At the age of ten my best friend was Joe the auctioneer's son. He was a few years older than I was and I truly believed he knew everything. Joe had great charm and was always smiling -my mother nick-named him "Smiler". He taught me how to ride my pony bareback, where bird's nests were, how to catch minnows from our river in a jam jar and from whose garden we could steal pears and not get caught!
Pears were not the only thing I started to steal -I was stealing the hens eggs from our hen house and hiding them in the hay loft over the cows milking shed. When I'd collected enough I took them up the village to sell along with apples from our orchard and some stolen pears. I would buy sweets with the proceeds.
Harry, our gardener, had appalling language and I was learning it fast along with his Irish brogue which I loved to mimic. It was when I came out with an obscenity in front of my mother and great aunt Florence that something had to be done. My thieving of apples from our orchard had also been discovered and my parents became very concerned.
As a punishment I was grounded and forbidden to play with my friend Joe for the rest of my school holidays.
I became very lonely now and after my pony ride I would go and chat to Harry in the secret garden. I called it that because of the high stone walls that enclosed it and the little door that was always locked at night. It was a magical place to be. We grew all our own vegetables, raspberries and black and red currants. At the far end was the apple orchard and plum trees.
My holidays were coming to an end and school would be starting soon. I thought I would play a trick on Harry -unseen by him I crept into the garden to hide behind a tree. Harry was singing now -he was always singing, mostly "You are my sunshine". Soon there was silence. I peeped round the tree and Harry was no longer to be seen. I suddenly realised the wheelbarrow and tools were gone too, Harry had gone home. Worse -I was locked in. I shouted his name again and again -no response. The garden was so far away from the house I couldn't be heard there either. What would I do now? the walls were far too high to climb. It would be dark soon and tomorrow was Sunday, Harry would not be back until Monday morning. I started to panic, the tears streamed down my face. How would I keep warm if I was there overnight? Looking around I saw beside me the large rhubarb patch. Picking some leaves I spread them on the ground and sat down, then covered myself with 10 more to act as a blanket, it wasn't much use but might keep me dry if it started to rain. I lay down and tried in vain to sleep, then I though I heard footsteps -were they coming to find me? I shouted out -"I'm over here". The voice that answered was Joe's "What are you doing here?" I asked. "They're looking for you everywhere" he replied, "I guessed you might be here even though Harry said you weren't here when he left". "Your father came to my house to know if I'd seen you". Climbing over the wall, as only he could, he raced up to the house to tell my family. Search parties were called off and the Garda were informed. Joe was now a hero and reinstated as my friend for the last week of the holidays. My dad even gave us permission to pick and sell the windfall apples. We never did -the fun had gone out of it now!
Later in life Joe became a clergyman in the church of Ireland. While working as a chaplain in the mission to seamen in Belfast his youngest son Stephen was tragically killed aged 14 on what because known as "Bloody Friday" in 1972. Shortly after this Joe helped to launch a trust which was named "Witness For Peace". To promote this he went on hunger strike in Belfast and Dublin. In 1975 Joe went to work in Vancouver as Senior Chaplin in "The Mission to Seamen" there, where he now lives in retirement with his wife Dorothy.

Daphney Flannery
Read on RTE radio 1, Sunday Miscellany 9th July 2006