message from beyond

Quaffing a coffee with the Mammy at the Dunnes Stores cafe in the town of Newbridge. We are talking about an old friend of my father's the legendary businessman Pat Dunlea who died a few years ago.

I am saying: "When I was a teenager back in the 1980's I had an argument with Dunlea about the existence of God. And I had a sort of tantrum. I went nuts. I was saying things like: So you the owner of a garage are casting doubt on whether the creator of the universe exists. And then I had the privilege of watching him become ever more successful for the next few decades while my own life became ever more a failure. He was setting up all sorts of businesses. Providing employment. Rebuilding half the town. Every few years he'd have some dramatic new project. And every time I met him over the twenty five years, I was thinking wryly to myself that if I remembered the tantrum I'd had, remembered it word for word, then he must remember it too. But he never mentioned it. And you know, I think he got me that job in the Leinster Leader. He never admitted it but I think he did. And then the owner of some car I scraped in a road accident, phoned me to say the bill had been paid. I think Pat Dunlea paid that too but he always denied it. That was a couple of grand right there. And then I nearly fell over a few years ago when he said to me out of the blue that he appreciated me writing articles in defence of priests. Who would have thought it? When I'd had that tantrum with him twenty five years earlier, I'd been sure that I'd be a tremendously successful fellow, probably end up running a multi national corporation and that anyway I wouldn't have to meet Pat Dunlea ever again if I didn't want to. And over the quarter century I never stopped meeting him. Or suspecting that he was my benefactor. And I never for a moment forget what I'd once said to him as a young lad. And he never once reminded me."

At this moment in my reminiscence my coffee cup became up ended and spilled over me.

The Mammy stared in delight.

"It's him," she breathed. "Only Pat Dunlea could organise something like that from heaven."

Poet meets ghost!