Lexie Devlin, 20th February 1933- 20th October 2023
This piece was included in the leaflet for my Dad's funeral service, on Tuesday 24th October.
I’m writing this because I know I simply can’t stand up and deliver a eulogy about Lexie – Dad. Writing is much more my thing than speaking, and I absolutely had to write something for today.
Lexie was born on 20th February 1933 in Derry. He was the third child and first son of James and Catherine (Dolly) Devlin, and was a distinctive boy with a shock of blond hair and a lively, inquisitive nature. A few years later, he was joined by younger brother Freddie. Lexie’s sisters both died young: Pearl as a young child, and Catherine (Bunny) in her early forties, but he and Freddie became lifelong friends. Freddie has written eloquently to me about how much he looked up to Lexie as a mentor and big brother.
Lexie told stories all his life of growing up during World War 2. He talked about childhood summers in Castlerock, and a year or so spent living in Warrenpoint. He also talked about how the US Airmen used to give out Hershey bars to children in Derry on Saturdays, and told stories about the excitement and glamour these men brought. Indeed, a daughter of the family’s closest friends, the Bradys, became a ‘GI Bride’ and moved to America, in the 1940s, as, in time, did most of her family. He told stories of his family, of his school friends (especially Noel O’Doherty), and of the many adventures they enjoyed in Derry. As a child, I used to love it when my Uncle Freddie came to stay, the photo albums would come out and the stories would start. If I kept very quiet, Mum would forget about my bedtime, and I’d get to stay up late and hear the stories. There had been sad times too, but, in those stories, there was always more laughter than there were tears.
Lexie and Freddie attended St Columb’s College. They were of that ‘golden generation’ there: that Edward Daly/John Hume/ Seamus Heaney era. Lexie sat next to Edward Daly in class; young Edward was a boarder, and sometimes felt homesick; Lexie, a day boy, often brought his classmate home for a home-cooked meal, including, I’m told, some delicious and much appreciated apple tart! Lexie was clever at school, excelling especially in English Literature, History, Latin, and also enjoying French. I think he was probably good at everything. He played Gaelic football in school, and won medals with his school team – he told the story of how the team members were rewarded for their victory with a day-trip to Portstewart, and ice creams on the Prom. He played football (soccer) for fun, and became an ardent fan of Derry City FC. He also used to talk of school shows – mostly Gilbert and Sullivan operettas – joint productions with Thornhill College, which meant setting eyes on those rare creatures: girls. It wasn’t just about study and football for Lexie in those days: at around 16, he had somehow become Irish correspondent for The Ring magazine, writing so knowledgably about boxing that somehow nobody knew that he was a schoolboy! Maybe he didn’t write poems like Seamus Heaney, but in his own, eccentric way, he was another illustrious St Columb’s College student.
Lexie didn’t go to university, but instead went straight into the Civil Service on leaving school, starting off in the Labour Exchange in Derry, beginning what turned out to be a lifelong career, from Derry, then to Belfast, then a few years in Enniskillen before returning to Belfast for the rest of his working life. He enjoyed his work, and excelled, reaching high levels of promotion. In the end, Dad reached the position of Assistant Secretary in the Department of Social Security, working on legislation, briefing ministers, thrashing out the details of reciprocal agreements with the equivalent department in the Republic of Ireland, and so much more. He loved his work, and loved his colleagues, and the tributes on his retirement in 1993 were simply amazing. No employee can ever be irreplaceable, but we know that he was greatly missed. He worked in Stormont, for many years: first in Dundonald House, latterly in Castle Buildings. He loved the Stormont grounds, and we very often walked there. Indeed, so associated was he with those grounds that, if you look really carefully at one of the most common commercially available postcards of Stormont, you can see him walking down the processional driveway!
