A ted talk

A SURVIVOR Mike’s resilience carries a lesson for all of us.

The Cast Stone
Michael Gallagher

He’s battered and bruised, one eye is hanging out, his face is coming apart and his clothing is tattered and torn, but he smells great.
Many things have come and gone in my 52 years on earth, but my teddy, Mike, has been an ever-present. He was in a box in the attic for many of those years and only resurfaced recently, but just as he did when only a cub, the little yellow fella has captured my heart once again.
Now, you probably think I’ve totally lost the little grip I had on reality, but that may not be the case. Sometimes, it’s good to remember the past, the people and the moments that made us. That tattered, battered teddy does exactly that for me.
My teddy was bought in Eamon Deane’s shop in Bangor, when the news was dominated by men walking on the moon and The Beatles. I’m told Eamon and his wife, Bridgie, were behind the counter the day the purchase was made, and thankfully they’re still hale and hearty as I write.
I have vague memories of those days when Mike was almost bigger than myself, but the first major memory comes from May 7 in 1974.
I had started school in Shranamonragh the previous day, and I had taken the decision that I was never going back. My parents are smart people, so they agreed with me and congratulated me on the decision. Many years later, I realised how smart their approach was.
If they had compounded my distress by insisting I return to school I would have rebelled, but when they agreed with me I was totally flummoxed.
That approach left the way open for my grandmother, Rose Ann Gallagher, to step into the breach. She was a very special lady who had raised nine children, lost her husband while still young, hidden and fed a local battalion during the Civil War, performed impromptu autopsies on dead livestock and had a library in her brain full of ancestry and local lore.
She spoke to me about school, told me about the world of wonder I would unleash when I learned to read properly and the life-long friendships I would make. Interestingly, this had absolutely no impact on me. I had made the decision to forget about ever going to school and I wasn’t for turning.
Then, Granny said she’s make a suit for Mike if I went back to school the following day. I agreed immediately. She was a wise woman!
I went off to school bright and early the next morning, learned how to trace out the number 3, had the craic with my forever-friend Peter Conway before going home to find the teddy suited up in the black covering that still adorns him to this day.
In the intervening years, Mike faded into the background, but every time I moved house (nine occasions – there’s a nomadic streak in me) the teddy came too. He survived the purges that moving house always initiate and is still standing.
His suit is torn and battered; one of his eyes is hanging by a thread and his left ear is almost detached but he smells just the same as he did all those years ago. If I close my eyes and suspend reality I can almost hear my granny telling me stories about days of old and the people who made us who we are; I can almost hear the man on the radio telling us about the Dublin and Monaghan Bombings, which occurred just ten days after Mike got his suit, and I can sense the comfort experienced by a five-year-old surrounded by loving, caring adults.
These days, when the world gets a little mad and deadlines, bills, team meetings and training sessions leave little room for calm, I look at the battered, bruised toy in the corner and realise the more things change the more they wait the same.
That well-travelled toy might look like something the dog dragged in, but Mike has survived thanks to a little love, a lot of memories and a bit of luck. There are days when we all feel a bit battered by life, when we feel like we’re about to fall apart, but a little love, a smidgeon of good fortune and the lessons learned in life always pulls us through.
That’s a good lesson for all of us.