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Leonard Connelly |
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The Eulogy given by Paul Connelly at his uncle Len´s requiem mass Wednesday 13th November 2024 − St John´s Portobello
Len was born on the 18th March 1941. Life was tough in 1941. Especially if your parents were descendants of Irish Catholics and were practicing Catholics themselves. Alexander and Josephine, Len´s parents, were decent, hard-working and loving people, but for Alexander the task of providing for his family was challenging, to say the least. If memory serves, he had to try his hand at many trades, including cobbling, working on the bins for the corporation, being a clock maker for James Ritchie and finally found his feet as an engineer at Ferranti. But they did all have the consolation of being part of a big family. Thanks to David and Frank Connelly´s efforts on the clanconnelly.com website, I´ve learned that Alxander was one of 11 children. His father James and mother Mary were clearly energetic folk. But much hardship is also a part of the story. Len´s eldest sibling James, my fathere, perhaps as a way of showing us how lucky we were, often regaled me, my sister Fiona and brother Mark, with tales of deprivation from his childhood. Stories which always ended with the line "And I didn´t even have a raincoat until my twenties". We of course used this as an excuse to tease him, along the lines of the Monty Python ´Four Yorkshiremen´ sketch. But there was a serious side to all of this. Life for the Connelly family was tough, but due to the constant love, support, self-sacrifice and diligence of his parents, like his siblings, Len succeeded. After school at Holy Cross, he secured employment at the Inland Revenue. Needless to say, with a twinkle in his eye, he was rarely reluctant to inquire after our diligence in attending to our fiscal responsibilities. He had a great sense of humour, an easy, natural charm, loved people, conversation and good company. Perhaps it was these personal qualities which elevated him, at the end of his career at The Inland Revenue, to Head of IT training. This lofty position was achieved, according to his longtime friend and technological muse Stewart Fizia, despite Len being almost clueless in front of a screen and keyboard. He was adventurous too. Longtime and dear friend Bill Flockhart recounts, how Len, after months of near misses by the members at Duddingston, chased and caught a local, flame-haired miscreant, nicknamed Ginger, who was nicking mishit golf balls out of the burn. Whilst introducing Ginger to the chilly waters of said burn, Len suffered a nip from Ginger´s dog and was treated to a tetanus jab at The Royal infirmary for his trouble. Years later, Len was at the 19th, waiting to be served, and in his customary fashion started a conversation with a fellow devotee of libatory pleasures. |
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This chap was big, very big, and after being asked, with the hint of a mischievous smile, informed Len and Bill that his name was Ginger. It might surprise some here today, that even if we take the precariousness of his position into account, Len was unusually keen to subsidise Ginger´s visits to the bar. Len was a fantastic golfer. I´m no master of the art, but having been schooled on the subject by Len´s brothers James and Michael, my bother Mark and Len himself, I know a great swing when I see one. Len´s was a thing of beauty. All ease, grace and effortless power. Think Roger Federer on a links course, propelling golf balls through the elements with no apparent regard for the scale of the challenge. According to Bill Flockhart, in the winter 69-70, having played Boat of Garten and quite possibly Carnoustie too, in a howling gale and driving rain, Len drove north to John O´ Groats just so that he could take out his driver upon arrival, and dispatch a ball into the sea. We don´t know if he repeated this endeavour at Land´s End, but I like to think that just maybe he did. Len loved to travel. His success as a property investor, way before it became a fashionable pursuit, gave him the means to explore the world. Needless to say he made lifelong friends wherever he went. Among them are Anton Rueda Seron and family in Malaga and Fay and Ian Barron in Perth. I believe all are with us today, via the internet. Len, perhaps unusually for your average landlord, made friends of his tenants too. Many of them are here today, including Beatriz Gomariz Jiminez and Forbes Morrison, who if you care to ask them, will share stories of Len´s warmth, generosity, curiosity and conviviality. He was a great uncle too. Michael Collins, son of Len´s sister Elizabeth, shared with us a photograph of him and Len digging up potatoes at McDonald Road, one of Len´s properties. He described it as one of his favourite childhood memories and perhaps that is a fitting measure of the legacy which Len left us. Beatriz also told me that she and the rest of her fellow tenants at McDonald Road, thought of Len as a grandfather. He and Michael spoiled us as children, showered us with affection and once we had been weaned off Michael´s sweetie cupboard, courtesy of Mike´s job at Rowntree, Len came more into focus as the cool uncle. And cool he was. Sporting a moustache, a fashionable hairstyle and suitably natty attire, he must have cut quite a dash, and certainly had one or two very glamorous girlfriends to suggest so. But beneath this playful exterior, Len was a man of serious intent, exhibited first by his financial acumen and secondly by his faith. I didn´t see this side of Len until later in his life. Stories told with a great degree of respect and affection, of his cousin Father Tom Connelly, the sisters, many of whom are with us today, and Costi, who he met through the church, are revealing. As were details of how he used his properties to help accommodate visiting clergy, or how he served as night warden at one of the local hostels. These acts of generosity showed me and perhaps all of us, what a contributor he was. Fay and Ian Barron´s daughter Renee, comes to my rescue here, as in reaction to the sad news of Len´s death, she penned these lovely words. For me, they say it all. |