Ah yes, lune of ’72. This time of year, immediately after the Whit Weekend means only one thing for secondary school students — yes, the dreaded Leaving Cert is about to begin. Still the cornerstone of Irish education — The leaving Cert — the end of secondary school, completion of studies – the final test before moving to pastures new, adult life and future adventures.
We all look back on our experience with mixed feelings. In my case I was in Galway.
The summer of 1972, hot as usual — typical exam weather. Some people tried studying outdoors, down at Blackrock Tower, but in reality, it was to doss. A lot depended on the results of your Leaving Cert in my time. The pressure was on. I had focused and had studied but there was still an element of luck involved, depending on what came up I the papers, no different than for today’s students.
In Galway, there was a tradition of doing the Matric later in the summer. This provided a second chance of success in one’s college application in case things went badly with The
Leaving Cert Exam. This meant doing exams for the whole of June. Still we all slogged on in my school, St Enda’s and survived intact. Summer, at least what was left of it, loomed. “School was out for Summer”.
Summer jobs beckoned, first a fortnight in The FCA at camp in Renmore Barracks, great Craic, as long as you did not succumb to the old traditions, including having intimate body parts polished, as carried out by the regular soldiers. I decide there and then that Army Life was not for me.
I spent the rest of the summer working in Dept Oceanography in UCG. A job my dad had
I arranged through a friend who worked there. A science student had dropped out and the vacancy arose much to my delight. It sure beat “selling lines” on the prom in Salthill, as I had done previously. I fancied myself as the next Jacques Cousteau, the great French Oceanographer, who had spent his life exploring the world underwater. He was the David Attenborough of the 70’s, making regular TV shows about his exploits. It was a great summer job. I spent 4 days each month collecting samples around the Aran Irelands onboard “The Queen of Aran” with the rest of the time spent in The Lab which was based in the Grammar School, on College Road. As I liked and studied science the job gave me a good insight into the possibilities of a career in science. The most fun was to stay berthed on the docks of Inis Mor during our sea voyages.
The summer of 1972 1 learned a lot about life — I learned to drink, including getting sick after
3 pints of Harp. The skipper gave me the sage advice to “take it easy” and I’ve never really liked Harp since. I was during my time at sea that I met a girl on one trip — my first real friendship with a girl. I learned a lot that summer, the boy grew up. The summer of ’72 passed and like in the film “Summer of ’42” life would never be the same again.
The Leaving results were good and I was offered a place doing Medicine in UCG which I gladly accepted as I felt I was more a “people person” than dedicating long hours working in a lonely Lab. The girl and I started Medicine in UCG in 1972 with great excitement. The friendship never developed into romance. After 1 st year she quit Medicine, as many did. For me 6 years of hard slog lay ahead. We remained friends at college but gradually lost contact over the years.
A few years later, whilst visiting family in Galway, I saw where had passed away. She had had Ovarian cancer, I heard. I attended her funeral. It was poignant and it was sad but I remembered the good times of 1972, post Leaving Cert. and our friendship. The music at the funeral mass included the Theme from “The Onedin Line”, (a popular TV show of our time) as she loved sailing and the sea. I shed a quiet tear and wished her a safe voyage onwards.
