Growing up in Finglas was tough. We were called ‘scavengers’ at the dump

As I sit here in my chalet, as I do most evenings, sometimes having a cup of tae or other times a beer, on the top of a press, right in my eyeline, there is a black-and-white photograph of Tom and Winnie and me, as a baby. This photograph was captured in 1966 in Manchester. Tom and Winnie, like many others, emigrated to England in search and hope for a better life. Tom got odd jobs as a labourer on building sites. Ironically enough, these odd jobs were provided by English construction companies rather than Irish-owned companies.

Tom and Winnie got homesick and missed their extended family, and returned to Ireland in 1967 and lived in Mullingar for a short period of time. They moved again and put down roots in Finglas – at least, that’s what they did from a nomad’s perspective, from which boundaries or borders often aren’t recognised. These are “settled” constructs.

Growing up in the 1970s in Finglas was tough. There was a lot of poverty, and many families struggled to put food on the table. But there was always a great sense of solidarity and community, with people watching out for one another. People used to share food, whether it was bread, spuds or butter. We supplemented our social welfare payments by working for farmers in north Co Dublin and parts of Meath. This often involved picking spuds, and I remember as a 10- or 11-year-old being out in a spud field on a cold, frosty morning at 6.30am. You would try to get as close to the tractor as possible to get some warmth from the engine into your hands.

Tom never went to a school a day in his life. He could never read or write. In fact, he couldn’t even tell the time. Yet, he was a very smart man

Obviously, we didn’t realise at the time that we were inhaling toxic fumes from the exhaust. By today’s standards, it would be described as child labour, but we had little option. Another source of income was the local dump in Dunsink. This was a lifeline for every family in the area. We used to collect scrap iron, clothes and other bits and pieces you would sell in the market. It was society’s waste, but for us the dump represented an opportunity for survival.

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We were often referred to as “scavengers”, a derogatory term, but by today’s standards perhaps what we were doing would simply be called recycling. So, the circular economy is by no means a new concept. The common thread here is family. The mother, the father, the children – all had a role to play in working together to generate an income that would allow us to live some semblance of a dignified life.

Tom never went to school a day in his life. He could never read or write. In fact, he couldn’t even tell the time. Yet, he was a very smart man. Despite relying on alcohol for a period of time, he still knew how to survive and make a living, often buying and selling at markets and door-to-door. I learned a lot from him. He was a great mentor.

Back in the 1970s, when segregated education was the norm, she fought the system and insisted that myself and my brother Michael would be enrolled in a mainstream school

As was the norm in those days, Winnie was responsible for rearing myself and my three siblings, ensuring that we were cared for, fed, and attended school. Winnie was and is the centre of our family life. I don’t think we could function without her. The reader will notice that I don’t refer to daddy or mommy, it’s always been Tom and Winnie. I don’t understand why, it just is that way – not everything can or should be explained.

While Tom has passed, Winnie has ensured we have remained a close-knit family. And yet, it might seem strange to some that we don’t exchange Christmas cards, birthday presents, hugs, or tell one another that we love each other. But I believe that our deep bond does not need reaffirming through gifts or other gestures.

Winnie didn’t have an easy life – she was seriously injured in two car crashes. Since the first crash in 1974, Winnie had some physical impairments and chronic pain. Despite this, she has always put the needs of her children and grandchildren before her own. This is a testament to her character and kindness, and the importance of family that is innate to Winnie. For the last 13 weeks, Winnie has been in hospital and has undergone an operation. Her absence on the site is felt by all and there is a huge void that cannot be filled until her return.

Winnie was also political, without even realising it. Back in the 1970s, when segregated education was the norm, she fought the system and insisted that myself and my brother Michael would be enrolled in a mainstream school. Winnie was ahead of her time. I would like to think that some of that fight for justice and inclusion rubbed off on me. The struggle for equality can be a tough and lonely journey, but I’ve found having the support of family sustains the energy needed to continue.

Every time I look at that black-and-white photograph of Tom, Winnie and me, I cannot help but feel a depth of gratitude for the caring, rearing and instilling of decent values in me.