Cemetery visit sees Vinny ponder life’s hard choices

Kilbarrack Cemetery on the Dublin Road was well known to Vinny Fitzpatrick in that he passed it regularly in his day job on the buses. On rare occasions, and this Saturday evening was one of them, he took a peek inside. For this visit, he was armed with a heavy conscience.

It was almost 25 years since his feisty aul fella, Finbarr, had been interred in a quiet corner of the cemetery after a massive heart attack snatched him before he could turn three score and ten.

His Da’s last words to Vinny, delivered in a rasping voice in the Mater Hospital, were clear-cut: “Son, bury me facing St Anne’s, so I can always follow the Gaels.”

Dutifully, Vinny did as instructed, which explained why the grave was built at right angles to the others. It had meant paying for two plots but his Da was worth every penny.

Under a spirited April sun, Vinny tip-toed through the silent sentinels of stone to his father’s resting place. As he did, he felt a sense of shame from within. His act of betrayal, delivered via a raised mitt on the shop floor a couple of days ago was one, he knew, that would have caused his Da’s soul to spin.

For Vinny had inherited much of his Da’s hard-working principles. Like him, he believed in a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work, and he clocked in for duty, whether chipper or not, to provide the public with a service.

Behind the wheel

Only events of the past days had forced him to disown the values shaped by his ol‘ man and by his own 35 years behind the wheel. It followed the Government’s money-grabbing decision to privatize 10 per cent of public routes currently supplied by Bus Éireann and

Dublin Bus

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Across all garages, the mood was hostile and Sean ‘Stormy’ Gale, the chapel officer for the union in Clontarf, had little difficulty whipping emotions to a frenzy when he called for strike action.

“Brother workers, this is the greatest threat to our liberty since the trams were done away with. If we say yes to a 10 per cent cut today, what happens when they want 20 per cent of our jobs tomorrow?

“We must send out an emphatic message, that we won’t be bullied or coerced on this issue. We must strike to protect our livelihoods. Are yiz with us lads? Are yiz?” he thundered.

Everyone was, even if Vinny’s flabby paw appeared a fraction later than his colleagues. His logic had been simple. After the way his position at home had been outsourced by Angie, Vinny was damned if his job was going to go the same way.

As cheers rang out across the forecourt, Vinny made the mental call to pop out to Black Banks and bring his Da up to speed. Approaching the grave, Vinny noted the bundle of withered flowers below the headstone – his sister Bernie always dropped by on the October anniversary.

Family situation

The ‘chat’ with Finbarr took a few minutes as Vinny filled in the background, the consequences of job cuts and his own family situation.

“Da, I’m 57 and separated. If I’m shunted out of a job, no one will give me another chance. I’ve got to stay in the tent, p*****g out, rather than leave the tent and start p*****g in. I’d like to think you’d understand what I’ve done, and why.”

After a bit, Vinny blessed himself and got to his feet.

Looking about, he had a gawk at the ruins of the Church of Mone, which dated to the 13th century and once commanded a fine sea view, long before Bull Island ever sprouted Marram Grass.

In The Borstal Boy, Brendan Behan had written that Kilbarrack graveyard was "the healthiest in Ireland because it was so close to the sea". As he moseyed around, he took in the nun's graveyard, walled off in a corner, all neat and tidy, in rows of black.

And then, in the shady nook, Vinny spied a row of graves which caused him to tarry. There were four names, all servicemen, all Irish, who fell in the Great War of 1914-18.

It reminded Vinny of that time in history when many young men of 20 said goodbye to Ireland, only to come home in a coffin, or not at all.

In a year from now, he pondered, there would be much pomp and ceremony about the lives lost in the 1916 Rising, where the deeds of Pearse, Connolly and Clarke would be placed on a pedestal.

But what of the many more who fell in Flanders, not Findlater Place?

As a kid, Vinny read that more Irishmen died in the first hour of battle in the Somme than in the whole week the Easter Rising.

It had stuck with him. Why weren’t those fallen commemorated like the IRB hierarchy were?

King against kaiser

If those “many young men” hadn’t fought for king against kaiser, Germany would probably have won the first World War, the result favoured by Pearse and Co.

“And where would that have left romantic Ireland then?” he wondered.

At each of the graves, those of the two privates, the sergeant and the aircraftman’s (2nd class), Vinny paused.

“Lads, ye fought for a cause that wasn’t populist but ye felt was right. Fair play,” he said softly. “You were probably ostracized by your neighbours for it, just as we busmen will be harangued by those forced to walk to work and school, at the end of next week.

“Sometimes, as ye knew as well as anyone, the hard choice has to be made for the greater good.”

As Vinny blessed himself and made for the exit, the sun skipped behind a cloud. Suddenly, he felt quite cold.