Saturday, January 28, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
A home from home
Homeless at Christmas.
By Sue Leonard
Published in the Irish Examiner December 2011
With just a few days left until Christmas, stress levels are rising. As we frantically cook, and rush to make sure our Christmas will be as perfect as possible, it’s easy to forget how lucky we are. Lucky to have a family to cook for; lucky, indeed, to have a home.
We’re so accustomed, now, to seeing the homeless in our cities. To seeing them crouched in doorways, shivering against the cold, that sometimes, we rush past them without even giving them a thought.
“Christmas is lonely for the homeless,” says Brother Kevin Crowley, who runs the Capuchin Day centre for the homeless in Bow Street, Dublin. “It’s hard, always, being homeless, but at Christmas, if someone is separated from their families, or broken up from their families, it’s an especially difficult time.
“Two years ago on Christmas Eve, I remember, this guy was sitting in the corner with tears streaming from his eyes. I said,
“What is the problem?” He said,
“Do you hear that song?” It’s Nice to be Home for Christmas was playing on the radio. I said,
“Yes. It’s beautiful.” And he said,
“It is. But once I had a beautiful home, a beautiful wife and a beautiful family. And now I have none of those things. I’m homeless at Christmas.”
Brother Kevin has been serving meals to the homeless since 1969. And the situation, he says, has never been as bad as it is this year.
“We’re serving 500 dinners a day, and we have 200 people in for breakfast.
“We give out food parcels every week. Up to three or four years ago, maybe 300 people would queue up. Last Wednesday there were 1,240 people.”
And some of them, were the new poor.
“The profile of people in need has changed in recent years,” says Brother Kevin. “We now see people who have lost their jobs and are on the verge of losing their houses. They have huge anxiety of what they face in the future. There are more Irish people these days, and they’re embarrassed because they have to come to place like this for their food.
“Our expenses have gone up to €1.4 million, and we’re still getting €450,000 from the government. Were it not for the amazing generosity of the people, there is no way we would be able to continue helping people in need.”
Over in TRUST, in Bride Street, Dublin, it’s business as normal around Christmas. The Director Alice Leahy and her team, are busy providing showers to the regulars, who always find a warm welcome in the bright, wooden floored centre.
“We provide 350 showers a week,” says Alice. “A shower could take two hours because you have to deal with lice, with skin complaints, and most of all, with neglected feet.” They may be given a new set of clothes, and, possibly, a food parcel. They can have their medical needs dealt with, or their drug regimes explained. And they are helped to access their rights, and other services.
Many appear each day, anxious for a cup of tea; perhaps a biscuit. They love spending a few hours in the warm. In a place where the giving of time is considered valuable. Alice refers to the homeless as ‘Outsiders,’ because many of her regulars don’t fit the societal norm.
“People need shelter,” she says, “And a lot of agencies provide accommodation. But some people who are given flats can’t cope. They may not be able to relate to people.” All are catered for at TRUST.
There’s Tom, who lives in a hostel, and attends a psychiatric clinic. He pops in regularly, and sits quietly, nursing a cup of coffee, as he listens to Lyric FM. There’s Josef, who is always polite. He shakes hands when he arrives, and leaves, and says the welcome he gets at TRUST makes it more precious to him, than the place he once called home.
There are the drunk, from early morning; including those who have replaced the meths of old, with an addiction to the hand sanitizer used in hospitals. There are the addicts, trying for just a few hours sleep; there are the angry, there are the despairing. And, perhaps worse, there are those who have sunk into apathy and resignation.
“We see that too often,” says Alice. “Dull, dead eyes have replaced the once bright ones, when dreams of a better future existed.”
And it’s worse at Christmas, she says.
“They get angry. They don’t like what’s going on, and sometimes, they withdraw.” Alice is constantly overwhelmed by the generosity of Irish people. TRUST doesn’t take money from the government; they don’t fundraise, yet clothes, food, and essential supplies constantly pour in to the centre.
“We give out hats and socks, tea coffee and soup, brown bread and fruit, all the year round. Christmas is a bit special,” she says. “Then we give out the Christmas cake and the mince pies that people have sent in.”