Romance was always close to Lexie’s heart. He’s never really told me whether there were flirtations early in his life, or whether those Thornhill girls remained exotic creatures just brought in for school musicals, but certainly he met the love of his life when he met Noreen – Mum. Lexie loved the 1960s showbands, and often travelled to Portrush, Buncrana and even further afield to hear his favourite bands. On a fateful night in 1963, he’d gone to Bundoran; Noreen was on holiday there with a friend from work. They met. They danced. Lexie asked her out and, when she said that night that she loved the band, he replied that he loved her. There followed many journeys between Derry and Cork in the Mini which Lexie drove at the time: famously, he once made the long journey in snowy conditions, and when he arrived, Noreen told him off for being late! After lots of travelling, they got married in 1965. Lexie and Freddie presented Noreen with a Derry City scarf at the wedding, and Noreen (though never really losing her accent) became an honorary northerner. I arrived about four years later, after Noreen had endured several miscarriages, and they considered their family complete.
Dad always encouraged me to work hard, to do well at school, music, dance, and anything else I did, and to aim high and go to university. He spent lots of time driving me to music and dance lessons, and attending competitions, concerts and so on as an enthusiastic audience member, alongside Mum. When I was about 5, 6 and 7, he was studying part-time for a degree in Economics from London University, by correspondence. His part-time study later inspired me to return to part-time postgraduate study, about 10 years ago.
Lexie was excelling at work in these years, and spending lots of time in London, attending meetings. On these trips, he always spent most of his room allowance on a theatre ticket, staying in the cheapest hotel he could find. He always brought Mum back something fashionable and brought me back a book! Towards the end of his career, I was studying in England; he started spending well over his room allowance on bringing Mum to London too, not wanting to leave her alone at home. Either they would visit me in Oxford, or I’d get the coach down the M40 and meet them for lunch and maybe an afternoon play, or to take Mum around the shops while Dad was at work.
Lexie had a lifelong love of music – he sent me to music lessons, and we often went to concerts, especially enjoying the Ulster Orchestra concerts on Friday evenings. He always enjoyed attending my various concerts at school and with youth orchestras. This was second only to his love of reading – I grew to associate reading as something happy from a very young age. He read to me, and later made sure I went to the local library at least once each week. I often received books as presents, and in later years I returned the compliment, bringing Dad a book almost every week, and enjoying the delight on his face if I’d managed to find him a new release by one of his favourite authors. In the last few weeks, I have donated many, many of his books to that same local library: library funding in Northern Ireland has been cut, so the Librarians have been delighted to receive the books. I have given a happy home to many of Lexie’s Ikea Billy bookcases, to help house my own books, those of his I’ve adopted, and the many, many family photo albums, of which I am now the keeper. I can see his influence in almost every room at home. Lexie also loved the theatre, the arts, galleries, museums, and holidays often centred around tickets for a show.
Lexie retired in 1993, just as my teaching career was getting started. Initially, he and Noreen had a wonderful 10-15 years of attending lectures at the Queen’s University Department of Continuing Education, and travelling to many European cities which he’d always dreamt of visiting, such as Venice, Rome, Prague, and Paris, as well as many trips to Dublin, Cork and London. He and Noreen also had many happy weekends visiting us in Portrush – before long, all family birthdays and Christmases were celebrated in Portrush. They greatly enjoyed long walks on the beach, seeing the events and attractions on the north coast, and they began to feel as though they had a second home up here. Having regarded the interloper in the family, with his tales of Coastguard rescues and his north coast accent, with some suspicion, at first, Dad eventually became good friends with Christopher – a friendship which lasted until the end of his life.
With older age came infirmities for both of them: stomach and eye problems for Lexie, and a heart condition for Noreen. Noreen eventually contracted Alzheimer’s: Lexie looked after her meticulously and with proud independence, refusing to tell us that there was a problem until it became impossible to deny. When Noreen eventually had to move into a care home, Lexie visited so often that some of the care assistants thought he was a resident, offering him morning and afternoon tea just the same as if he were living there! Noreen died in February 2018: Dad has been devoted to her memory, and talked about her every day, surrounded by framed photos of her. He missed her dreadfully: nobody could ever have come close to filling the gap she left in his life. Nevertheless, he battled on, courageously and stoically, filling his days with reading, TV, phone calls, and, in the last couple of years, video calls on his Alexa device – something he really came to enjoy.
