|
I can remember many things, including some things I would rather forget. Most of our memory bank is of good things though. I can remember the smell of Cow Parsley and lilac. I can remember my mother as a lively young woman, and my father as an active, fit, young man. I can remember that Mrs. Wogan from the flat downstairs gave me two shillings when I made my First Communion. I remember walking up the Malahide Rd. in my newly whitened runners to the children's Mass in Marino church on sunny summer Sunday mornings. I remember the kindness and dedication of Brother Keville who taught me for three years in Primary and Secondary school. I remember the panel who interviewed me for a job in the Air Corps, how friendly the atmosphere was, and how delighted I was when the letter arrived later to tell me that I had been accepted as an apprentice technician into the Air Corps. I remember the day I joined the Corps, a warm sunny day in august 1957, me and my fellow recruits on the cusp of manhood. I remember my first pay day, signing the payroll, and being handed two pounds seven shillings and sixpence. Not much even then, but two pounds seven and six more than I had ever earned before. I remember my first guard duty in Baldonnel, the first time I had ever stayed up all night. The night sky at three am was stunning, the star filled sky throbbed with light, and I got a pain in my neck trying to look up and balance my tin helmet on my head at the same time. Brendan Kennelly the poet asks "What is memory but cutting through smoke". We hear at the Tribunals that there are people in this country who were given fortunes, fortunes, and who cannot remember getting them, or who gave them to them, or what they did with them, or how they ended up in foreign bank accounts. For some, obviously, the smoke is much thicker than for others. CLIVE GERAGHTY. |