FURTHERMORE
By Gerry Moran
My brother passed away last week. My big brother. John was the oldest of our family of five; I was the youngest with three girls, Frances, Mary and Eadie (RIP) in between. Because of the age gap between us, almost a decade, John was more of a father figure to me than a brother, especially after our father died. And John and his wife Ann were always there for me when I was studying in Dublin.
In school John was what we called ‘brainy’. He sat the Leaving Certificate at 16 years of age and got enough marks to go to university. Our family, however, couldn’t afford to send him to uni and so he headed off to Dublin, an innocent at large really, and entered the Civil Service. Later he got into computers going on to work with IBM, ACC Bank and latterly became a freelance computer consultant.
John was bright for sure. We, his siblings, thought him a genius when we were very young but as we got older we realised that all of our family were geniuses! (tongue firmly in cheek as I write that).
Although John lived in Dublin for most of his 83 years he loved Kilkenny, not least the hurling. A facts and figures man he could rattle off scores and dates to beat the band when it came to the Black & Amber. Indeed, one of the most treasured sporting moments of my life was thanks to John. 1963 and John had sourced two All-Ireland hurling tickets, one for the Canal End and one for the Hogan Stand. John stood in the Canal End and gave the Hogan Stand ticket to my mother who lifted me, a youngster, over the stiles (common practice back then) and so I watched the Hurling All Ireland of 1963, my very first, sitting on my mother’s knee as Kilkenny beat Waterford.
Some years back I was delighted to repay John when I wined and dined him in a hospitality suite in Croke Park for another Kilkenny hurling final. Mind you, there was plenty of dining but not much wine-ing as I was driving and John never drank in his life. And I always wished John did drink as I have bonded with many a man over a pint. Or two. Or three. And who knows what we’d have chatted about over a pint.
John was partially responsible for me writing for newspapers. Back in the day, Hugh Leonard, in his column in the Sunday Independent, invited readers to submit, in 100 words, who, when we were young, we wanted to be when we grew up. I knew exactly who I wanted to be: my Big Brother John who knew all about the Vikings, had a slug-gun and even played chess. Mr Leonard gave me top billing in his column, sent me a book token for 10 pounds, reignited my interest in writing and I’ve been writing, especially for newspapers, ever since – and something John was aware of. In fact he always ended our phone chats with: “Mocky” (he always called me ‘Mocky’ from the Irish ‘Mac’ for son, the father-figure relationship again) “Mocky,” he’d say, “remember what our mother used to say, keep [it] out of the papers” and we’d have a wee chuckle over the irony of that.
And I was so moved by the messages of condolence on RIP, messages from people who worked with him who probably knew him better than I and those messages made me so proud of my brother. Here are a few snippets:
a true gentleman *** a kind and gentle man *** I will always remember John’s kindness and generosity *** he was so patient, helpful and funny in my early days of technology *** always so kind and full of chats ***
John’s advice was always to be remembered. And my sincere thanks to everyone, former colleagues, cousins, neighbours and friends, who sent messages of condolence and who travelled to Dublin for the funeral. I very much appreciated it.
Also, I loved meeting up with John and Ann’s children and grandchildren. So proud of them, I can only imagine how proud John was. And thank you, Aideen, for the wonderful eulogy.
Finally, I was always looking up to my big brother John – and I always will.
