At what point did you notice yourself getting old? Or older at least. Personally, seeing ‘older’ relatives pass away back in the years probably have had a different effect than is now the case. You know the way it is when you’re a youngster, ‘grown ups’ seem eons older when the reality may in fact not be that of a gap at all. Then, when folk of our own ‘vintage’ are taken far too young, it prompts a different explosion of emotions altogether.
Losing a parent, though, is a Rubicon you truly will not have a clue how to deal with until you arrive at that fork in the road. Trust me, more than three years have passed since the boss here slipped away to the great beyond and my ability to cope and methodology for coping with same changes daily or sometimes even quicker than that.
You see, there is no one size fits all, no set menu for dealing with that most inevitable stoppage in play in the game of life. But when can be attested from personal experience is that it’s a road you will truly never understand until you have to navigate down it. To tie in with the question posed atop this offering, for me at least, it was when Da passed away and, even more so, seeing the parents of my contemporaries called ashore as well.
In many cases because they themselves had, over the years, become every bit as much treasured friends as are their offspring. In particular, at this time, I think of the late Sean Conroy – for so long the heart and soul of Dunboyne Athletic Club – and on Saturday morning last, the GAA fraternity in the locality lost somebody of commensurate status and distinction with the sudden passing of Mick Reilly.
Before going forward any further, I will admit, at my own expense, to once again feeling wholly unqualified to pay tribute to Mick but as tends to be my plan of action in these cases, I will work with what is known for certain.
So, besides the fact that his son Michael is one of my oldest and dearest friends, Mick Reilly’s place in Dunboyne folklore, sporting and otherwise, is truly assured.
Both as a player and, perhaps even more so, mentor with local GAA teams. As a player, I know he, along with several if not all of his six brothers, were on Dunboyne team which won the Feis Cup in 1958 and, to the best of my knowledge, he was also involved with our hurlers who came up short in three SHC Finals in the 1960s.
When his playing days were over, he along with Brian Smyth – probably along with others also – were mentors, minders and moulders of the generations who follow them. Including the U16 group which did the Hurling/Football double for the club in the mid 60s.
Then, in time, himself and wife Marion – a member of the storied Watters clan – had their own family, Paul, Brigid and Michael. All of whom became great Gaels in their own right but, more importantly from a personal viewpoint, people I have always been fortunate to be very close to for as long as can be recalled.
As was said in the midst of the shock and sadness which swept the area as news of Mick’s passing spread, Michael and I have been upsides each on life’s journey for as long as these wheels have turned. Which manifested as him moving me and my schoolbag around before a powered wheelchair was on the scene.
Even outside of school though, Michael was a regular visitor to our home. Mostly for a few hours on a Friday night. Discussing the Dunboyne or Meath match of the previous weekend or the forthcoming one.
Now, generally, Da would drop Michael up home circa 9.30 but one weekend yours truly misjudged the time and was, eh, slightly late putting on the video of the four matches between Meath and Dublin from 1991. Being the times before mobile phones were as common as tea bags, about 10.45 the front doorbell rang, and who was it only Marion, while Mick stayed in the motor ready for the ready.
Whatever few minutes were left on the video were deferred for the following week, but you didn’t need to be Hawking to decipher neither of the mammys were best pleased. That said, about two days later I met Mick at a club match and when he beckoned me over to him I was like Oh sh**, this man is going to go through me”.
As if. I’d say he never raised his voice in his life. What followed transpired thus – “Had ye got to the (Kevin Foley’s) goal on the tape? ” To which I replied that no, Keith Barr had just missed the penalty. To which he responded “Ah for God’s sake, sure ye may re run the whole thing next week, and don’t be worrying about the time! “.
Another act of Mick’s quiet kindness – I was getting grief from a cohort over something, I can’t honestly remember what I had or hadn’t written in either a match report or newsletter, and, in his own gentle, discreet way he said to me ” You did your best, and that’s all anyone can do. If they think they can do it better, let them at it”.
However, the biggest debt of gratitude I will eternally owe Mick Reilly relates to something he or his family will never even have realised. Now read on…
When Michael and I were of school going age, The Troubles were still at a point where my own da was not inclined to go to matches in the Six Counties. Understandable given the prevailing climate at the time.
However, I always knew that from Ballinrobe to Belfast, Killarney to Kinawley, Mick, Marion and the gang never seemed to miss a match. Which in the beginning meant Michael bringing me back a match programme. But eventually, I used Mick’s unwavering dedication to my advantage.
Pointing out to the boss that “Mick Reilly’s around your own age and it doesn’t bother him going up”. To which the time honoured response was” You’re in a wheelchair, it’d be too dangerous”.
To which I would readily quip “The wheelchair will surely leave them less likely to shoot, there’s nothing to be gained from it! “
So it was that the NFL meeting of Meath and Down on St Valentine’s Day of 1999 was our first venture over the border to a match. Thanks Mick for setting the example for me to use to my advantage!
On a serious note, though, Mick Reilly’s dedication and service to our community stretched well beyond the impeccable example he set on the GAA fields near and far. Both as player, bringing glory days to the club and the town and, perhaps even more so, when his playing days had concluded, he went on to shape several future generations. Both as players and people, and a better role model no body could have.
He also, in conjunction with Dom Hynes, acted as the local grave digger for many years, and a more decent, respectful, dignified combination you couldn’t meet. Mick’s soft spoken, patient manner being of great comfort to those concerned at their time of greatest need.
May you rest in peace Mick, the outpouring of shock and deep sadness following your passing is truly indicative of the esteem in which you and your family are held within our club and community and much further afield. Paul, Brigid and Michael are and will continue to write the next chapters of a story which has ran for generations and will continue to do so.
I know I will speak for many when I say those of us fortunate enough to have our lives influenced and guided by your presence therein will be protective of and guided by that legacy forever more.
Leave a Reply