It was 1944 and I was approaching my seventh birthday. Born before the start of the second World War , my age group had little memory except of wartime, with rationing and scarcity.
Living in the south docks area of Dublin city, with dock workers and seamen in the family, we sometimes got presents of items not generally available, brought in on foreign ships.
We didn’t celebrate birthdays much back then, certainly not like now, when many birthday parties seem more like weddings.
However, as the youngest of eight children, I was pampered a bit, so I got some cards and presents. These were items my siblings might never have received . I was happy playing with my few toys, many of them home-made from material available in the house.
Then came the news that my sister’s fiance, William Byrne, was due home and would possibly arrive on my birthday.
He was a merchant seaman on a British ship sailing out of Liverpool. As soon as his ship docked, he would head for the B&I ship for the trip back to Dublin. He always brought me presents, especially coins, stamps and foreign flags, which I was collecting at that time. But communications were very limited then; even making or taking a phone call could be very difficult.
This time, I was told, he would have a present for my birthday. As the day wore on, there was no sign of our much anticipated visitor. Eventually we began to accept that he would not make it that evening, and bedtime approached. Then a familiar voice: he had arrived and he had my special present. We gathered around. Someone put a candle on the “cake” he had brought me. I blew out the candle and we began to sample the cake, which was, wonder of wonders, a loaf of white bread, an almost unknown luxury in those days. Later he was to bring me another item almost unknown to us: white chocolate.
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