"You couldn't make this up..."
Blackbeards Treasure
BLACKBEARD'S TREASURE
My father Myles was a stoic man. He got on with life, irrespective of whether he thought the activity was fair, noble or valid. Possessed of a 'suck it up' philosophy in all things, it was easier to move than give out about it, though you didn’t want to cross him.
A master carpenter at work and a master trout fly fisherman at play, precision was always the key: measurements, dimensions, drawings for the work in timber which paid the bills, and detailed diaries of weather conditions, the particular fly used, and the location and number of trout caught during relaxation time.
A sharp pain in his eye one evening brought him to his local GP the next day, who examined him and felt the need to refer him to the specialist at the local Eye, Ear and Throat Hospital, or, as we affectionately said as kids, “The Iron Throat Hospital”.
When the eye specialist examined him, he found a tumour and scheduled my father for near-immediate surgery. Two weeks later, my father had one of his eyes removed and was sent home complete with requisite Black Pirate Eye Patch. Within a few days, he went back to work as maintenance foreman at FH Thompson & Son on his trusty bicycle from the famous Mardyke in Cork, as he had done for many years.
Coming home from work one evening during the second week post-surgery, his GP spotted him on the street and called out, “Been peeking through the keyhole again Myles? Cold in the eye?” … and laughed.
My father stopped, dismounted the bicycle and said, “I lost the eye, Doctor!” and the GP replied, “Stop messing around, Myles! What happened?”
My father reiterated the situation, complete with detail on the specialist, the operation, and the false eye he had been given. The Doc went pale.
“J**** C***** Myles, I wasn’t told! What are you doing on the bike?”
“Going home for my tea,” said my father, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which, in truth, in his mind it was!
Life must go on. Adapt, endure and retain whatever semblance of normality you can – otherwise the situation wins, not you.
My father continued to work, cycle, drive and make magnificent pieces in timber, as well as go to his beloved Lough Guitane in Killarney, tie fishing flies, and catch many trout for a number of years to come. Nobody told him he was now disabled in some way or that he should give in to the situation, so he didn’t!
Bless you Myles - Solid.
I wrote the following for my father long after he passed, when I needed to repair a table he had made for us after we married and from which one of my kids had fallen by accident and broken a leg. As I worked on the piece, I strangely encountered all the elements of my father and my childhood, from aromas to shape, colour, grain and fortitude.
SOUL MUSIC
The soul of my father
Haunts this place,
In the grain of the wood,
I can see his face.
I remember him now,
As he worked his craft.
His hands were like magic,
As they finished each draft.
He shaped the wood
Into a hundred rare things,
As steady hands moved,
He made all tools sing.
In the smell of Mahogany,
Or Sandalwood or Teak,
Adventures began,
Tales of magic
And stories of mystique.
He knew each wood,
By its colour and hue,
He could recognise each one
By the grain running through.
If you close your eyes,
And breathe each smell,
Every piece has a story,
A history to tell.
The soul of my father
Haunts this place
I can’t see his body,
Or really his face,
But I say this, and always do,
I feel of his presence,
In the timber, nails
And glue.
Madame La Guillotine
MADAME LA GUILLOTINE
When you encounter serious illness or disability in any form, there is unbelievable pressure to accede to the convention and behave as others do without the benefit of discretion.
We all know that some individuals shout at deaf people, or slow their speech down to insulting levels, and we have all seen conversations taking place around older people as though they were not there. It takes a special person to swim against that tide, particularly if their loved one is the subject of that misguided approach.
When my mother, Bunny, took ill, we, her children, listened to what she told us. We tried hard to repeat what she had said to her doctors and professors and to emphasise our opinion that she wasn’t prone to exaggeration or embellishment. An unbearable pain in her chest was exactly that – no more or less deserving of the appropriate attention.
Doctors and nurses, by virtue of their profession, often feel the need to depersonalise and try to remain detached in their manner and behaviour. The line between professionalism and coldness is often thin. If there is a message in this tale, it is to respect the dignity of all patients and never to enter the realm of patronising or condescending behaviour.
