When I was young a long time ago, we lived on a farm in a place called the Illies. There were nine children in the family and we all had jobs to do every day. Our land at the front of the house sloped down three fields to the river and the field at the
Today my friends went to the disco. Today I was left wondering what happened to my invitation. Today I realised that they are not my friends. So, instead, today I went to the beach. I’ve always been unlucky when it comes to friends, many times resorting to my own company. I have many speeches about
It isn’t a river. It doesn’t need a name. It is The Burn, a word that means a small stream and describes it perfectly. It isn’t deep enough to be dangerous. In dry weather a child can cross it by jumping from one brown rock to the next. Despite its short length and minimal depth
Lough Swilly holds many dark secrets. This enticing Lake of Shadows, claimed my mother’s eight-year-old sister, Brigid. This is her story. A fisherman found her in the tidal part of the Crana river. Her long hair was entangled in an old salmon net ‘she was like a little doll floating,’ Dan said. They had to
This story has been passed down four generations to me! One sunny evening, in the early 1940’s as the sun was setting, my great grandmother set out to do her daily chores on the farm. She walked through the rough grazing grounds to come to the nearby lake called Trusk Lough, it is situated outside
Ar an 23ú Bealtaine 2019 shocraigh mé dul ar thuras campála le mo kayak go hInis Oirthear. Seo oileán amach ó chósta Ghaoth Dobhair i nDún na nGall a tréigeadh sna 1950idí, ach anois is iad na caoraigh atá ina gcónaí ansin. Bhí mo mhadadh beag Séimí liom. Bhí seaicéad tarrthála liom. Chuir mé m’fhón
BHÍ SEÁN MÓR AG BAINT PHRÁTAÍ sa chuibhreann beag gainmheach ag barr na binne nuair a chuaigh bád Mhicí Shéarlais soir an bharra ag tarraingt ar bhéal Oileán Bó. Dhírigh sé a dhroim agus thóg sé a bhearád leis an allas a ghlanadh óna éadán, nuair a chonaic sé an bád ag dul thart leis
Trusk Lough, a mountainy lake , a tarn , lies 5km from the town of Ballybofey. It is a popular spot with locals who go to fish, swim ,walk or meet up for a chat there . On a sunny afternoon you will see the people come, some walk ,some drive or cycle , drawn
If I close my eyes and concentrate, I’m back there, three years old in a floral dress and green sandals with knee-length white socks. My small hand is clasped in my father’s on a beautiful June morning. Seagulls screech, soar and swoop and the salty pungent aroma of seaweed and salt water’s so strong, it
The summer of 1976 may have gone down as one of the driest on record with lakes at an all time low and rivers reduced to a mere trickle, with “my own” river, the Owenea, lower than I had ever seen it. Finns pool, at the bottom of beat was just a collection of large
Flowing out of Lough Ea in Edeninfagh through the moss and heather it makes it’s way slowly down until it comes to Edeninfagh church and graveyard. The graveyard slopes down to the River. The seepings from all the bodies buried there join the River. Those of our people and our people’s people. On we go