After my father died my mother became a daily communicant. In reality she was probably praying for the strength she needed to raise six children because at the age of 32, she had been left with six under the age 12. A big ask in anyone's book. And this was in the days before the advent of pensions, single mother and otherwise.However she was lucky in the fact that as my father had been a doctor in the navy she was entitled to receive a naval pension which certainly helped some. After some trial and error she also finally found a job that fitted in with the school hours and so worked from 9.00am to 4.00pm each day.

Every Sunday we were dressed in our Sunday best and trotted off to Mass where my mother always sat in the front row with all six of us lined up on either side of her. My younger sister and I usually sat next to her and of course we were forbidden to speak during the service, so if we needed to tell her anything, anything at all - it had to wait until Mass was over.

This particular Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny - a gorgeous Summer day - God was in His Heaven and all was right with the world. After my sister and I found our gloves - which were always missing in action and had put on our usually worse for wear straw hats, all seven of us trooped off down the road together That is with the exception of my third brother who had been the one designated to put on the roast lamb for Sunday lunch. I remember that my mother, a very pretty woman, was wearing very light clothes this day, a soft cotton shirt and skirt, a very feminie hat, and of course the ubiquitous gloves all we members of the female gender were then forced to wear. My own hat always looked pretty dreadful I used to sit on it quite often and also my brothers used to take and throw it around the room like a football. Or I would deliberately lose it after my brothers had made some disparaging remark to the effect that it looked an upside lamp shade or worse. Of course these antics never guaranteed that my hat was pristine and in good shape. Still I guess it was actually on my head and that was all that mattered at this time.

Well there we were all sitting in the front row of a large people-filled church when it was time to stand for the Gospel. We all stood up but my mother's skirt didn't rise to the occasion along with the rest of her and there she was standing in the front row in her hat, shirt and knickers. Her zipper had given way and because the material was so soft she hadn't felt it flutter down to it's resting place on the floor.

Luckily for her it was a warm day. But because of her strict rule of no speaking in church my sister and I were unable to convey to her that her state of undress was quite inappropriate . Fact is the more we tried to get her attention the more stern she became and no good saying why didn't your elder brothers tell her because one look at their mother in her state of undress and they were out the church door as if the devil was on their very tails! In hindsight I think they were at that awful age where they were easily embarrassed by anything at all to do with women - never mind that their mother was going to feel even more embarrassed once she knew what had happened.

Eventually someone from the pew behind took pity on us and tapped her on the shoulder telling her that her skirt had swished to the floor and was lightly lying somewhere around her ankles.

My mother hurriedly pulled up her skirt and pretended it had never happened - she was good at that! but boy did my brothers get the rounds of the kitchen table once we got back home - you know those words on loyalty, disappointment, lack of support and all that sort of ammunition that comes in under friendly fire.

On another occasion I was walking with her along Collins Street and the elastic in her knickers gave way - she just kicked them into the gutter and kept walking - never happened - I admired her for that! just as she ignored the chaps on the building site right next to where it happened who were wolf whistling at her, letting her know they had just witnessed her smart little kick to the left...

We all have embarrassing moments and while they are truly cringe-making, with time they do become funny and worthy of the re-telling...

copyright: a.a.gallagher June 2009