I had grown up on the North Circular Road in Limerick and spent many a happy hour fishing for sticklebacks and minnows, in a tiny stream, down at the bottom of Good’s Lane. With shoes abandoned we would paddle and pore over each catch as it frantically swam around in the bottom of our jam
She sat in her usual spot, staring into the water hardly moving. She was being observed. “Mam is that lady strange?”, Simon whispered as he looked intensely ,anxiously at his mother. Though only six years old he noticed people acutely and he noticed some changes of expression on the lady’s face. “I am sure there
I remember a time before walkways, a time before new builds and a time before street lamps which illuminate the walkway on the cold winter evenings and mornings as I make the journey daily from park west to the dutch village. A time of swans in the kitchen, a time of ducks overhead and time
Lonely I wander through scenes of my Childhood. They bring back those memories of happy days gone by. Gone are the old folks and the house stands deserted, no light in the window, no welcome at the door. I grew up in a quaint but picturesque village called Redford Atha Dearg. The name Atha Dearg
Shing was a Salmon who lived in the River Shannon. Shing loved adventures but he never went on one. One day she asked a question – Why Can I not go to Lough Ree ?? A big Monster lives there. “ Oh “ said Shing. Shing went to the fisherman to hear what he thinks.
The half – six train to Cobh Co Cork on a summer Sunday evening many years ago, beside me The Deepwater Quay where I enjoyed the happiest times of my earliest fishing days. Every Sunday evening from early June to the end of August I made this trip accompanied with my father. Preparations for these
The Cloghataney River rises in ‘the Captain’s Bog’, in the shadow of Esker Riada, 2 km. north of my hometown of Moate Co. Westmeath. It flows in a southerly direction, through Moate Castle grounds where it undergrounds before emerging in Lower Main Street beside the Old Quaker Mill. It then forms a mill pond and
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
My feet are wet. That’s understandable, especially because I am standing at the start of a river. My legs are wet too, but that’s because I have moved deeper into the water. It flows smoothly, softly, like velvet silk. It feels odd against my rough and hardened hands. Too out of place in my harsh
This story is all about the stream at the bottom of my grandparents’ garden. I interviewed my mum and she told me some of her memories of the stream from her childhood. The stream is just outside Castlebar, County Mayo. It runs from Lough Rusheen, a small lake about two miles from Castlebar all the
Long ago and far away… well, not so very far away, by Dad and I would go to the river to watch for fish. We’d stand very still on either bridge or bank and penetrate the rapid flowing water with our beading eyes. We were refugees, fleeing from the “doodlebingo” that fell about our home
Everytime I speak to him, Eugene tries to urge me to the water’s edge. I don’t know a single person (but myself) who wouldn’t be swept away by his enthusiasm for the surf. I wouldn’t be able to resist for any reason but mine when Eugene talks about the cold christening of the 40 Foot
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