The photo shows my grandparents, my sister Margaret and I on the day of her First Communion.
I was five when my daddy died. Margaret was a year younger. We were living in Chorley, Manchester. Mammy was very distraught at the funeral. This went on for a time until two people came to the house one day. They were my grandparents and they were taking us back to Limerick, where my mother was born.
Michael and Margaret Hayes became our guardians, and we spent most of our childhood under their care. Grandad had fought as a soldier in the first World War. He would tell me stories about fighting in the trenches and how they would have to wear a gas mask. How he survived was a mystery to him.
He showed me souvenirs, including his mask and four military medals. The binoculars and leggings and his ration bags were all stored away in a wooden chest.
Nana was very calm and always in good humour. She was also a brilliant cook: apple tarts and currant cakes were her speciality. She passed that on to sis; the two were very close.
Grandad worked as a carpenter and would bring home kindling. He would get a saw, hammer and nails and show me how to make little buildings. I was 13 when he died. He dropped dead at work, at the age of 64. Nana said that was how he wanted to go. She had great faith and prayed a lot. I cried at the graveyard and also for my father.
I was doing well at school. I got a part-time job after school, but Nana wouldn’t take any money from me. Instead she said to open a post office savings account. Two days after my 16th birthday I came home to see an ambulance outside the house. Nana was on a stretcher. I called her name and she grasped my hand. She died before she got to the hospital; a brain tumour. They are in heaven and I pray to them often. We never heard from Mammy again.
- We would love to receive your family memories, anecdotes, traditions, mishaps and triumphs. Email 400 words and a relevant photograph to familyfortunes@irishtimes.com. A fee will be paid
