All of these people
A Memoir
Fergal Keane
For My Parents
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ELEVEN The Land That Happened Inside Us
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Marching Seasons
CHAPTER SIXTEEN A Journey Back
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Beloved Country
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN People Are People
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Consequences
In the Bone Shop of the Heart: Writing All of These People
If You Loved This, You Might Like…
Early in the new year, 2004, I was due to meet a friend for coffee in Chelsea. As I waited an elderly man entered and went to the front of the line. I felt a flash of annoyance and tried to attract the attention of the staff. ‘He’s jumping the queue,’ I said. But nobody heard me. The manager came and showed the man to a table. He turned, slowly, and I looked into the face of my father.
In the fourteen years since his death he had not changed.
My father did not recognise me but I knew him: those poetic lips, the melancholy vagueness of the old king fighting his last battle, the same shock of greying black hair, the thick-rimmed glasses, the tweed hat and scarf I gave him once for Christmas, the aquiline nose – the Keane nose! Crossing O’Connell Bridge in Dublin one day Paddy Kavanagh had turned to my father, his friend, and remarked: ‘Keane, you have a nose like the Romans but no empire to bring down with you!’
The man in the coffee shop was not, of course, really my father, but it was his face I saw. After being seated at a table near the window he had begun to talk to himself. I heard him. An English accent – upper class, not at all like my father’s. ‘I want to admire the magic,’ he said, and made a grand, kingly gesture, waving his hand. The manager laughed.
They both laughed. It was the kind of language Éamonn, my father, would have used. Expansive. I want to admire the magic…
This book began as an attempt to describe my journalistic life and the people and events which have shaped my consciousness. I had come through several traumatic personal experiences and arrived at middle age – a time when men often collide with their limitations and feel the first chill of mortality. I needed to take stock of where I had come from, examine the influences which had formed me, and to look at where I might be going. There were also certain resolutions to be made in the