Good
old Lena Martell gave us all some decent adv-ice when she sang: ‘One day at a time, sweet Jesus’.
That song has two memories for me.
On the one hand, it drove me crazy in my teens as it was one of
the many songs learnt by heart by an old school friend, Claire
O’Leary.
She sang it repeatedly at auditions to the equivalent of the likes
of today’s ‘Simon Cowell’, in the hope of being recognised
as the next Lena Zavaroni or Bonnie Langford - (poor girl didn’t
set her sights high in those days!)
On the other hand, the song always seemed to have an affect on me emotionally.
It heightened my happiness and seemed to emanate hope with its lyrics.
So, when speaking with Muriel Cowan recently, I was reminded of Lena
once again.
Sadly, Muriel is taking one day at a time in coping with the sad loss
of her husband, Fabian, who died a short while ago from prostrate cancer.
Muriel’s no stranger to the folks of Birmingham and has, in the
past, been described as a woman with a ‘heart of gold’.
Down the years she’s helped raise money in abundance for local
charities, including St Mary’s Hospice, Acorn Charity and ironically,
Cancer Rese-arch, to name but a few.
She swiftly points out: “Raising funds wasn’t a solo effort,
I have to say. It’s always been a joint endeavour with other
like-minded souls who I’ve met in the past.”
She shies away from discussing at length the amount of good causes
she’s assisted down the years – a characteristic often
shown by many of the worthy charity fundraisers amongst us.
I’m also told that her daughter, Carmel Girling, isn’t
too keen on the praising stakes and, likewise, plays down her crucial
role in promoting media attention for Birmingham’s very own
Irish Day Parade.
It’s probably an Irish trait or maybe it has something to do
with their upbringing. But there’s many an Irishman and woman
who have mastered that precise balance of doing good whilst remaining
modest.
Coping with the reality that her loved one of 43 years will no longer
be there to talk to, to tease, to love and cherish and to affectionately
row about who should have control of the T.V. remote control, is something
Muriel will probably never be able to wholly come to terms with.
But with this woman’s character, her wicked sense of humour,
combined with her close set of friends and doting family, she has
a major head start.
Then, as is often the case, I commence the probing into the life and
times of Muriel.
She first spied young Fabian across a crowded Dublin roller skating
rink in the 1950’s. From the offset, she was smitten. They
skated, they dated and ultimately, Birmingham they were fated.
Initially alone, he crossed the Irish sea to seek his fortune in carpentry
and like many an Irish man before him, set about leaving his mark on
this beautiful and cosmopolitan city we are all so proud of today.
But for Fabian, without his Muriel, he was only half a man, so back
home he returned, married his girl, took her to see his new world in
Brum and life, as they knew it, was sweet.
Even as a young one, Muriel found she enjoyed work with all its rewards
back home in Ireland. After leaving school at the age of 14, she
spent time in perfume factories, handbag factories and even worked
as a housemaid in Dublin’s original Jury’s hotel.
Muriel tells me: “Being the eldest of eleven and having some
work and life experience under my belt put me in good stead when
settling into Birmingham life. I took a job at Lucas as an assembler
to make the future that much rosier for the family. I must have enjoyed
it because I stayed there for 32 years.
“I met and made so many friends at the Lucas plant. It was there
I earned the nickname ‘money bags’ as I was forever asking
people to delve into their pockets and throw a few pence in for some
worthy cause or another.”
She’s one of these easy-going souls that you think you’ve
known for an age as the conversation develops.
She exudes energy and buoyancy and confesses of her love for line dancing
and tells me she likes nothing more than catching up with friends at
one of the local Irish clubs on the North side of Birmingham.
Finally, I ask of her if she’d do anything differently if she
had her time again.
She says: “Not at all, sure why would I? Haven’t I had
the perfect life? Mind you, I’d wish I’d learnt all my
spellings at school I’m a hopeless speller. But then again,
I always had my Fabian to help me out on that score.”
It’s a succinct and concise retort, yet profoundly touching.
Now I know what the Saw Doctors meant when they sang: ‘It’s
just the simple things that makes the world go round’.
 
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