NeuroDivine

The poem I share below about travelling into NHQ isn’t really about trains or coffee or even comms work. It’s about return.

There was a time when my work with St John Ambulance Ireland was my paid role—front-line, though not uniformed, serving within National Headquarters. Kidney failure changed that. Dialysis made that life impossible.

Now I return as a volunteer.

No uniform. No title. Just plans, comms, SharePoint systems, information sharing, social media, branding—the quiet architecture that keeps things steady. Hidden work. Necessary work. Work I am grateful to offer.

In the stained glass, the Maltese cross stands at the centre. The journey radiates around it—fields, trains, screens, coffee, home. That feels true to life. Service is no longer the whole window. It is one pane among many.

I was deeply honoured to be made a Member of the Order of St John—recognition of work once given, and service still offered. Illness altered the shape of my vocation, but not the call.

Sometimes faithfulness is not about going back to what was.

It is about finding your place again—differently—within the same cross-shaped light.

Travelling backwards, headphones on,
The fields of Kildare rush and run;
The city calls beyond the dawn—
To NHQ, the work begun.

No uniform nor front‑line role,
But plans and comms that keep us whole;
SharePoint and uploads, steady, true—
The hidden work St John leans to.

At Heuston’s doors I step once more,
No 145 to wait for now;
The tram and bus my new rapport—
A smoother path to keep the vow.

Now settled in the rafters’ space,
Not front‑room ease, but higher place;
With Comms beside me, calm and clear—
The work hums on, year after year.

A coffee first to steady me,
And lunchtime’s pause, necessity;
For worker’s hands must eat and brew—
To keep the heart and craft in view.

When evening falls and work is through,
I weigh the trains I might slip to—
The early run, or calmer line
When crowds thin out and peace is mine.

At last the door, the fire’s warm glow,
Two kitties greet me, soft and slow;
And Andrew’s smile, my harbour true—
The journey ends in coming home to you.