The Joy of Shared Times

‘Get down the good tablecloth, and grandma’s china.’

In my Dublin home with seven children and two parents, there were always celebrations. Birthdays, exams, sporting wins and, of course, the church-linked celebrations of Christmas and Easter.

The good tablecloth, an heirloom from my mother’s mother, was crisp-white damask linen. It was stored in the back bedroom in grandmother’s chest of drawers – a cavernous treasure trove too big for most rooms, brimming with table cloths and silver service.

The drawers were used for small babies to sleep in when visiting.

Growing up, rituals, rites of passage were celebrated. In my case, tea and chocolate biscuits when I became a woman.

On our birthday, we were allowed a special request cake, home-made. Bought cakes were rare. My favourite for a long time was chocolate eclairs – only later did I realise how fussy choux pastry was to make.

Everyone was given their birthday request – sticky gooey super sweet pavlova a big fan among my brothers and victoria sponge for two of my sisters.

I wonder now at how my mother had time. We felt special on our day, important when you are one of many. For me, it became part of life with family and friends. A source of joy over the years. Exchanging gifts, making a cake and later, lifting a glass in celebration. And of course, every celebration had a tablecloth!

My husband was unused to the celebratory world of a large family. Over the years we have started our own rituals – celebrations for publishing a book, a poem, an article, birthdays, anniversaries and sharing food with friends at home or in restaurants.

Ten years ago, I moved our large table in to our substantial hall. Table cloth and candles ready to be set for visitors and for the two of us. Thankfully, I found cloths of many colours which camouflage the wine and tomatoes stains.

I don’t have the zeal of my mother; she attacked stains with sodium bicarbonate and lemon juice until they willingly departed.

Our celebrations were many. Friends of all ages, family from several generations who made the trip to Glasgow to see us. And our own birthday and anniversary rituals.

We love cooking from fresh and more recently my husband Brian, a great cook, took up baking making cakes that warmed our table and our hearts.

My favourite is bitter orange tart – sensuous and flavoursome it reminds me of holidays in Italy.

In this last year of Covid restrictions, it’s been harder. There are no spontaneous moments of let’s go out for dinner or a coffee, we have seen no family for fifteen months. Our hall table is set for two.

Celebrations are smaller and more intense. We maintain our cooking and sitting in the hall table for dinner, fortunate to have another space away from kitchen clutter. We maintain our marking of birthdays and anniversaries.

Last July, Brain was seventy. We had planned a trip to Ireland – walking along the Atlantic seaboard, visiting family and friends in Dublin, replenishing our energy and joys. It was poignant to be in our Glasgow hall, making the most of being alive, not being ill and remembering lovey times together.

Now, we look for moments every day to cheer us up, to celebrate.

A walk in Gartnavel grounds in all weather and seasons. last years sunshine and abundance of colour refreshing to our eyes and our skin. Marking, as we always did, publishing something we wrote, cooking more new recipes. Brioche for Christmas – buttery and delicate – heavenly as toast the next morning.

I walk every day, pleased that I can move with ease after a fractured knee and hand three years ago. Birds keep me company, lift my spirits. I try to distinguish a sweet song thrush from the super cheery hedge sparrow.

Music is part of every evening. We listen to something before dinner, often a new CD bought after listening to Radio 3 – every new piece of music like making a new friend.

I welcomed the advent of the vaccine. I was not shielding and enjoyed my walks but with asthma, I was very careful to distance and avoid busy areas like shops.

The morning of my first dose was cold and bright. After my inoculation, I walked home from the Louisa Jordan hospital at the SEC – a celebratory walk willing my immune system to fire up. By the time I was home is Anniesland, I felt better and more confident. Being fully vaccinated is a boost and allows for possibilities this year.

Our planning is modest at the moment. A walking holiday in Scotland, a week by the Moray coast. Later we hope to visit Ireland.

In the meantime, daily life remains restricted. On a bright day, I see the Kilpatrick hills from Great Western Road, it reminds me that life will have a bigger scale soon. When the sun comes out after a wet day, we take a walk, reminding us of night life as brave Glaswegians sit out of doors in cool temperatures meeting friends and raising a glass.

This year, I resumed making my soda bread, the pain of my fractured hand receding after physio and time. Taking down the flour, bicarb, last week’s milk or butter milk, sifting and mixing. It takes me back to my family kitchen in Raheny. The kettle effervescent, home-made gooseberry jam on the table ready for a celebration of daily life – warm soda bread straight from the oven.