WordSmith: A final Blessing from Dun Laoghaire
My mother never went to Mass. Yet she made sure her children did. Every Sunday morning she’d wake us, ensuring we were scrubbed and looking our best before we set off with Dad for Mass at St Joseph’s in Salford, Manchester. We never questioned why she stayed behind. Mam simply didn’t go to Mass.
She dressed me in the finest for my First Communion, but she didn’t come with me. There’s a photograph of Mam and I on my Confirmation Day, standing on the doorstep of our Manchester flat. When the picture was taken, she left for work while Dad and I went to church. I never asked why she didn’t take the day off. The ceremony included Mass, and Mam never went to Mass.
At my sister, Maria’s wedding, I was amazed to see my mother sitting in a Church pew. But she was restless throughout the ceremony. Once, when we’d returned to live in Cavan I asked Dad, “Why does Mam never go to Mass?” His reply, “She listens to it on the radio.” That was answer enough for me.
I never spoke to my mother about religion, nor my father for that matter. Religion was a ritual I practised with Dad, until I grew away from it and went to college. At college I recall a conversation with a friend about our Catholic upbringing, “My mother isn’t religious,” I said. She sighed and replied, “You’re lucky.” Her response surprised me, but I didn’t dwell on it.
But last week, dwell I did. I asked myself, “Was Mam religious?” What prompted my ponder was a letter I found. It was sent to my mother from an address in Dun Laoghaire, Dublin, dated: 1956. In beautifully handwritten script the first page read, “Dear Mrs Smith, Forgive me for not forwarding your Papal Blessing sooner. I’m sure you are looking forward to getting your property back. I am certainly delighted I found the owner. It is a thing to always treasure…”
Shamefully, my first thought was ‘I didn’t think Mam would bother about the loss of her Papal Blessing.’ She was a practical woman; when things were lost, she’d shrug and carry on rather than lament the loss. Yet this letter revealed a side to her I never saw.
I posted the first page of the letter to social media, wondering whether the internet might shed light on how the certificate found its way to Dun Laoghaire. It felt like a hopeless long shot. Yet, the following morning, there was a message. A lady informed me a friend of hers now lived at the Dun Laoghaire address. Soon after, another message appeared from the resident of said address, who recognised the handwriting, “…is it signed?’ he asked. I forwarded the signature.
Then social media revealed its better side by bringing a letter written to my mother in 1956 back to life in 2026. A series of exchanges on X (formerly Twitter) put me in touch with the grandson of the man who had found and returned my parent’s Papal Blessing.
He explained that the letter had come from his grandfather, Mr B, a Dublin bus driver from Dun Laoghaire. Moments later he sent another message, “…and the spooky thing is, it’s his anniversary today…” Instantly, I was reminded of the saying ‘Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.’
The second page of the letter introduced another important figure in the story: Father Tiernan. Mr B wrote, “As regards the little gift you sent me, I could not think of keeping it. After all it’s a very small thing I did. If you feel you are under any obligation for the recovery of your property I’ll make a suggestion. As Fr Tiernan was the means of us contacting each other, send him the money to say a Mass for the suffering souls…”
My parents married in Manchester in late November 1955. Just over three months later, their Papal Blessing was found on a Dublin bus. I can only speculate as to how it ended up in Dublin, so I won’t. What matters is that it was found, returned, and seventy years later its story is told. It’s a story in which word of mouth in 1956 meets social media in 2026 to remind us that human-kindness is timeless.
My mother may never have attended Mass, and I will never know why. But Thanks to Mr B, the bus driver from Dun Laoighre, and Father Tiernan, she contributed to a significant Mass for the suffering souls. Somehow, that feels like the final blessing in a story that began with a lost one.
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