Back in the early 1900s my father walked barefoot to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve from his village to Dingle in Co. Kerry, a distance of seven miles.
My 13-year-old daughter this Christmas expects to finally get that fancy iPhone accessory she has wanted for a while. She adores Christmas.
Two different generations, connected through me, but the magic of Christmas holds in both cases.
I think my father got the better of it, though, and that is a reflection on modern times, where Christmas has become about cash machines ringing, not sleigh bells.
I mean how much more do we all need or want?
The simplicity of life back in rural West Kerry around 1915 was total. I don’t want to draw a sentimental veil over the hardships, but there is no doubt there was a neighborliness and companionship that has all but vanished in most places now.
Christmas brought the best of that spirit together.
As I write this I am listening to my father, dead since 1978. Like me he was a writer, except he wrote in the Irish language, something I have tried and failed to do.
He recalled, most vividly, on numerous radio programs the Kerry he grew up in long ago.
One of the greatest gifts I ever got was when I was presented with his radio talks from long ago from the Irish radio archives.
It happened when my brother, Fergus, a politician in Ireland, and I were on the same station this Easter talking about families and brotherhood.
So I turn on and tune in. At first when I listened, the sound of my father’s voice upset me as I had not heard it since 1978.
Did he really have such a distinctive Kerry accent? Yes he did, and when he spoke Irish it connected me in a profound way to all the generations who came before him who used it as their first tongue like he did.
Kilcooley, his village, seemed like an especially magical place at Christmas. Christmas Eve was when they would walk with shoes tied around their neck to the little church in Dingle.
They would never let the townies in Dingle see them without their shoes on, so they begged and borrowed a pair from neighbors or whoever to make sure they looked the part.
Often times he remembered it rained on that journey into town and they would arrive, bedraggled and drenched, but happy in their childhood and shared experience.
He described the visiting to the various neighbor’s houses around Christmas time when there were no distractions, neither radio or television, but just the old folks and the fairy and ghost stories and the talk of who was in America and when, if ever, they would return.
These days we talk about Facebook integration and the global community. What Facebook hopes to catch is what my father’s neighbors had all those decades ago, a tight knit, utterly integrated group of human beings whose lives were linked and interdependent.
“I Scath a cheile a maireann na daoine,” says the old Irish expression, which loosely translates, “In each other’s shadow the people live.” That was how it was in West Kerry long ago, never more evident than at Christmas time.
I suppose I straddle both worlds, remembering a time when there was no television and a neighborliness that has long since vanished in most parts.
As for my daughter, what will she tell her grandchildren? Santa Claus will still be around to charm them and to thrill, as will the feeling of warmth and appreciation that Christmas inevitably brings.
They never met, my daughter and father, but they have much in common, including a love of the spirit of Christmas, that surpasses all else.
I like to think that somewhere out there he will watch her unwrapping her presents, seeing the magic of Christmas once again rekindled in her eyes.
9 Comments
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Switch to the desktop site to post a comment.KerryLKing | Jan 07, 2013, 10:37 AM EST
Thank you Niall. Was so busy around Christmas that I'm just reading this now. I do wish I had read it sooner...over the holidays as it is so poignant. Lovely story. And yes, I agree it would be lovely if in some way we could recapture the simplicity of earlier days. One of my very favorite St.Patrick's Day was in Dingle. I specifically planned may stay for Dingle because, thru research, I knew that was where I wanted to be. But, everyone back home here in Orlando wondered why I made that choice over Dublin. I did because of the old traditions that still are alive there....and the wonderful church that I had the pleasure of sitting in that morning....probably the same church taht your lovely father sat in for Christmas siervice. Dingle is always one of my stops when I travel across the pond. So thank you Niall for that lovely story & for bringing back such wonderful memories for me also!!
johnshiel | Dec 26, 2012, 12:23 PM EST
Niall, good story and good to know a bit of your history... had no idea you came with a bit of a pedigree in wordsmithing... my brother just phoned an hour ago from Quin Abbey, saying he was in Dingle yesterday. Found Murphy's Pub open Christmas day, but they told him he'd not find a room anywhere in town. Maybe lots of folks back with family for Christmas, no? Maybe on Chritmas in Ireland there are no tourists, only locals and travellers...? (He stayed in Tralee.)
hillsofkerry | Dec 24, 2012, 07:22 PM EST
Imagine,if your father met your daughter at the age of 13 they would not understand each other.He would be a native Irish speaker and she a New Yorker..and she would turn to you and ask,why doesn't he understand me?
breffnyblue | Dec 24, 2012, 06:43 PM EST
Go maith-go han maith! --why someone would react to this calming piece of goodness with an s-in -ine meaningless comment about 'mental abuse' is pitiful - to have felt the magic of Christmas Eve in Ireland in the 40's and 50's is a lifelong treasure that remains vivid even now in the ebbing tide of memories.
Will Hamilton | Dec 24, 2012, 03:38 PM EST
It's true: the mental abuse inflicted on Ireland by a foreign religion from Rome is even longer lasting than the physical abuse. Dead people watching live people....
Will Hamilton | Dec 24, 2012, 12:47 PM EST
Yes, they did walk barefoot to save their boots, but I am surprised, even in the early years of the last century, that they were barefoot in winter. I am also surprised that they didn't go to Carraig church, instead of Dingle which is many miles away. I guess they wanted to have a look at the sights of the town at Christmas, and made an excuse of midnight Mass. The companionship is almost entirely gone, sadly. It pops up occasionally at times like Páidí Ó Sé's funeral, when the entire indigenous community, rather thin on the ground from generations of emigration, showed up to a man to direct traffic, help with parking, looking after everybody. I suppose most communication has become virtual now - so have a real happy Christmas and that you and your daughter have real fun to store up for years to come.......
handsome68 | Dec 24, 2012, 12:37 PM EST
Amazing how when strong emotion is involved, as evidenced in this piece of writing, words flow so clearly and give pleasure to the reader. The best I can say is that I wish I had written my own version of Irish, emigration, and Christmas, as well as did Mr. O'Dowd here.
Niall O'Dowd | Dec 24, 2012, 10:40 AM EST
Thanks Tom, and the same to you and yours
Niall O'Dowd | Dec 24, 2012, 10:21 AM EST
Niall, thank you for the Christmas story. Even though I no longer have much faith in the religion of my youth - and most of my adulthood - Christmas remains a special time and probably always will. Growing up in Ireland how could it be otherwise. Recently, my daughter, Tara, like your daughter, born and raised in the U.S. - and I climbed Croagh Patrick, as we have before. It was bitterly cold and so windy that we were almost blown off the mountain on the final stretch. I can't say that it was a religious experience but it was a spiritual one. Happy Christmas.