The other day I read an article about some children in Lusk who received their First Communion recently. Due to the current situation with Covid 19 they had a virtual ceremony on line with a local priest. The headline read: “Children make their First Communion by video link” Between that and the drive through weddings I've heard about recently you can't help but wonder where all this will end up. Things we never imagined possible are happening every day.

It did set me thinking about my own Communion though and here are a few memories. I can just about remember snatches of my First Communion. Or First Holy Communion as we called it then, with a big emphasis on the 'holy' bit. A lot of the memories are helped along by some photographs that I still have.

In the 1960s First Communion was held in High Babies, or Senior Infants as it is now, so we would have only been six or seven years old, having started school for the most part aged five. There had been months of preparation. Walking from St. Louis' National School down to Rathmines Church with its impressive dome shape roof dominating the skyline. The lines of six and seven year olds making their way to the 'Church of Mary Immaculate, Refuge of Sinners'. How ironic.

We 'practiced' confession for weeks, desperately trying to think of made up sins. These usually involved something like “I told a lie to my Mammy” or “I didn't do as I was told”. Sins! Honestly, at six years of age. I presume it's handled differently these days, I certainly hope so.

The fear of the darkness of the confession box, the sliding of the little wooden door to reveal the metal grill with the priest behind. Waiting to hear our penance, how many Hail Marys this time? We practiced lining up to receive Communion, using 'fake' hosts. And we practiced the hymns for hours and hours on end. I can still remember most of them all these years later.

The exciting part was the dress etc. My dress was made by my cousin who was a dressmaker. She lived in Cabra. Going over to Cabra with my Mam on the number twelve bus was quite an adventure. I presume I had to go for fittings a couple of times. I distinctly remember being on the bus heading there and being a bit in awe of the city centre. O'Connell Street and Dorset Street. The Northside of town was 'fary town' according to my Mam. The Southside of the city, Georges Street, Camden Street was 'neary town'. So a trip to 'fary town' was quite a big deal and seldom happened.

My dress was made of broaderie anglaise, with a line of pearl buttons down the front. I think we made our Communion in the winter time, because I had a heavy green coat with a velvet collar. My hair was up in a bun, just like a doughnut sitting on the top of my head and I sported a head dress and veil.

I remember coming out of the house that morning and going into the middle of the road and doing a twirl. I was delighted with myself. My friend Catherine, three doors up was also making her Communion and she was out on the road spinning as well. We ran to each other and were thrilled when we realised that we had the same handbag. White patent plastic, with a heart shape sewn on the front with white thread. In hindsight it was probably the cheapest one available in Lee's shop in Rathmines at the time.

When we got to the church we walked in pairs down the huge aisle, with the girls and boys taking their seats on opposite sides of the church. The parents were all sitting at the back. After the ceremony we went back to the school hall for the Communion breakfast laid on by the nuns, at that time still in their scary black habits and headdresses. I don't know where our parents were for the duration of the breakfast. There were long rows of tables laid out with glasses of orange squash, small sandwiches and cakes. No lunches in fancy restaurants then obviously.

I have a photograph that was taken in Palmerstown Park so we must have gone there for 'the photos'. A neighbour at that time, Eddie Quirke was a keen amateur photographer so presumably the photos were taken by him

. Then it was a case of doing the rounds to visit various neighbours and friends and show off the new clothes. To my shame, my most vivid memory of this part of the day was going to visit an Aunt and Uncle who owned a shop. In my eyes they were 'rich'. They confrimed my belief by giving me 'paper money' the only one I got that day. I presume it must have been a ten shilling note. I've looked and the price of a pint of Guinness then was 2/3. Two shillings and three pence. So the ten shilling note was equivalent to over four pints. It had been half crowns at best up to that visit, that was two shillings and six pence.

I think my prayer book from the day is in the attic. And when my Dad died I found a religious picture in his wallet. It was faded and battered but on the back in my childs handwriting were the words “I prayed for you at my First Holy Communion”. He'd obviously carried it around with him for over forty years.

About eight or nine years ago (I remember it being then because we hadn't had our dog Polly for long) a strange thing happened. I was in the car park in Drury Street where I used to park every day when I worked in town and was waiting for the car to be brought up. There was another man waiting for his car, I noticed that he was staring at me. After a couple of minutes he said “Do you mind me asking you if you went to St. Louis National School in Rathmines in the 1960s? I replied yes and he said “We made our Communion together, I remember you, I was your partner in the church”. I couldn't believe it. Then he said “Do you still have the group photo that was taken in the School garden? I told him I thought I had it somewhere alright. Needless to say I was completely taken aback. “If you look at it I'm standing beside you”

And when he told me his name it came immediately back to me. Himself and his twin bother were in my class. He was sort of my first 'boyfriend', or so I had thought! I couldn't believe that he recognised me after all that time. We had mixed classes up to second class but after that the girls and boys were seperated, so the last time we would have seen each other would have been the end of second class, aged about eight.

I couldn't wait to find the photo and when I did, right enough there he was standing beside me, in his short grey trousers and grey knee socks, his blond hair cut tight. He was beaming from ear to ear. And I noticed that apart from the bald head and slightly tubbier frame, he hadn't changed that much. I never saw him again.

Unfortunately I never got around to putting the group photo back into the photo box and carelessly left it lying around. And guess what? A couple of days later Polly ate it.