T’was the week before Christmas and all round the street
Nothing was stirring – not even police
But up in a bank like bees around honey,
Men toiled for hours at stealing the money.
Great Bank Robbery
Short Stories
Sarah Ann
Sarah Ann {in memory of Sam Russell, dear friend}
Ah’ll change me ways o’ goin’, for me head is gettin’ grey
Ah’m tormented washin’ dishes an’ makin’ drops of tae
The kitchen’s like a midden an’ the parlour’s like a sty
There’s half a foot of clabber in the street out by.
Ah’ll go down again tomorra on me ceili to the Cross
For I’ll have to get a woman or the place’ll go to loss.
When the childer is away
A wee slip drawin’ water
Me oul’ man at the plough
No grown-up son or daughter
That’s the way we’re farming now.
‘No work and little pleasure’
Was the cry before they went
Now they’re getting’ both full measure
So I ought to be content.
Great wages men is givin’
In that land beyant the say
But ’tis lonely, lonely livin’
Whin the childher is away.
Och, the baby in the cradle
Blue eyes an’ curlin’ hair
God knows I’d give a gra’die
To have wee Peader there
No doubt he’d find it funny
Lyin’ there upon me arm
Him, that’s earnin’ the good money
On a Californy farm.
Six pounds it was, or sivin
He sint last quarter day
But ’tis lonely, lonely livin’
Whin the childher is away.
God is good, none bether
An’ the Divil might be worse
Each month there comes a letther
Bringin’ something for the purse.
And me oul’ man’s heart rejoices
When I read they’re doin’ fine
But it’s Oh! To hear their voices
An’ to feel their hands in mine.
To see the cattle drivin’
An’ the young ones makin’ hay
‘Tis a lonely land to live in
Whin the childher is away.
Whin the shadders do be fallin’
On the oul’ man there an’ me
‘Tis hard to keep from callin’
‘Come in childher, for yer tea!’
I can almost hear them comin’
Mary, Kate and little Con –
Och, but I’m the foolish woman
Shure they’re all grown up and gone.
That our sins may be forgiven
An’ I’m not wan to go astray
But I’d doubt I’d stay in Heaven
If them childher was away!
Free at last: The Coffin
The time passed, and apart from the radio not a sound could I hear from the outside world. The darkness was all pervading. I felt as if I were buried alive.
Broken Dreams
There is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
Earth Walker report 2
In June 1999 I had travelled west to the city for my usual break. I wanted to see my friends who always had some sort of news about this, that and the other. However on this occasion my usual hosts had gone on holiday and I therefore had no choice but to register at one of the local hotels. After having journeyed seven hours on my motorcycle through the winding mountain roads, I was looking forward to a well-earned wash, dinner and a good sleep.
Rachel: 7 .. ended
I need not have worried. Turning the corner I was confronted by a newly constructed shop built from wattle and mud but this time it had a gleaming tin roof. Sitting becalmed like a sail boat on a mirrored lake with book-in-hand was my dear friend Rachel.
Sonnet XXX
In similar vein to the recently quoted sonnet, this one reflects on ‘remembrance of things past’ and indeed, people who have passed on. I particularly like the final couplet. The preceding lines remind me of many who, as they say, could ‘gern for Ireland!’