Loughran, Oliver
October 16, 2012This is a tribute to Carrickcruppen founder member, Oliver Loughran, as delivered by his nephew Sean Treanor in Carrickcruppen Club after his funeral. We print it as it was spoken to the large gathering of mourners who attended.
First of all may I say that to be asked to offer a tribute to Oliver is an honour. Like all members of the family I have precious memories of Oliver and Clare and of the Loughran cousins. Others will have their own favourite stories their own recall of times shared, times mostly happy, sometimes hilarious and occasionally sad. How can anyone say enough to encapsulate all that he and Clare meant to all of us his relatives, what he meant to the people of Carrickcruppen and many others beyond the family and club who loved him and appreciated him as much and as long as we did. When you look at a life so long and so full of achievements and stories and people, inevitable too many things will be left out. I am going to start in an unusual way with a bit of a song. "I've been a wild rover for many a year, and I spent all my money on whiskey and beer and now I returning with gold in great store, And I never will play the wild rover no more." Why I start my tribute to Oliver with that song I will say later. In some ways it is an appreciated song and in some ways or not. Of course it should not be Oliver the wild rover but maybe Oliver the wild drover. He did have many adventures but he certainly didn't spend much money on whiskey and beer. That would not be the Loughran way. He and his brother Joe, his sister Elish my mother, and his half sister Annie were not reared with money to spare. The song is appropriate today, for today he does return home to his parents, my grandparents, Peter and Minnie, the grandparents and the great grandparents of so many here. Today, he is brought to lie with Minnie and Peter just behind the church and only a few feet from his sister Elish my mother and his niece my sister Imelda. Today he returns to his rest here in Carrickcruppen, in the place where his son Peter another footballer and great local hero also lies. The song comes to mind also because it is a song about a wild rover, a man who was ready for adventure a man of energy a man who would say why not rather then stand back and wait or something to happen.
It is a song about a man who could wheel and deal, A song about a man who could make money, -a man who could sometimes lose money; - a man who could recover his losses; - a man who could not only kick football for club and county but start a football club; - a man who through all of life's up and downs could win the trust, the loyalty and admiration of friends and neighbours; - a man who cared for his family and who inspired the loyalty of that family because in the end he was always loyal and caring to them. Over the past weeks as Oliver lay in hospital, I didn't know how many people remarked on his hands. He had the biggest and strongest hands anyone ever saw on a man of his height. He had Loughran hands, which are I think the hands of the Kearney's of Carrickcloughan. To some extent those hands as much as the song are what I think of when I think of Oliver. They were hands of a lad who from no age worked on the farm in Maghernahely. Somewhere in our house in Carrickbracken, there is a photo of Oliver as a lad. He is photographed with a horse and plough and you can see his strength as he guides the ploughshare into the sod. A boy doing a man's work! A young man ready to turn his hand to do what looks beyond him, but something which with enough strength and will-power he can achieve. Later he went to work a while in England building roads etc., but always returned to the land and the fields of Maghernahely where the living wasn't great, but if you worked hard enough and did a few deals, if you were willing to take a few risks, you could make enough to get by. Apparently, in those early days, he terrorised the countryside by riding at top speed around the roads of Maghernahely and Eshwary on his motorbike. I was lucky. I spent the best years of my childhood with Oliver and my late cousin Peter in Maghernahely. I used to say to my mother: "I am away to see granny Loughran".
It sounded as if I was devoted to her and in some ways I was. Indeed, I did see her but the real reason for going was because you never knew what adventure Oliver was up to or what the day would bring. I have a very early memory of him arriving in the yard in a blue van at break neck speed, his big hands lifting off a few litters of tiny, squealing pigs which we guessed were illegal immigrant pigs and then he revved away up the lonnan, just before some men in uniforms arrived in their black car. And my Granny would shake her head saying "Holy God he's an awful man!" There were no tags or herd numbers then, so the men in uniform were too late. I remember him going to help neighbours bring in cattle or sheep or find then a good litter of pigs. I remember him digging potatoes and pulling flax in Maghernahely and lending his tractor or van to help out his neighbours. And I remember that if anything happened he was the first one to be at the neighbour's door to see what he could do to help. Those big hands could be turned to anything and often were.
