Ruth Writes

In the year coming up to my Junior Certificate, I wore two necklaces religiously.

One was a silver chain that had quite a large horseshoe charm hanging from it that sat just below the hollow of my throat. The other was one of those black material chains that had a metal painted shamrock that lay against my skin quite perfectly just beneath the horseshoe. I quietly considered them to be good luck charms and after wearing them abroad for a summer, I continued to wear them to school hidden comfortingly under my tightly buttoned school shirt.

The horseshoe necklace did not last long. It was a gift that came free attached to a book about a girl and her horse and so the quality was questionable. When that one rusted itself into retirement, I continued to wear the shamrock in the belief it would continue to supply me with good luck without the aid of the horseshoe.

A couple of days before my Junior Cert, I was out and about, taking a breather from study, when I felt the thinning material around my neck slacken. I caught the shamrock charm before it could fall from the chain that fell apart while resting against my skin. The panic that flooded through my system is laughable now but at the time, I truly believed that losing that necklace that close to my exams meant I was going to fail. (I’m not superstitious at all!)

My local pharmacy used to stock quite a lovely array of affordable jewellery at the time, so I carefully pocketed my broken lucky charm and headed straight there. It was there that I found my upgraded shamrock necklace. It was a small, delicate charm with green stones fused into a silver outline that hung from what turned out to be quite a sturdy silver chain. I didn’t have time to be picky and none of the other necklaces were what I needed. I saw it as a sign that amongst the many designs a shamrock was there, the perfect replacement for my good luck charm. I bought it and clasped it around my neck before I even left the pharmacy, a sense of calm shushing the panic. I walked home with a new necklace and a renewed belief that everything would be okay. (And it was, my Junior Cert went really well!)

Now, little did I know that that necklace would become a part of my body in a way that made me forget I was even wearing it. It was practically fused to my skin. I rarely wore other necklaces and if I did, they had to fit around the shamrock. Even my first boyfriend’s gift of a heart locket (it’s what every seventeen-year-old girl wants right?) wasn’t enough to make me take it off.

That shamrock necklace has been with me through everything. And I mean everything: Leaving Cert, Debs, college, every holiday, my entire career of dance. Any picture of me between the ages of fifteen and the first few months of twenty-seven, that shamrock is there. Now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s just a bloody necklace, what’s the big deal? And honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t think it meant as much to me as it does until said chain broke, a little less than a year ago. A piece of fluff from a new top got caught in it and when I tried to pry it off, the chain snapped. That same fifteen-year-old panic flooded my twenty-six-year-old veins.

Now, this was an easier fix than my old necklace. I just went to my jewellery drawer and sacrificed one of my other necklaces that never got to see the light of day. I took a gorgeous Celtic knot charm off its chain, put it in a safe place and gave my shamrock a new home. A new home that was working fine until last week.

Last week, the clasp of the chain had moved and landed beside the charm. When I went to twist the necklace so that the clasp was returned to the back of my neck where it belongs, the chain snapped. Clean in two. I didn’t even pull it that hard. I stared down at the chainless charm resting in the palm of my hand with a shocked stillness in place of the old panic. Its original chain had been twenty quid in a pharmacy and had lasted eleven years before it retired. Its replacement chain cost a lot more in an actual jewellery shop and had lasted less than six months. That didn’t sit right with me. Surely, the fancier, more expensive chain should have at least matched the shelf-life of the original, significantly cheaper chain?

I, because at my big age can admit I am a little stitious (if anyone gets that reference, I love you, let’s be friends), took a moment and decided not to hunt out another replacement chain from my collection. There was something about the way this second chain broke that felt like a sign. It felt like I was being told to let go. To let this lucky charm finally retire. It has kept good luck pulsing through my life for twelve years. And when I say good luck, I don’t mean life has been perfectly fine and dandy for all of that time. Things have happened that I wish hadn’t, not every decision I’ve made has been the right one, it took me four tries to pass my driving test! So, the good luck it’s given me is broader than what you might think. It’s been safety and comfort and reassurance when I’ve felt unsure. Brushing a fingertip across the tiny charm at my throat has always unleashed a soothing calm over any inner chaos. Also, at surface level, it’s just a gorgeous little necklace.

And I know you might still be thinking, for Christ’s sake Ruth, it’s a fucking necklace, let’s not get too deep about it, but I can’t help how I feel about my little shamrock. And I guess, that’s part of what makes me the writer and person I am. I think too deeply about things. I feel too deeply about things. It’s both a gift and a curse.

So, it’s taken me longer than I thought to get this written and it’s become a lot deeper than I expected it to be, but after a week with a bare neck, I’ve decided to allow my shamrock to rest. To have fun decorating my neck with all of the necklaces I’ve been hoarding over the years and perhaps find a new lucky charm for my next chapter in life along the way.