Mickey O'Brien
In my boyhood days there was no Midnight Mass in Drumeela. Like most chapels in the diocese of Kilmore, mass was at 8 o'clock on Christmas morning. The majority of the congregation came on foot which meant leaving their homes at 7 o'clock on a dark winter's morning. No electric light then, and so some kind of a lamp was essential in every household. I was always fascinated by lights, but in my low-lying area, I could not get a good view of them.
So at 7 o'clock on Christmas morning, I climbed to the summit of Lynch's Hill where I had a full 360 degree, uninterrupted view of the countryside. Already lights were on the move down around Skealon Mountain, more were appearing in Doogra and Raleigh. At first they were like glow worms and they were bobbing up and down. From Nedd, Drumleevan and Longfield, the country had become a moving mass of lights. Hurricane lamps, bicycle lamps powered with carbine, the old carriage lamps with the candle and the odd flashlamp. From the far-off hills of Kilnamar and Druminure, Corglass, Drumcannon and Curraghboy, lights seemed to be coming up out of the very earth itself. From Drumbrick, Drumloona, Druminchingore and Corrahopple, as the foremost bobbing light grew bigger, smaller ones appeared on the horizon and then my eyes glued on the busiest spot of all, the hills at the top of Cornagee above Fitz's Lane, what we used to call the Gap of the North.
Here people of Burren, Legnagun, Newtowngore and Derryniggin converged, all the world seemed to be on the move, well, my world anyway. The foremost were converging on the chapel in the valley and I could hear the salutations, 'Happy Christmas, Happy Christmas,' and the replies, 'The same to you.'
Suddenly there was a blaze of light in the Northern sky. Down at Corcar the torchlight procession was getting ready. Then the sound for which I had been waiting, the roll of the drum-the Doogra Fife and Drum Band were on their way. Proudly they marched up the bog road led by the torch bearers and playing their signature tune
The Old Rustic Bridge by the Mill, past Larry's Cross and the school, followed by what seemed a multitude of people, past the chapel and on to Corglass Bridge. There, both the torch bearers and band lined up and formed a guard of honour and escort for the priest from Carrigallen, the celebrant of the Mass, to the chapel gate.
I raced down from the hilltop, the lights were going out. It would be brighter when Mass was over.
Most of that congregation have gone to their eternal reward. Also most of the Doogra Band. Only this year, two of its more youthful members, Joe Gray and Benny Reilly were laid to rest, in Drumeela graveyard, nearly side by side, which they had been all through life. May their souls rest in peace.
I have never been very far from home but I have seen the lights of Blackpool and I have had a bird's eye view of the lights of London from the window of a plane. But I never have nor never will see anything to fascinate me like those bobbing lights on that beautiful Christmas morning, so many, many years ago.