Letters to the Editor: We might have a romanticised view of Irish wakes and funerals
Sinead Morrissey writes: 'So, is the Irish funeral actually romantic, or are we all just obsessed with the notion that it is?' Picture: iStock
Until my mother Angela was killed in a traffic accident, I always spoke in favour of Irish funerals. When sharing drinks with friends abroad, I loved to shock them with revelations of RIP.ie, personal anecdotes of ritually sitting next to my grandad’s coffin in his bedroom, tea in hand, while each cousin took turns telling their favourite story about ambitious parking skills and Sunday games.
I would boast about the romance of it, the rich history of wakes, professional keening, “a good Irish funeral beats a bad wedding”.
I now realise how callow this was.
My mother was a militant hostess and peerless organiser.
At wakes she would patrol with a tea towel always on hand, offering hot drops, remembering distant relatives’ children’s names, ensuring sandwiches were fresh, mugs were clean, and tea was hot. A hoarder of calendars covered in reminders and plans years after their expiry, I envied how she managed life with an efficiency only nurses can. The week of mourning was just another plate for her to spin.
Standing on the other side of it, I can now see the pressure and skill that goes into being a “good mourner”.
An army’s worth of tea, politics about who makes the tea, being available to every mourner but not so available that other mourners feel neglected, picking the clothes she would have picked to be buried in, making sure the house is clean as a show home, not too warm or too cold for the wake and, above all else, when someone says “I’m sorry”, you always say “thank you”, to absolve them.
My mother could balance this social tightrope with ease. To lose someone tragically makes me wonder — who was all of it for?
Why is my aunt serving sandwiches when her big sister’s coffin is in the front room? Why does my brother have to pretend to care about people’s thoughts on traffic safety while greeting them at the door? Why does my father have to repeat the story over and over again to each new guest as if they are owed to know? Why are you asking me “where did it happen”? Will these hand-shakers and sandwich-seekers be there when the grief starts to feel like mould?
The night my mother was buried, I ran to where it happened. Where people asked me to describe in detail, and sobbed all the tears a “good mourner” wouldn’t at a “good Irish funeral”.
So, is the Irish funeral actually romantic, or are we all just obsessed with the notion that it is?
Delivery by drone is fast, efficient, low-emission, and a bit of craic. Naturally, that means it’s under fire (‘Cork City Council issues warning letter to drone delivery service over landing area’, Irish Examiner, May 6).
- ‘They’re noisy.’ Compared to what? Complete silence? The real background soundtrack in most areas is road traffic. A car or motorbike makes far more sustained noise than a drone that’s overhead for a few seconds and gone. And somehow, the training planes from Cork Airport Flight Training School don’t spark the same outrage. Curious;
- ‘They’re everywhere.’ They’re not. You might notice a few over the weekend. No midnight buzzing, no early-morning disturbances — just occasional deliveries. They stand out precisely because they’re infrequent;
- ‘Privacy invasion.’ A drone passing overhead isn’t spying on you. It’s dropping off someone’s dinner and moving on. If your privacy is at risk in that brief flyover, the problem isn’t the drone;
- ‘They harm wildlife.’ This claim tends to arrive without evidence. Cars, on the other hand, are a proven threat to birds and animals every day. Also, drones don’t operate at night, when bats are active, so that argument doesn’t quite land.
Now, the upside:
- Greener. Electric drones mean no exhaust fumes and fewer delivery vehicles on the road. That’s lower emissions and less congestion;
- Safer. Fewer scooters and cars doing deliveries means fewer chances of accidents. Simple maths. There’s also the added comfort for some people of not having unknown drivers calling at the door;
- Faster. Food arrives hotter, quicker. Not life-changing, but definitely better. And the real potential goes beyond takeaway — think medicines or urgent supplies delivered in minutes;
- Community-driven. If drones are flying, it’s because locals are using them. This isn’t being imposed, it’s being chosen.
In the end, this feels like a familiar story: New technology appears, works well, and gets criticised based on worst-case scenarios and shaky claims. You don’t have to love drones. But opposing a service that cuts traffic, reduces emissions, improves safety, and clearly has demand — based on exaggerated fears — doesn’t exactly scream common sense.
