From Castledermot to New Zealand —an emigrant's tale in memory of Jimmy

The late Jimmy Kavanagh of William Pearce Terrace, Castledermot, passed away on 7 June 2024 at the age of 80.

Jimmy worked outdoors all his life and would have been known to many for his time at Lambe's while he was also a common sight on local roads on his bike. He had an extraordinary memory and loved reading.

Married to Ina, Jimmy was a father of four and grandfather of eight. 

One of his last wishes was that a beloved family story that his son William told be published in the Kildare Nationalist which he had read weekly. As his family mark the first anniversary of his passing, the Kildare Nationalist is proud to print this poignant but heartwarming tale of emigrant life that brought Jimmy pleasure.

It was early Sunday morning, the moon had given way to the sun, but its rays were yet to burn off the thick fog that lay around the damp ground of Cromwell's streets.

Cromwell is a small town that rests in the South Island of New Zealand. My wife Julia and I had taken the trip from Christchurch to visit some of her family.

I am a man born and raised in Ireland. The streets of Castledermot in Co Kildare I called my home. I won’t bore you with the details of how I came to live in New Zealand, this story is a wish of my father.

I was the first to wake in the house, I thought it was a good idea to go roam the unfamiliar streets of Cromwell as the rest were sleeping. The cold air filled my lungs as I decided which direction to go.

My wandering brought me to a lakefront, old old-fashioned shops lined the left side as I walked. The fog was still thick all around me without warning the distinct sound of church bells rang out. For no reason, I thought I'd follow the sound and see where it would bring me.

Eventually, I arrived at the doors of the church. Its high roofs were still hidden by the fog. The priest stood outside and noticed me "Are you coming in?" he said to me.

It is here I should tell you I hadn't been to church in many years. But today was the day, "I will do," I said as I walked past. Entering the church, I had the idea to sit at the back to avoid any interaction with the usual goers. Second row in from the end I took my seat.

I sat and I watched as the old men and women of Cromwell slowly filled the front seats, all trying to get the closest seats to the priest. To my surprise, an old man came to sit directly behind me.

“How are ya?" he asked.

"Grand thanks and yourself " was my reply.

“Are you Irish?" he asked with a wondering tone.

"I am,” I said.

“Me too, my name's Paddy O Neill, I came here sixty years ago,” he replied.

As the conversation was unfolding, an old lady came to sit by Paddy's side. This lady was known as Olive O’Neill, a local woman who had come to be Paddy's wife.

Before long, Mass had started and are conversation slowed. We stood, we kneeled, we prayed we sat. After Mass had ended Paddy, Olive and myself walked to the outside of the church where Paddy offered me a lift back to where I had come from.

I kindly refused the offer on the grounds that I didn't know how to drive back I only knew the way I had come by foot, we said our goodbyes and let each other know how lovely it was to have met.

On my return walk, Julia rang my phone to inquire where I was, I told her the story of the random trip to mass and my random encounter with Paddy and Olive O Neill.

Fast forward the story to two weeks, Julia and I sat in Julia's parents house for dinner in Christchurch. Julia asked me to tell her mother Christine of the story about my trip to Mass as the story unfolded and the details came to mind, I came to the point of mentioning Paddy, Christine’s face lit with a smile and asked if his name was Paddy O’Neill to which I replied it was and his wife Olive.

Christine then continued to unravel her own story and details of how Paddy drove Christine to her own wedding Now I want you to keep in mind the chain of events that has brought all this together the early walk, the bells ringing, the seats chosen by both Paddy and me.

Several years on, Christine approached me and informed me that Paddy O Neill, the man I had met in mass on the cold Cromwell morning was dying.

She tells me that Paddy is a proud Irishman and would love nothing more than to be buried with a piece of Ireland. It is now that I would like to take your attention to four years in the past where my family and I had stood on the cliffs of Kerry.

The beauty of this place enveloped us, and I felt an overwhelming pride to have been born in this country. It is here where I had taken a stone golf ball sized and decided to bring a piece of Ireland back to New Zealand with me.

As Christine relayed the circumstances to me, my mind wondered to the piece of Ireland that now sat in my house. In Kaiapoi, Christchurch a six-hour drive from where Paddy now lay on his deathbed, I asked Christine to offer Paddy the piece of Ireland that I had stripped from its soil.

The following day after conversations by phone with Paddy's family and Paddy O’Neill himself, I was delighted to fulfil a dying man's last wish. To be buried with a piece of Ireland the place he left sixty plus years before, Paddy now lies in his place of rest with the stone between his hands.

This story to be written and is now written on the request of my own dying father. In memory of two proud Irish men: Paddy O Neill, from a small village in Ballygar in Co Galway and Jimmy Kavanagh, Castledermot, Co Kildare.