TRUST and the Capuchin day Centre are both shut on Christmas Day. But that’s when The Order of The Knights of St. Columbanus step in. They’ll provide dinner for 500 in the Royal Dublin Society for the homeless, the poor, and anyone else with little food or money. And another 1,200 meals are produced, and sent as takeaways for those too sick or incapacitated to leave their homes.
The Order have been providing this service since 1915. But in the past couple of years, the profile of the needy has changed.
“There are more Irish now,” says the Chairman, Adrian King. “A high percentage would be homeless people, but last year, it was so sad seeing who came. There were those whose pensions and funds had gone; there were Irish families. It’s a different profile entirely.”
There will be a full Christmas Dinner; they’ll be entertainment, and they’ll be visits from Dublin’s Lord Mayor, and the Archbishop of Dublin. And the guests, picked up and dropped in prearranged areas in Dublin, will not go home empty handed.
“Their take away bags will contain sandwiches; drinks, crisps, toiletries, anything we can source,” says King.
Focus Ireland will be busy, too, making Christmas as happy for those using their services as they possibly can.
“Christmas is a time of great sadness for somebody out of home,” says Sr Stanislaus Kennedy, co founder and lifetime president of the organisation. “We provide Christmas dinner for them in three different locations, and we try to help them celebrate as best we can.”
Sr Stan is saddened by the new Irish poor – and particularly because so many women and children are now affected by homelessness – with a shocking one in seven of the homeless a child.
“The recession is so traumatic for families,” she says. “When they were used to two cars, two phones, two of everything, and now they have nothing, where do they turn?”
The other side of Christmas, for Focus Ireland, is to make their message known. It’s a time for fundraising, and highlighting the need for volunteers.
“What we give, we receive,” says Sr. Stan. “If we can allow the homeless to give to us, and to touch into our broken side, then they change us. And once we are changed, we are changed forever. That is the gift of the poor.”
Ciaran Boylan, a 6th year student at Belvedere College in Dublin, can’t wait for the run up to Christmas. But it’s not about partying or present buying. He’ll be spending the days, and nights, of 22nd and 23rd of December, sleeping out in O’Connell Street near the GPO. He’ll be there on Christmas Eve too; only stopping at around six in the evening, when he’ll go to the school for Mass.
180 boys from 5th and 6th year apply for the Sleep Out each year, but only 30 are chosen.
“I applied last year,” says Ciaran, who has, anyway, been involved for the past two or three years. “My brother was on the sleep-out. I was out around the city, collecting money for the charities. Everyone in school wants to help. We all have feelings about the homeless.
“Belvedere is not in a good area of Dublin. Seeing the homeless around is unavoidable. We build up bonds with homeless guys around the city. We’re aware of all the factors that come into play.
“People are homeless for various different reasons. Some are down on their luck, for family, or financial reasons. Some have had enough of life. It’s not just about houses. Some of them use the shelters. Others find them too dangerous. They’d rather sleep in a doorway.”
This year, Ciaran is in charge of the PR.
“Miss Ireland is coming along to support us,” he says, “and Ger Brennan, who was on the GAA team that won the all Ireland. He was a past pupil, he won a scholarship, and was here as a teacher. He’s coming down to collect for us. Other past pupils are sleeping out in College Green. There are guys who left one or two years ago, and guys who left 10 or 15 years ago.”
At Belvedere, it’s not just a case of helping at Christmas.
“The Vincent de Paul is a big thing in our school. We do a soup run with them every Wednesday. We give out soup and sandwiches, but the greatest thing is to give people your time.
“By listening to them, and finding out how they feel, we gain an awful lot from it. Some of them lift your spirits. There’s one guy, Dave, in Dawson Street. It could be raining, you could be in bad form. You sit with him, and in 20 seconds you’d be crying laughing. He’s a great sense of humour.”
Doesn’t he resent giving up all that time, just before Christmas?
“What we get from chatting to the guys is the best present you can imagine. Their appreciation is better than any I-pod or bike. We’re seeing the real world.”
