The accompanying photograph is of my parents on their wedding day in May 1934. They never got to celebrate the 10th anniversary of that day, because just 9½ years later, my mother, Martha, died of pneumonia at the age of 35 in Dublin’s Cork Street Hospital. It was November 29th, 1943.
She left four children behind her: my sister, Joan, two brothers, Brendan and Reggie, and me, Ronnie, just gone nine years old. Her passing happened over one weekend. Her final thoughts, if she was conscious, can hardly be imagined. But worse tragedy was to come.
A little more than two years later, our father, Reggie, died from tuberculosis – but could it also have been because of a heart that finally broke? His last thoughts are just as unimaginable.
But we Kellys survived such a devastating start to life and continue to do so to this day.
Grandparents, aunts and uncles rallied to the plight of four orphans and took us into their hearts and homes. Joan found comfort and solace with Grandma English, who lived not far from the Botanic Gardens in Glasnevin. Eventually, Reggie, Brendan and I found ourselves in the care of the Irish Christian Brothers at the St Vincent de Paul Male Orphanage on nearby Finglas Road.
We all grew up, of course, and whatever seeds were sown in our early days, and later in our formative years, have stood to us and enabled us to become what we are today.
We have come to appreciate music, books and writing. Independently we have travelled the globe. We all married, and between us we have 14 children and a whole host of grandchildren.
We now live in Ireland, England and America. Our paths cross occasionally – but in truth, we live in each other’s hearts and minds daily.
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