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Hugh Geraghty 1946-2007
Hugh was the youngest of five Geraghty brothers from Cornmarket in the Dublin Liberties and later Curlew Rd. Drimnagh. Hugh’s parents, Tom and Lily, were active in both the Labour and Republican Movement and passed on their ‘Larkinite’ tradition to all their sons Seán, Thomas, Séamus, Des and Hugh, all of whom became prominent trade-unionists. Despite growing up in the shadow of four older brothers Hugh carved out a unique record of solid achievement and managed to assert strongly his own personal values of loyalty, comradeship and original scholarship. He was also a very committed family man and a loving father of Clare, Kevin, Seán and their families but he clearly missed very much the companionship and support of Mary, his wife who died some years previously.
When Hugh died an untimely death on 5th March 2007, he was President of the Irish Labour History Society and, despite a supposed retirement from the service of the ICTU, was still representing transport workers and pursuing improvements in pension provision for his fellow workers in addition their other industrial relations issues.
He worked tirelessly for others and established for himself a well deserved reputation as a tough but fair negotiator, a representative of enormous integrity and a quiet but determined advocate for working class people. He also had a great love of music and song and loved nothing better than singing ballads about people and events in our chequered history just as he wrote lovingly about patriots who got little recognition such as William Partridge and The Invincibles.
He was a ‘stalwart’ of the Clé Club in Liberty Hall as he had been of the old Pipers club, The Church St club and the Claremens Club, the earlier Dublin centres of our living tradition. He loved the countryside and spent many happy days in the hills and valleys of Ireland but had a special fondness for Sligo where he frequently joined the music and singing sessions around Mullagh Mór.
Slán, Hugh mo chara dhilís, we will “carry on the battle for Roses and Bread”.
- Des Geraghty
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He’d always been there as long as my short life’s memories could recall, from rule-making father figure while I played with my cousins to knowledgeable scholar informant at later Stephens’s Days and comrade-singer-friend at the Clé Club.
One day he was gone. He was sick; his heart, we knew, hadn’t been right certainly since Mary died, but dying was not an action we expected him to take in protest. So shocked I was that I told my mother when she told me that she must be wrong because the doctors said he had to have an operation, the next day, he was fine, he was going to be fine. By the look in her eyes she was certain she was wrong as well, except she knew she wasn’t.
I turn around, distracted, sometimes when somebody mentions the Invincibles or an obscure interesting or unclear point of history, I look for Hughie’s interest, the glance to say that, yes he heard that too, but he’s not there. Sometimes I think he is for a second, I see him, I really do, sitting near the door, unobtrusive. We miss you Uncle Hugh.
- Nora Geraghty
I knew Hughie only in recent years and not well at that. I enjoyed his company, his historical knowledge and interest, and his singing.
He had done some very interesting research into the Invincibles and we are the poorer for not having that work published and in the public domain.
As a man I never detected ego in him and he struck me as a decent and modest man who was proud of his family, his class and his country, but with a perspective of internationalist solidarity. He didn't have a great voice but he sang with honesty and passion and he knew some songs one doesn't hear very often. I'll never hear "Fenian Blade" or "Flower of Finae" without remembering him.
- Diarmuid Breatnach
I met Hugh through the Cle Club and the ICTU. In both he was somewhat overshadowed by the more dominant personalities of other Geraghtys...brothers, nephews and nieces and it took a little longer to get to know him. It was worth the wait.
He would arrive in late to Liberty Hall, pint in hand, making a slow respecful entrance at the end of a song or tune. Hugh was never the first to sing, that too took a little longer. You can tell a lot about someone from their choice of song and Hugh's choice of long, Fenian ballads reflected a lifelong passion. But he also sang The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and O'Casey's Red Roses for Me, songs which reflected his gentle, loving spirit.
- Séamus Dooley
I saw your ghost in Carrick-on-Shannon, Hughie. In the preserved part of the Famine Workhouse, you came to mind. It was your type of thing. You would have left with the place’s lingering trace of inhumanity in your nostrils and with your political resolve strengthened.
We were there to celebrate the handover of some of Se’s papers to the local Historic Society. You would have loved that too. We remember your eulogy to Sé at his funeral just a few short months before you left us. You did your brother proud that day.
I see families at play and sometimes my mind wanders back to wet summer days in my difficult early teens. I see you with Mary, your children - Clare, Kevin and Sean - and myself, as we listen to you recount the tale behind the neglected monument that we seek which marks some forgotten sacrifice. We trudge, lacking your enthusiasm, across sucking mud fields in the rain. Cattle bear bemused witness. I hear Mary teasing you gently for your obsessions and I hear you responding, ultra serious and earnest, much to our secret amusement. Such simple acts of love live on in the memory.
You would have been so disapproving of me at your funeral when my mobile ‘phone rang and even more so at my laughter, knowing your reaction. Mary always told you that you were in danger of getting as grumpy as my Grand-Da. She loved you beyond question and with you she extended her loving care to my grandparents; a situation that is never as easy as it sounds. Her loss left you so bereft.
You despised so many manifestations of modernity. Your hatred of Rock music went beyond distaste for the noise and the fatuous lyrics. You held that it had no foundation in real life. Too late now for me to suggest that, sometimes at least, new music is just a twist on an old tale or that music needs no value but to entertain!
I remember your passionate absorption in so many worthy causes, both great and small, and I hear your voice arguing that victories be taken and then banked rather than squandered by some perceived need to meet the burden of unrealistic expectation. You had such a wry insight and a determination to make progress rather than fall into flames in pointless glory. I hold close to that lesson and to so many more that you imparted with characteristic generosity.
The Cle Club web-site pays tribute to your old friend Prionsias Ó Mordha and to Andrew Clarke. I associate both with your memory. I met Prionsias for the last time at the first anniversary lecture organised in your name. He died a few weeks later. Andrew Clarke attended your wake in the Teachers’ Club. I remember that he sang Bob Dylan’s ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’ and I remarked to Clare that her father would have hated a modern American song that made references to heaven! You would have taken consolation that most of the singing that day was to your taste. You missed a good, old- fashioned send-off, with genuine tears and celebration in equal measures.
I see your ghost all the time in small acts of decency and kindness. For those of us who cannot find solace in the certainties of a religious faith, that is as much as we can hope for in consolation and as much as we can aspire to in being remembered. Your presence remains, self-effacing but determined in disposition. You would approve of the fact that we are still singing the old tunes and that we value still our traditions, history and culture. We raise our glasses to the memory of those who have left us and we will keep forever a warm and special place in our hearts for Mary and yourself.
- Tom Geraghty
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