In a place, where there was no shop, no post office, no Garda barracks, no petrol pump and no cars, of course, the Franciscan Monastery with its adjoining school, was highly regarded as the centre of the district. We lived our lives to the rhythm of the Monastery bell ringing out the Angelus twice daily.

I now relive the memory of my youthful days as I get on my bicycle and retake the journey, made so often in my childhood years to the monastery a short distance up the road. The stillness of the countryside was awesome, interrupted only by the creaking of my bicycle, crying out for an oil feed. I alight at the sight of the steep hill at the end of the avenue, and push the bike to the accompaniment of the dawn-like chorus of birds. I stand for a while and acknowledge their company and park my bike; no need to lock it of course.

Full of excitement, I climb the steep stone steps to the little oratory, to find the joy of my life. The grand polished Harmonium at the back of the church, which made the most beautiful sound with the various stops to pull out, and the two pedals I had to push up and down. These pedals activated a bellows, which drove air through the reeds, basically making it a reed instrument. Here, in the peace and quiet I read lots of music.

Time was endless then. I had no watch, and so no idea of time, but I knew intuitively when to take a break! After a round of the Stations of the Cross, I tripped down to the kitchen door to collect our milk and butter which we bought from the monks. It was one of the few times I met a monk. While I waited in the porch, I always got a treat of a glass of milk and a slice of the most 'yummy' apple pie or scones straight from the oven. I thanked the Brother cook, collected my bag, retreated up the stone steps, well-nourished for another session. Later passing by the Monastery orchard I was often handed a bag of the rosiest red gorgeous apples through the gate. My memories of Errew Monastery bring to mind Albert Ketelbey’s In a Monastery Garden beautifully rendered with inspiring visuals in this YouTube video.

As a child I didn't know anything about the six monks living there. When I saw them in their stalls on a Sunday morning in their brown Franciscan habits, I thought they looked like St Francis of Assisi whom I had read about in a book I got from Santy. I never spoke to any of the monks then, but now as a senior citizen I want to thank those Franciscan Brothers in Errew for their presence among us. The day people were told that it was to close was a dark day for all of us. To those still alive and well — I greet you — and to those who have passed — "ar dheis Dé go raibh an-anamacha uilig."

by Pauline Johnson SSL