Nollaig Rowan

I liked to chalk a price coat over and over on the underside of bentwood chairs, wiping them clean with an old rag before a customer showed an interest.

I could also make rubbings using tracing paper and a pencil on the seats of bentwoods because the wood had such interesting carved patterns.

I could hear the clatter of glasses next door in O'Connell's pub as men drifted in and out around lunchtime before the holy hour kicked in.

I was envious we didn't get a holy hour.

Across the street was the mysterious Salvation Army building with its slogans and posters.

Who were they saving and where was their army?

As the wind whipped down the canal and in the door of the shop, my dad would wrap his jumper around me as he wryly read aloud the Salvation Army quote, Thou shalt not perish.

When Dad decided to move his business to Thomas Street in the 70s, he told me one of his loyal customers agreed he'd be better off moving, saying, Mr. Rhone, sure Richmond Street has become an Aidan Street, because of the proliferation of new restaurants setting up there.

In the decades since then, parking restrictions have come in and shopping patterns have changed greatly, but Christy Bird, eventually run by his grandson, continued to trade on Richmond Street until late 2025, when they reluctantly closed down.

Back in my father's shop at the end of our working day, it was time to take in the pieces of furniture from the pavement outside and stack them on top of each other before locking up.

In all of this, I was merely my dad's shadow, unable to be of real help, but feeling important in just being there.

Best of all, I liked that on these special days, I was all his and his world all mine.

Now I watch my granddaughter shadow her dad in all he does.

Fixing a bike, hammering a nail, stirring a pot, picking out a tune, tapping a laptop.

Or as she sits proudly behind him on his bike, clutching his jumper with her small hands.

I know, she'll remember this in 50 years' time.