Clodagh Finn: A hymn to aunts, unheralded superpowers

I have a whole series of such talismans — a scarf of my mother’s in a colour that injects a flash of inspiration into a dull day; a necklace from an aunt that summons up her kindness; a bracelet charm from another that brings to mind the titanium core present in so many of the women who went before us.

They negotiated the realities of living in a country so often hostile to women — and they did so with élan. I’m not just talking about the marriage bar, the ban on contraception, or the legislative battles needed so that women could sit on juries, own property or join the gardaí. Sometimes it was as banal as being frowned on for wearing trousers, or being obliged to ask your husband to sign your application to join the local library, as was the case in the late 1950s.

Yet, these women did incredible things. They worked, they raised families, they challenged the status quo or, better still, they showed us how to make the most of living within it.

One of my aunts, for instance, inspired me to get to know the night sky after she did a course in astronomy in the early 1980s. She was so taken by it that she christened her silver car, Venus. Every time I see the brilliant light of that planet I think of her — a woman who celebrated the wonder of the world around her.

I had the great good fortune to have had six aunts. Sadly, all of them have left this earth but their collective legacy has not. 

It is hard to quantity all that they left behind, but they are still providing metaphorical handrails on this choppy journey we call life

Whenever I find myself in a dimly lit dressing room, trying to cookie-cut my body into a shape dictated by some faceless designer, I think of the aunt who reassured the 11-year-old me, rocking from foot to foot in a bout of acute mortification.

We were shopping for a dress for my Confirmation and it was seven kinds of torture. When a lavish cream-coloured polo neck came through the half-open curtain, I panicked. Two aunts were on the job as well as a sales assistant, so visibility was key. But, as I whispered with rising alarm: “I can’t take off this top as I have nothing on underneath.”

“Haven’t you got your skin?” one aunt replied.

That phrase has stayed with me for decades, a powerful comment that batted away internalised body shame on that occasion, and very many times since

I have an arsenal of such phrases, thanks to my aunts who knew what to say and when to say it.

Their interests and passions rubbed off on me too. Here is a very incomplete list of some of the things they instilled in me: a love of ancient Greece, reading, good food, classical music, travel, faith, gardening, and the curling wisp of smoke that rises into the air from a just-lit Silk Cut Blue.

There is nothing as deliciously complicit as sharing a sneaky cigarette with an aunt when you come of age, or even before it. I know, I know. Cigarettes are disastrous for health and so many other bad things. My smoking aunts and I all knew that only too well, which made the moment of transgression all the more precious.

The chats that followed were priceless too; pockets of time full of laughter and shared experience that confirmed there is no such thing as a generation gap

Those memories came back to the surface during the week for two reasons. The first was an Instagram post announcing something we instinctively know: “Science says aunts are important for their nieces.”

As often happens on social media, when I clicked to find the nugget of research that proved the point, I disappeared down a digital rabbit hole which had no firm evidence at the end of it.

I did find this from Embolden Psychology, though: “The clinical psychology research on aunts/uncles indicates that they can provide a buffer against mental health problems and promote attachment during times of trouble or absence of other caregivers/adults.”

And I found a plethora of articles listing the countless benefits of having an aunt (or indeed uncle) in your life. They can be the ‘cool’ adult who is fun but firm. They can be confidantes, advice-givers, supporters, cheer-leaders and stand-in mothers but without the emotional charge of that relationship.

The second reason the power of aunthood came to mind is that February marks both the birth (on the 27th in 1910) and death (on the 9th in 1988) of Nora Herlihy, the Cork-born co-founder of the credit union — and aunt of the late, great broadcaster Marian Finucane.

There are some wonderful photos of niece paying tribute to aunt: at a wreath-laying ceremony in Nora’s birthplace in Ballydesmond, Co Cork, in 2000, and at the unveiling of a commemorative portrait of Nora in 2008, to mention two examples.

No doubt there are many more in the family album and many stories that, sadly, are lost to us now. We do know, however, the esteem in which Marian Finucane held her aunt, a woman who first began promoting the idea of credit unions in the 1950s to free people from the scourge of money-lenders.

Nora Herlihy, the third of Nora and Denis Herlihy’s 12 children, followed in her father’s footsteps and trained as a teacher. While working at an Irish Sisters of Charity school in Dublin’s inner city, she saw the misery money-lending and lack of access to affordable credit inflicted on the local community.

With Seán Forde, Tomás Ó Hogáin, and Seamus Mac Eoin, she helped establish the Dublin Central Co-operative Society in the mid-1950s, paving the way for today’s credit union network.

In the 1960s, while holding down a full-time teaching job, she travelled voluntarily to the USA and Canada to do further research on credit unions. Then, with her colleagues, she successfully lobbied the government to give a legal standing to the new movement. There is a great photo of Nora Herlihy standing beside then-President Eamon de Valera as he signed the Credit Union Act of 1966 into law.

When we mark the 60th anniversary of that piece of legislation next year, we might think not just of the millions of people who have benefitted from credit unions since then, but also the countless nieces and nephews who received hope, inspiration, and buckets of loving encouragement from their unheralded aunties.