'At the top of St Joseph's Avenue, Betty has been a perennial presence of wit and charm'

A woman’s age is often among the world’s best kept secrets. For Betty Corbett, at the top of St Joseph’s Avenue in Boherlahan, she kept us guessing for years, writes Darren Hassett.

But the 100th birthday is a milestone not even Betty could keep quiet as family, friends and neighbours gathered at her house on the Nodstown side of the village last Sunday.

Hundreds of people streamed through the house throughout the day and Betty greeted every one of them with a smile and her quick wit.

President Michael D. Higgins had sent Betty a cheque - as he does for all citizens who reach the 100th milestone - but as Betty remarked: “It’s not enough. He should have given me €5,000.”

At the top of the avenue, Betty has been an endearing and perennial presence of wit and charm.

For many years, no one was sure of her age, and yet there we were last Sunday, celebrating her 100th birthday.

The Rossmore native, whose husband Jim passed away in 1993, has been living in Boherlahan for decades and as a neighbour and a friend, she means a lot to everyone in the community.

Her son Sean and Michael, and their family, have been looking after Betty as well as the wonderful carers who mind her at her home.

The house inside and out is in pristine shape - which would make Betty proud. It was a common sight years ago to see Betty cutting the grass around her house, she always kept the place spotless.

As Betty made her way to the kitchen to begin meeting her visitors, she could be heard saying: “How did I get so old?”

It turns out, for Betty, there is no secret formula for a long life, except for some Pond’s Cream to keep back the wrinkles.

When asked how she reached 100-years-old and what she did to reach such a good age, she replied: “Not a fecking thing. Absolutely nothing. A lot of vanishing cream.”

Betty was all style on Sunday in her denim skirt that only Betty could wear so well for her 100th birthday party.

So, the secret to a long life, well her mashed spuds never had a shortage of butter in them: the more butter, the better. Her dinners are legendary, about as legendary as her gravy.

When my mother would go away on a trip, Betty would make sure my father, Oliver, would be three stone heavier when Mam got back.

And she’d always let Mam know too: “You’re not feeding him at all.”

Her own daily diet consists of toast and marmalade with tea, an occasional late night scone request as well, and that is followed by mash potato and chicken soup usually in the afternoons and maybe an orange.

Then it’s a roast of some sort, be it beef, chicken or lamb with butter on everything and her “famous” gravy. It is said, and I can confirm it, that Betty’s apple tart is the best in the world.

She is also partial to a slice of Hickey’s white loaf bread, as well as some chicken wings, but who isn’t?

My father sang Raglan Road twice for Betty, once in the afternoon and again in the evening, she has a real soft spot for “Ollie” as she calls him.

He is her favourite man, although I believe jockey Davy Russell was her favourite one time when he lived in the village and Bobby Gleeson has been demoted to her second favourite man at the moment.

The avenue’s youngest residents perhaps best sum up Betty. Avril and Kevin Wilson’s children, Aoibhe and Charlie, said “she would always give us a little bit of pocket money” and she would always be “sitting at the door knitting when we came home from school, asking us how we are”.

That’s Betty, she asks about everyone. She cares about everyone.

Sunday was a celebration of a life, a life still being lived.

Betty got to feel appreciated and loved, right when it matters most.