“I think I’m goin’ back to the things I learned so well in my youth,” sang Dusty Springfield.
Growing up in Ireland in the 1990s, some television ads remain firmly imprinted in my brain. The ESB Christmas ad Coming Home, set to the haunting tones of Goin’ Back by Dusty Springfield is among them. It follows a young Alan Hughes travelling from Dublin to rural Ireland for the holidays, capturing the quiet beauty and emotion of a journey home.
In hindsight, it was a painfully accurate depiction of women’s role in an Irish household: cooking, baking, cleaning, doing the lion’s share of housework to prepare for her son’s homecoming. While Dad drives in the peaceful solitude of his car to pick up the prodigal son at the train station.
As an emigrant, the ad strikes a familiar chord. Those of us who have left home for any period of time can attest that few things compare to the feeling of returning. For me, it’s when the plane’s wheels screech down on the tarmac in Dublin or Shannon that I exhale a deep sigh of relief. It’s the familiar drive home to Ballaghaderreen, buoyed up by adrenaline in my sleep-deprived state. It’s those first warm and easy hugs with family and friends after a long time apart. These feelings are unmatched.
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Coming home is so much more about people than place. Reconnecting with family and friends is its own kind of homecoming; this ritual of nostalgia grounds me just as much as the lush landscape.
One of these important rituals is seeing “the girls” for dinner – with plenty of laughs and uncensored chatter.
In August last, talk of a friends’ night away to mark the passage into our fourth decade was defeated by tight schedules.
So we kept it simple with a dinner date in local restaurant Durkin’s.
On a sunny Friday evening, as I strolled into town from Knocknacunny, I came to appreciate Springfield’s words. The familiar houses. The rustling of the hedgerow in the crisp evening breeze. I felt like a teenager again – the liberation of heading off into town for the night, not knowing where the evening may lead.
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There was something perfectly fitting about our ladies’ dinner in Durkin’s – the kind of laid-back evening that always ends up meaning the most. The goujons were gorgeous. The wine pour was generous. We laughed for what felt like hours.
“Ah, sure we’ll have another for the rare time we’re all together,” Tuesday insisted. Cut to us walking down the street into Spells Bar, admiring Neil’s meticulous flower baskets – a spectrum of summer’s colours.
I expected to walk into the local, spot a few familiar faces, and catch the odd questioning glance from punters trying to place us. Instead, we stepped straight into the ghosts of Christmas past – eight of the lads from our St Nathy’s school class, home from abroad for the Oasis reunion concert that same weekend.
“Is it yourself that’s in it?” Jaws were dropped. Hugs were exchanged. We couldn’t have planned it better. An impromptu reunion of primary and secondary school classes as many of us enter a new decade. Most of the gang have put down roots back home in Ballagh, and the remainder of us are spread across three continents.
We closed Spells Bar that Friday night. We were no longer teenagers, but some things remained unchanged. Matthew belted out Friends in Low Places like he was in the back of O’Hara’s bus on the way to a school tour. We sang Oasis songs in homage to the band that brought us together that weekend. We talked about family, life, careers and the feat that is surviving a long-haul flight with young children. The bond we all had as kids, as teens, and how we always looked out for each other.
When the night wound down, our designated driver Clodagh kindly played taxi driver, ferrying everyone home. But I declined a lift. Instead I strolled back out the road to Knocknacunny, wanting to finish the night as I started; reliving my youth with a walk of solitude back home under a blanket of bright stars.
As Springfield sang, sometimes you must go back to fully understand what you carry forward. You can leave a place, but you always carry a piece of it – and the people you meet along the way – with you. Returning home reminds me of the rhythms, faces, experiences and rituals that shaped me. As life moves on, those moments continue to colour everything that comes after.
Originally from Ballaghaderreen, Co Roscommon, Molly Muldoon has called New York home for more than 15 years. A DCU Access student graduate, she currently works in advertising at Publicis, focusing on PR and communications
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