As a native of Saint John and a nonagenarian still able (Thank God) to read the Freeman, I have been very much interested in its columns describing the upsurge of interest in those intrepid immigrants who contributed so much to the development of New Brunswick.
    But what aroused in my sister and me a feeling of elation, what has been the subject of our conversation for days, was the mention of our dearly loved grand-uncle, Bernard McAloon, in Gerry McCarthy's article "Early Irish immigrants settled Petersville-Enniskillen area" in the March 14th issue.
    After our Catholic Faith and our family, our Irish heritage is our third "grand passion and pride". Uncle Barney was a Gael in the truest and noblest sense. Self educated, he was an astute, far-sighted man and an influential figure in the Petersville-Enniskillen area.
    When the CPR crossed his land, it was he who persuaded the Railway to erect a station there. He had the privilege of naming it. The Railway suggested, McAloon, but Bernard chose Enniskillen, the name of a lovely little town near his home in Ireland. We are in close touch with distant McAloon relatives who lived in the vicinity.
    Bernard became Enniskillen's station master, Enniskillen's Postmaster, and a successful business man - while also farming a sizable piece of land on both sides of the track. As very young children we clutch Uncle Barney's hand as the hugh, frightening engine with its long train of freight cars roared to a stop in Enniskillen. All duties performed, all papers signed, the "Monster," to our relief, puffed and roared its way to Saint John or Fredericton.
    But it us not as a modestly successful man in a small village that we mostly remember Uncle Barney. He was a deeply religious, prayerful man, a living saint, the recipient of a miracle, a man who predicted the day of his death, a man who, at his death, merited this comment from Father Costello, CSsR, "No need to pray for your uncle. Pray to him." That we do to this day.
    Eventually, he was stricken with cancer of the face, leaving his whole eyeball exposed. He came to our home in Saint John where he received daily treatment by a very caring non-Catholic doctor. The doctor's orders - applying ointments, bandages, etc. - were extremely painful, but faithfully carried out by our dear mother, Rose McAloon, as constant blessings on her arose from our uncles tortured lips. After months of treatment, and extreme suffering without a word of complaint, Uncle Barney returned home to Enniskillen - to die!
    St. Ignatius Church need new Stations of the Cross. What he thought would the last of his many generous gestures to his beloved Church, he donated the fourteen. They were installed on Good Friday and offered for the dying donor. The church was packed.
    When his daughter, Annie O'Neill, returned home, her father told her the intense pain had ceased at three o'clock. She thought he was delirious, too far gone to even feel pain. But the pain did not return. Gradually the eyelids covered the eyeball, the cheek healed, and no trace of the cancer remained. He lived for seven more years.
    What a joy when he visited us in Saint John, a cured man! And what a surprise to the doctor who declared "You have been cured by a Power greater than mine."
    The hands of chance and change forced uncle Barney to leave Enniskillen and live in Saint John with our family - which included his brother Paul, our beloved grandfather. Paul died on January 26, 1917. Uncle Barney leaned over his coffin and said. "Paul, my cup is full. I will be with you in a month's time." He died on February 26, 1917!
    Our family was not destined - nor did we care - to blaze a trail or leave footprints on the sands of time, in any material sense. But blazoned on our escutcheon are the words of our mother on that wintery night seventy years ago - "A saint has died in our home." AMEN