Sometimes progress looks like your dinner arriving from the sky... and everything being perfectly fine.
Regarding ‘Second tier of child benefit proposed to replace two social welfare entitlements’ (Irish Examiner, May 5). Reading between the lines, this is a very cleverly-worded way of stating that, over time and once again, middle-class families where both parents are honest, hardworking individuals, will be squeezed financially if their combined income exceeds what is bound to be a ridiculously low threshold set by a government that is morally bankrupt and wildly out of touch with the magnitude of ordinary people’s struggles.
It’s bizarre, sad, and mind-boggling to see a government so at odds with its own people and quite happy, it would seem, to see the country continually become more and more classist.
As a first-time mother who is in that middle-income bracket, this is scary — it rings of the scene in Animal Farm when the horse, who has faithfully supported the pigs who spouted ‘Four legs good, two legs bad’ ideologies is, unbeknownst to himself, being sent to the slaughterhouse. Given the Government’s form over time, I am suspicious at best.
Commentators who have recently submitted articles and letters to the media urging the Government to rapidly phase out fossil fuels might well be accused of naivety and wishful thinking.
Even if the planned installation of 37GW of offshore wind energy is achieved, Ireland will have to increase the importation of natural gas or some other substitute fuel, to provide equivalent backup for both onshore and offshore renewables during periods of becalmed wind.
The achilles heel of wind energy is its intermittency, and this problem is demonstrated in the daily wind data published by Eirgrid (smartgriddashboard.com) and Wind Europe (windeurope.org).
Serious daily fluctuations occur in wind-generated electricity, varying from less than 1GWh (Gigawatt hour) when the wind is becalmed, to around 70GWh during windy or stormy weather.
Met Éireann data demonstrates that the dilemma is exacerbated by increasingly prolonged periods of low wind, usually associated with high barometric pressure. Stable high pressure often stretches across the entire North Atlantic and can sometimes last up to four weeks.
Regrettably, offshore wind is not immune to prolonged doldrum-type weather patterns.
It is alarming that government energy policy is firmly based on total dependence on imported oil, gas, and electricity. The wars in Iran and Ukraine have already caused major global price and supply shock waves and societal disturbances at home. Subsea pipes and cables are under constant threat from Russian ships and submarines loitering around our coast. Given our critical dependence on increasingly vulnerable imports, it is grossly irresponsible and a huge lost opportunity that the Government fails to even consider developing our own indigenous offshore oil and gas, particularly the proven fields at Barryroe off Cork and at Inishkea off Mayo.
Both of these prospects, if developed, would ensure Ireland’s energy security for decades to come, and reduce the associated carbon footprint 12-fold.
Economic, environmental, and common sense, rather than dogma or wishful thinking, should dictate that the Government urgently promotes the development of Ireland’s indigenous offshore oil and gas resources in conjunction with the rapid rollout of offshore renewables.
Irish schools occupy an unusual position: They are publicly-funded institutions carrying out a core state function, yet operate through highly autonomous local governance structures. That model has many strengths, particularly local involvement and community spirit. However, it relies heavily on informal trust, with limited external transparency.
As public funding and governance responsibilities have increased, it is reasonable to ask whether transparency mechanisms have evolved at the same pace.
This is not an argument against school autonomy. Educational leadership requires flexibility and local decision-making. But autonomy and transparency are not opposites. In many countries, schools operate with significant independence while still being subject to strong public accountability regarding the use of public funds. Most schools are run conscientiously under difficult conditions. Precisely for that reason, transparent oversight mechanisms should be viewed not as a threat to schools, but as a protection for public trust in the system overall.
When is an “ordinary working person” not an “ordinary working person”?
If Dáil exchanges were to be believed, you need to be at least over 20 to be considered. That is when you count. That is when cost-of-living pressures matter. Heaven forbid, you are a young person under 20 trapped in a cycle of poverty working a part-time job to support yourself, but perhaps also contributing to familial costs.
The lament for the working person in the Dáil doesn’t often extend to those young people on sub-minimum rates of pay, which were recommended to be abolished by the Low Pay Commission. Only a few quarters of Leinster House have supported these young people. Perhaps at the next political grandstand, some of those who have been less vocal to date might think of young workers and young people when lamenting the plight of the ordinary working person.
