Trip to tennis tournament changed Ann's life
WHEN Ann Garavan arrived into Castlebar on the back seat of a motorcycle in the summer of '61 she didn’t know how this short visit for a tennis tournament would change her life forever, writes Jemima Burke.
Eighteen-year-old Ann and her friend Jill took off from Glasnevin on an escapade to the west of Ireland and a town they hardly knew existed.
“When I look back we must have been mad. We arrived in at midnight to eat ham sandwiches in the Imperial Hotel. If John Garavan had seen me that day he would have run miles! We were like something from outer space, the two of us all decked out in raincoats and galoshes.”
Out on the court the next morning, Ann stole the show and won the title. She would play the same tournament for 50 years running and, more significantly, marry the organiser, John Garavan.
She laughingly remembers how he approached her on that first day in Castlebar.
“John was running the tournament. He came over to me and said ‘Hello, Jill.’ I said: ‘I'm Ann. There's Jill.’ His first faux-pas!”
A practising solicitor at the time, John married Ann six years later and they settled in Castlebar. It was a change of scene for the Dublin girl who grew up watching her brothers play on the Glasnevin cricket field, hopping on buses into O’Connell Street and all too often walking home in the dark after a mad dash to the bus stop.
Despite the slower pace, Ann loved her new life in the west of Ireland. She still does.
Many will know Ann as ‘the lady on the bike’ who cycles around town with a smile on her face, always in good form. The tennis community recognise her dedication as president of the club for over 12 years.
What may be lesser known is the ‘black time’ Ann experienced as a mother in those early years of her married life in Castlebar.
“Everything wasn't wonderful in my life. I had seven children but three of them had cystic fibrosis: Ruthie, Paula and Mary Olivia. I lost those three.”
Cystic fibrosis (CF) is a genetic disease that causes persistent lung infections and limits the ability to breathe. There is no cure for CF.
“We knew nothing about it,” said Ann, “but apparently John and I were carriers unknown to ourselves, and it takes two carriers. Imagine, I from Dublin and John from here, and we both were carriers of the same gene.”
When Ann gave birth to Ruthie, her first baby with CF, medical knowledge and treatment of the disease was much less effective than it is now.
Today, the average life expectancy for someone with CF is between 40 and 50 years. In those days, children with cystic fibrosis did not live past pre-school age.
“I had the two boys first, Mark and Eoin,” recalls Ann. “Everything was perfect. But it sometimes takes the third child. After about six months, I knew Ruthie just wasn't thriving. Mother's instinct is so strong.”
“I remember the doctor said to me that I was fussy, that I was just used to the boys' big appetites (they were all nine-pounders), but then Ruthie got the tell-tale cough so we brought her to Galway.
“At first he thought she might be coeliac, then he thought cystic. On the way back we bumped into a cousin of John's who was a nurse. John asked her: 'What's cystic fibrosis? Is it serious?' Her face went back a bit. She didn't know what to say.”
Ruthie was diagnosed with CF. She died four days before Ann gave birth to her fourth child, Jeananne. Tragically, aside from Jeananne, Ruthie's two other sisters died: one an hour after she was born, the other after 10 months.
Looking back, Ann remembers how her husband was 'never the same' after Ruthie died. She sometimes wonders how they survived that dark season in their lives.
“You'd think 'How do you survive having buried three children?' But I had to get on with life.
“You can't stop. That's why I owe so much to the tennis world. The tennis kept me sane. It gave me another world away from all the cystic.
“I often think our brains are only expected to understand our little world. But maybe there's another world that we don't understand. We'd be very empty if we hadn't a feeling for God.
“I think that's why in Switzerland there's an awful lot of suicides because they've no religion at all. You must have some aim in life. Like me, who has experienced sadness, like so many hundreds, it gives you comfort.”
While Ann still feels the pain of loss, she believes there was a reason for the short lives of her three girls.
“It's all about abortion now. For me, I would have been a good subject for that, especially with Mary Olivia. If they had discovered after so many weeks that I was going to have poor little Mary Olivia, if they had given me an option, I wouldn't have gone down that road.
“People are going across to England having abortions. It's dreadful.
“Every child, it doesn't matter how it comes into the world, is still a child. It was conceived and that baby shouldn't suffer the consequences.”
Despite the pain and disappointments, Ann never gave in to despair. Even at 79, her zest for life affects all who come across her path. She would say to any parent in her situation now: “You can survive. You can get over it.”
Today Ann has seven beautiful grandchildren and is the proud mother of Mark, Eoin, Jeananne and Hugh. Eoin was recently appointed a judge of the Circuit Court, following in the footsteps of his late father, a District Court judge.
Ann's philosophy was to let her children follow their own ambitions: “I think some parents are terrified in case their children don't get straight As. That's wrong. I think there's a niche for everybody in life. Not everyone is academically minded but you'll find they'll be terrific at something else. I think all mine did what they wanted to do.”
And she is delighted that tennis, the sport that brought her and her husband together, continues along the line: “I started them all off in the club. Eoin's son, James, is a great player. Little Niamh, Jeananne's daughter, says she's going to Wimbledon. There's about two or three of them playing. It keeps it going.”
As for Ann, she has no intention of slowing down. The beautiful garden at her home on the Pontoon Road is testament to that.
Her bike is still her favourite way of getting around. If you call in to Garavan's you might just see her running about the kitchen in her sneakers.
She's adamant: “I don't do age. I can't bear to hear people say 'Ah, we're nearly gone Ann.' Go away! I'm 79. I feel 29. My mother was 99 and she didn't want to go then you know.
“Don't think age. If you dwell on it you're dead already.
“I'm into my old-fashioned phone. I haven't one modern technology thing. My oven works, my fridge works, my phone works. I want nothing else. I'm still as I was 40 years ago, and it hasn't done me any harm. I'm in tune with the world.”
When Ann came to Castlebar on Jill's motorcycle all those years ago she had no idea of the joys or sorrows that lay ahead.
She only knew she was on an adventure. To this day, her adventurous spirit and refreshing attitude to life continue to inspire.