FINDERS, KEEPERS – Martina Devlin
I learned about the concept of turning in lost property as a result of my walk home from school one day. It was a mystifying notion – instinctively, my acquisitive little brain preferred the ‘finders, keepers’ version.
Our family lived close to Loreto Convent Primary School in Omagh, at that time based in a clattery old building on top of a hill, while our house was at the bottom. The school journey never lasted more than five minutes by foot, except when distractions intervened.
Like the time I found hidden treasure.
I’ve always scuffed along rather than walked, and one day I hit gold – gold and diamonds, to be precise.
Going home after lessons, I detoured into a pile of leaves at the side of the school gates for a satisfying crunch and crackle. My Mary Janes trampled over something more solid, however. When I stooped to investigate, I found a ring.
I let out a whoop and brandished my trophy. The older brother charged with shepherding me insisted he’d spotted it first, so the ring belonged to him by rights. But I had it in my fist and wasn’t letting go. “I’m giving it to Mammy,” I announced.
We sprinted home, where I presented it to her, but she was less jubilant than expected. “That looks like someone’s engagement ring,” she said. “Where exactly did you find it?”
To my amazement, I was given to understand that we couldn’t keep the ring – it would have to be handed in. The school was the likeliest place to start. My mother set down the baby (there always seemed to be one on her hip), wrote a note for the head nun and despatched my brother back up the hill, diamond in pocket.
Feeling wronged, I moped for the rest of the day.
Annoyingly, I never found out if the ring was claimed. All I know is I never laid eyes on my booty again.
Children continually learn things they’d prefer not to, and at the age of five, I had discovered that finders aren’t necessarily keepers. I suppose the lesson has stuck.
But I never see a drift of autumn leaves without wondering if something glittery lies beneath. And sometimes – all right, quite often – I check.
Dr Martina Devlin is an Omagh-born, Dublin-based author and newspaper columnist. She has written nine novels, two non-fiction books and a collection of short stories. Her latest novel, Charlotte, explores Charlotte Brontë’s Irish connections. Other novels include Edith, about the Irish R.M. co-author Edith Somerville; and The House Where It Happened, about the 1711 Islandmagee witchcraft trial, which led to a plaque erected in 2023 to commemorate those wrongly convicted following a campaign she initiated.
Prizes include the Royal Society of Literature’s V.S. Pritchett Prize and a Hennessy Literary Award, and she has been shortlisted three times for the Irish Book Awards. Martina writes a weekly current affairs column for the Irish Independent for which she has been named National Newspapers of Ireland commentator of the year, among other prizes for her journalism. She holds a PhD in literary practice from Trinity College Dublin and has lectured there and in other universities on Irish literature.
More information on www.martinadevlin.ie
On behalf of the Museum of Childhood Ireland and Robert Burns, we would like to extend our heartfelt gratitude to all of our wonderful participants for their time and their stories. We are thrilled to be presenting this project and we hope you will enjoy following along with us.
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