I would walk along the Barrow and let all my grief go with the river. You see the river flowed right behind my shared apartment and in that complicated first year away from home I would walk with it. Walk with it when angry, when lonely, when worried, or sometimes when just bored. The Barrow
They sat two metres apart. I could just barely fit them into my screen view. Like pillars at the edge, only seated and relaxed. It was Brendan and Pat. Brendan, in his 70s cocooning for the pandemic. Pat, a regular caller, checking in to see if everything was okay with him. And it was, for
I listen to the stove, rumble, growl A black bear caged in the chimney breast. My mind steps back I see Grandmother boiling water for the morning tea, The black kettle over the fire. I hear her imperious voice. ” Marty, we need water from the Well”. We walk down the fields to the bottom
I remember my first holiday in Castlebar. I was accompanied by my great grandmother who was visiting our dear friend Cynthia. As soon as I got over the five- hour journey, the excitement of her estate and ponies, she came up with the first of many ‘Waterbody’ adventures around County Mayo. We went to Lough
When I was in high infant’s class they decided to close the school while repairs were being done. The pupils were scattered to their next nearest school. In my case I was sent across the river Glore to Shanvahera. I didn’t know anybody up there and they did not know me. The only consolaiton that
We approached the house late in the evening, having travelled all day from England enduring delays and mishaps along the way, faitgued and disorientated, groping our way, ifguraitvely speaking, in the dark. Only the brief feeling of dampness on skin before we went inside, with a few essenital bags hasitly gathered, suggested the water present
Our minds weren’t on the foot cocking, that sultry July afternoon; the air as still as the breaking dawn. Tomas remarked “it will be a perfect evening for Dereken; the perch will be in shoals there”. I was so enthused by this optimism, I began to gather speed with my wooden rake. Worms were already
There is a lake in Ireland once regarded as the finest trout water on earth. Anglers came from far and wide to fish it. Fifty years ago, it was poisoned to death’s door by sewage from a nearby town. Since then, it has been slowly, lovingly, nursed back to health by those who care for
In memory of my Dad James J. Galvin CHAPTER 1 For me, it all began back in 1942 when I was 4 years old. My Dad would say to me “right hop up on the crossbar of the bike”. He would take me down to the Grand Canal and we would feed the swans, ducks
As a young boy growing up in 1970’s Ireland, at lot of my youth was spend splashing and dipping our toes in the local river that passes through the village of Killeagh in East Cork. The rivers name ‘Dissour’ means ‘twice wetted’, which supposedly meant it had better bleaching qualities than other rivers in earlier
My dad was a plumbing contractor and we lived in a council house in Limerick City. His greatest love was fishing. Looking back, I think there were times he loved fishing more than his family. He had a little rowing boat which he kept at various moorings up and down the majestic river Shannon. During
It would be difficult to imagine any body of water as unique as the Calliagh Berra’s Lough. Its uniqueness stems from the fact that it’s a lake on the summit of a mountain – Slieve Gullion – the highest point in Co Armagh at almost six hundred metres. This fascinating mountain is at the centre