I remember his big hands breaking down the door on the day my Granny died. I had found her lying on the couch and ran to tell Oliver the bad news. I remember him being told by a certain old lady in South Armagh that he was the only auctioneer that the whole family could agree on, to sell their farm and settle their disputes at the same time. I remember him spitting on his palm and concluding deals, and when he slapped your hand the bargain was made and you knew it would be honoured. When later he was the auctioneer in SAFE, he was one man that everyone could depend on to be straight and honest and tell things as they were. Sometimes his choice of words was not suitable for church or chapel, for his language could be a little colourful as we know. But nobody ever doubted his honesty and his word was his bond. And through all these years, the one passion which dominated his life was a passion for playing football, a passion for watching football, a passion for talking about football. Only some of the great Carrickcruppen veterans of '53 and '59 ( Oliver's brother Joe Loughran, Charles O'Hanlon, Terry O'Hare, Tommy Lynch, Gerry McDonald, Ownie Cromie, Mickey McCann, his brother in law Jim McKeown, Raymie Loughlin, Danny Kelly, Charlie Watterson, all great men themselves) only these men now remember playing with him.
But even those who only heard the stories of great games he played know how fearless he was and how he could grab a ball and force his way through the opposition and we can almost swear we were there in those glory days. That club was created in the days long before Lottery Funds and Sports Council grants, days when the players had to wire off the field and when you would have save money for a year to buy a ball and a set of jerseys days when only men of strong will and with a willingness to turn their hand to everything could make a success of a club.
And Oliver led by example, an adventurous and determined man, a man who gave every ounce of his energy to doing what had to be done. He had great clubmen around him but he was a forceful leader. That club has been a vital part of the communities for the past 60 years and more. And just think how many have benefited form the work done under the banner of St. Patrick's Carrickcruppen. Generations of young men and young women have developed their skills and played football and camogie for club and county at highest standard. We were represented in the All Ireland Final in 1977 with Peter Loughran, Peter Trainor and Jim Loughran representing the club. The youth club, started with Johnnie Cromie and Harry Shields, has given years of benefit to boys and girls of the area. The club has provided a meeting place and a focal point for so many generations. There were even three or four bingo players who probably never thought that they too owed their social life, directly, to Oliver, Johnnie Cromie and the few men who set up the club with him.
Every time we see a training session for any age of players on the playing fields of the club, we should think of Oliver and the vision he had. And we should think of the efforts of the hardcore of founders who led the way with him as chairman, manager, groundsman, treasurer and what today would be called sports psychology, though he didn't talk the talk in terms used by modern sports psychologists. Last Sunday, as I went into Croke Park, with Pat McGuinness and saw club mentors Kate, his daughter-in-law, and Patricia and Claire and Elaine going into the match with a few dozen under age Carrickcruppen players, I thought of what he had started. When we read the team and programme with its Club representatives, and saw the All Ireland Intermediate Cup being presented, many of us 'Cruppen' people must have thought of Oliver's legacy, as he lived what we knew were his last days. Every time that red and white jersey is seen on the field of play, we look forward to the victories to come, but we are aware of the tradition we have the honour to follow and live up to. Whether you are an under-10 player, a minor, a senior girl, or senior first team player, a coach, a committee member, a spectator, or a referee, or a lottery seller, or a new player from Belmullet or a supporter form Lisummon or Whitecross, or an emigrant reading the results of our games online in Australia or the USA or London, we have all inherited a great legacy. Oliver could not have done it alone but without him it would probably not have been possible.
As I said there was nothing he would not undertake to do and nothing he would not do to help a friend. He had a bark like no other man we ever knew, but if you knew him, you knew that he had the biggest heart imaginable. And Family and loyalty to family was essential to that. I remember in the times when Clare was at home and losing her independence, those bog hands became the hands of a carer. We know the effort he made to do all he could for her and how stubbornly he resisted handing the task to anybody else. I remember those hands too as the hands of a grandfather who reached out to hold the hand of any one of the cherished thirteen grandchildren. Only when you saw him with the children of his own children, did you have a sense of the generosity and depth of affection which lay behind the exterior of a warrior.
In his last weeks of illness, those big hands were held by so many of his relatives. Everyone of his children, grandchildren and relatives of all generations and visiting friends reached out to hold those hands and express our appreciation for an exceptional husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother, uncle and cousin and friend. When talking was not necessary or possible, we all wanted to draw courage from those hands, and in touching them express our thanks for a man who left his family and his whole community the richer for having known him.
The song "The Wild Rover" talks of returning with gold in great store and never playing the wild rover any more. The gold which Oliver had in great store was the gold of a life well lived. And the gold he had he shared with everyone. We are all the richer for his life and his extraordinary energy. He did well. His wanderings are over. Having started most of his days between five and six o'clock and having given so much, he deserves his rest. Sean Treanor.
(Text courtesy of The Examiner 16/10/12) Tweet
