When I was a young lad on the pier I knew what was my calling To get a berth onboard a boat And earn my living trawling Fishing was good, money too My goal now, was to have my own crew When weather was rough, Big Jack & Charlie Would school us when at home
The Person: My dad, John Sheridan aged 15 The Place: Dublin Coast It was the summer of 1946; the beginning of July and it was hot. I can only remember hot summer days in my childhood, I don’t believe it ever rained when we were on the school holidays. Now, this was a very important
My earliest memories of going fishing date back to the very early 1960’s. I grew up in Killester, a suburb of Dublin. The venue of my first expeditions, (three small ponds located in the grounds of Clontarf Golf Club), required me surreptitiously climbing over the wall near my home late in the evenings, when Golfers
In the 1970s we stayed as a family with my grandparents in Dooks in the Kingdom of Kerry looking out over the majestic MacGillycuddy Reeks. At the time aged 13, fishing was my passion as it is today, and Dooks was a great place to pursue it. Friends from the UK used to visit us
Sometimes the light plays tricks with your eyes and not only that, but coupled with the movement of water, often what you think you see simply isn’t there. Alone in the stillness and expanse of blue with nothing to disturb the tranquillity except the constant lapping of water against the boat sides or a distant
What a horrible day at work, I think to myself, as I drive home rather slowly. Two new born babies we tested for Covid 19 await results. We helped two very frightened mothers put on personal protective equipment to see their beautiful babes in incubators. It’s just so unnatural. Restricted visiting meant no partners to
A year into our marriage we moved to a very old, dilapidated house out in the countryside because my husband wanted the fields that went with it. Wet August and I was in despair. I could see no redeeming features anywhere. On the first good day I wrapped up my two months old baby and
I am delighted to hear that the man next door has started to write his memoirs. He is now in his late seventies and has led a thrilling life spread over several countries. He acquired his home beside the river Boyne near Trim in the 80’s, but it was only in the late 90’s that
I am a canal-sider from birth but my travels took me far away from and back to canals since I was a child of seven. Now retired, my permanent home finds me five minutes from my long-time friend. I walk a spur of the Grand Canal regularly and my favourite stretch is between the library
The white, wild water rushes towards the end of the world across the jogged unheeding cliff top. It had run down across the yellow and pink heather covered lands, rushing desperately, never finding a final destination. Flying into mid-air is it rages out and free for a second then gravity pulls it down and down,
This small quiet village so peaceful and serene Ebbs a seafaring history on each tide that has been To recall rugged faces, their names bring a smile The stories they told made you linger a while Cannings Mc Cormicks Cavanaghs too Kelly’s and Farrens to name but a few A hard life was fishing in
Once my mother was visiting her sister in hot, sunny Florida. She was really looking forward to her holiday and seeing her sister. They were going to go on a road trip to Key West on the southern tip of Florida which is popular with tourists. During their stay, they saw an advertisement to do
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