Welcome Your Majesty, Mr President - A Week In Irish History

I vividly remember that showery afternoon in June 1963 when President John F. Kennedy's cavalcade slowly drove past me as I stood waving with my mother at the front of the crowd in Westmoreland Street, Dublin. With me soon to become a twelve year old, politics certainly did not enter into the equation. No, the sole purpose of accompanying my mother was to view at close quarters the President of America no less. My newly acquired female hormones were by then sufficiently developed to recognise that this man was one truly gorgeous hunk. Also, he was the first person I'd ever seen with a tan! For weeks afterwards I probably bored the socks off all and sundry with my recounting of the day's events.

Fast forward now to May 2011 when the events that took place over the course of one week will enter into the history books for our grandchildren and great-grandchildren to learn how Ireland was so proud to welcome its first British Monarch in one hundred years and the 44th President of the United States.

First we had the visit of Queen Elizabeth II who genuinely seemed to enjoy her stay. (I too joined the throngs to see her emerge from Trinity College). We have yet to fully absorb the positive outcome for our two nations of her visit. The image of the Queen of England laying a wreath at the Garden of Remembrance, our memorial garden dedicated to the memory of the Irish men who gave their lives in the cause of Irish freedom then standing, head bowed, during the one minute silence will forever be etched in the Irish psyche.

Her visit to Croke Park, headquarters of the Gaelic Athletic Association and the site where on Sunday 21st. November 1920 innocent civilians attending a Dublin-Tipperary gaelic football match were massacred by British troops, was hugely symbolic. That barbaric event became known as "Bloody Sunday".

Later that evening during the state dinner in Dublin Castle which UK Prime Minister, David Cameron also attended Her Majesty delivered the speech that no one of my generation thought we would ever hear in our lifetime. Her opening line "A Uachtarain, agus a chairde" ("President and friends") both shocked and delighted dinner guests and television viewers alike, never in our wildest dreams did we expect to hear a greeting in our native tongue from the Head of the British Monarchy.

Half way through the speech came the words we'd been waiting to hear for so long "...to all those who have suffered as a consequence of our troubled past I extend my sincere thoughts and deep sympathy...". The Queen doesn't do "sorry" but this came bloody close and as my heart embraced those words I sensed a huge collective letting go of the painful history between our nations. My immediate words were "that's it" just like the jubilant football fan whose team has just scored the winning goal. I resisted the urge to stand and cheer. Perhaps now it is our turn to also apologise. One sentence has become the balm with which to begin the healing process.

Still high on the eurphoric wave from the Queen's speech it was with an almighty bang that we were brought back down to earth the following morning with the very sad news that our much loved statesman, philosopher, journalist and politician, serving twice as Taoiseach between 1981-1987, Garret FitzGerald had died. I was so happy to hear that in the twenty four hours before his passing he was very much aware of the Queen's historic visit to Ireland.

No sooner had the Queen's plane taken off when President Barack Obama's Air Force One landed!

We pretty much knew this would not be a State visit but rather a day of sheer entertainment and we were not disappointed. The President and his beautiful wife, Michelle began their day with a visit to Aras an Uachtarain where they met our own wonderful President Mary McAleese then planted a tree with her in the grounds. (The previous week a tree planting ceremony took place with the Queen, her eighty five years in no way impeding her ability to shovel the little mound of clay).

Early afternoon saw the Obamas head off to Moneygall, the small village in County Offaly where the President visited his ancestral home which his great-great-great grandfather left one hundred and fifty years ago to seek prosperity in the United States. There in Ollie Hayes's pub in Main Street, Moneygall, Barack and Michelle knocked back the Guinness, a pint for him, a half glass for herself. They were certainly in good spirits when they arrived back in College Green, Dublin.

I was there, one of forty thousand I believe. Like the song says, half a million strong, well... not quite, just felt like it! After our great actors, Gabriel Byrne, Stephen Rea and Brendan Gleeson, introduced by our newest brilliant young actress, Saoirse Ronan, whipped us into a patriotic frenzy with their powerful speeches we were then well on our way to all-out celebrity adoration.

Music from Imelda May, Jedward and Westlife to name but a few boomed throughout the length and breath of College Green and Dame Street, causing the odd rooftop pigeon to peer down and pace in an agitated state at the goings on of us humans. Then the moment Ireland and the remaining world had been waiting for, arrived. With his usual upbeat humour our good friend, TV presenter and radio broadcaster, Ryan Tubridy introduced our Taoiseach, Enda Kenny, the President and First Lady onto the stage and as they say, the rest is history, Irish history.

