DO WE speak English here in Ireland, or is our vernacular actually American? English, old chap, people will say, with just a touch of American influence.
But that American influence is growing all the time. Just listen to the next broadcaster who spells out a word with the letter “Z” in it. More often than not, unless it’s some plummy-voiced veteran, the “Zed” is now a “Zee”.
Another Americanism that hasn’t caught on yet, but inevitably will, is “passed”. When someone dies, one detects a growing tendency in the US to say: “Waylon Jennings (64) passed in 2002” or “Jane Doe (68) passed in Brooklyn”.
The reason for using “passed”, instead of “passed away”, appears to be that the latter expression suggests there is no afterlife. Perhaps also it is seen as slightly derogatory, as though the deceased were no longer even remembered by family and friends.
We Irish are, of course, very good at remembering our dead. Indeed, funeral tributes have played a pivotal role in our history. Consider Patrick Pearse’s oration at the grave of O’Donovan Rossa: “The fools, the fools, the fools, they have left us our Fenian dead . . .”
Refusing to pay tribute can be more eloquent still. In Glasnevin on September 30th, 1917, shots were fired over the grave of Thomas Ashe, the republican hunger striker who died after force-feeding, and the sequel was reported in this newspaper as follows: “Mr Michael Collins, after the firing, stepped forward, and said that there would be no oration. Nothing remained to be said, for the volley which had been fired was the only speech which it was proper to make above the grave of a dead Fenian.”
Except for a certain reticence or lack of curiosity about this man Collins, the report is very detailed, with a full description of the route, the various groups represented and the remarkable fact that, “Many of those at the head of the procession had returned to the city before the end of it reached the cemetery.” The funeral was on a Sunday and one imagines the hard-working reporter bustling along to City Hall to observe the gathering crowd, taking notes of the participants en route to Glasnevin, politely but insistently making a way through the crowd to get close to the graveside, and then rushing back to the office to write up the report ahead of deadline.
The piece was reprinted on the front page of the Weekly Irish Times the following Saturday, along with photographs of 12 Irish soldiers reported killed or missing in the war taking place on mainland Europe.
Although there is no byline on the Glasnevin report, the anonymous scribe will be remembered along with others who are better known at an interdenominational service for deceased employees of The Irish Times, at the Unitarian Church, Stephen’s Green on Saturday, June 16th, at 11am.
With due respect to Michael Collins and his memory, no shots will be fired but there will be words of tribute as well as poetry, music and song in honour of the many dedicated individuals who contributed so much to this newspaper in their time.
Every year, a list of names is read out and there are always new ones to be added. The last 12 months has been a time of particular sorrow, with the unexpected loss of several well-liked and respected colleagues.
The present writer worked for many years with literary editor Caroline Walsh, former agriculture correspondent Ella Shanahan and former news editor John Armstrong – the latter died suddenly last month.
There were others, too, who had long associations with the paper. In the words of TS Eliot: “So many, I had not thought death had undone so many.” While they may have left us in physical terms, they are still with us in spirit. Hardly a day goes by, for example, that I do not think about my long-time friend and colleague, Brendan Glacken.
But the memories are not sad ones and frequently generate a smile. Always looking for the funny side of life, Glacken had a bon mot for every occasion.
For example, when something was lost he would recall the fellow who put a sign up in his place of work: “Missing – a wallet of notes. Finder may keep wallet, but the money is of sentimental value.” A great admirer of Myles na Gopaleen, Brendan himself contributed a humorous column, “Times Square”, to the paper for many years.
The column was hilarious, and he was honoured with a well-deserved ESB national media award for it.
But it is his throwaway lines in conversation that remain in the mind, not to mention the occasion he asked someone: “Would you like my card?” The answer was yes, and Brendan produced an item which contained only two words, in large letters: “My Card.” That was in his student days and I had the additional privilege of attending University College Dublin with Brendan, where we both took the Group IV option. No, it wasn’t a security firm but a course devoted to the entire conspectus of English language and literature – from Beowulf to Virginia Woolf, as it were.
The curriculum was full of riches, including wonderful modules, as they would now be called, in Old English Metre, with Prof Alan Bliss; Old Norse, taught by Rory McTurk, and Medieval Latin, taught by Ludwig Bieler.
Brendan’s wit and humour sustained us all throughout and it was no surprise that when he later joined The Irish Times, he became one of most popular members of the staff.
Like the others, he will be remembered on June 16th, with sadness but also with warmth and affection.
They may have left us but their memory remains and that will never pass – or pass away.