Funny sort of a week.
Wednesday would have been my Mum's 92nd birthday and it's the first one since she's gone. Many poignant memories flying around, but all of them pleasant. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be able to say that about their departed parents, but I am twice over.
So, it therefore followed that in a rare departure from my customary borderline reclusive and reticent nature, I posted a really nice picture of Mum and me taken on her 90th birthday, including a few words about her early life growing up in Ireland in borderline (actual) poverty, and how much she bettered herself in a long, happy and healthy life.
Likes and kind comments followed in abundance. Not only that but also a private message from one of my most thoughtful friends, asking if I had considered the possibility of applying for an Irish passport, as given that the UK is no longer a member of the EU (in case you hadn't noticed) it would make European touring just as easy for me as it ever was, back when I used to do a lot of that kind of thing.
It so happens that I had considered this, right back when David Cameraman set us on course for the referendum. After a few cursory investigations (there wasn't much you could do in terms of online application back then, it all seemed to involve going to an address in Knightsbridge) I set it aside and hadn't returned to the application process until now.
Of course I knew that as a consequence of my Irish Mum I was eligible to apply for a second passport, but what I had not known until yesterday is that I have dual nationality and am an Irish citizen. To all those companies, government departments, assorted worthless quangos, and other organisations where I have wrongly entered 'British' as opposed to 'British Irish' on their various databases and application forms, please accept this generic, blanket apology. Hopefully no lasting damage has been done, and no poll statistics of national importance have been improperly skewed.
So in a week when it has become a matter of significant public debate as to the plausibility of transitioning from being British to Korean (I have no opinion either way before you start getting over excited) here I am, very much on the other side of the coin, having spent 58 years identifying as British, I now find that I am every bit as Irish. I always been proud of my Celtic heritage and wonderful extended family, but it always felt a bit like 'them and us'. Now it's all us.
Of all the things Mum left us this is perhaps the most special of all, certainly the most unexpected.
Top of the mornin' from Pete O'Cater, as it were....
So what are the implications of my new found status I wonder. It did occur to me that many years ago when I was young and ambitious (I am no longer either) having Irish citizenship might have had been of benefit to my urge to explore developing my career in the United States, but as I'm reasonably happy with how things have turned out I'm not going to come down with a severe dose of the what ifs.
Should I adopt Irish mannerisms, and perhaps even an accent? When I was first living in London (in a close-knit community of delightful Jewish people, there's ancestry on my paternal grandfather's side) I was aware that my Midlands accent was somewhat discernible, so I would at times temper it with a slight Gaelic lilt, the end result sounding like a curious hybrid of Liam Neeson and Jasper Carrott. A fellow musician (not a native English speaker) did ask if I was Canadian, so that was the end of that.
Should I start to spell things differently to accommodate a new accent? For instance, were I writing about the great saxophonist Tubby Hayes (a task that at all times should be left to Simon Spillett) should I spell his first name 'Thubby'/ (I'll wait). Some aspects have always been there. I've always known the correct way to pronounce cupboard (it's 'cubbort' btw) and with Dad out out work day and night I learned most of my early spoken language skills from Mum. At a pre school medical in a colour blindness test I correctly identified the shape of a duck, which I pronounced 'dook' (as in look or book) which prompted the nurse to observe
"Yower sun has gorra spaitch impediment".
My brother was similarly influenced. His glove puppet replica of Tucker (from the Tingha and Tucker Club) was always known as 'Tocker' (substantive audio evidence to support this is in existence).
Also am I now, instead of being the loathsome white, middle class, middle aged male I thought I was, in possession of protected characteristics? Is there some sort of gravy train for which I might acquire a season ticket? Or should that be gravy boat if it involves taking the ferry to Dublin? Is it heresy to pour gravy on champ? There's so much to learn. Do I need to live as an Irishman for a probationary period? More questions than answers. I tried reading up on the equality act earlier on, but have been largely side tracked by the search for a new car.
Whichever way it has been quite a revelation to have made this discovery. Things that come to light in later years can sometimes be traumatic (that's another story) this is anything but. Like finding a long lost family, or the proceeds of a Swiss bank account that a distant admirer has bequeathed to you, I feel like I am more than I thought I was, and shall be gearing up to make myself available for freelance work in a whole succession of European cities.
Another advantage among so many is that if Harry and the boys don't manage to bring it home tomorrow I can always claim to be neutral. But fingers crossed that they will........
Sláinte mhaith