One thing, though. Ciaran is trying hard, not to emulate a boy, who, three years ago, went home after the sleep-out, and straight to bed.
“When he woke up, and went down for Christmas dinner, there was nothing there. His mum said he’s slept for 18 hours. He’d missed out on Christmas Day completely.”
Aimee Concannon, 15, always loved filling shoe boxes with gifts for Africa. But last year, she missed the essential deadline. She was upset. Until, going for a drum lesson in Temple Bar, she noticed all the homeless sleeping rough in the cold. And that gave her an idea.
“I filled shoe boxes with hats gloves and scarves; with toothbrushes and paste, plasters throat lozenges and Vaseline. And with playing cards, cards and stamps,” she says. “I filled ten shoeboxes, I wrapped them, and on Christmas Eve, my friend Georgia and I distributed them to the homeless.
“It was amazing,” she says. “They were so emotional and appreciative. One of them started crying. They couldn’t believe they were getting something. It was sad how shocked they were.”
This year Aimee has expanded her scheme. She’s asked around for sponsorship, and has vouchers from food and coffee shops. She’s vouchers for Butler’s Chocolates too.
“People have been so generous. I’m hoping to fill 20 shoe boxes this year; maybe even 25. I’m so happy I can help people.”
FOR MORE INFOMATION
CAPUCHIN DAY CENTRE
www.homeless.ie Looking for funds and donations of food.
TRUST
http://www.trust-ireland.ie/
CHRISTMAS DAY DINNER IN THE RDS
Provided by the order of the Knights of St Columbanus. Main sponsor ESB Electric AID Ireland. To donate money, or products for the goody bags, ring Adrian King. 086 804 0720.
Adrian@christmasdaydinner.com
FOCUS IRELAND
www.focusireland.ie
You can volunteer your time; become involved in an event, or donate.
BELVEDERE SLEEP OUT
Money raised will go to Focus Ireland, Peter McVerry, and Home Again.
This year, Coláiste Iogháid, sister school to Belvedere in Galway, willstage a 24 hour sleep-out.
© Sue Leonard 2011
By Sue Leonard
Published in the Irish Examiner December 2011
With just a few days left until Christmas, stress levels are rising. As we frantically cook, and rush to make sure our Christmas will be as perfect as possible, it’s easy to forget how lucky we are. Lucky to have a family to cook for; lucky, indeed, to have a home.
We’re so accustomed, now, to seeing the homeless in our cities. To seeing them crouched in doorways, shivering against the cold, that sometimes, we rush past them without even giving them a thought.
“Christmas is lonely for the homeless,” says Brother Kevin Crowley, who runs the Capuchin Day centre for the homeless in Bow Street, Dublin. “It’s hard, always, being homeless, but at Christmas, if someone is separated from their families, or broken up from their families, it’s an especially difficult time.
“Two years ago on Christmas Eve, I remember, this guy was sitting in the corner with tears streaming from his eyes. I said,
“What is the problem?” He said,
“Do you hear that song?” It’s Nice to be Home for Christmas was playing on the radio. I said,
“Yes. It’s beautiful.” And he said,
“It is. But once I had a beautiful home, a beautiful wife and a beautiful family. And now I have none of those things. I’m homeless at Christmas.”
Brother Kevin has been serving meals to the homeless since 1969. And the situation, he says, has never been as bad as it is this year.
“We’re serving 500 dinners a day, and we have 200 people in for breakfast.
“We give out food parcels every week. Up to three or four years ago, maybe 300 people would queue up. Last Wednesday there were 1,240 people.”
And some of them, were the new poor.
“The profile of people in need has changed in recent years,” says Brother Kevin. “We now see people who have lost their jobs and are on the verge of losing their houses. They have huge anxiety of what they face in the future. There are more Irish people these days, and they’re embarrassed because they have to come to place like this for their food.
“Our expenses have gone up to €1.4 million, and we’re still getting €450,000 from the government. Were it not for the amazing generosity of the people, there is no way we would be able to continue helping people in need.”
