Greetings, father. I’m at a loss for words. You were always so full of vitality. Time seemed not to touch you. The last time we met, you were still vibrant. Despite your ageing knees, your recent cataract surgery, or your increasingly frequent afternoon naps near the television, you were so youthful. Even though I knew you were 89, and no one is immortal, when you stood up from your chair, you were inseparable from a young bloke. It was as if you were a young man, surprised to find himself in the body of an aged man. This makes your departure all the more unexpected. I am taken aback, dad. I was under the impression we would have been given some kind of warning.
However, you have met the ending you desired. You have always expressed your wish to pass away peacefully, just like turning off a light switch. Quick and painless. You never wanted to be a burden to us. You always reminded us not to grieve after your passing. According to you, there was nothing to be worried about. You would be content to be reunited with your mother and grandmother, at the Rock, where you can see the pub you grew up in, in Ballydine. You requested us to watch over a bird soaring over the Rock, claiming it would be you. And I promise, dad, I surely will.
Your story begins in a different time, an era very different from ours. At the time of your birth, your parents, Mary Crummy and Dick Gough were not wedded, although they did marry later on. This resulted in your mother travelling to England for your birth. However, she was not one of those unmarried Irish mothers who had to part from their child, she was different. She held onto you because she loved you and wanted you. Your gratitude towards her for this was immense as you were aware your life could have veered onto a completely different path.
I still remember the day I saw you the angriest, after watching the movie, Philomena. It tells the tale of a child separated from his mother by nuns. You related deeply as you knew it could’ve been your own story. The children depicted in the film were, to you, your spiritual siblings. But the knowledge that you were desired and loved provided you with a rock solid base on which you built your life.
Once the Second World War commenced, he was removed from Walton-on-the-Naze, a target of bombing, and relocated to his grandmother’s pub in Ballydine. This didn’t bother him, as he had been promised a pony. His father, also an England resident, handed his dad a saddle at the train station, where he was reunited with his mum. His mum had a permanently bent arm due to a childhood fracture poorly set in a cast. She skillfully used her stiff arm to carry the saddle, with her son on it, all the way back to Ireland.
From that moment, he essentially became his own caretaker. His grandma and aunt, engrossed in pub operations, paid him little mind, providing the opportunity for him to grow independently, a rarity in those days – and still is.
He thrived under these circumstances. Upon reaching ten, he made it a habit to roam the meadows and visit every home in the parish for a good old natter. The hospitable folks would kindly offer him a cuppa, a scone or a piece of cake. He’d promptly accept, never giving away the number of offerings he’d already indulged in that day. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
At the age of eighteen, he ventured off to Belfast, enlisting in the RAF, and requested an overseas assignment. His only specification was the destination be as distant as possible. It was no offence to Tipperary, but he had a keen desire to explore the world, with a greater emphasis on the ‘world’.
His journey took him across the Suez Canal, and he landed in Singapore aboard a ship. Three fulfilling years were spent at Changi Airport as a fireman, tasked with, in his words, “scraping flyboys off the runway”. I firmly believe those years abroad carved him into one of the most accepting, unbiased individuals I’ve ever encountered. He had a knack for seeing the best in people, accepting them as they truly were, free from labels, colours, religions or any such trivial elements.
In England, he pursued a career as a fireman at Heathrow Airport. It was here that he encountered Betty Grogan, a young nursing professional, originally from the Southern region of Tipperary. Their love story began at the Gresham Ballroom in Highgate, which led to marriage, a bond they cherished and maintained for an astonishing six decades. Their overwhelming mutual affection was evident, so much so that they decided to expand their family with the birth of Desmond and I.
In 1973, a job opportunity as Second County Fire Officer for North Riding Tipperary, prompted him to move back to Tipperary along with his budding family. His dedication towards his job over the next twenty years helped reform the Irish Fire Service making it more contemporary, beginning with the direct command of seven stations. He inherited a quite rudimentary Cloughjordan Fire Station, composed of a wheelbarrow, a few buckets and reels of hose, all kept in a small red shed barely reaching his chin, albeit with a ladder that didn’t fit inside.
He, along with his cohort of fire officers were trained in advanced fire fighting methodologies at the British Fire Service College located at Moreton-in-Marsh in England. Acknowledging the deficiencies in Ireland regarding a dedicated fire training centre, he along with few of his peers established one themselves. They molded many, who in turn molded the present exceptional league of Irish firefighters. A testament to their phenomenal work was the honourable escort of his body by these firefighters to the church today, standing guard, and later to his final resting place at the Rock. The sight would have filled him with joy – a sentiment echoed by me and the rest of the family, bearing gratefulness for their gesture.
This individual has been responsible for countless saved lives, yet has also borne witness to a great many losses. As the operational officer, his duties included responding to every tragic incident in North Tipperary, producing reports for each one. Regardless of the nature of the calamity – fires, car accidents, or drownings – he was always at the forefront, which meant his exposure to death was sevenfold compared to an average firefighter’s. In spite of such bleak duties, his vivacity was unquestionable; he was perhaps the most ebullient person I’ve ever known. His cheerfulness was regularly punctuated with his distinct ‘special dinner’ prepared by Mum when he came home, seemingly unscathed. It wasn’t until years later that we understood these special dinners were his coping mechanism following fatal incidents, particularly when children were involved. He was unable to stomach the scent of any cooked meat during such times.
His exuberance and unquenchable zest for life was justified. He truly cherished every moment of his life. His interests ranged from fishing to swimming, hockey to golfing, woodworking, sculpting, and taxidermy. Not simply content being part of the Nenagh Players, he poured his creativity into crafting sets and props and other facets of stagecraft. His energetic charisma was present even while singing in the choir.
Despite his proud alcohol abstinence, reflected in the golden Pioneer pin he treasured, he was fond of spending time in a lively pub. Accompanying him anywhere was a test of endurance, as he was acquainted with everyone and would spend extra minutes chatting with folks and perusing shops. A journey of a hundred yards could stretch up to thirty minutes.
In many ways, he resembled Father Christmas. Over the years, he had played the jovial role for multiple associations, including the Suaimhneas Cancer Support Centre in Nenagh, where he and Mum came as Mr. and Mrs. Claus for VIPs who were uncertain of their future Christmases.
Attempting to encapsulate such a diverse character succinctly would be an injustice. He was irreplaceably loving and kind. His unique warmth was matchless, so was his distinct humour and kindness. He indeed was an embodiment of boundless kindness.
He stood as a remarkable spouse to Betty and served as a stellar patriarch to both Desmond and I. As a grandfather, he was exceptional to Sophie and Arlo, besides being a fantastic companion to all of you, to a multitude of us. He was my initial, my finest, and my most long-standing companion. His absence will be felt immensely. Farewell Father, my love for you is eternal. May you slumber in tranquillity. You’ve outdone yourself.