In thinking about home my heart turns to Myff
I had booked the time off as I have done for the last seven years with the intention of returning like the eels do each year to Lough Neagh. The eels probably kept to their routine whereas Covid 19 disrupted as with everyone my plans.
It was Myff’s departure from the planet in 2012 that saw me return home for her memorial service. It was in early November. I hadn’t been home since my grandfather’s funeral in May 2006. I had become more anxious about ‘what ifs’ a consequence of which I chose not to fly. But my desire to honour Myff was bigger than my anxieties so I was on a plane home.
I met Myff when I was 15. In those days we occupied ourselves by drinking pots of tea, ‘smoking bines’ and talking in the many cafes that populated our town. We were in, ‘The Stairway’ as the name suggests it was upstairs. In them days ( you have to think of a North Armagh accent as you read) you could still smoke while you drank your tea (pronounced locally as ‘tay’) . So there we were what seemed like 6 or 7 of us both genders in our school uniforms either after school or mitching.
A few of our crowd had moved into senior high and one of them had met Myff and invited her to drink ‘tay’ and smokes bines with us. She had gone to Kilicomain the rival Junior High so she was already different however I was not objecting as her charisma, her height, her good looks, her joie de vivre (then I would have said ‘she’s good craic’ forget the French) was present.
Now I don’t remember the first time I meet everyone but I do those who have some emotional positive impact. Of course, I wasn’t to know the impact she would have on me on first meeting but perhaps at an unconscious level, I did.
It was like she was someone who I always knew but just hadn’t met. In time she was to date a good friend of mine which brought us closer together and perhaps even closer when the relationship ended and somehow our friendship made her still feel connected. I didn't mind as she made me feel good just being with her. She definitely developed my listening skills but then she was easy to look at.
High school ended and we all went our own ways yet something ensured that Myff and I kept in contact. She was ever the traveller and I would receive every so often a postcard from a faraway place.
She met Paul, a New Zealander and there she made her home. Their wedding in 1999 was for me like a school reunion of sorts. We would write, the occasional call and then with the advent of Facebook communication was made easier. Our kid was born followed by their two and we were all in the role of trying to raise the next generation hoping for whatever reason that they wouldn’t find themselves smoking bines and drinking ‘tay’ in cafes (why not?).
New Zealand provided her with the vision she had of her life, a partner, kids, and being part of a community of friends. She beat ‘the cancer’ once but the second time it took her body but her spirit was never for the taking and so she lives on.
Her memorial service 13 years after her wedding was another school reunion of sorts. We had all grown older, now in our early forties and her death signalled to me the need to meet every so often with those we shaped and were shaped by. So from then on, I have travelled home each year to do exactly that. This year presents its challenges but it doesn’t stop me from spending the next few days thinking about home and its people and where possible connecting by all means available.
g (vid below Swedish House Mafia may give help to those wanting a North Armagh accent)