Over in TRUST, in Bride Street, Dublin, it’s business as normal around Christmas. The Director Alice Leahy and her team, are busy providing showers to the regulars, who always find a warm welcome in the bright, wooden floored centre.
“We provide 350 showers a week,” says Alice. “A shower could take two hours because you have to deal with lice, with skin complaints, and most of all, with neglected feet.” They may be given a new set of clothes, and, possibly, a food parcel. They can have their medical needs dealt with, or their drug regimes explained. And they are helped to access their rights, and other services.
Many appear each day, anxious for a cup of tea; perhaps a biscuit. They love spending a few hours in the warm. In a place where the giving of time is considered valuable. Alice refers to the homeless as ‘Outsiders,’ because many of her regulars don’t fit the societal norm.
“People need shelter,” she says, “And a lot of agencies provide accommodation. But some people who are given flats can’t cope. They may not be able to relate to people.” All are catered for at TRUST.
There’s Tom, who lives in a hostel, and attends a psychiatric clinic. He pops in regularly, and sits quietly, nursing a cup of coffee, as he listens to Lyric FM. There’s Josef, who is always polite. He shakes hands when he arrives, and leaves, and says the welcome he gets at TRUST makes it more precious to him, than the place he once called home.
There are the drunk, from early morning; including those who have replaced the meths of old, with an addiction to the hand sanitizer used in hospitals. There are the addicts, trying for just a few hours sleep; there are the angry, there are the despairing. And, perhaps worse, there are those who have sunk into apathy and resignation.
“We see that too often,” says Alice. “Dull, dead eyes have replaced the once bright ones, when dreams of a better future existed.”
And it’s worse at Christmas, she says.
“They get angry. They don’t like what’s going on, and sometimes, they withdraw.” Alice is constantly overwhelmed by the generosity of Irish people. TRUST doesn’t take money from the government; they don’t fundraise, yet clothes, food, and essential supplies constantly pour in to the centre.
“We give out hats and socks, tea coffee and soup, brown bread and fruit, all the year round. Christmas is a bit special,” she says. “Then we give out the Christmas cake and the mince pies that people have sent in.”
TRUST and the Capuchin day Centre are both shut on Christmas Day. But that’s when The Order of The Knights of St. Columbanus step in. They’ll provide dinner for 500 in the Royal Dublin Society for the homeless, the poor, and anyone else with little food or money. And another 1,200 meals are produced, and sent as takeaways for those too sick or incapacitated to leave their homes.
The Order have been providing this service since 1915. But in the past couple of years, the profile of the needy has changed.
“There are more Irish now,” says the Chairman, Adrian King. “A high percentage would be homeless people, but last year, it was so sad seeing who came. There were those whose pensions and funds had gone; there were Irish families. It’s a different profile entirely.”
There will be a full Christmas Dinner; they’ll be entertainment, and they’ll be visits from Dublin’s Lord Mayor, and the Archbishop of Dublin. And the guests, picked up and dropped in prearranged areas in Dublin, will not go home empty handed.
“Their take away bags will contain sandwiches; drinks, crisps, toiletries, anything we can source,” says King.
Focus Ireland will be busy, too, making Christmas as happy for those using their services as they possibly can.
“Christmas is a time of great sadness for somebody out of home,” says Sr Stanislaus Kennedy, co founder and lifetime president of the organisation. “We provide Christmas dinner for them in three different locations, and we try to help them celebrate as best we can.”
Sr Stan is saddened by the new Irish poor – and particularly because so many women and children are now affected by homelessness – with a shocking one in seven of the homeless a child.
“The recession is so traumatic for families,” she says. “When they were used to two cars, two phones, two of everything, and now they have nothing, where do they turn?”
The other side of Christmas, for Focus Ireland, is to make their message known. It’s a time for fundraising, and highlighting the need for volunteers.
“What we give, we receive,” says Sr. Stan. “If we can allow the homeless to give to us, and to touch into our broken side, then they change us. And once we are changed, we are changed forever. That is the gift of the poor.”
