OPINION (AN COLÚN): Flowers of hope and memories of Russian friends

The daffodils are everywhere now, symbols of hope, reminders of the light shining in the darkness, recalibrating our perhaps gloomy thoughts back to a happier state of being.
The foolish ignore the message of these flowers, the golden messages which they emanate towards our souls.
Lining the roads and paths, scattered across our garden beds, they whisper the truth to those hearts which care to listen; namely that there is another existence much greater and higher than this one, which does not have to submit to reality, the world, money, power, superficial and empty posturing.
Sometimes I have lain down in a bank of daffodils and absorbed their beauty deep into my being. When I have stood up and left the bank I feel as if I have washed myself of the world's pain and detritus, for a while at least.
Daffodil Day is nearly upon us. It is on the 25th of March this year. It is of course a very apt symbol for the Irish Cancer Society, because in the pain, suffering and despair of Cancer it is vital to be reminded of the light.
Thankfully, cancer is not the taboo subject it once was and we are more open about it. In 2020 more than 45,000 people in Ireland were diagnosed with cancer or a related tumour. More people in Ireland are being diagnosed with cancer now than ever before. Therefore the services and supports of the Irish Cancer Society are more in demand than ever. The need for the research and advocacy practised by many different groups and individuals around the world is more important now as society tries to find better ways to prevent, diagnose and treat cancer.
The Irish Cancer Society points out that we can all do more to reduce our risk of getting the disease. Four in ten cancer cases are preventable. Unfortunately, many people are still unaware of cancer risk factors. This highlights the need to raise awareness about the causes of the disease and to provide services that support people to live healthier lives.
“Being told you have cancer can be devastating,” says the Irish Cancer Society. “The good news is that many people go on to live long lives after a diagnosis. There are now more than 200,000 cancer survivors in Ireland. This means that there is a growing need for the support that the Irish Cancer Society provides for survivors.”
Daffodils remind us that there is something stronger and more durable than life's vicissitudes and travails, and that particular something is hope. The beautiful poem by AA Milne puts it marvellously:
“She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
'Winter is dead'.”
I am often thinking now of the many lovely and decent Russian people that I met when travelling in that wonderful country some years ago. My heart goes out to them for having to endure life in such a terrible regime. Many of us are praying that one day the Russian people will hear the excellent news, news bringing great relief, 'The tyrant is dead'.
The tyrant is dead and the daffodils are growing on the pathway's verge.
I remember my friend George Kotov who lived with his family in St Petersburg and was my mountain guide on the highest mountain in Europe, Mount Elbrus, and a couple of smaller Caucasus peaks in the vicinity of Elbrus. George was small, thin, resilient, friendly and decent. When we finished our climbing expedition we celebrated with vodka, cheese and songs. When I visited him a week later in his home in St Petersburg I travelled with his wife and children out into the vast Russian forests, where I joined them in the very traditional Russian pastime of mushroom picking. They educated me as to which mushrooms were safe. We afterwards cooked them in their dacha (dachas in Russia are traditional dwellings, often wooden, which many people use as country retreats), and they were delicious. We ate fried potatoes with these fried mushrooms, both sprinkled with salt, while sitting on the dacha's veranda, glasses of beer in our hands. We drank, chatted, reminisced, often laughed, for hours. The landscape all around for many miles was flat, green; partly open, partly wooded with deciduous trees. The setting sun bathed the verdant tree-foliage in a pleasant light. As I gazed out at the attractive scene, my mind slightly fuzzy with the beer, I felt a deep sense of contentment and an oceanic feeling of love.
I loved Tolstoy's writings and when I travelled to Moscow George arranged for his brother-in-law Kirill to drive me to Yasnaya Polyana, Tolstoy's estate. Kirill's wife joined us. They were very friendly companions. During the three hour drive the car radio belted out The Dubliners' fantastic songs. Both Kirill and George loved The Dubliners. They both had an affection for the Irish, believing that the Irish and the Russians shared some decent characteristics.
Tolstoy's grass-covered grave is simple and elegant. It's surrounded by deciduous trees. “Christianity,” wrote Tolstoy, “with its doctrine of humility, of forgiveness, of love, is incompatible with the State, with its haughtiness, its violence, its punishment, its wars.”