BY JOHN FITZGERALD
(Part three)
(Continuing the story of the doctors who attended to people in Callan and district in times past…parts one and two can be read on the Observer website)
Dr. Patrick J. Phelan was grandson of the famous Callan historian Tom Shelly. He graduated from UCD and assumed his post at Callan hospital in 1915 and continued to serve there until the hospital closed after independence in 1922.
In 1941, he married Brigid Torpey of Rathculbin, and the couple turned a lot of heads as they cycled around Callan and neighbouring towns and villages on a tandem-a bicycle made for two.
His practice was extensive, encompassing three counties: Kilkenny, Waterford and Tipperary. He overcame the challenge posed by fuel rationing by availing of alternative forms of transport.
He alternated between driving a pony-and-trap and gas-powered car to make house calls and cobbled a motorbike together from scrap and spare parts that proved remarkably road-worthy.
Dr. Phelan loved his game of golf, played rugby, and was a noted marksman. His quirky sense of humour endeared him to patients of all ages. And he was a godsend to the local and visiting hurlers. Up to the late fifties, he tended to the wounds and bruises of the sportsmen after their frequent clashes on the Fair Green.
He sat or stood among the throngs of cheering supporters on the sidelines, taking a keen interest in the action, but also mindful of the injuries he would have to treat.
His healing hands applied thousands of stitches to robust and athletic bodies that were ripped and torn. He seemed to fly through the numerous cuts and sprains, tending to one battle-scarred player after another in quick succession, and yet managing to accord each sportsman his undivided attention.
There was widespread grief when Dr. Phelan died suddenly at his home in Ceannafahey in 1962. His grave is in Kilbride. His patients decided to erect a memorial to honour his service to Callan.
A committee under the chairmanship of Pat Dooley, Green Street, mounted a vigorous campaign to highlight achievements as a doctor and agreed on a suitable way of saying “thank you” to Paddy Phelan for his selfless dedication.
Given his inventive nature and scientific prowess, they opted to remember the good doctor by financing the building of a science hall in the local CBS.
Margaret Phelan of Kilkenny Archaeological Society unveiled a lovely plaque bearing his name in 1970. Referring to his life, she remarked: “Difficult journeys and long night vigils cemented the relationship between doctor and patient and turned it into a firm and enduring friendship which lasted all their lives and surely will have carried on into a better world”.
Dr. Patrick Hyland took up the post of dispensary doctor in 1970. He was a native of Edgeworthstown and had practised for twelve years in Bradford before moving to Callan.
Within weeks of his arrival, he decided that this would be the town to which he would devote his life and work. He loved the somewhat laid-back and minimalist mindset of locals, who never seemed to go to extremes in any given situation or over-exert themselves.
He found they had a balanced outlook on life, not taking it too seriously, except perhaps when it came to looking after their health- a valid and sensible approach- and in their pious dedication to preserving the “faith of their fathers.”
He discovered that the admonition “everything in moderation” applied especially to Callan, as the townsfolk adopted a middle-of-the-road, level-headed, if sometimes necessarily humdrum though far from uninspiring attitude to their daily chores and challenges.
Compassion and a genuine rapport with the people who required his attention were the hallmarks of the service he offered to the people of Callan.
Though a highly skilled doctor, patients felt so much at ease when dealing with him that they sometimes forgot that he was in fact there to advise on health issues and to safeguard them from the ravages of life…whether these involved over-indulgence in the hard stuff, advancing age, serious illness, or the countless minor complaints, real or imaginary, that assail the human condition.
A favourite saying of his that never ceased to provoke a laugh or two was: “Look, don’t worry, I had that myself one time and look at me now.” It was part of his way of softening the blow of almost any setback or anxiety that a patient might present him with at the dispensary.
He had the patience of Job and the Wisdom of Solomon. Apart from providing a top-class service, he went beyond the call of duty in seeing to the wellbeing of patients.
He liked his occasional pint at Hourigan’s pub in Bridge Street. He felt at home equally among his “regulars” in the pub as in his dispensary whose waiting room was forever abuzz with laughter and gossip as patients brushed off their worries by engaging in healthy banter.
Dr. Hyland encouraged this mirthful atmosphere, believing that laughter was the best medicine, and that it could, in certain circumstances, cure potential patients of what ailed them.
Many illnesses, he pointed out, existed more in the mind than in the body, and he recognised the importance of maintaining a positive mental attitude in all situations.
In 1999, the good doctor retired after almost three decades of unstinting service to Callan. The very idea of him bowing out seemed unthinkable to most people in the town.
They had come to regard Dr. Hyland as a semi-permanent fixture on the social landscape. I was present in the Parish Church when locals sprung a happy surprise in his honour. A mural draped across the front of the altar conveyed a hint of what lay in store. It depicted healing hands.
The veteran medic was overcome with emotion when a special presentation was made to him on behalf of the town he had served so well.
It was a fitting, and poignant, epilogue to a life of healing. Just a few months after this expression of a community’s gratitude, Dr. Hyland took his leave of Callan, and a world he had enriched by his medical expertise.
His funeral drew thousands of mourners, many of them former patients who came to say goodbye to the man they called “The Doc.”
