Eamonn O’Neal

WE’VE often talked at family gatherings about the different attitudes between generations, particularly when it comes to skeletons in the closet.

I think generally, if there were some intrigue we would be keen to tell the tale to our kids and friends.

But my mum’s generation thought differently.

If there was a scandal knocking about somewhere in the background, it would be hushed up, or at least never spoken of. For years when I was growing up, I presumed my maternal grandmother was dead.

She was never mentioned, and obviously we never saw her. Then, at a funeral of an aunt, we spotted the name of someone else already in the grave. it was my grandmother, who was indeed dead.

But according to the date on the gravestone, she had only been dead around five years.

Neither my mum nor her sister Aunty Betty, even after a tongueloosening glass of sherry, would ever explain the background to that mystery.

Their prerogative I know, but it has left us desperate for information.

So my mixed-metaphor message to you is for the sake of family folklore, wash your dirty skeletons in public.