Christopher was a constant in the lives of many

Let the Busy World be Hushed

Fr Jason Murphy

He goes about his work quietly and without fuss, in an unassuming kind of way, weaving his gentle manner through the school days that follow each the other with the changing of the seasons.

In these last days of term as the May bush blossoms and the grass begins to grow, the sound of his mower can be heard through opened windows, like a gentle hum in the distance, as students lean over tables pondering the answers of the summer tests that lie open on the desk below.

A turned head, gazing out the window, meets with a reprimand to pay attention, as the boy sneaks another look at the familiar figure of the caretaker on his ride on lawnmower reminding him that at the foot of Bullarua there are fields that have yet to be mowed.

A student on the brink of life and living, hoping for an apprenticeship with Callaghan the electrician, for whom the man on the mower is not just a familiar face from school but one who pushes in beside him in the back seats of Drumavaddy chapel on a Saturday evening at Mass or who greets him in the Tank of a Friday evening. He listens as this man tells yarns with his quick wit and humour of when youth was his, in what seems to the Leaving Cert student, years fadó, fadó.

The caretaker has watched them come and go for the most of forty years and more, boys and girls from country parishes and from all the different streets of the town; children in pale shirts and blue jumpers who, like he, entered through the gates of this school full of trepidation of what the coming days might bring but for whom these corridors and classrooms became like a second home, a place of familiarity and security in which to push the boundaries and test the waters of teenage years.

Here Christopher the caretaker was an intermediary, a figure who straddled what sometimes seemed a chasm in the days when all was not going well, a gentle word of advice to a long straggly lad with the beginnings of a beard, who stood forlorn outside Mr Lynch, the principal’s office. A word of guidance given on how to handle the moments ahead of him beyond the office door, to have manners and don’t answer back to avoid suspension, having been caught smoking out the back.

For in the midst of his work, the gentle word was part of his every day, stopping with a student on their way to or from class, putting into context what seemed to their young minds a mountain but which, in fact, was merely a molehill in the grander scheme of things.

Teachers too stopped with him for a chat or for a word of encouragement in November when the energy levels were getting low, sure in the knowledge that, that which was spoken was, as in a confessional, never to be repeated or retold. For Christopher had that sense about him - harbouring the thoughts and worries of many as he went upon his way. He always had time for everyone and everything, listening empathically, as he went about his chores.

For he is a man of a great intellect, a man of figures and reasoning powers, who brought great foresight to every conversation and a Faith so deep that it underpinned every suggestion that he dared to make.

For both staff and student, he has offered stability, a familiar figure who was always there, going about his tasks in a self-effacing sort of way, never drawing unto himself, attention, giving a sense of constancy and continuity in a world of flux where everything seems to change. For forty years he has been a touchstone for each generation of students that have passed through the gates. Children who meet with tragedy and bereavement and manage to come to school despite their heartache where the rhythm and routine of school life brings healing to their days.

For all of us Christopher Reilly has been that reassuring presence, maintaining hearts and minds and as well as buildings and the grounds, part of a greater family, a diaspora of Breifne staff and students scattered across the globe. As he parked up the mower on Friday evening for the very last time, it is true that we will miss him, this ordinary but extraordinary man, who has given of himself and his living for the good of others and the wellbeing of little children who regard people such as Christopher as part of an extended family and for their years of education regard the school as a second home.