The Leaving Cert summer

Brendan Mahon

Ah yes, June 1972. That time meant only one thing: the dreaded Leaving Cert. Still the cornerstone of Irish education, the end of secondary school, completion of studies, the final test before moving to pastures new, adventures new and adulthood.

I look back with mixed feelings. I was in Galway. The summer of 1972 was hot – typical exam weather. Some students tried studying outdoors, down at Blackrock Tower, but in reality it was to doss.

A lot depended on the results of the Leaving Cert at that time. The pressure was on. I had focused and studied a lot, but there was an element of luck involved, depending on what came up in the papers – no different than for today’s students.

In Galway, there was a tradition of doing the Matric after the Leaving. This provided a second chance if things went badly with The Leaving Cert exams. It meant exams the whole of June. I slogged on at St Enda’s – my school – and survived. Summer, at least what was left of it, loomed. ‘School was out for Summer.’

The FCA beckoned, a fortnight in Renmore Barracks; great craic, as long as you did not succumb to the old traditions, which included having intimate body parts polished. I decided that Army Life was not for me.

I spent the rest of the summer working in the department of oceanography in UCG, a job my Dad had arranged through a friend who worked there. A science student had dropped out and the vacancy arose, much to my delight. It sure beat ‘selling lines’ on the prom in Salthill, as I had done previously. I fancied myself as the next Jacques Coustessa, the great French Oceanographer, who had spent his life exploring the world underwater.

He was the David Attenborough of the ’70s, making regular TV shows about his exploits.

It was a great summer job. I spent four days each month collecting samples around the Aran Islands, onboard The Queen of Aran, and the rest of the time in the lab based in the Grammar School, on College Road. The job gave me an insight into the possibilities of a career in science.

The summer of ’72 1 leaned a lot about life. I learned to drink, including getting sick after three pints of Harp. The skipper gave me the sage advice: “Take it easy”, and I’ve never liked Harp since. I met a girl on one trip, my first real friendship with a girl. That summer, the boy grew up. The summer of ’72 passed and like in the film ‘Summer of ’42’, life would never be the same again.

The Leaving results were good and I was offered medicine in UCG, which I gladly accepted, feeling myself to be more of a ‘people person’ than a ‘lab person’. The girl and I started medicine in UCG with great excitement. The friendship never developed into romance. After a year, she quit medicine, as many did. For me six years of hard slog lay ahead. The girl and I gradually lost contact over the years.

Years later, while visiting family in Galway, I saw she had passed away; ovarian cancer. I attended her funeral. It was poignant recalling our friendship in ’72. The music at the funeral Mass included the theme from ‘The Onedin Line’, (a popular TV show in ’72) as she loved sailing and the sea. I shed a quiet tear and wished her a safe voyage onwards.

• Brendan Mahon is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 10.30am at the Annebrook House Hotel.