Eat Drink and be Merry For Tomorrow….
In the past week I was reminded of how friendship and tragedy, distance and proximity can echo across the world to resound unexpectedly in one’s daily life.
In the same forty eight hours I was most generously entertained by Nisheeth Ta with members of my family in the best Indian restaurant in Ireland; Rasam in Glasthule, Co Dublin, which for some unfathomable reason has become one of the buzziest and best places to either eat or shop in the Dublin area.
Across the road from Rasam there lies the emporium of a fishmonger extraordinaire, my friend, Peter Caviston, who runs the best fish restaurant, fish shop and delicatessen in the area. Why this tiny strip comprising shops, wine bars and an Undertakers should thrive as it does, staging one of Ireland’s best Bloomsday celebrations annually into the bargain is not easily explained. A few hundred yards up the road the town of Dun Laoghaire is depressingly filled with shops which have either closed or are struggling to stay open.
Presumably the drive and initiative of people like Peter Caviston and Nieesh has a lot to do with it, and these and other worthies of the district have now been joined by some ex rugby players whoa re doing a roaring trade in health foods and have even succeeded in converting me to Goji berry juice!
When the Troika of dire repute descended on Ireland a few years ago, led by the Indian Ajai Chopra, the first place they headed to before consigning Cathleen Ni Houlihan to a diet of bread and water was Rasam. Nieesh whose wife is Irish is part of an internationally known family of restaurateurs. He learned his trade in Mumbai in the famous Taj Mahal hotel which was attacked during the 2008 onslaught on Mumbai in which gunmen killed one hundred and sixty four people and wounded hundreds more.
Amongst the dead were some of his close friends and relatives. As we discussed the Crimea over Nieesh’s incredible cuisine I was reminded forcefully by his presence that no longer do events in faraway parts of the world touch us not. The bell really does toll for all of us.
I can hear it clanging in my ears as this is written because thanks to the initiative of a local Frank Mullins, a former member of an Garda Síochána we are preparing to commemorate the worst domestic fire tragedy in Ireland, which happened approximately a mile from Glasthule in the Village of Dalkey on 9th March 1974.
On that night the mother and family of the Howard family and eleven of their children died in a fire in Carysfort Road, Dalkey. I can still vividly remember the sight of friends of mine in the local Civil Defence Unit helping to carry out the bodies, through the smoke and the rain. The victims died as much from smoke inhalation as fire. The smoke was generated by smouldering newspapers; the Howards made their living distributing the papers, including The Irish Press, of which I was then the editor.
Over the years their gravestone had become somewhat tarnished by wind and weather and Frank Mullins has organised the refurbishing of their memorial and a mass at which I’ve been invited to address the congregation, which it is hoped, will include the surviving two members of the family who now live in England.
Separate events, separate memories but one inescapable conclusion, we are all human and all mortal.