Robert.

You were an icon of youth organizations within Inchicore. A master on the drawing board of architecture. A safety official on the hills.

From the time we could walk, you gathered all the smaller ones and brought us up onto the hills, on some wonderful adventures, hiking through the Wicklow Mountains, camping up in Larch Hill. You showed us how to cook in the outdoors.

We would go on a hike and stop and light a fire, put the rashers and sausages on tin foil, and cook them. We, as little ones, thought this was so good. You were our friend growing up. Our minder. Our warrior, whom we looked up to for guidance.

Then, later in our teens, you hired a bog and brought us up and showed us how to cut the turf. Well, they were happy memories. We ate sandy sandwiches from the turf soil. There were no wipes in those days, only bog water to clean our hands.

The flask of tea to warm us up. The best, though, was the tug fights when you used the slane to cut the turf. We would be ready to catch the turf and place it on the ground. But sometimes the war would start: “That’s my sod of turf.” “No, it’s mine.” And this went on until the day ended. But we never fell out with each other; we always called quits before we got back in the car.

On everyone’s birthday, Rob, you never forgot them. You would always arrive with a card and present for the little ones, and for the older ones you might have a 20 or 50 euro note in a card. You loved a cuppa tea and cake and a long chat right past midnight.

We used to sing a little ditty:
“Where ya going, Bob?
Down the lane, Bob.
For what, Bob?
For rhubarb.
Let’s go, Bob.
No, Bob.
Why, Bob?
’Cause you don’t like rhubarb.”

At Christmas, he was like Santa Claus. He would come with his sack of presents for the young and the old.

But alas, he didn’t want anyone to help him. He thought so much of others, he was unable to ask help for himself.

Cheers, Robert,
(As my mum used to say)

You can push up daisies together:- Mam, Dad, Tom & your ex-wife, the lovely Aileen.
Rest in peace, one and all.

Go raibh sé agus slán go deo.