Towards the end of January, in 72, my eldest daughter celebrated her fifth birthday. A day of joy, friends at a party, games and a big clear up when everyone had gone home and bedtime had come.

 Only then did we turn on the television for the 10 o’clock news to hear of the stark events in Derry that afternoon, a tragedy that has become known as Bloody Sunday, with the killing of unarmed men by soldiers in the Bogside district of the city. With the publishing of the Saville Enquiry in 2010, the truth has finally been established. It occasioned an apology in the House from the Prime Minister.

 Only then did we hear of Fr Edward Daly, the priest in black, waving a blood-stained white handkerchief, leading a small group of men carry a fatally wounded young man, Jackie Duddy, through the turbulent streets. To this day his sister, Kay Duddy, keeps that handkerchief in her handbag in memory of her brother.

 That image remains a significant reminder of the day when a fuse was lit in Ireland that was to burn for many years through to the signing of the Good Friday agreement in April 1998.

 And in all that time Edward Daly was a constant voice for peace, fearless in his critical comment of killing, irrespective of religious allegiance. There was no place for it in his experience of Christian belief, whatever the injustice.

 Late in the 70s, he became Bishop of Derry, a position he was to hold for some twenty years. He was a shy man, who none the less gave great leadership to his people, through his personal dignity and conviction of faith.

 I wonder how many parishes will be asked to remember him in their prayers, how many younger people will be reminded of his faith and quiet courage during a troubled time? In our remembrance of saints from way back when, we often forget the examples of Christian life that is presently among us.

 We need to be told, to be made aware, that faith is living in our own time and suffering in consequence. Locally, speak of those who are old and infirm, who through it all remain constant, nationally talk of events that we should recognise and remember with prayer and internationally to be concerned for those who live their faith at a great risk. In that way, we might live with greater courage ourselves.

 That is why we need to seek out the quiet seclusion of hidden places to help renew the spirit and refresh the senses. After visiting the Benedictine Community, at Curzon Park near Chester , I wrote these few lines.

Afternoon stillness

Cool running water

in the secluded garden

disturbs the silence

but focuses the attention.

The stealth of a passing

Long-haired ginger cat

walks the afternoon stillness.

Wordless fall of water sprayed

on rounded stones, sparkling

air-bubbled movement

across a planted pond,

refuge place,

an open portal for thought,

for quiet reflection,

for time alone, transfiguration.

Also recently mentioned in the national press was the passing of Marianne Ihlen, her name associated always with the Canadian singer, Leonard Cohen. Many don’t realise that his famous song So long Marianne related to an actual person whom he met on the Greek island of Hydra in the 60s.

 When told she was dying, Cohen sent her a letter back within a couple of hours. She was conscious enough to have it read to her. It was a brief but very beautiful goodbye. Here is an extract from his letter.

 “And you know that I’ve always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don’t need to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye old friend. Endless love, see you down the road.”

 There is compassion, a ‘matter-of-factness’, in his words. But, so clearly, a remembered affection that both recognised. Marianne died just a couple of days later.

 So long, Marianne.

 Finally, to return to Edward Daly. I first heard of his name on January 30^th, my eldest daughter’s birthday. His death came on August 8^th, my youngest daughter’s birthday. Strange how people you never meet get entangled with those who are close and familiar. May he rest in the peace of the Lord. 

   END

   ---------------