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It was with sadness that we learned of the death, on Saturday 18th April 2020, of Mr William (Bill) O’Dwyer, Ballydavid, Mullinahone, Thurles, Co. Tipperary and formerly of Ballydonnell, Mullinahone, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Mr O’Dwyer passed away peacefully, following a short stay at the Sacred Heart Nursing Home, Crosspatrick, Johnstown, Co. Kilkenny.
His passing is most deeply regretted by his loving wife Mary; sons John, Willie, C.J., Aidan, and Michael; daughters Siobhan, Maire and Emer; daughter in law Olivia; sons-in-law Joe and Phil; grandchildren; sister Nellie (Tobin / Callan, Co. Kilkenny); brother Stephen; nieces; nephews; extended family; neighbours and a wide circle of friends.
Requiescat in Pace.
Funeral Arrangements
In accordance with government guidelines with regard to the current Covid-19 pandemic and public gatherings; the funeral of Mr O’Dwyer will take place in a private, family only, setting.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dilís.
The extended O’Dwyer family wish to express their appreciation for your understanding at this difficult time and have made arrangements for those wishing to send messages of condolence, to use the link shown HERE.
“My Father said thus work I’ve done, tis you my sons I want instead.
I tilled this land I made it green;
For my legacy is in these fields,
The Friesian cow a lacting sow,
An extra furrow for the Kverneland plough,
A tonne of barley; an acre of wheat,
You grew potatoes, you harvested beet,
The brown pound was earned sound,
Thus pay a bill, make it go round,
A toss for a Sherwood was hard found,
At the ‘Stack of Barley’ in our town,
No coat or cab na’re a silage grab,
You had a job to earn your next few bob.
In seventy seven the flash an steel
Your new found love a combine appeared.
A fork of lightning,
A flash of frightening,
Took seven of your cattle like an ace or a club,
In sporting love became the hub,
Your famous race horse ran in a three mile trob.
He worked his land in winter and sun,
Through many decades; the hard slog ones
Changing times days are done,
The men in vocabulary are written in stone,
This fine spring morning,
Without a warning
It’s so lonesome now your gone.”
Hard Times
Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©
One time in a dispensary queue,
On a wet and dismal day, long, long ago,
The ould wan flicked her sodden shawl,
Defying her cares and convention.
For sickness and hardship will down you right enough
Without the resistance.
“The Hard”, she winked,“with his cutting and cajolery
And his blasphemous and godblasted piety,
Is not in the queue today,
For his bottle of porter
To ease the consumption.”
The queue now murmured, nodded, coughed and wheezed
For they loved like their own “The Hard”,
Who could lift a heart at a funeral,
With the laughs and wild, wild ways of him,
To make you young again.
But when the doctor on another sodden day
Queried “The Hard” on his absence,
(For doctors, too, a diversion love.)
The Hard declared, “Oh,doctor, now,
Sure how could I come at all
And I not well for the ages.”
END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary
Reminders
Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©
Always unexpected,
It’s always some little thing.
A word or gesture or photograph,
Turned up in the kitchen drawer,
That shocks into reality again,
And briefly
It is yesterday,
As you are hurtling along,
In time,
In some space that’s forever routine.
You’re jostled into contemplating,
The awe and finality,
That brings a prayer and a tear,
For a loved one,
Gone. END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Away From It All
Poem Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©
So, alone and happy in the world,
We two in a rustic wilderness
Can listen to the wind
And its tale of the centuries.
The present and its ephemeral importance
Can be forgotten in this old house,
Cherishing its own quiet wisdom.
The years are great teachers.
Man’s yearning is a whisper
In a tumultuous and eternal sea.
Hear the wind sigh and breathe,
All is vanity. END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Today, Friday, 27th March 2020, should have been “Daffodil Day“.
Normally, today would have been a day when communities all over Tipperary and indeed Ireland, congregated to support people and families affected by the scourge of cancer.
Because of the Covid-19 pandemic now raging across Ireland, it has become necessary to cancel such gatherings to protect lives. So, for those who can, why not connect with the link shown HERE and donate to help fund the Irish Cancer Society’s vital services and research.
“To Daffodils”
By 17th-century English Lyric Poet and Cleric, Robert Herrick
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain’d his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray’d together, we
Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
Ne’er to be found again.
END
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