When we were children growing up in Irishtown, our aunts, uncles, and cousins were regular visitors to our house. We loved them coming for the hooleys, because all us kids were sure to get a glass of orange, sweets and a few pennies to keep us occupied while all the old people, probably in their late twenties, had a few drinks and the sing-song.

As the night wore on, my Dad and his brother would get sentimental and always talked about Matilda. Who is Matilda, you might ask? Matilda was their sister who met and married a local man, Robbie Donovan, from Margaret’s Place, Bath Avenue. Nothing unusual about that, except that was ten or more years earlier, and nobody had heard from her since. Not even a postcard.

They were just an ordinary family. There were three boys (Paddy, Bob and Bill) and two girls (May and Matilda). They were born on Cambridge Road, in Ringsend and years later they moved to Stella Gardens.

When Matilda married Robbie, there was a huge wedding party in the house. Everyone had a great time but little did the family think, as they waved them goodbye on their honeymoon, that it would be the last time they would ever see her.

The years passed and when my grandparents died, the family tried to contact Matilda through radio and newspaper appeals in Ireland and England. They never gave up trying to find her, every year placing ads in newspapers.

My dad travelled to England several times, to where his brother lived and they would both continue the search for some information, but to no avail. They never gave up until the day they died.

The mystery remained with us all through our lives, another generation left in the dark, asking the same questions. What could have happened to her? Is she dead? If not, how could she not get in touch at least to say she was okay?

I often let my own thoughts wander was it a case of ‘Houdini’? Well, we know that she vanished! Or was it a case of ‘who done it?’ Was she murdered? Is she lying in an unmarked grave somewhere?

One day, I was sitting at home. My mother had gone into town with my two sisters, June and April. I knew they wouldn’t be back for hours so I sat down to read the paper, when I heard the postman. I went to see what was in the hall and it was a letter addressed to my Dad.

I just stared at it because my Dad had been dead for many years. Who on earth could this be from? Then I looked at the back of the envelope, and saw the sender’s name, Matilda Donovan. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. It was forty-seven years since we had heard from her.

I remember I was shaking and thinking the worst part was how to give this letter to my mother. I knew it would be a shock as she went through all the hurt with my Dad over the years. My mind was racing. I was dying to tell someone but they were all out. It seemed like the longest day of my life.

Finally they came home. I kept thinking “How am I going to tell her?” I looked at her and said “I think you had better sit down. I have something to show you.”

As she looked at the letter, she said “My God, who could be writing to your Dad after all these years?”
“Look at the back of the letter and you’ll know.”
“Oh my God, I don’t believe it.”
I said “Do you want a cup of tea?”
She replied “No. Give me a bloody brandy!”

The letter went as follows:

My Dear Paddy,
I’m very sorry for not keeping in touch all these years, but I want to put that right now. Myself and Robbie lived in England for a few years after we were married and then we moved to New South Wales, Australia. We have a very happy life together. Robbie is a wonderful husband. We have no children. I hope you will write to me. I’m very sorry such a long time has passed.
All my love,
Your Sister, Matilda.

I said “Is that it? No explanation?”

Well, at least we knew she was alive. Her phone number was on the note so my mother dialled the number and on the other end, was a cheerful voice. My Mam said who she was and I could hear Matilda laughing with delight on the other end of the phone.

So what had happened? Why did she never get in touch? Did something happen? She said that nothing happened, but that over the years it got harder and harder to get in touch. She just sent the letter on the off chance that someone might still be living here. My Mam had to tell her that her Mother, Father, brothers, and sister were dead. She told her about her nieces and nephews, trying to fill her in on all that had happened over the years.

Four years have passed. We ring and write to her every few weeks. Her husband Robbie died last year, and she misses him an awful lot. She thanks God that she found the courage to put pen to paper and get in touch because now, she has us.

It just goes to show that if there’s anything you want to do, no matter how many years pass, it’s never too late.

Above, Diverse roads: Matilda and Robbie pictured early in their marriage.