Geraldine Reynolds

Anthony McIntyre ⚑ In the matter of housing it is not always easy to be nicely sandwiched between two great sets of neighbours.

Geraldine Reynolds

In our case we could not have asked for better. There was never any friction, no arguments over kids or pets. Just harmony. Live and let live, and how people live is a matter for themselves. That has been the attitude of my neighbours since our family arrived here more than eighteen years ago.

So, when Geraldine Reynolds passed earlier this year, the gap she left was huge. I had got to know her gradually over the years, chatting at the front of the house when we met each other as each of us went about our day. She and her husband James were private people, so quiet in our first few years it was easy at times to think that the property was vacant. She had her own way about her, was nobody's fool, loved the jellied sweets I would bring her each time she did a sewing job for me. If she saw me leaving the house the same time as herself she would offer me a lift, usually dropping me at the train station or bus depot. One day Ronan seemed late for his school exam as the taxi firm had no drivers available - I simply asked Geraldine. She responded so quickly she got him to the school prior to the exam starting. She told me never to be stuck like that again.

She had the most dextrous fingers when it came to knitting, embroidering, sewing, crocheting. There seemed nothing she could not turn her hand to. On occasion I would go into her with a hole in one of the cardigans I had a particular fondness for. When it was returned minutes later I had difficulty finding where the damage had been, she was so adept at what she did.

I have this Drogheda United beanie which my wife gave me as a Christmas present a couple of seasons ago. It is weighed down with badges which I have collected along the way including those of the ten H Block hunger strikers and Palestinian resistance fighters. In need of a minor repair I turned up at Geraldine's door asking her if she would put a stitch in in. Which she did, and then suggested to me that I get another beanie which she would sew inside the original one. This was to create a cushion effect so that the butterfly clutch backings on the inside of the Drogs beanie would not irritate my skull. The clutches that held the badges in place were now firmly positioned between two protective layers of material. Seemed ingenious to me but to Geraldine it was common sense. It worked a treat. My Drogs beanie is now my Geraldine Drogs beanie. No Drogheda United game this season will be without her handiwork in the stands.

Geraldine was well known in the Drogheda area. She did a lot of voluntary work, took classes in crocheting and assisted several charities. Cars would often gather at the front of our home and along the street, their owners taking one of Geraldine's home classes. At her funeral mass many people turned up with crocheted shawls in tribute to her. At the front doors of the church stood some Muslim women who too had learned from the hands of Geraldine.

With her husband James she would often go to Mullingar for a break. They loved the place and would regale me with tales of the hotel and their activities on their return. James is a great Bowie fan and I would jest with Geraldine that she could always knit a soundproof quilt to envelop his purpose built music room just to keep the Jean Genie locked in its bottle. That would send her off in a fit of laughing.

On the day she died, my wife shouted to me to check on James, that something was wrong as there were ambulances at the house. I immediately headed next door. James was distraught as he explained her situation to the first responders. I stepped back as there was nothing I could do, little point adding to the congestion in the hallway. About an hour later James emerged to say 'she has gone.' It was a distressing moment. In a flash our wonderful neighbour was no longer with us.

As each day passed, the street grew crowded as a procession of cars ferried friends and relatives to the family home. On the morning of her funeral, we gathered in the street to say our final farewell. Myself and my daughter travelled to the church on the North side of Drogheda for the packed service.

In front of me, as I write, on the wall beside the computer screen hangs my daughter's framed Masters degree. Right at the bottom of it rests Geraldine's memory card. And remember her we shall for everything she brought to our lives.

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