When We Find Each Other

“Facing a civil war in Ireland, Britain partitioned the Island in 1920 with separate parliaments in the predominately Protestant northeast and the predominately Catholic south and northwest.”   Britannica.

I do not want to bore you with a long and involved history lesson of North and South or North vs South.

My father was born before the division or partition of Ireland in 1920 to a Catholic Mother and a Protestant father.  Why am I repeating myself – you have already met them.

When my dad was about 10 years old a very interesting thing happened in the village. The Publican’s grandson, a good catholic boy, of about 10 years old, came to stay. I don’t know how they met, my father and Jimmy that is, however they became firm friends and they saw each other every day. They lost direct contact when my dad joined the RAF and Jimmy joined the seminary to prepare for the priesthood.  And then they lost contact all together.  In 1964 my father accepted an invitation by the Methodist Church to minister in Port Alfred.  Our first weekend in our new place of abode my father drove to the Cherry Tree café to buy the Sunday Times.  As he stepped into the café a soft Irish brogue said in greeting “Hello Freddie, my boy” and there he stood arms open wide – his beloved school friend from the village, Jimmy McVey!

According to them their reunion was a joyous and raucous affair, they hugged, laughed and cried.

My delighted father rushed home to tell my mother that someone very important was coming to tea.  “Freddie, we have only just arrived and we don’t know anyone, who is this very important person who is coming to tea” she said rather impatiently trying to unpack boxes and settle all of us in.

“Patience, my darling, wait and see”, he said.

At the appointed hour a green Ford Cortina pulled up and stopped in front of the manse and a very large man got out accompanied by a beautiful German shepherd called Zeta.

My very excited father said “Do you remember me telling you about my friend Jimmy? Well, my darlings! Meet my Jimmy!”.

This very large man proceeded to scoop us into his arms “Hello my wee nieces! I finally get to meet you.”

In retrospect, they did not skip a beat, almost as if they had never been apart and the lost years just fell away.  They spent a huge amount of time together.  In fact they had a standing weekly golf appointment, every Monday morning they met for a round of golf, friendly banter and laughter. Uncle Jimmy, as we referred to him, enjoyed spending time with us. He came to ballet concerts and we went for walks on the beach together. We were his nieces and our relationship with him confused people…the Irish Methodist minister and the Irish Catholic priest and the nieces.

In our opinion, Uncle Jimmy was family. And so my father, in appreciation to his friend for his devotion and unwavering support to us as a family by assisting us navigate some really scary moments, donated a bible to the St James Catholic Church in Port Alfred.   In my opinion, this gesture is a testament to reconciliation, love, peace and friendship across a religious divide.

Whilst working as a live-in carer in the UK, a shocking news item caught my attention: “in order to further promote peace and reconciliation, a fence dividing the Catholic and Protestant areas in a local park in Northern Ireland was to be taken down”.  I was shattered.

On a visit to Derry/Londonderry in Northern Ireland, I was invited to spend time with a wonderful and interesting Historian who walked the wall with me. According to Wikipedia, this is “the only remaining completely intact walled city in Europe”. This wall forms a walkaway around the inner city and provides a unique promenade to view the layout of the original town which still preserves its Renaissance-style street plan.

During our walk we talked about the “troubles”, divisions and prejudice between Catholics and Protestants as well as the events leading to the Good Friday Agreement, however, something really strange and interesting piqued my curiosity.  I asked him why the walkways between rows and rows of houses was completely (top and sides) fenced in? This is what he said: “Well, there are Catholic Suburbs as well as Protestant Suburbs and sometimes things get a little out of hand, especially when one or other group celebrates or remembers a painful historical event. So, to prevent folks from harming each other, these walkways have to be covered.“ 

I could not believe what I was hearing and asked him to give me a moment; I needed to catch my breath and cry. I opened up to this wonderful man and told him about my grandparents, he very gently said: “Be very careful who you share this with, some folks will not take kindly to the fact that your grandmother was Catholic and your grandfather Protestant.  I would hate you to get hurt!”

Another incredible experience happened in Belfast. An acquaintance and I stumbled upon an IRA (Irish Republican Army) funeral procession (watch a video here).

Anne was concerned that I would be fearful of the experience. I assured her that I was not at all alarmed, and that I wanted to be part of the procession. In that moment Anne and I clicked, she shared the most fascinating stories of how she assisted political prisoners and fought for female prisoners to have access to medical care and sanitary towels, something they were denied.  She also shared her experiences of being part of some of the Good Friday Agreement talks – how women kept those talks on track by calmly appealing to the men to put aside their egos and face the issues at hand.

Reflecting on these stories I come to the realisation that my father and Jimmy’s friendship was truly unique and precious and that love transcends barriers, religion and class. Therefore, we must keep on sharing our stories of who we are and what defines us. Maybe it’s time to ignore politics and politicians and in so doing reach out to each other and find the courage to break down the barriers created by church and politics in the sincere and honest hope that we will one day redefine society and find each other.

I dedicate this piece to Fred Brennan and James McVey, who found each other.