Today has been so strange.
Yet it has persuaded me to write at last.
Yesterday a parcel was on my doorstep. A parcel from America.
I was thrilled, anticipatory, but on my way out of the door to an appointment so I hastily put it in the porch until my return. Friends came back with me later that night and again, I left the parcel to wait – this time on the stairway.
I awoke very early this morning and thought of the mysterious parcel. I knew it was from my lovely Uncle but had no idea or warning of its possible contents. It was not my birthday or anything remotely deserving of random gifts but I realised later it was a special anniversary for someone dear.
Apt timing in my life never ceases to surprise me.
The Opening ‘ceremony’
The parcel is well wrapped for its long journey. Almost impenetrable! Not heavy but fairly substantial. So many thoughts go through my mind about its contents as I tear open the selotaped binding, rip through to the inner envelope. Again well wrapped and within that layer another of bubble wrap. I have absolutely no idea what this is.
Two straight long lines of material with bound ends lie beneath the see through layer surrounding the item. To take it out I need to pull with some force – and still I remain confused.
Brown leather straps. A large end of metal.
Is it a bag? No. A wall hanging? No.
A belt? Yes it is a belt. But why? Does he not know I no longer have the tiny waist I once proudly adorned with such accessories? My random first thought dissolves as I finally pull it fully out, clearly seeing its faded glory.
My mind is still confused as to the meaning of this random item sent from an Uncle so far away yet often in my mind. It is clearly vintage – a love of mine – and well worn. I like that. It is only then that I notice on its faded brown leather the symbols. Writing stamped on the leather, embossed images at each end.
The names leap out at me and understanding slowly starts to dawn….then rapidly coalesces until I am fairly sure of this epitome of thought and gesture lying before me now.
Sands, Bobby; ……Hughes, Frankie…McCreesh, Raymond…O’Hara, Patsy…McDonnell, Joe…Lynch, Kevin …..the infamous list goes on….engraved carefully across the belt’s surface.
These names are familiar to me from a childhood littered with references, and behest by songs, irish ballads and stories of strife.
I knew a man who sang such things very movingly in his deep, Gaelic brogue, his green eyes glinting with passion for the cause and his dark, jet black curls nestling on the collar around his swarthy neck. Standing, hand in one waistcoat breast pocket, tweed jacket slung over one shoulder. The pub around him lay silent, all eyes upon him as he entertained, enthralled with that voice and sent shivers down the spines of those in the know. Those in the cause or affected by it.
The belt is now symbolic to me and the accompanying letter gives evidence, credence to my seemingly irrational thoughts. My breath catches as I realise the significance. And today of all days. Almost like he sent it too. Because I needed solid proof of his existence, of his once proud and great days.
I need this reminder today.
Of who I am. Of where I am from. Of who made me.
My original blood.
It is literally impossible to ever really break the chains of The Past.
ISLE MY ISLE....♡♡♡ 