Just over 70 years ago, my parents, Phyllis Egan and Nigel Devitt, got married. As a wedding present from my father’s best man, they received a door knocker. It was a magnificent brass dolphin, a good 25 cm from nose to tail and weighing in at about 1.5kg.
When I was born about a year later, it was probably one of the first domestic sounds I would have heard. The dolphin’s great chin hitting the round brass knob resounded around the house.
My parents moved house six times during their married life, always within the Sandymount area, and the brass dolphin adorned each of their hall doors. Somebody estimated the knocker must have boomed out its message more that 100,000 times during its working life.
Certainly it was a favourite and much-loved part of our home. Visiting children would make it work overtime.
When my parents died, I inherited the knocker. Sadly, I could not put it on my own hall door. The door, strong and secure though it is, is made from modern stuff that recoils at the idea of inch-wide holes being drilled through it to receive the dolphin’s mighty bolts and nuts. An operation like that would negate all sorts of manufacturers’ warranties and contravene various terms and conditions; such are the vagaries of modern technology.
So the poor brass dolphin languished in a box for five years, unloved, unseen, tarnishing through lack of polishing, and growing greener all the while.
Perhaps in light of my own impending “important” birthday, I unearthed him recently and had him professionally refurbished back to his former glory. I then surprised even myself with some impressive joinery and made him a suitable timber display stand.
Now he stands proudly in my hall, admired by a fourth generation, a talking point, a companion of my whole past life, and, in a small way, a memorial to my beloved parents.
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