Newry News and Irish Fun
In their desperation to retain the few bus conductors they had managed to recruit, the East Thanet Bus Company found accommodation for those who required it, with landladies in the immediate vicinity. They, of course, were of the xenophobic, nagging, take-it-or-leave-it type and, difficult as it may be to believe, we found it genuinely preferable to work as long hours as possible, in order to avoid their company. And their soggy dinners.
You might suspect
that the following
epigram was
recently written.
Not so.
It’s from the
17th century!
Gold priests, wooden chalices
In Ireland of Patrick’s time
Golden chalices, wooden priests
As the wretched world stands now!
In response to recent articles and the latest thread, we received this anonymous contribution. Thought you might like it!
The night of Sunday 6 January-Monday 7 January 1839 is remembered now, only in folklore as The Night of the Big Wind that battered all of
It was old, carved and made of wood
For years at the foot of her bed it stood
We never ever thought to look inside ..
Beehives and ponytails, skirts below the knees
High collars, low necks, designed for all to see
Parading a musty clop along the mall;
Redbrick and granite should glimmer in their boast.
Razing a glint in bier-garten toast,
I’m jealous – their sip, lip-locked – I’m enthralled.
The chivalrous sweat in musical droves,
Saluting the weather with world-weary wink.
The steeples, serene, without rain to drink:
A clan wry, a-flowing – a city of mauve.
Borderline bubble I love you so well.
I source you for boredom, ’tis true, ’tis true,
For dryness can seem here the hottest of hells
But I would be dead if ’twas not for you –
A cynic. A liar. A lover. A son –
A soul wracked to bone mass from valley-sought glue.
