In 2008 and 2009, I spent two full winters writing in my ‘frillies’, in Murroe, County Limerick and the words that came, screamed out from somewhere deep inside. They had a life of their own. Every night, I sat on my bed (in my best nightie of course), furiously typing until finally, it was done. I didn’t write ‘Ode to Coumeenole” as much as I penned it if you know what I mean. It came through me with its own…
By the time the family came to live in Cork, in March 1959, we were a full seven strong, not counting Ma and Da, with another one on the way! By 1967 we would be the full dozen! It was Da’s dream to have twelve! But to say ‘there were twelve of us’ wasn’t quite true. There were thirteen if you count Pauline who was the ‘cot death’ child! What do you mean “‘If’ you count Pauline?” Why wouldn’t you…
“Uncle Bertie’s a Protestant!” That’s what we were told! That’s what we believed! Things got exciting when Uncle Bertie came to visit. You see, being the country cousins from Cork, we’d never even seen a Protestant before! Uncle Bertie was Daddy’s third brother who’d often visit from Dublin. They were all fairly well behaved in that family, it seemed, except of course, for Uncle Bertie. I mean, he smoked a pipe and would often drink pints of Guinness and rarely,…
Somehow, she appeared to ‘fly-out’ through the front door, or maybe she just glided? I’m not sure which or what, but either way, it was a magical day. “Do you want to do that now?” she asked. “Yes,” I said without hesitation. We all loved them but there were only two pairs, a pink and a white. They’d been a gift to my sisters and all I can remember is wondering why I hadn’t been included! I could call them…
“What has this got to do with transitioning?” I screamed. “We’re talking about cross-dressing here.” “I know.” she nodded. “How did we get on to transitioning? I continued. “I told you before, I do not want to be a woman, I just want to wear women’s clothes!” I did my best to move out of the room, in a commanding way, but what I actually did was ‘storm out’. I was careful of course, not to let the door bang…
Ours was an early morning flight and the sun had yet to rise as we taxied out past great-big hangers and sleepy planes. That early morning glow, advancing slowly on the horizon and the burning orange and yellow of man’s electric light scattered here and there, warmed my little heart. I rested my forehead against the glass portal to feel the engines roar and breathed a deeply contented sigh as the wheels lifted ever so smoothly from the Dublin tarmac….