Christmas is supposedly the happiest time of the year and for most families it is but for others it’s a time of dread.
For an ever-increasing number of families it can be a time of absolute stress as they try to pay for presents and just make ends meet in one of the most expensive countries in Europe.
It’s hard to believe that in one of the wealthiest nations in the world there is dire poverty where parents are struggling to feed their children and keep a roof over their heads.
Behind all the virtue signalling and the pompous boasts of massive exchequer surpluses there’s a hidden world of want where a multitude of needy scrape to get by on an island where the cost of living has spiralled out of control.
While the Government puts billions aside for a rainy day, every day is rainy for the invisible people without reserves or savings who see the arrival of Christmas as a time of despair rather than delight.
It’s not a light in the winter darkness but a time of dread when bills can’t be paid as they try to keep up the great pretence that all is well…especially for the children.
Poverty is a curse, a scourge and it should not be so widespread in a country that is awash with money and is sending billions overseas.
But Ireland is a land of have and have-nots where tens of thousands of families are in arrears with their electric bills as electric cars are advertised on the radio for “only” €45,000”.
In recent weeks the Irish Times reported that St Vincent de Paul’s eastern region call centre in Dublin received 900 calls for help on a single morning and up to 1,500 by the day’s end and that’s just for counties Dublin, Kildare and Wicklow.
The same report disclosed that the situation is getting worse as the number of calls is up seven percent since last year.
The scale of the distress can be measured in the number of such calls nationally – 250,000 in 2024 with the charity reporting an exceptionally busy Christmas.
Vincent de Paul spokeswoman Sinead Gill told the Irish Times that the housing crisis and the “inadequacy” of social welfare rates to meet basic needs are key drivers of poverty.
She added that they can hear the stress in people’s voices when they ring up for help.
How could someone under so much pressure enjoy Christmas? For them it’s a matter of lying low and hoping it passes quickly knowing they will then have to start paying the loans they took out to get them through the so-called Festive Season.
The ending of the electricity credits and the spiralling cost of gas and electricity has also had a huge impact on families which sometimes have to choose between paying bills and putting food on the table.
Thankfully organisations like the St Vincent de Paul have always been there to help those struggling and I know at first hand what they do.
When my father Jemmie died in November 1964 my mother was left with five children ranging in age from three to 13 and no income.
My late, great mother had no option but to turn to St Vincent de Paul and although it nearly killed her to do so, she did it for us.
Needless to say Christmas 1964 was anything but merry and there weren’t many jingle bells ringing on the ones that followed for most of that decade. It wasn’t quite Charles Dickens-type poverty, but like his novel title, they were hard times
I remember we spent Christmas day that year in my grandfather Paddy Kelly’s house in Sandyford Terrace because my mother couldn’t bear being in our then home in Yellowbatter without my father.
She moved out of the house a couple of years later because she hated it so much and things got better over the years and Maggie lived until she was 93.
There you have it, I know only too well how many families in similar circumstances are feeling this Christmas and of the wonderful work carried out by St Vincent de Paul.
So, if you can spare a few euros at all, maybe send it on to the charity or better still, become one of their volunteers as they badly need help.
Oh, and happy Christmas.
The Christmas Blizzard
Many people wish for a white Christmas which is now very rare but my maternal grandmother most certainly didn’t want snow at this time of year.
Why would she when her father, my great grandfather, Michael McGovern from Trinity Street froze to death in the snow on Christmas Day in 1906.
He was a baker by trade and apparently went to visit a family in Francis Street and probably had a few drinks and fell in heavy snow and it covered him. I believe he wasn’t found until St Stephen’s Day.
I tracked down his death certificate which states he died of heart failure due to exposure.
My gran passed away in the early 1960s never forgiving the family her dad visited for not seeing him home safely in a blizzard.
Demolition Delusions
While we have been deprived of our ancient local authority, some of the discussions which took place in the old corporation chamber were simply bonkers.
Many years ago I was undertaking some research and while going through editions of the Drogheda Independent from the 1960s stored in the local library I came across a report of a corporation meeting where there was a proposal put forward for the demolition of Laurence’s Gate.
It was said to be an obstacle on the route of a new road which would run down Francis Street, however sanity prevailed and instead bulldozed Medieval John Street in what has to be one of the greatest ever acts of municipal vandalism.
The Living Wake
Artist Paraic Roden posted a brilliant drawing of the late, great Brendan Whittaker on Drogheda Down Memory Lane which reminded me of an interview with him after he “died” way back in 1999.
That’s right, it had been reported that the 71-year old passed away and his pals were lamenting his demise over pints in Sarsfields when the bold Brendan walked in on them.
On the way to the pub Brendan was puzzled as to why people were staring at him as if they’d seen a ghost when the onlookers actually believed they had.
In the interview this latter day Lazarus said he even obliged his pals by signing a mass card that had been bought for him.
Brendan was an absolute gentleman and it didn’t take a feather out of him to walk in on their own wake.
