(an excerpt from a forthcoming book of the same name by Kevin John Ragnarsson Wilson Lee Clarke)
PART 2
I sat in my cell at my small wooden table, beside me was my solicitor, opposite me was the investigating detective beside my ‘jailer’new friend) PC Lonigan.
Just tell us your story Michael, start from the beginning …
It was 1969, I was 16 years old and school was over. At the time I remember myself and a friend starting jobs where my dad worked, at the local water pipeline.
Dad was pleased with himself as he began working with a gang of Irishmen on a part of the pipeline they called the front end. First the bulldozers cleared the land before a different team laid and welded the pipes. Dad loved his part of the job, erecting fencing alongside where the pipes were being laid. Here was his chance to share the ‘craic’ and he was in his element. With Irish blood and a great sense of humour, dad mixed well with the Irish boys and they soon adopted him. I often thought that dad must have kissed the Blarney Stone!
Together, there were a gang of about 25 Irishmen. The fellow who oversaw the operation was the ‘charge hand,’ a young man named Sean Fitzpatrick. I say young as was only ten years older than me. He and my dad shared the same sense of humour and ‘got on like a house on fire.’
On the many nights out with Sean, he’d ensure there were plenty of bottles of Guinness. All the Irish boys were there and they’d sing Irish republican songs long into the night. At some point Dad told his new friends he was a relative of one of the leaders of the Irish uprising. Also letting anyone who was listening that this was who his son (me) was named after .
It was Michael Collins he spoke of. He being outspoken Irish revolutionary soldier, politician and government Minister of Finance. Collins was an inspirational leader, active in 1919 and part of the political party, Sinn Fein, during the Irish Civil War. His star burned bright until one night, on the 22nd August 1922. Collin’s party were travelling by car along a quiet country road when they were ambushed by Anti Treaty forces. Michael Collins ended up being shot and killed, dying a martyr and loved by many, especially my dad.
Sean and dad enjoyed each other’s company and they soon became inseparable. To me, it seemed that Sean took the place of my older brother, Stephen, who was now living in Australia. During conversation Dad would introduce me as ‘our kid’ when Sean (or anyone else) returned to our house for supper after a night’s drinking. We were all close, kindred spirits.
Over time, and with more experience gained at work, it wasn’t long before I joined a company of Irish lads, all around my age. There were eight of us. I found this to be a strange situation at first as I could not make them out! I couldn’t understand them at all, their Irish ‘lingo’ being raw Southern Irish tongue. Of course they knew I struggled to keep up and I soon became the scapegoat for many pranks.
The work we did was tough at times and these lads loved to drink after work. Saying this, all went to church mass on a Sunday morning. Then, right after? It was a return to the pub for more Guinness. The hair of the dog they had swilled down the night before. I couldn’t keep up with them. I know they thought I was a wimp at the time, but I always paid for my round of Guinness. There was one night on the drink when I’d taken too much and it was boss man, Sean who took me home.
I remember, mother was mad at me, but she knew I had to learn to hold my liquor and she said ‘this was your time to get drunk. My turn to be sick and live in sufferance with a hangover!’ I would learn, but not this time.
Dad was devoted, he loved his family, mum, me and my absent brother. I sensed Sean knew this. Dad treated Sean like another son, I also knew that he loved what dad was doing for Sean … during his time with us, Sean had his family, loved by us all.
My boss Sean had a tough start in life. Born in Ireland and abandoned by his mother, in a the local Catholic Church hours after being born. From here, he ended up in an orphanage where he would stay until he was old enough to leave. Sean became a loner, he was soon an outcast, a rebel. Any possessions Sean owned, anything, even gifts for birthday or Christmas, the older boys took them.
Time was on his side. As this young man grew in confidence he learned to fight back and stand up for himself until before long Sean became top boy himself. He gained the respect of others who obeyed him now, giving him anything he wanted. What Sean wanted was devotion, loyalty.
At 16 Sean left the orphanage. It was the Father at the local Catholic Church who found him a job with a construction company.
Sean was a quick learner. He soon knew the tricks of the trade, developing his ‘people skills’ while operating a range of heavy equipment. In only a short time he gained respect and so became one of the top men ‘on the ground’ for the firm, transferring to England as a charge-hand.
Here Sean found himself responsible for human resources. Hiring and firing personnel for the construction of the new North Sea pipelines.
This is how our family came to meet Sean Fitzpatrick.
(part 3 follows)
© 2023 Kevin John Ragnarsson Wilson Lee Clarke
CharlieKenny.me 