IT WAS a most unusual funeral. The Jesuit Church in Gardiner Street was almost full. One of the youngest priests in the order said the Mass. He spoke of Luigia as if he had known her all his life.
In the crowded church that, morning, and on the night before, many felt the same way, except that each had a private thought and most had a tale to tell. The attendance suggested the death of an exalted person - a principal officer, perhaps, or someone even higher up, but Luigia never aspired to being anything other than an ordinary civil servant. To be "established" was enough for her.
She could have talked about her grandfather, who was an Italian diplomat - hence her name, Luigia or her grand uncle, who was a president of Maynooth, but she never did. In early days she even drove a Rolls Royce in Drumcondra.
Her life in "the office" was all about brightening lives, putting people together, making cakes for them. Tea or coffee was always on tap. In recent years she had a new lease of life with the arrival of grand nieces and nephews who brought joy to her as she did to them. From her small apartment, she extended a welcome that reached out to friends far and near. I hope she remembers me.