In Life

In September, our family was invited to the launch of a new sporting facility in Rockwell College, my Dad's old school, because they'd named it after him. It was a lovely day and a total honour, made even more special because his grandkids were there, all except one, he hadn't met. I made a speech which I've pasted below, tongue firmly in cheek of course!

Our Father, who art in heaven – wasn’t a talker.

In fact, his favourite piece of advice was ‘to keep your powder dry’ – his was dehydrated. Most mornings, Dad sat in silence at the kitchen table, buried deep behind a newspaper, until the phone rang. Only then would he lower the broadsheet, instructing whoever was taking the call to: ‘Tell them I’m not here.’

But for a man who stayed mostly schtum, it’s telling that we always knew where he had gone to school. Rockwell had a presence in our home and in our father’s thoughts. It wasn’t an oppressive presence, as sometimes school can be; it seemed light, playful even.

Dad often slipped out tantalising snippets - like Rodney Heckshire, who hailed the whole way from Nigeria, his first and lasting friend, to Billy Bones, superhero extraordinaire and defender of the weak, and Jimmy Rockwell, a musician whose name change honoured his alma mater. And so we imagined the school as a sort of Hogwarts, magical, with stone walls, moving staircases and its fair share of ghosts.

Dad was sent here at seven and, over the course of ten years, applied himself to many subjects by all reports.

It was said he was diligent in Geography – and in only his first year after numerous attempts, became the youngest student to circumvent school authorities and successfully navigate his way undetected from Tipperary back to Kilkenny, only to be returned the following day.

He also applied himself well in Business Studies. Having taken up smoking at the age of seven, turned his new hobby into a thriving business. Selling cigarettes to fellow pupils at an impressive gross margin.

He had a keen nose for Home Economics – and came up with inventive food preservation methods, often ejecting saliva directly onto his dinner to ensure its safe passage into his mouth.

It was noted he could apply himself more in Physical Education, but that he somehow never failed to excel on the day. And often overcame his fear of heights to earn numerous accolades in the pole vault. Some said if he demonstrated a little more commitment toward training, he could also do well on the rugby field.

However, he had vast improvements to make in Religious Studies. During prayers while holding vigil over the body of a deceased bishop, he was sent hurtling from the room when the dead man sat up, propped from beneath by some boisterous older students. Afterwards, he demonstrated a profound fear of death, which it was noted he would most probably overcome. We reckon he has by now.

Dad’s character was built in Rockwell, possibly not in a way his teachers may have hoped, but in a way that made him different, that made him who he was.

For a man who said little but gave loads, we know that though he may not have told many about this honour, he would be beyond proud. And so thank you, on behalf of our family but especially his grandkids, Jo, Bobbie, Bill, Dylan and Caelen, that now, in the halls of Rockwell, hallowed be his name.