Ciaran Boylan, a 6th year student at Belvedere College in Dublin, can’t wait for the run up to Christmas. But it’s not about partying or present buying. He’ll be spending the days, and nights, of 22nd and 23rd of December, sleeping out in O’Connell Street near the GPO. He’ll be there on Christmas Eve too; only stopping at around six in the evening, when he’ll go to the school for Mass.
180 boys from 5th and 6th year apply for the Sleep Out each year, but only 30 are chosen.
“I applied last year,” says Ciaran, who has, anyway, been involved for the past two or three years. “My brother was on the sleep-out. I was out around the city, collecting money for the charities. Everyone in school wants to help. We all have feelings about the homeless.
“Belvedere is not in a good area of Dublin. Seeing the homeless around is unavoidable. We build up bonds with homeless guys around the city. We’re aware of all the factors that come into play.
“People are homeless for various different reasons. Some are down on their luck, for family, or financial reasons. Some have had enough of life. It’s not just about houses. Some of them use the shelters. Others find them too dangerous. They’d rather sleep in a doorway.”
This year, Ciaran is in charge of the PR.
“Miss Ireland is coming along to support us,” he says, “and Ger Brennan, who was on the GAA team that won the all Ireland. He was a past pupil, he won a scholarship, and was here as a teacher. He’s coming down to collect for us. Other past pupils are sleeping out in College Green. There are guys who left one or two years ago, and guys who left 10 or 15 years ago.”
At Belvedere, it’s not just a case of helping at Christmas.
“The Vincent de Paul is a big thing in our school. We do a soup run with them every Wednesday. We give out soup and sandwiches, but the greatest thing is to give people your time.
“By listening to them, and finding out how they feel, we gain an awful lot from it. Some of them lift your spirits. There’s one guy, Dave, in Dawson Street. It could be raining, you could be in bad form. You sit with him, and in 20 seconds you’d be crying laughing. He’s a great sense of humour.”
Doesn’t he resent giving up all that time, just before Christmas?
“What we get from chatting to the guys is the best present you can imagine. Their appreciation is better than any I-pod or bike. We’re seeing the real world.”
One thing, though. Ciaran is trying hard, not to emulate a boy, who, three years ago, went home after the sleep-out, and straight to bed.
“When he woke up, and went down for Christmas dinner, there was nothing there. His mum said he’s slept for 18 hours. He’d missed out on Christmas Day completely.”
Aimee Concannon, 15, always loved filling shoe boxes with gifts for Africa. But last year, she missed the essential deadline. She was upset. Until, going for a drum lesson in Temple Bar, she noticed all the homeless sleeping rough in the cold. And that gave her an idea.
“I filled shoe boxes with hats gloves and scarves; with toothbrushes and paste, plasters throat lozenges and Vaseline. And with playing cards, cards and stamps,” she says. “I filled ten shoeboxes, I wrapped them, and on Christmas Eve, my friend Georgia and I distributed them to the homeless.
“It was amazing,” she says. “They were so emotional and appreciative. One of them started crying. They couldn’t believe they were getting something. It was sad how shocked they were.”
This year Aimee has expanded her scheme. She’s asked around for sponsorship, and has vouchers from food and coffee shops. She’s vouchers for Butler’s Chocolates too.
“People have been so generous. I’m hoping to fill 20 shoe boxes this year; maybe even 25. I’m so happy I can help people.”
FOR MORE INFOMATION
CAPUCHIN DAY CENTRE
www.homeless.ie Looking for funds and donations of food.
TRUST
http://www.trust-ireland.ie/
CHRISTMAS DAY DINNER IN THE RDS
Provided by the order of the Knights of St Columbanus. Main sponsor ESB Electric AID Ireland. To donate money, or products for the goody bags, ring Adrian King. 086 804 0720.
Adrian@christmasdaydinner.com
FOCUS IRELAND
www.focusireland.ie
You can volunteer your time; become involved in an event, or donate.
BELVEDERE SLEEP OUT
Money raised will go to Focus Ireland, Peter McVerry, and Home Again.
This year, Coláiste Iogháid, sister school to Belvedere in Galway, willstage a 24 hour sleep-out.
