: A Wicklow man for 40 years
HE MAY HAVE BEEN BORN IN DUBLIN BUT, AS REPORTER DAVID MEDCALF DISCOVERED, FATHER KEVIN LYON HAS BEEN VERY HAPPY LEADING HIS PRIESTLY LIFE IN THE COUNTY NEXT DOOR, WHERE HE HAS BEEN SAYING MASS FOR THE PAST 40 YEARS
HE MAY have been born a northside Dubliner but Kevin Lyon – the Very Reverend Kevin Lyon – has long been happy in Wicklow. Born in 1932 and ordained in 1957, he has spent most of his working life in the west of the county which is now home to him.
He rejoices in the title Venerable Archdeacon of Glendalough and the celebrations to mark his 60 years in the Roman Cahtholic priesthood were very much a Wicklow occasion.
Father Kevin is that rare thing, a man still happily working in his eighties, with no immediate thought of retirement.
He celebrates Mass daily at the compact church in Crosschapel a short stroll from the presbytery where he lives, and he continues to pay a full part in the life of Blessington parish.
Along the way, he has had assignments in Rathnew, Avoca, Donard and Dunlavin before winding up in Blessington 30 years ago.
Aside from his religious duties, he has also carved out a reputation for himself as a talented photographer, illustrating the magnificent countryside of his adopted county.
He has an eye too for smaller details so that framed images he has created from tree rings, water droplets or the innards of flowers decorate the sitting room of the presbytery.
Small and smiling, he entertains callers amidst the jumble of a single man residing in a big old house, with these startlingly beautiful pictures winking out from the walls.
Kevin Lyon was born in Clontarf and went to the local national school with the Holy Faith sisters before transferring to the Central Model School in the centre of Dublin.
His mother was a teacher on the staff there and most of the pupils were drawn from the often poverty-stricken families of the immediate neighbourhood. There was no guarantee that all of Kevin’s class mates would have the luxury shoes to put on their feet.
His introduction to secondary education was at the O’Connell School in North Richmond Street where the Christian Brothers presided over daily thrashings.
He had the misfortune to fall out with Brother Beausang who taught music, with particular emphasis on learning Latin songs by rote.
The efforts by 12 year old Lyon to avoid singing classes led to his being removed from the school altogether.
The family scraped together the money to send him instead to the more genteel surroundings of Clongowes College at Clane in County Kildare.
Father Kevin is old enough to remember how the Second World War spilled over into neutral Ireland.
The sight of homes on the North Strand ripped apart by German bombs remains engraved in his memory, the wallpaper exposed to public view.
But the move to Clongowes allowed him concentrate on his studies, achieving modest results in his Leaving Certificate exams. It was time to make a decision and he decided to enter the priesthood.
Asked why, the best he can do is recall a walk with his civil servant father which took them past Clonliffe College. The glimpse of the seminary somehow planted the seed. ‘I said I would give it a try,’ he says simply. ‘No dove perched on my shoulder giving me the voice of the divine.’
Looking back, he sees that lay job openings were scarce in the late forties and early fifties. He had shown some interest in chemistry as a lad, nearly blowing himself up with a batch of homemade gunpowder. But there were no obvious career opportunities. Two sisters emigrated.
He penned a letter to Clonliffe and was promptly invited for an interview, soon embarking on a seven-year course. The first three of the seven were spent at UCD studying philosophy and Irish on the university’s campus in Earlsfort Terrace. During his time as a seminarian, he was very much aware of the Archbishop of Dublin, John Charles McQuaid. Hindsight has not always been kind to the leading Irish prelate of the day but Kevin’s
verdict is generally kind:
‘A small man with a great sense of his own presence who spoke in low voice. He was decent guy with a good deal of compassion in him.’
After UCD came four years in the seminary, mixed with placements in city schools at the likes of Rutland Street and Watling Street, talking religion with the children.
Eventually, he and his 24 classmates were ordained by Archbishop McQuaid – it was May 25, 1957. The Clontarf man reckons that 13 of the 25 are now deceased and that he is one of three who are still active in priestly ministry.
He is happy in his work but realises that he is retained in service mainly because no replacements are coming through.
All of Dublin now has perhaps two young men preparing for the priesthood: ‘ the statistics are really shocking’. He harks back to his first assignment as Father Lyon, dispatched to the far southern end of the archdiocese.
He found digs in Wicklow Town and cycled to work in Rathnew as chaplain to the convent there with the Sisters of Christian Education.
An early start was required in order to celebrate Mass in the convent chapel each morning at 7 a.m. When winter arrived, he graduated to a Puch motor-scooter and must have presented a fine sight to the girls of the convent school.
The pupils played lacrosse but when the curate showed an interest in the sport and expressed a desire to watch a game, he was informed that this was not considered appropriate.
His first posting in County Wicklow did not last much more than a year before he was recalled to the big smoke.
He had stints as chaplain to a tuberculosis hospital and then as a humble, and poorly paid, ‘reader’ in Artane parish.
It was 1963 before he was handed his first full curacy, notice of which arrived in the form of a handwritten letter penned in John Charles’s wonderful script.
HE was to make his way back across the county border to Avoca where parish priest Patrick O’Sullivan had four churches under his command.
The new man was given charge of Ballycoog just as the wind of Vatican II change was beginning to blow.
Father Kevin welcomed the fact that priest turned to face the congregation, while Latin was discarded as the regular language of the liturgy.
He said: ‘Talking to God in Latin was like talking to God in a telephone booth – there was a barrier there.’
After one near-death experience falling off the Puch, he took advantage of a diocesan directive which allowed him purchase a car to assist him in carrying out parish duties.
He paid £350 for that first Mini Minor – close to €450 – and spent eight years driving around his parish in the hills above Arklow.
Though his tastes were more towards classical music he achieved a measure of fame in Ballycoog as a disc jockey – he laughs at the good of it.
The young people of the area wanted a youth club and they wanted a disco in Ballycoog Hall, so he discarded his dog collar, donned a natty red gansey and spun the discs.
The DJing came to a halt with a recall to Dublin in 1971 as curate in Rathgar, but he made no secret to the authorities of a desire to make Wicklow his place of work.
His wish was granted in 1977 when he transferred to Donard at the foot of Lugnaquilla: ‘ They could not have picked anywhere more rural for me.’
The ‘Late Late Show’ had dimmed the requirement for Friday night discos, leaving Father Kevin to his Beethoven and Mozart, but he once more found himself in the limelight rurunning the annual Deer Fair.
In 1987, seniority dictated ththat he was ready for promotion to parish priest rank, stepping in to take over in Dunlavin as Father Brian Mary Byrne was critically ill with motor neurone disease.
He remained resident in Donard (his housekeeper Frances McLaughlin refused to move) until the Blessington appointment in 1994.
And he has been there ever since, parish priest until 2005 and now curate a mile or two out of town.
He appreciates the often cosmopolitan feel of a place which has its share of Polish and Filipino worshippers but laments the fact that so many parents no longer lead their families to Mass.
Pessimism, however, is not part of his nature: ‘I don’t fear for the future of the church,’ insists the 85-year-old. ‘Pope Francis is lovely. There is something very special about him.’
He continues in the front line with no pressure on him to retire while he retains his mind and his mobility, very happy where he is: ‘For the last 40 years, I have been a Wicklow man.’