I have a feeling somehow that it is one particular part of our culture that has caused this particular phemomenon to enter our lives.
I am referring here to the cult of friendship in this country which frequently demonstrates itself at times of weddings when both bride and groom, and the bride’s parents and those of the groom, would not contemplate giving a wedding without inviting at least some of their friends along with the compulsory relations.

First Wedding.

One has to shimmer back here to an incident which happened thirty seven years ago, and which refers back to a wedding which had happened at least twenty five years before that, sometime in the 1940’s.

I had brought my new girlfriend Síle down from Dublin to Cork to meet all my friends, in particular Siobhan and Sue, who’s parents had recently died, and who lived in the parental house in Magazine Road in the city.
All was going well, and then Síle spotted their parents wedding photograph on the mantlepiece.
She stood up, went closer to the photo and to our utter amazement announced that the woman next to the bride, carrying a bouquet of flowers and obviously the chief bridesmaid, was Síle’s mother!
And indeed we discovered this was the case, they were friends, both sets of parents, who had lost touch over the years, the only contact Síle noted had been through Christmas cards- which is the very last expression of Irish friendship to die.

Second Wedding

This one refers to something that happened the summer before last, and to a wedding which took place in the late seventies.

I was in an internet cafe in Cessanon, in the Languedoc, just a few miles down the road from our new house in Thezan les Beziers. This was before we had got an internet connection in our house there.
A man came into the cafe and was talking to the proprietor.
He was talking in English, not only that but to my “Professor Higgins” ear he was talking with a distinct Cork accent. He too, it seemed was trying to get an internet connection in his house, also in Thezan.

I grabbed his arm as he left the shop.
“You are not from Cork by any chance are you?” I asked him.
“No” says he “Mallow”.
” Well I’m from Cork” I said “And my name is Martin Dwyer”
I stuck out my hand.
“Martin Dwyer ” he said ” You are not anything to Ted by any chance?”
Ted I admitted was my brother.
“My god” he said “My wife Mary and Teds wife Mary were best friends in School, sure we were at his wedding!”

And that was how I met my now firm friend and neighbour in France, Barry Mac.

Third Wedding.

This incident happened just last night, the wedding, in this case must have occured about twenty years ago, in the early eighties.

Our friend Petra, from Germany, is in Síle’s choir Madrigallery.
Petra has a particular talent for friendship. (In fact Petra’s talent extends byond the Irish one for loyalty and also embraces a Germanic talent at making new friends)

The choir were giving a concert last night and Petra had asked lots of friends to come to the concert, so much so that her house was overflowing.
She asked us if we could put up Joan, a great friend of whom we had often heard her talk, her first Landlady in Dublin whom she had made a friend.
“No bother” we said.
And the charming Joan duly arrived after the concert and we proceeded to play the great Irish game of Degrees of Separation (aka find the connection) over tea.
Joan it turned out had teenaged boys and spent much time organising their GAA activities.
” I wonder” said I ” If you have ever come across Síle’s brother Conal in Skerries ”
Joan looked at us aghast.
“Not Conal Ronayne, married to Therese White ?” she said
We nodded, almost anticipating the next words.
“Therese was my best friend all through school ” she said “Sure I was at their wedding!”

I rest my case.