O Danny Boy

Today has been the second anniversary of the death of my Great (in every sense) Uncle Dan, my grandmother's brother. So to remember him I thought I'd spend a moment with a few reminiscences. Being the youngest of my grandmother's family of orphans whom she looked after from about the age of twelve, he was also the last to die, having lived through the others' deaths, with Uncle Paddy in Wales preceeding him just by a brief period. From the church school he imbibed a strong hatred of false religion, reacting against the piousness being beaten into him by the teacher. He served in the second world war in Burma and saw enough not to want to discuss it much, contrary to the cliché of the ever reminiscing survivor. He lived in Scotland for many years on his own, eventually returning home to the bossom of his two sisters as they saw out their latter days in each others company. Now he lies with one, a few plots away from the other, my grandmother. His brothers are in the lands they made their home, with their own descendents to mourn them. Though a batchelor, he was always a part of our family, and lived with us in his decling years. Though he had many problems towards the end, it was most likely as a result of the MRSA superbug caught in the hospital that he finally went.

My memory of him is of an incredibly active man who never went a day 'out of circulation', greatly aided as he was by the bikes he would salvage from the council yard, and, if necessary, restore. I think it was from him that I received my first bike this way. He would bring each of us boys fishing one at a time as a sort of rite of passage, and brought us in rods periodically, but his passion never took with any of us. There was never a day that he didn't pop in at least for a few minutes, normally bringing a wheaten or a Ballymena biscuit with him, or a few buns. He had a wicked sense of humour which delighted in riling one of us into exasperation while others felt sorry but laughed anyway. I remember the time he sent me to the butchers whenever we were staying together alone whenever I was a teenager, as the rest of the family were away on holiday together. With great seriousness he sent me there to ask for a chicken leg, but be sure to ask for a left one. Only with the spoken word and the inquiry of the butcher did I realise the set-up and experience the comedy and the exasperation. He was never happy unless there was one person to pick on, and towards the end it was always the one who had the duty of care. Cooking for him became an exercise in patience and a progress towards sainthood as he spotted things to talk about. He knew exactly how a steak should be cooked slowly in the oven, and holy moment if there was nothing found to say about it negatively. But with Dan it was less of a drama and more of a game. And now I know the importance of quality, and appreciating when something is just right.

He used to say that when he won the pools he'd buy a new statue of Mary for the Church in Harryville, even though he didn't attend it. He would say that religion has caused most of the bloodshed in the world, just looking at the wars. He had the rapier wit, and the habit of telling truth just like it is, a gift that children have but lose as they become older and more guarded. American comedies never reached a level of humour to satisfy him. And he liked to sing and especially liked the voice of Karen Carpenter. His array of navy songs were only for the kids whenever my mother had the kitchen door closed. Once he told us about the old women he was stuck with in the residential home towards the end, and of his predicament there. It was so funny the way he described it that we were all laughing, and he looked at me and said 'It's ok for you, I'm dying here', to which - God forgive me - I laughed, but I knew he understood how I meant it. Now his old room is mine, and his picture is in front of me. But he'll have his own back on me one day.