This week there are people all over the country who are enduring the Christmas season, who hate the merriment of it, the poignancy of it. It is the reality of life, especially as we get older. People lose loved ones and friends. Grief is cumulative. So Christmas becomes a time to remember them. In October we lost one of our dearest and treasured friends. Three couples, Pat and Claire, Michael and Evelyn and ourselves have a lovely tradition of going to each other’s houses for dinner. The invitation list in each house would start with the six. Through the years we’ve got to know each other’s families. We are firm friends and care deeply about each other.

Over the Christmas season for probably the last 25 years, we would get a call from Claire inviting us to dinner at Castletreasure. I’d relay the news to Tim and he’d rub his hands together in delight. It would mean great conversation and a wonderful meal. Claire was an amazing cook and host. There was no fuss, she just executed it calmly. She was one of those no nonsense people. If you offered help, she’d answer with the task required.

I remember with fondness the last dinner that Claire cooked for us, when she was still well enough to be in charge. There were about 12 around the table. She served a scrumptious soup with her lovely brown bread. Then she announced that we were having “bangers and mash”, but it wasn’t just any “bangers” they were Jack McCarthy’s sourced from the English Market in Cork City. She loved that place. The rest of us would be scared to serve sausages, but not Claire. Out she came with the plates. She had a carefully moulded mound of mash in the centre and four sausages leaning against it. Over it she’d poured her exquisite onion gravy.

The conversation was stimulating and it was political. Claire loved to get stuck in. She could fight her corner with the best.

I can see her standing, relaxed, engaged, the plate in one hand, while her other hand leaned on Pat’s shoulder. Claire was an astute Fine Gaeler. She could expertly analyse the political mood of the country and really valued the opportunity to contribute whenever she could. Eventually, she burst out laughing and handed me the plate. Claire had that smile where her eyes would smile too. There were no crow’s feet, just smiling lines.

We loved and appreciated her for her kindness, good humour and friendship. We especially admired her intellect. She was a great conversationalist, an avid debater, a wonderful wife and mother to her five boys, Patrick, Donal, Conor, Sean and Cormac, and her one girl, Úna. A tremendous teacher and lecturer, she was a ‘go to’ person for many of us. She understood and valued education and is responsible for many successful career paths. Our views were closely aligned about farming, agriculture, teaching and mothering. She loved springtime and the birth of the baby calves. She was also an astute businesswoman. She and Pat have built up a serious foliage business over the years. Claire loved it.

I MISS HER CHATS

My phone rang. By the time I had it out of the bag it was gone. I’d missed a call from Michael. I’d missed one from Evelyn too. Then Tim’s number was flashing. I knew instinctively that it could only be bad news about Claire. I didn’t expect to hear the words: “Kay, Claire has just died.”

I couldn’t speak. The tears tumbled down my face. Tim couldn’t say much either. I was with Julie, so got an instant hard hug. We’d just given a lecture in UCC on celebrating life and putting disability in perspective in the education world and so on; that world which was so special to Claire. We had dropped into Wilton shopping centre to have a cup of tea and a sandwich. It now sat on the plate and resembled a chunk of cardboard.

The tea was welcome, if only to look into the cup. We talked about our friend Pat, who for the last while had looked after his wife of 34 years with a love and care beyond belief. He never let go of Claire’s hand. Her illness crept up on her over a few years. Her family began to notice cognitive differences. They were worried. Claire, herself was worried. A diagnosis of dementia was an enormous shock to all who knew this dynamic, competent and stylish lady. Claire and I would talk coming up to Christmas about who was coming home, where the lads and her darling daughter Úna were, because they were often all over the world. I miss her chats.

Each time I turn on my computer I’m reminded of my friend Claire. A photograph of Claire and me adorns my screensaver. It gives me some comfort. Tim and I knew both Claire and Pat in Macra before they knew each other. Ours has been a friendship that has stood the test of time through Macra, IFA, dairy farming and life. We’ve experienced together the rewards and challenges of rearing our families. We’ve sang songs, socialised and loved. This Christmas, Claire Lehane nee Créed is in our hearts. Castletreasure is different without Claire, but it is still the home of bustle and energy that she created with Pat and their six wonderful children. Patrick’s marriage to Margo delighted Claire. The arrival of her grandson, Luke, brought her great joy. One of Claire’s little nephews, Eoin Creed, summed Claire up when he said: “I like Auntie Claire because she always makes the house happy.”

We were six, we are now five. Life goes on … rest in peace dear friend. CL