The airwaves have been fizzing this week with dramatic stories of what people were doing during the solar eclipse in August 1999. I was in Bushy Park, Dublin, that morning, and remember precisely nothing about it. In my defence, I was three.
My mother, who brought my baby brother (in the pouch) and me (in the buggy) to witness the event, recalls it clearly. Not so much the darkness or the sight (she didn’t have eclipse glasses) as how “it suddenly went so cold”.
It was a solemn moment. “Millions in awe at heavenly harmony,” ran the headline on the front page of The Irish Times the next day.
Wednesday’s eclipse finds me back in Bushy Park just after 7pm, similarly bereft of eclipse glasses, hoping some kind person will lend me theirs. The park is full of people sitting out in the sun but nobody seems to have glasses or any obvious interest in astronomy. It’s all a bit anticlimactic and I’m tempted to call it a day. That’s when I spot them.
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Over by the wall, two figures are gazing westwards through a gap in the trees. They both have glasses and generously let me take turns looking through them. So I join the millions of others transfixed at that very same moment by the fiery red crescent in the sky. There’s not much point describing it because you probably saw it too.
Ruth is from Glasnevin, Maeve from France. Ruth was ahead of the posse and bought glasses a week in advance – then forgot to bring them. Ruth’s father – evidently further ahead of the same posse – came to the rescue with spare ones. “I’m so happy that we caught it,” says Maeve.
I fetch a notebook from my bag and start jotting down notes as we chat. After all, this is an auspicious evening.
“I tried to leave work early to be here,” says Maeve. “So don’t say where I work.” (I don’t know where she works.)
Maeve enjoins me to “make a note of the shadows and how cool they are”. They have increased considerably and give one the disorienting feeling of not knowing what time it is.
We share in each other’s awe and keep passing round the glasses for one more look. It’s hard to find adequate words to describe what we’re seeing. This is a new experience. “It feels like those videos of the sunset in the Serengeti or something,” remarks Maeve.
The fiery crescent gradually gets bigger and the shadows in the trees begin to recede. “It’s definitely getting brighter, for sure – it feels like we’re going back in time,” says Ruth dramatically. “Did you get all that?”
The leaves of the tree across the road make a perfect silhouette against the eclipsed sun. I make a note. What type of tree is it? It’s hard to see with the sun in our eyes but it has the appearance of ash. “I’ll put ash.” “What if that’s not accurate reporting?” asks Maeve. It’s a fair question.
As for the temperature, perhaps there is a slight drop this time – Maeve and Ruth seem to notice it; maybe I’m perspiring too much – but nothing like the chill my mother remembers. Then again, according to Ruth’s phone it is 29 degrees: considerably hotter than in August 1999. This time around the eclipse is a more visual experience.
In any case, it is a privilege to share the moment with two kind strangers. So if either of you are reading this, thank you.
