Opinion

Chris Donnelly: Hearing those who have walked life's path before us

Chris Donnelly

Chris Donnelly

Chris is a political commentator with a keen eye for sport. He is principal of a Belfast primary school.

The Belfast Blitz, when the Luftwaffe carried out bombing raids in April and May 1941, left more than 1,000 dead, 1,500 injured and up to 50,000 homes damaged
The Belfast Blitz, when the Luftwaffe carried out bombing raids in April and May 1941, left more than 1,000 dead, 1,500 injured and up to 50,000 homes damaged The Belfast Blitz, when the Luftwaffe carried out bombing raids in April and May 1941, left more than 1,000 dead, 1,500 injured and up to 50,000 homes damaged

I did not have the pleasure of knowing Mary Connolly personally.

She may have passed the four score and ten mark for years spent on this planet a while ago, but she clearly had no intention of slowing down, right up to the moment the Lord called her to his side just prior to Christmas.

Knowing several members of her extended family, I could appreciate the significant place this short yet formidable woman held in so many lives. Mary’s wake house, like St Michael’s Church, was packed with people eager to share their memories.

Mary’s schedule would have typically involved crochet, Irish and computer classes amongst other weekly appointments, and her multiple daily ventures up and down the Falls Road earned her the nickname ‘Queen of the Glider.’ A daily communicant, Mary was a classic Irish Catholic matriarchal figure, holding court and counsel on Saturdays in her youngest daughter Collette’s household, putting the world to rights.

At her funeral mass, Fr Ciaran Feeney spoke admirably of Mary’s zest for life.

Hardship would not have been a stranger to Mary, nor indeed to anyone enduring a life within touching distance of a century in duration. Mary’s life had begun soon after the turmoil of partition, and she lived through the harsh conditions of 1930s Belfast as well as World War II and the subsequent Troubles in the city. She passionately believed in Irish unity and prayed for its peaceful attainment every day.

My own father is a few months out from his ninetieth birthday, with a reservoir of life experiences and memories to call upon for those willing to lend an ear.

He has a clear recollection of the days leading up to the terrible Belfast Blitz of Easter 1941. On Good Friday, he had skipped out of the house to play at ‘Chalky rock’ on the edge of the mountain. He did not have much luck and, having failed to secure a holding whilst manouvering along the branches of a tree, unceremoniously fell to the ground. A head gash was bad enough, but it was soon apparent that he had also broken his arm as a result of the graceless fall.

He spent Easter Sunday in the Royal Victoria Hospital before being discharged the following day.

Belfast’s Easter eggs, forewarned by William Joyce (Lord Haw Haw) would soon arrive leaving a trail of death and destruction across the city.

At that time, my father was a young seven-year-old living with his family in their Andersonstown Park home.

Not being blessed with a great memory myself, I have always marvelled at how so many of my dad’s generation are capable of recalling with vivid clarity details from many decades ago. The Donnellys lived in 96, the Hanveys were in 98, Boomers at 100, Brocks in 102 and Fitsimmons all the way up in 118 (he can still recall most who lived at each house in between.)

When the bombing started on that fateful Easter Tuesday, the Hanveys rushed in to shelter in 96 with my father and his family.

Mrs Hanvey was quite religious - as indeed most were in those days in west Belfast. As the echoes from the bombs continued to pound the walls, inducing fear into the minds of those sheltering in the house, Mrs Hanvey’s determination to spread holy water throughout the room only intensified.

With every flick of the arm and release of the Lord’s healing and protective water, she would utter aloud the words, “Oh Jesus, spread your mantle over us!”

This became too much for my grandfather. The sense of panic and anxiety must have been difficult enough to cope with, but it was the fact he had only finished papering the living room walls barely a week before which pushed him over the edge. “For the love of God, woman. Stop soaking my walls!”

It was recorded at the time that Mrs Hanvey took umbrage at being publicly scolded in such a manner, but within a few days relations returned to their neighbourly best.

In the classic 1980s Catholic Boys movie, the school headmaster, Brother Thadeus (played by Donald Sutherland), implores his students to recognise that time is a ‘medium of exchange’ and should be used wisely. Then as now, it’s a call that understandably falls on deaf ears amongst a youth for whom life is still a blank canvas yet to be painted.

Resilience is due a revival in the modern world, its relegation exacerbating many other problems besetting society today. A capacity to endure, to bounce back is something that comes more naturally to those with a world view rounded by decades of life experiences, coloured by hardship and heartache.

In the pre-Covid period, it had become fashionable to organise intergenerational projects involving school children and the elderly. Alas, fear of the virus has put paid to these initiatives. In every sense, we are indebted to those who have walked life’s path before us. In their life stories are to be found the answers to many problems yet to be encountered on a personal level and for our society more generally. For the new year, we could do worse than resolve to ensure their voices are more regularly heard in all our lives.