Trevor O’Neill’s three children – Céadaoin, aged 12, Layla, aged seven, and Cody, aged five – sat in the front pew of his funeral Mass on Tuesday, along with their mother Susanne and Trevor’s father Vinny, who sat buckled over, sobbing and looking like a broken man.
The man they all loved, 41-year-old Dublin City Council drainage inspector O'Neill, a wholly innocent, collateral damage victim of the Kinahan gang's war against the Hutch family, was remembered with sorrow and humour by a congregation of about 1,000 at St Bernadette's church on Clogher Road in Crumlin, Dublin.
"I am appalled at expressions like 'mistaken identity', 'the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time' – expressions and clichés that are very shallow . . . they are empty expressions because they do not mark what is the true story," said the presiding priest, Fr Melvyn Mullins.
That true story, he said, was that "Trevor O'Neill was murdered, shot when he was doing something that an ordinary father would do: enjoying a holiday in Spain with his partner and their children.
“And Trevor, being the social guy that he was, did nothing but talk to everyone, no matter where he was, and he talked to people around the pool, he talked to people who were there at the hotel, and as he walked out into the evening, we find ourselves here.”
One such chat appears to have been with a member of the Hutch family, who happened to also be staying in the Ola Apartamentos Bouganvilla hotel in the Mallorcan resort of Costa de la Calma.
It was this chat that led to Trevor's execution-like murder on August 17th – when he was shot dead in front of his partner and their children.
Male members of his family carried his coffin, bedecked by a single red rose, into the church to the strains of Be Not Afraid.
Present among his family, friends and work colleagues at the church were Lord Mayor of Dublin Brendan Carr, city manager Owen Keegan, assistant CEO Brendan Kenny and council workers in highlighter vests and jackets.
The symbols offered spoke of the life of an ordinary man cut down in his prime.
They were a pair of sunglasses and a black cap with a BMW logo on it; his bodhrán; the flag of the Dublin GAA football team (an FAI soccer shirt was also draped on the coffin); a clutch of CDs; a Liverpool Football Club shirt; medicine ("for his dodgy hip," said his cousin Gary to laughter); several bookie dockets ("He was the worst gambler in history," Gary said); a photograph of his three children; and a DCC Inspector-on-Call car windscreen sign.
“He got more satisfaction from that than being promoted inspector,” said Gary. “It was a free parking sign!”
Readings
Readings from the Book of Isaiah and from St Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians spoke of the everlasting light of God and the greatness of love.
“This was no accident,” said Fr Mullins in his homily, before going on to describe a man who worked hard to give his partner and their children a home, and to care for them “in a wonderful fashion”.
He loved people, music and telling stories; he was obliging, kind and helpful, and was also just a little mad, said the priest.
“He was one who, in the great Dublin expression, could be described as ‘mad’ - mad in the sense that he was full of energy, tricks and jokes . . . He was nothing but a good and kind person.”
Fr Mullins was assisted by Fr Pat Gayer of the Augustinians in Thomas Street, representing the residents of Meath Street who were often helped by Mr O'Neill, and by Fr Gerry Kane of Holy Rosary Church in Harold's Cross.
In a brief but heartfelt eulogy, Gareth Connolly, Trevor's first cousin, spoke affectionately of him.
“Trevor was a beautiful person in every way,” he said. “He was completely full of life – full of laughs, full of joy, full of stories but most of all, full of love.”
He liked nothing more than jumping into his car on a sunny day and heading off to Brittas Bay with his children.
“He never went anywhere without his children,” said Mr Connolly.
As his coffin was blessed, Susan Dowling sang May The Road Rise Before You and as they carried Trevor O'Neill's remains from the church to his final resting place in Mount Jerome, it was to the sounds of Gerry and the Pacemakers' singing You'll Never Walk Alone.
The single stem rose remained behind by the altar.
