It is "a grey Offaly day" as I write - an expression which my long-standing friend from childhood, Lynette Fegen, used to describe a day with which we, who live on this Atlantic island, are all so familiar. She spoke the words with a light inflection which gave the prospect that a milky whiteness might emerge some time soon to lighten the gloom.
She, however, understood well and appreciated the subtle variations of grey that created such a day, as she was reared in an Offaly village called Ballycumber in a house with the surprising name, in such a location, of Twickenham House. The juxtaposition between the names Twickenham and Ballycumber was reflected within Lynette, in that she could move with grace and ease in the environs of London and the Home Counties, and did so, but it was from the imperceptible rhythms of the Midlands world of Ballycumber and its grey Offaly days that her strengths came.
That understanding of grey and the complementary browns and sombre greens of Midlands Ireland she absorbed into a reflective awareness of wild flowers, bogs and woods and the little things which others might not see and rarely extol. It also demonstrated itself in a more unlikely venue when, in her late teens, she went to live in Paris.
She was able to assimilate effortlessly the Θlan and quiet chic of a Parisienne while she perfected her French to a similar elegance. She understood the importance of a stylish but simple belt, bag or pair of shoes to enhance whatever she was wearing. Attention to detail was the name of the game. In Paris she found her own style.
From Paris she returned to Ireland; shortly thereafter she threw her considerable energy and enthusiasm into the world of Europe, as she worked in the European Information office in Dublin at the beginning of the remarkable change that Europe has enabled Ireland to create. She could see that this new dispensation represented a counterbalance to the time-worn debate between Britain and Ireland.
She encountered the world of journalism and politics and, most importantly for Lynette, her lifelong partner and future husband, Mike Burns. That he too, should be from the Midlands - Roscommon - gave them an affinity that was not apparent to the rest of us, given how different their respective lives had been up until the time they met.
They both understood the possibilities of the grey Offaly day. They brought gaiety to it and enlivened it as they advanced together through the joys and vagaries of the world of politics and journalism in these two islands and the wider European community.
Throughout her own career, which included not only the EU office, but a period of expert professional cooking and more recently the creation and establishment of the Irish Media Contacts Directory, she had an unwavering genius for kindness and generosity of spirit.
The main beneficiaries of her kindness were naturally her parents and her immediate family, but also in mighty measure her friends. She was indiscriminate as to age, fortune or background as regards her friends and, with her natural manners, could laugh with and comprehend the fears of those younger or older, even if the age gap was 30 years or so.
She gave hours of her time to the routine and mundane events which make friendship such a demanding but ultimately rewarding relationship. She was steely when she sought to protect a vulnerable person from some injustice which many of us would not even notice. She was arrow-like in their defence as her russet, red-haired temperament sallied forth in controlled anger to divert the danger or protect the vulnerable.
She understood better than most that life was for living and that most of us inevitably will get into a scrape or two of which we are not proud. You could tell Lynette all the grisly details of the scrape. With a mischievous smile she was likely to recall some forgotten scrape of her own which had come to mind. You relaxed. You were not alone. What had been a worry to you became an experience shared. She was the best of friends.
Her untimely ashes lie in a churchyard, near her parents' home of recent years, not far from the shores of Lough Ree in Co Westmeath, with Offaly and Roscommon close by. A rustling-of-leaves-in-trees place in which to contemplate the small but beautiful, which Lynette knew instinctively was the important. The grey Offaly days will continue. They have been altered and enriched by her.
J. McB.