I couldn’t wait to leave Ireland. I have distinct memories of gazing out the window in secondary school and dreaming of foreign climes. Didn’t matter where it was, just not Ireland. So one Sunday morning in August 1990 I stepped off a bus in London`s Victoria Coach station and headed off into the future.
I was never homesick. There were odd moments, when I would catch an accent on the tram in Melbourne, or phone home at Christmas. But basically I left and didn’t look back.
The idea of returning was suggested by my parents in phone calls. My mum telling me how people with my qualifications were being sought, and how my brother had come home from the States and was doing great. But the Celtic Tiger didn’t catch me. I was gone and that was that. I didn’t go to Irish pubs, didn’t really have any Irish friends or connections.
Fast forward 24 years: I am now living in Switzerland. I have been here since 2001, after spending five years each in London and Melbourne. My wife and children laugh at my accent when I speak German. I have dual nationality, as do my children. I am at home here, part of the community.
Being back in Europe has allowed me to reconnect with Ireland. I go home twice a year, more than that the last couple of years when my mum was sick. The kids love Irish bacon and chat with their cousins on iPhones. I see my family, love having a pint with my brother and bring back a backpack full of Barry’s tea. For the Swiss, tea is something you drink if you are sick.
The frequent visits have also allowed me to reassess my own tangled relationship with Ireland. Even after 24 years, I still say that I am going “home” when we go to Ireland. When my children were born, it was suddenly important to me that they be registered as Irish citizens with the embassy in Berne. I had no idea where this feeling came from, and wondered if it was just silly sentimentality to a country I had left over 10 years before. I have come to recognise it is more than that.
The German word which fits is "Heimat", which implies not just a nationality, but also a deeper cultural and spiritual connection to one's home country. It is something I feel when I go to Donegal, where both my parents come from. The hills, the sea, the changing light when the clouds roll over Ardara. The grave yard, where I always go to see my grandparents graves and leave a flower. The old house, now renovated, which hold childhood memories of eating herring and turf fires in the range. The knowledge that generations of my family before me have walked these roads, seen this changing light. My children have now done this too. It is a connection, albeit intangible, to the generations before them.
Switzerland is home. But Ireland is “Heimat”.
This article was submitted as an entry to the Generation Emigration 'Ireland and Me' competition, which is now closed. For more 'Ireland and Me' stories, click here.
