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When there was an event of some importance in our family, my mother planned it like a military operation, so when it came to my confirmation, she began her preparations at the January sale. My black patent shoes were purchased in Tyler's of Limerick. I had no say whatsoever in the matter and there was no such thing as having my feet measured. Mam just got a size larger than I was wearing at the time.
A remnant of dusty pink soft woollen material was presented to our local dressmaker who had recently studied the art of smocking. She made me a dress worthy of a princess even if it was couple inches too long for me. Every confirmation girl, in my time, had to have a hat so Mam called on Miss Mitchell, a milliner of some repute, I suppose you could say that she was the Philip Treacy of Limerick. My hat was constructed of pink straw and bound with a matching band of pleated silk.
Aunty Kathleen donated her off-white Sunday coat. She said it should take a good turn and Mam went to see our local tailoress. Miss Cleere looked, tested and nodded on condition that the seams were undone and new lining provided. Back home, Mam worked with a dangerous looking blade taken from Dad's razor while I held each seam taut so that she could sliced through the stitching.
Then, all the bits were folded carefully and parcelled up and I was dispatched to Miss Cleere’s house sometime around seven o’clock one dark evening in February.
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I knew my mother expected me to go down the main road but I decided to take a short cut across the rough area where once upon a time there was an ancient Franciscan abbey. Over the years it had crumbled and was a brilliant adventure playground full of grassy clay mounds and rocks. We played House, Hide-and-Seek and Cowboys and Indians there and it was never sinister to us so it was a shock when its past was revealed. The Corporation men came for some unknown reason and began to dig. Rumour had it that they were going to build houses there. Someone said that the digging stopped when they revealed coffins and skeletons and we went with ghoulish interest to see what we could see. There were mutterings about ghosts. Ghosts? There were no ghosts in the Abbey it was our playground.
So, on that evening in February, just before my confirmation I set out fearlessly, in the dark, across the Abbey on my way to Miss Cleere’s with the makings of my confirmation coat under my arm and all wrapped up in brown paper and tied with twine.
I stumbled occasionally on the uneven ground and when I was almost at the other side, someone or something grabbed me. Two strong arms held me fast. One of the ghosts of the Abbey was going to pull me down into a grave. I think I screamed.
But the one thing that flashed on my mind was my confirmation pledge that had been drummed into my head at school. I had to be “a strong Christian soldier marching as to war” and I found that strength somehow to dig my nails into those ghostly arms. I kicked and bit into them as hard as I could and suddenly, I was released.
I ran, tripping and stumbling all the way back home.
I was trembling, pale as a ghost and gasping for breath. There was a shocked whispering over my head and a soothing hug of my mother’s arms. Dad went out into the night to do battle with the ghost of the Abbey. He returned sometime later, shaking his head but holding up the brown paper parcel containing the makings of my confirmation coat. Mam convinced me that I had imagined the whole thing and I was a bit peeved that I wasn’t given due credit for being “a strong Christian soldier marching as to war”.
But my confirmation day was a delight, even if my shoes pinched my toes. I loved my dress, my hat and my new off-white coat.
My battle with the Ghost of the Abbey was never mentioned in our house again even years later when I asked my Mother about it, she disavowed all knowledge.
And I can assure you that there are no ghosts in the Abbey today except those whispering to me of times past.