At 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve I was watching the news on RTE. It said there were bad storms around the country, but they were mainly confined to the south. "Good," I said to myself, selfishly. At least my house in Delgany, Co Wicklow, was safe and sound. I was sitting in a big comfortable armchair, with a cheerful fire blazing away and the Christmas tree lights twinkling warmly in the corner. I was settling down for the festive season. Another relaxing, peaceful, happy Christmas was in the offing.
Five minutes later I was in pitch darkness. I stayed that way for 18 hours. It was the most traumatic Christmas I have experienced.
The ESB emergency number for the area is 2867741. The number is emblazoned on my brain and I have a pain in my finger dialling it. It was a waste of time. Everyone else was doing the same thing: just a dead engaged sound every time. Not once in the 18 hours did I get through, even though I diligently rang every five minutes.
On Christmas morning they had an answering-machine. This informed me that they were working flat out and if I wanted to get through I would be taken in rotation. It said that this could take up to 20 minutes. I was prepared to wait for 20 minutes to get on to the repair list, but each time it clicked off after 10.
My feeble 87-year-old mother kept asking me "Why is it so dark?" Every five minutes I told her there was a power failure. But the question continued relentlessly, the phoning to 2867741 continued unabated, my patience was on a knife edge . . .
It was like getting the third degree, sitting in the darkness, with the mocking flickering candle on the mantel piece taking the place of the dripping tap.
The fact that it was Christmas heightened the tension. Would there be a Christmas dinner? "Calm down, Frank," I said to myself, as I consoled myself that there must be people a lot worse off than me down in the south. It's not easy to be saintly in a crisis.
After four hours of darkness, I said I'd better get off my backside and do something practical. I drove around the area for a few miles looking for ESB crews.
The area looked as if it had been hit by an earthquake. I found I had two trees down, and managed to move them. They weren't big and didn't cause too many problems. They will make good firewood later.
I found an ESB van at about 11.15 p.m. Gave my name and address. Two hours later they still hadn't arrived. I was now into Christmas Day. I headed off again and found another van. "Oh, we can't do anything now. We'll be there first thing in the morning." I went home to bed at 1.30 a.m.
Next morning, no sign of any yellow vans. House cold, Christmas tree looking glum, my mother looking more confused, wife worried about the turkey . . . I headed off at about 10 a.m. on the trail of the yellow vans again. I stopped one in Killincarrig village.
He told me he had been working all f***ing night and hardly had time to get any f***ing sleep and would I f***ing excuse him his f***ing language. "I would love to f***ing help you, but I only have a van and you need a lorry with a crane deck."
I thanked him and set off for Blacklion, where I flagged down a big lorry with a crane deck on it. I gave him the details, but he said he could not get over to my house.
A string of cars behind him started impatiently blaring their horns, telling him to move on. Pleasant Christians, no doubt. They were coming from Mass and wanted to get to their dinner without me slowing them down for a few seconds.
I came home dejected. Continued ringing 2867741 but still couldn't get through. I wasn't on the repair list after 17 hours and panic was beginning to creep in. My wife said she would head out and see what she could do. When she got back she said she had spoken to a crew and begged them to come. They said they would do their best.
We sat back and hoped. Then my son arrived, followed a short time later by my daughter and my granddaughter. The house was filling up and there was still no electricity. More pressure.
Half an hour later the cavalry arrived. Two big yellow lorries outside on the road. If two spaceships had arrived from Mars we couldn't have been more excited. We all started to jump up and down like children, cheering and shouting and hugging each other. It was noon on Christmas Day. The lads scaled the poles and in five minutes had new fuses installed. A shout went up in the sitting room: "They're back. . .the lights are back."
I now believe in miracles.