FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
Gary Lynch passed away on January 17. I loved Gary. Did I tell him that? Don’t be daft. Men don’t tell each other that they love each other (but we should). I feel I’d known Gary all my life.
That said I am desperately trying to remember when and where I first met him. I can’t. What I do remember, however, is the last time we met – maybe three weeks ago in the Butter Slip. Gary was carefully, and cautiously, negotiating the steps as he came down; Gerry was carefully, and cautiously, negotiating the steps as he headed up.
“We’re at that age, Gerry,” Gary remarked. “For sure,” I replied and we got chatting for about 10 minutes or so, as we almost always did when we’d bump into each other on the town. And as we almost always did – we promised, maybe even swore, to have a drink together. Soon. In fact Gary handed me his card to remind me to give him a call. The card read: Gearóid O Loinsigh TTCT, Traditional Irish Music Teacher (have no idea what those letters stand for and intended to ask him when we met for that drink).
We never had that drink. Which reminded me of another man I was threatening to have a drink with for years – the late Joe Dowling. As it happened I did manage to have a pint with Joe – accidently. Walked into O’Riada’s one night and who was ensconced in the corner only the bold Joe – with, of all people, Gary Lynch. Well, two more interesting people you could not meet. Good company? The best of company.
Can’t for the life of me remember what we chatted about – it was a good many years ago after all and some alcohol was consumed. Gary, of course, as his card testified – loved music. He hosted a programme, Ceol sa Chistin, on the old KCR (Kilkenny Community Radio) and performed in the Watergate Theatre under the same banner, Ceol sa Chistin. Indeed I have a great photograph in some shoebox or other that I took of Gary playing the flute back in the day (must find it and give it to the family).
And thank you Billy Carrigan and John Bergin for the lovely tunes in Johnston’s funeral home. And thank you, Ellen Lynch, Gary’s niece, for hosting the service and for the loving words. I had almost forgotten that Gary was also a talented jeweller. Well done all. And well done to you, Conor (Gary’s son), on your touching words. I was particularly interested in your comment that Gary liked to think of himself as “eccentric, alternative and different” (hope I’m quoting you correctly, Conor). Funnily enough, as long as I have known Gary I never thought of him as eccentric, alternative or different – perhaps it’s because I’m a bit like that myself! Oh no you’re not…
As we walked Gary to St Kieran’s Cemetery, I was impressed by that lovely tradition we have – where cars stop to let the hearse pass. I love that simple, gesture of respect. Let us never lose it.
In the graveyard I got talking to Jimmy Larkin, an old colleague of Gary’s from the Post Office who used deliver the mail to our school. Jimmy was talking about his late father, Jim’ Moscow’ Larkin.
I was intrigued by his nickname: ‘Moscow’. “How did that come about?” I asked Jimmy.
“My father was born in 1920 and when he was 10 he was out playing on the Kells Road when someone came along with the Evening Herald and showed everyone the headline: “Jim Larkin (the trade unionist – Gary Lynch, by the way, was big into the Labour Party) Goes to Moscow.” And 10-year-old Jim Larkin was known as ‘Moscow’ ever since.
Indeed Jimmy told us how his sister Claire was asked in school what her father’s name was and she replied: “Moscow.”
“But what’s his real name,” the teacher continued: “Moscow,” she replied. Whereupon, the teacher called Claire’s cousin and asked her for Jim Larkin’s real name. “Moscow,” she replied. “Oh, forget it,” the teacher said resignedly.
Finally – my heartfelt sympathy to Maeve, Evie, Conor and all the Lynch family.
As for Gary, ní bheidh a leithíd ann arís.
