- Holly Searle
- London, United Kingdom
- Holly Searle is a writer and an artist who was made in Soho and thereafter born in the heart of London. She has been blessed with two quite remarkable children and grandchildren whom she adores. She enjoys the company of her friends and the circus that is life, has a degree in Film and Television, and has exhibited her artwork in several exhibition.
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
The Murphy Effect By Holly Searle
After my parents had split up, my two brothers and I had quite a few adjustments to make. Mostly emotional ones as it was a pretty big deal for us, having to sort that all out at such impressionable ages.
We had all of the usual growing up angsty type stuff of deal with like school, establishing friendships, and well, just growing up really to contend with, when into our lives he came.
From the very start we adopted the stance of nasty horrible children in our attitude towards him. He was from Northern Ireland, and our only small minded response to this was to call him Kerrygold behind his back.
What rebels we were.
Of course in retrospect, if he arrived now, I doubt he would be welcomed by such an innocent retort, judging by the sort of language I hear sprouted from the mouths of contemporary babes on a daily basis these days.
But we meant business.
Who was he anyway?
He wasn't our Dad, he was just some young fella who had arrived in our lives and our home.
He wasn't even that much older than me. He was only nine years my senior and 16 years younger than our Mum.
Good God, what would our friends say?
Those early years were pretty tough for us all after Dessie Murphy arrived in our lives.
It wasn't our fault or his. We all just happened to catch the same high speed train from the same station at the same time.
During those early years, it was a pretty high speed train ride that clanked about on its rails, and more often than not, overshot a few of its designated stops.
He was trying to settle in and we were trying to form our own characters in the wake of our parent's divorce.
But after the dust began to settle, and we all started to get use to each other, something rather nice started to grow.
I can't speak for my brothers, but I can speak for myself, and I know that if it hadn't been for Dessie, I would never have read the books that I did, be interested in the films that I was and am, or listened to the type of music that I did, and still do.
He might not have been our Dad, but he was a pretty damn good substitute, who became my own personal ambassador of popular culture, and, well, a sort of Guru really.
He was a tad eccentric as well as being full of whimsical notions. He knew about stuff that your Mum and Dad would have never have known, and more importantly, knew how to share it with you so that it sounded cool and interesting.
He knew about films that no one else knew about and suggested we watch them. He knew all about music and could play several instruments.
We used to enjoy a good sing song he and I. Early Beatles numbers mostly.
He once sound proofed a cupboard in our home, in which he would disappear with his saxophone, then out of which jazzy tunes would leak and fill the void.
He wasn't particular serious, but he had a good point of view of the world.
And he was great at offering advice and offering encouragement and praise.
And most importantly of all, he meant it.
And, he was funny, and had a hilarious take on the world and this was always captured perfectly within the sound of his laughter.
None of our friends had a Step Dad like ours. He made us cool.
And I can honestly say, that my life is much richer for having him in it.
He is a decent human being with a heart of pure gold.
Some people you meet in your life are just special like that aren't they, and I don't know what my brothers and I would have done without him in ours.
And yes, he wasn't perfect, and has had his own issues to deal with over the years since he was part of our formative ones, but I doubt that there are that many humans that actually are, or who haven't.
He is one of the best people I know and I love him dearly.
His most recent thing is his fascination with The Killing and his desire to own a Norwegian styled sweater in its honour.
But most of all, and the best bit about him, was and is, that he was partly responsible for creating my both immense in stature, and blessed youngest brother Tom.
They say that ever cloud has a silver lining and Kerrygold was and remains ours.