© Sue Leonard 2011
How Skype has Changed Christmas
How Skype has Changed Christmas
By Sue Leonard
Published in The Irish Examiner December 24th 2011
It was the week before Christmas. I was in the arrivals hall at Dublin airport, and all around me were scenes of joyful reunion. Couples embraced, and grandparents were in ecstasy as they met their brand new grandchildren.
I stood there, watching all this love, with tears streaming down my face. Collecting my man after a business trip, I so wished my eldest daughter, Josephine, would be stepping through those doors. But she wasn’t coming home. At 18, she was working as a Chalet Girl in France. Our brief, phone call on Christmas Day didn’t cheer us. She was upset, and hard at work in the kitchen. I was heartbroken.
Fast forward three years, and Josephine went off to Ecuador. It was a year out as part of her university course. She sent us a fax to say she’d arrived in Quito. And then we heard nothing, for three long weeks.
We sent faxes. And, finally, we rang the school where she was teaching English. They summoned her for us. We asked was she ok, and she said,
“Well I am now.” And told us she’d spent the best part of a week in hospital, on a drip, after eating dodgy ice-cream from the street.
That lack of communication would be unthinkable today. We would have heard about it on email. We’d have been getting constant texts. We’d probably have seen pictures of her attached to the drip on Facebook. Perhaps, in retrospect, our blissful ignorance was better.
Josephine will be with us for Christmas this year, along with her husband and children. But our second daughter, Lucinda, will be away; celebrating in the Rockies with her Canadian boyfriend.
She’s lived in Canada for ten years now. She’s sometimes here for Christmas, but when she’s not, we still see her. Thanks to Skype. We’ll get hold of her when we’ve finished Christmas Dinner and she’s just up to start her morning. She’ll show us her presents, and give us a glimpse of the snowy mountains outside. Best of all we’ll see that gorgeous smile. And we’ll know she’s with us in spirit.
Barbara Scully, from Cabinteely, has a love hate relationship with Skype. She loved being able to see her daughter Carla’s apartment in Perth, Australia, when she moved in last June. But there is, she has discovered, a downside too.
“My first mistake was to Skype from Carla’s old bedroom. She left it looking like a war zone. I tidied it up, rearranged it, painted it, and commandeered it as a room to write in. Carla noticed where I was and said, ‘show me what you’ve done.’ I showed her, and she said, ‘Most of my friend’s mothers will leave their bedrooms alone.’”
Barbara was heartbroken when Carla, 24, left for Australia.
“It’s an instinctual thing. It’s as if part of me has gone. Carla is such a home bird. I was a single mother for ten years, so there were just the two of us. And the longest she’d been away before, was three weeks in Irish College.”
Carla is in Australia with Paddy, her boyfriend of two years. They have great jobs, and share an apartment with another Irish couple.
“It’s a great opportunity for them, and if a fairy Godmother said, ‘You can have things back as they were,’ I wouldn’t, because I know she’s so happy.”
Barbara married fifteen years ago, and has two other daughters with her husband, Paul Sherwood. There’s Roisin, 13, and Mia, 11. They adore Skype.
“They love being able to see their sister, and show her the dog. That’s very important to them. We will, of course, Skype on Christmas Day. That’s important. But it’s formal. I don’t find Skype natural.
“I yearn to meet Carla for lunch. To have coffee with her, to be in her space and share her energy. If she was in Boston, or New York, I’d visit for a weekend. Perth is so far.”
Barbara prefers communicating by text – via Whatsapp.
“I love that. You text spontaneously. It’s more natural. There doesn’t have to be something big to say. I text as I go to bed, as she is getting up. I ask what she’s going to do for the day. We tic tac back and forwards and it’s natural banter. It’s an easy flow of conversation.”
Roisin and Mia keep up via Facebook. And Carla follows her mother’s activities via Twitter.
“She sometimes reads my blog, too.” Barbara’s blog, ‘From my Kitchen Table,’ can be viewed at http://barbarascully.blogspot.com
Monica McInerney, author of Lola’s Secret, comes from a huge, Australian family. There’s her mother, six brothers and sisters, more than a dozen nieces and nephews, and various sisters in law, and cousins.
