I Wear a Tri-coloured
Ribbon O.....
The wonderfully quaint
old woman wandered quietly around the town humming and singing very softly to
herself. Strange, but it seemed that she walked on air as her
movements were otherwise totally silent. It was also quite obvious
to those of us children who looked at her with sideways glances and enquiring
eyes that ‘she was not all
there’. Needless to say but we always gave her a wide
berth whilst the adults on the other hand gave her a knowing nod with the men
raising their hats and caps to her. It was as if they treated her
with some form of reverence and a great deal of respect.
To us seven or eight
year old boys she was amusing in a curious sort of way as we did not know
anything about her and kept our distance every time she approached us on the
pavement. She was very small, about five feet tall, weighed no more
than six stone with a beautiful complexion. It was not that she
ever said or did anything to cause the apprehension that we always felt – it
was just that she was odd to our childish unknowing minds.
She was always
immaculately clean and her clothing, although old, was also spotlessly
clean. She always wore a broad-rimmed straw hat and would you
believe it but she had a large green, white and gold ribbon tied around
it. It was also obvious that she regularly changed the ribbon as it
was forever crisp as new and brightly coloured.
The time I speak of is
around 1952 back home in Ireland. It was a time of hardship
especially for the older generation. The old lady was about
sixty-two or three which is not old nowadays. It was then of course
after the sufferings of the recent World War. She was needless to
say not the only ‘character’ in
the town in those days, if in fact she deserved that title, for there were
numerous veterans from both wars including many with shell-shock and missing
limbs. Artificial arms and legs were a rarity and unaffordable in
those days.
We also had the
so-called ‘sane’ characters
such as the ‘Sheriff’ who
came in from the country by bus every Saturday dressed in an authentic cowboy
outfit. There were also the ‘Mario
Lanza’ impersonators on the street corners singing their lungs
out with renderings of the great hits of the day. Thinking back,
the town was a hotchpotch of such odd individuals when all is said and done.
However, the old lady
with the ribbons on her bonnet was not to be confused with the
others. She had an air of mystery about her which made her seem
more spiritual than odd.
Once whilst standing
behind her in a shop I heard her speak in a most beautiful accent.
She spoke in Gaelic to
the assistant who did not have any idea what the lady was talking about.
Without thinking, I interpreted what she had said much to the surprise of not
only the assistant but also the old lady. The smile on her face was
quite serene and beautiful. She thanked me in Gaelic and bought a
small bar of chocolate which she presented to me.
As I left the shop she
was standing outside on the pavement and called me over. She began
to speak rapidly in Irish which was much too fast for me to
understand. I apologised and she changed to English.
She asked my name, my age and the names of my parents. It seemed
that she knew my father who was also a lesser-known character in the town but
not up to the standard of the Sheriff or any of the Mario Lanzas.
We parted with good wishes in Gaelic and I thought no more of the incident.
However, I made up my mind that in future I would always stop and speak to her
whenever I saw her in the street.
About a week later, my
mum spoke to me. “I
hear that you are in favour with Miss Deignan, the old lady with the tri-colour
on her bonnet, according to what she said to your father?”
I asked her who she meant and she mentioned the old lady in the shop. “She is a lovely old woman
mum” I said quietly “and
she gave me a small bar of chocolate for helping her”. “You are a
good lad Michael for if ever a person deserves help it is herself”
mum said almost in a whisper.
“Why does she always
wear the ribbon mum?” I asked truly interested. “Now keep it to yourself” mum
began “and say
nothing to your father. You see he is what’s called a Loyalist and
all for the Royal Family. You know, you must have really impressed
her for her to even speak to him at all. You see she is one of the
truest Republicans that I have ever known”. “Why not tell dad?” I
asked. “Well,
you know he carries the British flag every November on Remembrance Day – well
she is the direct opposite. She wears the tri-colour to show her
republican views” mum again answered in a whisper.
“They say” mum continued “that she was engaged to be married in
1916 to a fine young man. When word arrived about the Uprising in
Dublin that Easter, he up and left to join the Rebels. He died in
the GPO in O’Connell’s Street on Easter Monday. She went into shock
when she got the news and it took her years to recover – if in fact she ever
truly did. You see, she wears the ribbon on her bonnet to tell
everyone that she is still very proud of him right to this day. She
never met another young man and never married”.
Now the strange thing
is that how I managed to grow up without going crazy about Irish politics I
shall never know. My dad’s family were all truly staunch Loyalists
whilst my mum and her family were totally committed to an Irish
Republic. I never got involved in either side but I do know that
when I left to join the London Police, mum was more than a little disappointed
in me for a year or two.
Oddly enough, when I
began working in the East End of London, I honestly believed that every second
person I spoke to was completely mad which reminded me of my hometown and kept
the pangs of homesickness at bay. However, nowhere over the many
years since I first spoke to the old lady in my home town have I met such a
wonderful person who was so proud of her beliefs.
‘All around her hat she
wore a bright coloured ribbon o,
T’was all for her true
love she never more would see’.
------------Mike-------------
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