The speeches will be remembered and I personally don't mind that Enda used the first forty words of President Obama's victory speech, I believe him when he said it was a "tribute" to the President. The remainder of his speech was equally fiery and had the crowds cheering their socks off! Good man Enda!

During this very difficult economic period when there are moments when we feel where is this all going to end or during times when there is a sense that we've maybe gone down one time too many, will we ever rise from the ashes? Draw strength from a President's parting words, "Is feider linn" - "Yes we can". They've worked well for him so far.

President J.F. Kennedy Dublin visit image: http://declancashin.com
The Queen with President Mary McAleese image: www.telegraph.co.uk
Dr. Garret FitzGerald image: www.thejournal.ie
President Obama & Michelle in Moneygall image: www.thisisoxfordshire.co.uk
President Obama speech, College Green, Dublin image: www.thestate.com

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A Royal Wedding - William and Catherine

Those smiles say it all...this newly married couple truly love each other. The reason I didn't choose the "kiss" photo was firstly because it was the world's media main Royal Wedding portrait and secondly, I thought the first kiss was performed purely for the cameras though I have to say that the second kiss, much longer in duration, was definitely a stolen private moment. No, mainly it was because, as a soppy romantic, I wanted to show an unstaged real moment of tenderness between them. I think the above image portrays just that.

I was a toddler at the time of Queen Elizabeth's coronation in 1953 so, too young to remember it. What I clearly remember with great fondness are the black and white photographs of the wedding of Princess Margaret to Anthony Armstrong-Jones in 1960 and one particular one of the Queen looking tenderly at Prince Charles lying, I think, in his moses basket. I would have been browsing through those in my mother's magazines at the time probably Woman's Own or Woman's Weekly, I remember the latter had loads of knitting patterns. That definitely was the beginning of my lifelong fascination with all things Royal!

Now, back to more recent times and I suppose to where it all began for William with the marriage of his parents, Princess Diana, then of course, Lady Diana and Prince Charles. I sometimes wish that Charles could have married Camilla instead of Diana but then the boy Princes would never have been born. Everything happens for a reason, I guess.

We all remember the joy we felt when William was born then when a little over two years later he was joined by his brother, Harry we could barely contain our delight! There is no questioning the love these two boys received from their parents but it's those images of the young Princes with their mother where clearly they are enjoying her company and she's showing such affection towards them that will always remain dear to us.

All I hope for William and Catherine, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge as they are now known for the time being is that they are above all blessed with health and happiness and later the joy of children, everything else will follow.

Top image: www.telegraph.co.uk
Bottom image: www.lahore.metblogs.com

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Untold Stories

For the past few weeks I've been browsing through some storylines which I began writing in the early 1990s. Back then my doodling was confined to handwriting in a refill pad!.

The reason I'm mentioning these is because I'm strongly thinking of completing each story with the view to one day seeing them either, in print in Eason's window (Ireland's leading bookstore) or perhaps one or two of them becoming the storyline for a short film.

I plan to post snippets here from each story and hopefully get feedback as to whether it has the potential to evolve into an exciting project. Beginning to feel excited already!

The above photo of me taken last June in Allihies, West Cork reminds me of that beautiful summer of almost constant warm sunshine and the sounds of the birds and bees along the bohreen hedgegrows. Me being ever optimistic of course is living in hope of repeat weather conditions this year!.

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Song For The Innocents

Next month will mark the thirty seventh anniversary of the Dublin and Monaghan Bombings. Like all moments in history that mark death, whether it be expected or untimely, or as in this case the callous, barbaric murder of thirty three innocent men, women and children (twenty six people in Dublin, seven in Monaghan) May 17, 2011 will not only be a painful reminder for us not directly affected (although my friend was injured and had to have immediate surgery on her hand), but for the people who lost loved ones on that dark day, it will undoubtedly only serve to reopen the wounds that have in most cases never healed.

I was so shocked and distraught following that horror that one week later on Sunday morning, May 26, I wrote these words in my bedsit in Rathmines which would become my protest song against the use of killing machines of any kind.

Living Will Go On

(i)

They say that life's for living

We must live it every day.

Don't talk of hate for others

Be careful what you say.

For love is all around us

Share it each and everyone

Then when we love together

Living will go on.

