Dad, your guiding hand will be on our shoulders forever.

Across the world, Father’s Day falls on the third Sunday in June. The special day was originally founded in the USA. It was first celebrated at the YMCA in Washington in 1910 in honor of a local single parent who raised his six children. Since then, it has been adopted by many countries in appreciation of father figures everywhere.

We have many memories and tales to tell about our father. Below are some reflections from the four sisters.

Collette

The Provider and Protector

When we were young, we didn’t have any pocket money to buy something nice, but every Father’s Day our daddy would take us to visit his father who lived on a farm in the North of Ireland. We took great delight in being allowed to feed the young calves and piglets, and enjoying the lovely scones and fruit cake granny made for tea.

After tea, we would sneak into granny’s garden and shell and eat the fresh peas she grew there. She must have been mad when she discovered what we had done, but she never said a word.

Thinking back, times must have been hard but we never felt poor, on the contrary our lives were rich and the memories always bring a smile. Daddy was a strong man at the center of our community and he inspired us girls to go out into the world and make our mark.

Happy times—and still we miss them. Instead of cards now, we send our prayers.

Teresa

The Enthusiast and Inspirer

He was a big man. Big in every way—in stature and in character. There were times when he’d be telling you something and you’d swear you were being told off. He was a man of many talents. Throughout his life he became proficient at motorcycle racing, motor mechanics, TV repair (when they used to have valves and things), clay pigeon shooting (he was part of the Irish Team), play-writing and production, decorative wrought iron work, training boys in boxing, and a number of other pursuits best kept quiet!

He had a fabulous collection of classic and vintage motorcycles many of which were restored from when he’d hauled them out of a hedge somewhere. A wonderful humorous storyteller, he made us laugh out loud and made a virtue of ‘don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story!’

He was a really clever, intelligent man and the worst thing you could say to him was ‘it can’t be done’. Lo and behold it was done.

He is the root of my strong sense of justice and fairness, particularly instilled during the worst of the Troubles in Northern Ireland when I was a teenager. He helped me believe in myself, aspire to greater things and he cultivated in me a strong sense of duty to family and friends.

The measure of the man was evident in the thousands who passed through our house at his wake and then at his funeral. I miss him still.

Lucia

The Builder of our Little Blue Castle

It was small and perfectly formed and sat up on a rockery by the fountain in the garden. It was a wonderful sky blue with yellow steeples and white windows. It was big enough for two kids to hide in or dream in.

I was so proud of that castle because our dad made it. It was unique, just like him. It was strong, just like him. And it was loud, just like him.

It was a castle built by an engineer and it showed.

Sunday was family day, back in the days when shopping malls and other stores didn’t open on Sunday. Families would take a ‘Sunday drive’ and we always had people stopping by our front gate to have a chat and admire the little blue castle, glistening in the sun amidst the spray of the fountain and the brightly colored flowers. It was even featured in the local newspaper.

I wish I had a great quality photo to share so that you could see how magical it was through a child’s eyes. It was a long time ago but I still see it so clearly in my mind and I can’t help but smile. And the best part is that I can now tell my grandkids about it.

Thank you, Daddy.

The Little Blue Castle

The only surviving photograph and a better image from the imagination of Lucia’s granddaughter, Ara.

Anne Marie

The Storyteller and Writer

One night, when I was ten years old, I got to go on a rare night out with mummy and daddy. It was raining and cold when we pulled up outside the community hall as people gathered for an event.

Mummy and I took our seats and daddy went off behind the stage. I wasn’t really sure what we were going to see, but the hall filled up quickly, the lights dimmed and then it began. The story of the Matchmaker.

I recognized most people in the small cast, each of them playing several roles. But I couldn’t see daddy. The staging was simple with a few chairs, a table and the warmth of an imaginary fire. It was against this backdrop that we were taken on a journey of love and hardship — and it was the most mesmerizing thing I had ever seen.

I didn’t want it to end, but it did and there was a standing ovation. I stood up and applauded with everyone else, feeling so grateful that I was there at that very moment.

The applause died down and the cast took their last bow. It turns out that this was the last night of the play which had been hosted in many other parish halls in the previous weeks.

And then something happened. The cast called upon the director to join them on stage – and up stepped my dad. I had to look twice to make sure it was him, and there was another standing ovation. They thanked him with a beautiful set of Tyrone Crystal glasses and decanter that is still in our home today. I could see daddy was moved to tears. But not as much as I was.

My heart was bursting with pride. I always knew that dad was a wonderful storyteller but I had no idea that he had directed and produced this play that brought so much joy to all who saw it.

Over the years, he produced many plays, and even wrote one of his own called The Gaffer — all about Gaelic Football of course. That feeling of pride has stayed with me every time I think of daddy.

He did so much to make us proud. I hope we have done the same for him.

A Father’s Day Gift Worthy of a President

When President Obama visted Ireland he was presented with a set of these stunning cufflinks designed and handcrafted by Declan Killen, one of our favorite artisans. The Triskele design is based on the entrance stone to Newgrange, Ireland’s oldest passage tomb dating back over 5,000 years. See his collection here. https://www.declankillen.com/product-category/cufflinks/