When the eminent professor and his troop of devoted minions stopped at Bunny’s (public) bed, she instantly became the least important person in the assembly. The professor listened to the staff nurse’s briefing, glanced at the file, and without as much as a “How are you?” launched into his exalted opinion on her case, culminating in a series of questions to my mother in a clipped tone: “What is today’s date? What is the name of the Taoiseach? When is your birthday?”
Bunny answered each one calmly. When she had finished, she said to the professor: “I now have a question for you. What was the date of the Fall of the Bastille?” The professor spluttered and couldn't answer, to which Bunny promptly commented, “You need to be more careful Professor, or you might be the one for the chop.”
It’s not often you get to wrong foot the expert - and Bunny sucker punched him - but the lesson for us is that we should respect the individual at all times, even when it appears that mental capacity has been damaged or compromised. We should never assume that physical infirmity means mental infirmity. The brain is an incredible organ and deserving of huge respect. No doubt the Prof. made sure he knew Bastille Day for future reference. Hopefully he remembered Bunny well into his retirement.
Bless you Bunny. Legend.
The Tall Ships Miracle by Myles
THE TALL SHIPS MIRACLE
by Myles
My mother, Bunny, was a magnet. Think the Statue of Liberty. She attracted the poor, downtrodden and dispossessed. Even though she was surviving on very little while we were young, she always found time for, and something to give to, those less fortunate than herself. We grew up with “Jack the Beggarman” enjoying his soup in our house when we came home from school and John getting a “few bob” from her purse even though we all knew he had serious alcohol problems. She cared for her fellow man despite any faults. It was strangely ironic that her heart suffered while trying to lift a drunken homeless person into the recovery position early one morning near our home. She progressively deteriorated in the following years.
She was, however, incredibly alert throughout her life and practiced the noble art of “Metal Detecting by Eye”, or keeping your eyes open for money on the ground. You know the feeling ... you see it, you look around, you pick it up ... whoopee!!!! Notes, coins, cheques – no European or US currency was ever refused. And she was good at it, whether in full health or ill! Thankfully, and to her credit, her middle son has inherited her noble art and is always – even today – alert to a stray note or two. Fifty Euro in Eason’s on a Saturday morning with nobody claiming it is a great feeling!
When she took ill post-the episode above, she deteriorated quickly. Her heart was damaged so much she could not walk far without suffering a serious loss of breath. My sisters, Marie and Theresa, looked after her with incredible compassion and love. Though Bunny was not fully incapacitated, my sister Marie, her husband, Gregg, and their young children organised a wheelchair – including a wheelchair strap, an oxygen cylinder and a mask before they were really fashionable – to bring her to exciting places like the Quays in Cork during the Tall Ships visit.
As my sister and her husband wheeled her through the crowds to see the Tall Ships, my mother saw a €20 note on the ground in front. She promptly threw off her blanket, jumped out of the wheelchair, picked up the €20, waved it over her head and shouted, “It’s a miracle!!!”
Everybody nearby was shocked and delighted in equal measure. The kids were laughing, while my sister and her husband just wanted to find somewhere to hide!
Legend!!!
Bless you Bunny - Legend by Myles
"BLESS YOU BUNNY - LEGEND"
by Myles
My late mother, Bunny, looked after my late father with much compassion and love when he was diagnosed with a tumour behind his eye. And when he subsequently lost same very quickly - a major shock for a master carpenter who had great perception of detail - she needed to become carer, doctor and motivator very quickly and did so with confidence, love and aplomb.
Both, however, were from a generation where the wife was given the finances for the week by the husband and often needed to be imaginative and then even more imaginative to survive. She told us this story with much laughter.
Having needed quickly to learn how to remove the false eye, clean the socket thoroughly and then replace the eye in the correct manner (think a contact lens in the wrong position), going to their bedroom one night weeks after the operation, she found my father fast asleep and took the opportunity to attempt to relieve him of £5 from his wallet to augment the weekly finances, when he rolled over in the bed and looked straight at her.
She saw him staring and commented, "You've caught me red handed!" He didn't reply. And then she said, "Stop with the silent treatment; I needed the money to pay for..." Still no comment. Then she finally realised that he was still asleep and his eyelid had flicked open over his new false eye and he in fact hadn't seen anything. Having received such a fright, she told us that she promptly relieved him of a £10 note instead of the original £5 note planned. And he was never the wiser...
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