(ii)

I met an old man yesterday

We walked beside a stream.

He told me how he longed to smile

How freedom was his dream.

So if we walk beside this man

Well, things they can't go wrong.

We'll all join hands together

And living will go on.

(iii)

Child of war lay down your gun

What right have you to kill?

You can't win what you're fighting for

You know you never will.

So forget about destruction

'Cause wars just can't be won,

Together let's try to find lost peace

Then living will go on.

© Ann Brien 2011

Image: Me in 1971.

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The Summerhouse

The summers of my childhood hold wonderful memories of Sunday afternoons when my mother and father would take me to visit uncles Bill and John in Lucan, a picturesque village about twelve miles outside Dublin.

The highlight of those trips was entering the house they lived in. It was a single storey, possibly thatched roof, creepy cottage set deep in a field surrounded by trees that shrouded the house like menacing tentacles. The main room with its open fireplace had one of those large wooden benches with the backs you see in period films but what I remember most about that room was the total lack of natural light mainly because the window was tiny. What more than made up for it though was the warm glow from the turf fire where black iron cooking pots hung from a black iron rail.

Outside the house was the huge field which had a gate lodge at its entrance. I got to know its occupants simply because they had a baby and of course wherever there was a baby to be held I was there.

Shortly before I'd leave uncle Bill would take me for a walk along a pathway behind the house which led to an old summerhouse. Uncle John, his brother, because of his poor eyesight would remain in the cottage for the duration smoking his pipe and chatting with my parents.

I keep promising myself to return there some day but I think what's preventing me from going is the fear that the strange little cottage, which incidentally reminds me of the little house in the Hansel and Gretal fairy tale, may have been demolished to make way for a housing estate. I sincerely hope I'm wrong.

In order to preserve my memory of those lovely times I've put together a few words of dedication to both the summerhouse and my long departed uncles. May they rest in peace.


The Summerhouse

Along the winding path we'd stroll
William pointing out a pretty flower here and there,
I'd ask its name, he'd tell, but the passing years have stolen its label.

This sanctuary with its soft earthy footing,
Framed on either side by trees with arms entwined like fragile ballerinas,
Fed the hunger of my fledgling imagination.
The gurgling unhurried weir sauntering alongside our footsteps,
The cooing wood pigeons pledging love across the treetops,
Both these sounds created for me a world momentarily devoid of suffering.

At the end of that magical pathway stood the summerhouse;
Its round frame enveloping me in its paint-flaked wooden arms
I'd dance, round and round, my own arms outstretched
Touching the vertical bars until I was dizzy, dizzy, dizzy!
Exhausted, I'd stretch along its circular seat amidst the bird feathers
And dead leaves from winters long past.

Outside, William, or Uncle Bill as he was to me, would wait with
Job's patience for my emergence.
Then, hand in hand, we'd make our way back to the little house
Between the trees.

© Ann Brien 2011


Gazebo image via: www.scenicreflections.com
Hansel and Gretal image via: wikipedia

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Stepping Out With My Baby!

Yesterday as hubby and I were walking along the lovely country road to Ballydonegan Beach we came across these guys. At first they were quite a distance away but when I called to them they came over, thinking they were going to be fed. I couldn't disappoint them so as the only edibles I had on my person was a package of crisps (they'll be my downfall!) I squashed a handful and threw it into them. Like all chucks when food appears they dived in like hooligans! Had great fun watching them.

Tomorrow we're heading back to Dublin for a few days so probably won't get around to much tweeting or blogging. See you soon, stay safe.

Cheers!

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Words In Progress......

This evening I took my scribbling pad, pen, meditation cushion, bath towel, cosy blanket, cup of herbal tea, mobile phone and a few drops of creative juice outside to see what words might form themselves on the page.

Earlier, despite the constant biting wind, the sun had great warmth in it during the moments when there was stillness. By now the skies had begun to darken somewhat, pale grey clouds slowly inching their way in from the sea, I was not deterred.

I seated myself on my meditation cushion, my back supported by the fence over which I'd draped a bath towel to shelter me from the cold wind, around my legs I wrapped my cosy blanket, drank my herbal (fennel) tea, positioned my scribbling pad on my knee, took my pen in hand (left as it happens!) and let my creative juices flow, later I used my mobile phone to snap the above image.

The resulting words "The Work Room" are still at their embryonic stage, not yet ready to be born.

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