“They’re dotted around Australia,” says Monica, who is based in Ireland, with her husband, John. Skype, for her, is a life saver.
“I’ll do two sessions of Skype at Christmas,” she says. “I’ll Skype on Christmas Eve to get them on Christmas morning. I’ll have sent presents to my nieces and nephews. Last year they opened them on Skype. I’d sent clothes and dress up, so I saw them wearing them.
“I have teenage nephews and nieces, and smaller ones. The little kids run backwards and forwards to their room, saying, ‘look at this?’ It’s chaos, but it’s like being in the living room.
“I love doing Skype with my mum. I love seeing the living room, and thinking, oh, there’s that vase! I notice the pile of books behind her, and get great comfort. It’s nice seeing their houses, as much as talking to them.
“On my sister’s 50th birthday last February, my brother set up a conference Skype call. There were all these separate boxes on the screen. It was like sitting round the kitchen table chatting. It was fantastic in theory, but it was mayhem. I was too busy watching the boxes to say anything much.”
Most of the real conversations happen on group emails.
“Today I woke to 23 family emails. There are whole conversations going on with various brothers and sisters butting in. It’s all wise cracking. My mother comes in now and again as the voice of reason. I join in at the end of their day. I love emailing nephews and nieces too, I love seeing the words they are using.”
Though she loves modern communication, Monica does have one worry.
“When I was nineteen I went to London. For two years I wrote weekly letters, but censored what I said. I had wild adventures, and chose the things I told about. With Skype and Text and Facebook, kids don’t get that freedom from their family. If parents don’t hear every few hours, they worry.”
Monica is looking forwards to spending Christmas with her husband’s family. But nothing quite beats seeing her own. In Those Faraday Girls, Monica wrote of a large family, who celebrated Christmas together in July.
Reading it, her family decided to follow suit. And next July, they’ll all congregate in a large rented house in Victoria, for their second July Christmas.
“It will be four days of games, and eating and fun. And no need to skype!”
© Sue Leonard. 2011.
By Sue Leonard
Published in The Irish Examiner December 24th 2011
It was the week before Christmas. I was in the arrivals hall at Dublin airport, and all around me were scenes of joyful reunion. Couples embraced, and grandparents were in ecstasy as they met their brand new grandchildren.
I stood there, watching all this love, with tears streaming down my face. Collecting my man after a business trip, I so wished my eldest daughter, Josephine, would be stepping through those doors. But she wasn’t coming home. At 18, she was working as a Chalet Girl in France. Our brief, phone call on Christmas Day didn’t cheer us. She was upset, and hard at work in the kitchen. I was heartbroken.
Fast forward three years, and Josephine went off to Ecuador. It was a year out as part of her university course. She sent us a fax to say she’d arrived in Quito. And then we heard nothing, for three long weeks.
We sent faxes. And, finally, we rang the school where she was teaching English. They summoned her for us. We asked was she ok, and she said,
“Well I am now.” And told us she’d spent the best part of a week in hospital, on a drip, after eating dodgy ice-cream from the street.
That lack of communication would be unthinkable today. We would have heard about it on email. We’d have been getting constant texts. We’d probably have seen pictures of her attached to the drip on Facebook. Perhaps, in retrospect, our blissful ignorance was better.
Josephine will be with us for Christmas this year, along with her husband and children. But our second daughter, Lucinda, will be away; celebrating in the Rockies with her Canadian boyfriend.
She’s lived in Canada for ten years now. She’s sometimes here for Christmas, but when she’s not, we still see her. Thanks to Skype. We’ll get hold of her when we’ve finished Christmas Dinner and she’s just up to start her morning. She’ll show us her presents, and give us a glimpse of the snowy mountains outside. Best of all we’ll see that gorgeous smile. And we’ll know she’s with us in spirit.
Barbara Scully, from Cabinteely, has a love hate relationship with Skype. She loved being able to see her daughter Carla’s apartment in Perth, Australia, when she moved in last June. But there is, she has discovered, a downside too.
