Ah, Irish men and their Mammies. Nikki Walsh caught up with three honest men as they spill on what their mums did best.
Ray, 47, Irishtown
It sounds funny, but some of the best lessons my mum taught me came from her breaking her right elbow. She was in intense pain and unable to do the simplest of things around the house. I was 14, the youngest of two boys, and there was no one else around to take on the hitherto undetectable chores that made home life for me, my brother and my dad so seamless. So it was that I learned how to iron a shirt, collar and sleeves first then front and back; how to fill a washing machine, and we’re talking a twin tub that needed constant standing over; and lessons in shopping and cooking that no Home Economics class could ever cover. I’m not saying my mum breaking her arm was a good thing. But out of that we enjoyed together some of our closest periods of time together. She made me independent – leaving home at 18 to share a dingy student house was a breeze, even if I did have to endure my housemates comments about me folding my jeans. “Don’t mind them,” was my mother’s commentary. “You’ll always have clean socks.” And I always have.
Dave, 35, Dublin
My mother’s strength? Her gentleness. My brothers and I often comment on the fact that we have never heard her talk badly of anyone – and that includes my dad who left us when I was small. I think that might have been her biggest gift to me – she never tried to turn me against him and always supported our relationship. People often ask me how come I’ve got so much confidence, and I always put it down to her. She was so loving. And unlike so many Irish mothers there was no stuffing me back in my box either – she loved my exuberance, and I pretty much basked in that all of my childhood.
Ted, 27, Carlow
My mum was strict. If I was acting up, she used to tell me she was going to put me in the car and leave me outside the orphanage. But I think it stands to me. I’m told I don’t have a spoilt bone in my body and I do all my own washing. And I don’t fall apart when I get a cold. I think these might be stellar qualities. When I say this to her, she looks at me sideways and tells me not to get to ahead of myself. That’s mum. A rock of sense.
Adrian, 30, Mayo
My mum knew how to stay calm. Perhaps that’s because my father always lost it, but you knew no matter what happened, mum would find a way out of it, with dignity and grace. And now I’m a parent myself, I realise just how lucky I was to have her as my mum, because when everyone’s screaming it’s her words that come out of my mouth, and they usually make everything alright, just in the nick of time.
Richard, 37, Dublin
My dad died when I was 17. There were three boys in the house, all hitting puberty and my mother bore the brunt of it. We didn’t do a thing she said, shouted at her when we were drunk and were pretty disgusting most of the time. I shudder to think about it now – I don’t know how she got through those years – but when I mention it to her –she looks at me and smiles and tells me not to worry about it. And I am amazed by her capacity for forgiveness. But she was always like this. She just loved us no matter what. And that’s what got us through those years. All that love. It was just so constant.
Nikki Walsh is a writer and editor with a passion for what makes us tick. She lives in Dublin with her husband, her son and a heap of books, mostly on psychology.