Lexie eventually succumbed to encroaching dementia himself, but enjoyed an incredibly independent old age, living at home until he reached 90, albeit with excellent help from carers every day, and support from us at weekends and in school holidays. He was delighted to celebrate his 90th birthday in February. He still enjoyed reading – I could never resist bringing him the latest novel, and occasionally also a small cuddly toy, when visiting on Saturdays. On 1st April this year, I brought him a small, cuddly Monkey with a very cheeky smile, who instantly became his best friend. Monkey became a permanent fixture beside Lexie, or sitting on his lap, and became well known during his various hospital stays in Belfast and Coleraine. Monkey remains with Lexie to this day: parting them was just unthinkable.
Lexie’s health went into decline after Easter, and even steeper decline from late June. He was in the Ulster Hospital from mid-July until early August, and, when nursing home care was recommended for his release, we took the decision together to move him to Brookmount Nursing Home in Coleraine, which meant that we could visit him every day. He loved the home, and he and Monkey were well known and liked there. Unfortunately, since arriving in Brookmount on 10th August, he has had four hospital stays in the Causeway Hospital. In mid-October, after the last of these visits to Causeway, he returned to Brookmount for palliative care. He was simply exhausted, and told one of his care assistants recently that he just wanted to go home to his wife.
Dad fought the end of his life until the end finally came. Even when he could no longer really speak, he expressed his thanks to the nurses and care assistants in Brookmount, eloquently, with his eyes and what few words remained. He made us know he loved us and was thankful to us for looking after him. Although those last days sitting by his bedside were heart-breaking, they were peaceful and calm, too – soothing music playing softly in the background, daylight and weather and darkness coming and going outside his bedroom window, staff members offering kindness to him and to us, the local priest visiting to anoint him. Dad didn’t want to leave, but he was ready to go. He was ready to be with Noreen, to be with his parents and sisters, to be with the many friends and family members who’d gone before, whom he talked of so fondly and missed so much. He was ready to be at peace. I know there will be an unfillable gap in my life, but I don’t begrudge Dad his rest.
I’ve so often taught Shakespeare’s play King Lear to my A Level classes. The central character is an extremely old King – ‘fourscore and upward’, an almost unimaginable age in Shakespeare’s time. A few lines from the final act of the play have been echoing in my mind in Dad’s last days. As Lear dies, Edgar asks those standing-by to revive him, but Lear’s faithful friend Kent says no, saying,
‘O, let him pass. He hates him
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.’
Life has become torturous for Lear, and his true friend knows he needs to be at peace. A line or two later, speaking in tribute, Kent adds:
‘The wonder is he hath endured so long.’
In the final speech of the play, Edgar says:
‘The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most; we that are young
Shall never see so much nor live so long.’
I’m not really very young anymore. And I don’t feel able to make a speech about Dad. I can only write what I feel, not deliver it in a polished way.
Dad: you lived an amazing life. 90 years and upward. You saw so much. You had so many happy memories, but you bore so much sadness too. I’ve lost count of the times, these last months, when I’ve had to remind you that a friend or family member died long ago, or tell you news of a recent death. You never lost the note of sadness and regret in your voice when you replied. Now you are free from all that sadness and regret, you are with your beloved Noreen, and all those people whom you missed so much. You set such an example, and you gave so much joy. As I said to you in your final few days: just rest, now. Your work is done. From Derry via St Columb’s to the ballroom of romance and meeting Mum, to a busy life in Belfast, to happy times in retirement, then caring for Mum and being cared for in your turn. 90 years distilled into a few words: an amazing life, well lived.
Thank you, Dad. Now rest well. We love you, we’ll miss you, and you’ll never be forgotten.
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