“My first mistake was to Skype from Carla’s old bedroom. She left it looking like a war zone. I tidied it up, rearranged it, painted it, and commandeered it as a room to write in. Carla noticed where I was and said, ‘show me what you’ve done.’ I showed her, and she said, ‘Most of my friend’s mothers will leave their bedrooms alone.’”
Barbara was heartbroken when Carla, 24, left for Australia.
“It’s an instinctual thing. It’s as if part of me has gone. Carla is such a home bird. I was a single mother for ten years, so there were just the two of us. And the longest she’d been away before, was three weeks in Irish College.”
Carla is in Australia with Paddy, her boyfriend of two years. They have great jobs, and share an apartment with another Irish couple.
“It’s a great opportunity for them, and if a fairy Godmother said, ‘You can have things back as they were,’ I wouldn’t, because I know she’s so happy.”
Barbara married fifteen years ago, and has two other daughters with her husband, Paul Sherwood. There’s Roisin, 13, and Mia, 11. They adore Skype.
“They love being able to see their sister, and show her the dog. That’s very important to them. We will, of course, Skype on Christmas Day. That’s important. But it’s formal. I don’t find Skype natural.
“I yearn to meet Carla for lunch. To have coffee with her, to be in her space and share her energy. If she was in Boston, or New York, I’d visit for a weekend. Perth is so far.”
Barbara prefers communicating by text – via Whatsapp.
“I love that. You text spontaneously. It’s more natural. There doesn’t have to be something big to say. I text as I go to bed, as she is getting up. I ask what she’s going to do for the day. We tic tac back and forwards and it’s natural banter. It’s an easy flow of conversation.”
Roisin and Mia keep up via Facebook. And Carla follows her mother’s activities via Twitter.
“She sometimes reads my blog, too.” Barbara’s blog, ‘From my Kitchen Table,’ can be viewed at http://barbarascully.blogspot.com
Monica McInerney, author of Lola’s Secret, comes from a huge, Australian family. There’s her mother, six brothers and sisters, more than a dozen nieces and nephews, and various sisters in law, and cousins.
“They’re dotted around Australia,” says Monica, who is based in Ireland, with her husband, John. Skype, for her, is a life saver.
“I’ll do two sessions of Skype at Christmas,” she says. “I’ll Skype on Christmas Eve to get them on Christmas morning. I’ll have sent presents to my nieces and nephews. Last year they opened them on Skype. I’d sent clothes and dress up, so I saw them wearing them.
“I have teenage nephews and nieces, and smaller ones. The little kids run backwards and forwards to their room, saying, ‘look at this?’ It’s chaos, but it’s like being in the living room.
“I love doing Skype with my mum. I love seeing the living room, and thinking, oh, there’s that vase! I notice the pile of books behind her, and get great comfort. It’s nice seeing their houses, as much as talking to them.
“On my sister’s 50th birthday last February, my brother set up a conference Skype call. There were all these separate boxes on the screen. It was like sitting round the kitchen table chatting. It was fantastic in theory, but it was mayhem. I was too busy watching the boxes to say anything much.”
Most of the real conversations happen on group emails.
“Today I woke to 23 family emails. There are whole conversations going on with various brothers and sisters butting in. It’s all wise cracking. My mother comes in now and again as the voice of reason. I join in at the end of their day. I love emailing nephews and nieces too, I love seeing the words they are using.”
Though she loves modern communication, Monica does have one worry.
“When I was nineteen I went to London. For two years I wrote weekly letters, but censored what I said. I had wild adventures, and chose the things I told about. With Skype and Text and Facebook, kids don’t get that freedom from their family. If parents don’t hear every few hours, they worry.”
Monica is looking forwards to spending Christmas with her husband’s family. But nothing quite beats seeing her own. In Those Faraday Girls, Monica wrote of a large family, who celebrated Christmas together in July.
Reading it, her family decided to follow suit. And next July, they’ll all congregate in a large rented house in Victoria, for their second July Christmas.
“It will be four days of games, and eating and fun. And no need to skype!”
© Sue Leonard. 2011.
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