After Christmas in University College Cork in 1946 we had the engineers' annual dinner, for students and staff. It was a wonderful night for me. Instead of the national anthem at the end of the night, the crowd sang I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen – and did so at every event afterwards. I can never hear that song without it bringing me back to that night and those lovely lads.
I had to go to the ladies’ club, off the restaurant, to get my coat when the night ended. And when I came to the door, about eight lads were outside. “We’re taking you home, Kathleen.” they said, with big grins on their faces. Off we went, myself and my beaus, which included Mick Lane, the rugby player. I was in heaven. My first time “being brought home”.
We all sauntered along the path at the top of the quarry, where the Boole Library is today. There was a big hedge between the path and the quad.
Suddenly, we all stopped and they all queued up to kiss me: my first kiss. They were in a queue, as I said, and Mick Lane was about fourth in the queue and I couldn’t wait to get at him. It was his turn, and as he pawed the ground and rubbed his hands together, making a great display of his act, there was a roar from the quad: “Leave Miss Collins alone, lads.” Paddy Coffey, a senior lecturer, who was very popular with all in the faculty, was taking care of me.
Some of them scattered and ran for the hills. We carried on, and as we stopped at the last lamp post – like Lili Marlene – the remainder queued again, and again Mick was doing his act before kissing me. Paks (Coffey) again shouted: “Didn’t I tell ye to leave Miss Collins alone?”
So, I didn’t get to kiss Mick, but a few of them continued with me towards home, stopping now and then to kiss another one goodnight.
When we came to Dorgans Road, there were just three of us: Mattie Wren, Jim Daly and me. Jim settled his bike against the footpath, handed his glasses to Mattie and kissed me goodnight. Mattie and I canoodled in the shop doorway as he reminded me that his uncle and my uncle, who were both engineers and friends, would have wanted him to look after me. He was the last to kiss me that night and he brought me to the door of my digs. A happy lassie.
The following day, I made sure I was in early and sneaked to my eyrie in the corner, keeping my eyes focused on the drawing board as the troops filtered in. A lot of remarks were being passed and Mick Lane arrived and stopped in front of me. “Dynamite,” he said. “I know who’s dynamite.” Some time previously, a girl in the club said Mick Lane was dynamite and I had been teasing him about it.
Mattie Wren came into the office and gingerly approached my desk, where I was head down. The 60 or so in the drawing office started singing, “I’ll take you home again, Kathleen.”
Wonderful, so wonderful.
Mick kissed me at a party in Cork Boat Club about 20 years ago to compensate for that night.
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