Barney & John
During
the 50s & 60s my father walked the six of us to Edenderry Presbyterian
Church, every Sunday without fail. No matter how inclement the weather he
accepted no sick-notes for church parade. The one person who later absented
herself, as we reached our teenage-years, was my mother and that was unusual
because she was devoted to her family and church.
We “Blackmouths” lacked the warmth and friendship of her beloved St Mark’s Church of Ireland. When her children were old
enough, she returned to the mother church of her youth. She was always
quoting from the sermons preached by the Rev McGonigle and sharing with us
his all-embracing brand of Christianity. Mother and father now resting in
Drumcree, the “Blackmouth” forever a son of the parish.
The good-reverend-gentleman had all the virtues that the Irish people are
famed for across the world. He was a most gregarious man-of-the-cloth and his
wife was a lovely lady. My first sight of Barney has remained imprinted on my
brain, as he strolled down our street on his way to see “Lofty” Ballantine,
the local cobbler.
My mum spoke to him and he told her that he was going to leave-in a pair of
shoes for repair. To be truthful, I am not sure if she called him by his
given-name Alan or Barney, the name by which he has been known to me for over
forty-years. What I do recall was that he was in his Boy Scout’s uniform and
he was whistling loudly, very much at ease with life.
When I started PortadownCollege I was aware of
Barney but time conspires to play a trick on me because I cannot remember
exactly when we became friends. However, I was privileged to go through
school and StranmillisCollege in his company.
My wife stares quizzically at people who can see my likeness in one of my
sons or daughter. I am sure that Mrs McGonigle would glare at me if I said
that Dad, Barney and John all looked very much alike to me.
Three-peas-in-a-pod!
John was the younger brother by a couple of years but from an early age in
school he had a presence that all the McGonigle men possessed. They had a
magnetic personality and a willingness to help their fellow-man. No matter
where I met him, he always had a smile and a kind word to share. He was an
amusing lad who enjoyed a joke and that mop of blond hair made him stand out
in a crowd. I am sure that if John was alive today that long hair-style would
bring a smile to his face.
It was in a crowd that he belonged and he could charm his way
into-and-out-off any situation. He was very good at reading the mood of his
friends. When John spoke to you he always demanded your total attention; what
he said was worth listening-to and he made you feel refreshed. What makes
this so unusual is because he was the younger brother, an extremely difficult
role to play in any school. Two years is a life-time at school and younger
siblings tend not to make an impact with the older brother’s friends.
I watched him progress through the rugby teams and he was determined to
emulate the achievements of his older brother. His school rugby photograph of
73 – 74 does not quite capture the smile that transformed his whole
countenance, one that is implanted fondly in my memory, but it comes close.
If John were here today, he is the sort of lad that I would want teaching in
my school. He had something that was worth passing down through the
generations.
However, John chose to enter the hospitality industry and this was a natural
choice for his talents. Hospitable is what he was and I am sure that he would
have risen to the top in his chosen profession. John Douglas told me of
John’s untimely death. JD kindly offered me a place in his car, to travel up
to Magherafelt and pass on my condolences to the family.
“Sorry for your troubles,” words this father, who greeted us at the door, had
heard many times that night. It is only as a father, that I can come a little
closer to an understanding of what the loss of a child might entail. However,
there will only ever be one John and that sad experience can only be shared
by Mum, Dad, Ruth and Barney. Only two peas remained in the pod.
As we drove up north, I reflected on the last time that I saw John before we
lost contact. I was walking through Ballymena, near the old hospital, when I
heard someone calling my name. Across the road was John, hand in the air,
waving frantically and that smile lit up a dull winter’s day. He told me all
about his new job in Scotland
and he was brimming with excitement. The boy had become a man but he still
looked so young. A moment of friendship, as hand-clasped-hand, sealing an
eternal bond and instantly frozen in time.
In my private moments that farewell image has returned to me almost every
year since that day and it is one that I enjoy. It does not bring sadness to
me but delightful memories of a charming young man who brightened-up some of
my school days. I often wonder why God calls home young men like John and the
answer to that question has tested my faith to braking point. However, John
was a gift from God to loving parents and I know that they have made their
peace. The time will come when I do likewise.
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