Going Home

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We like to encourage local talent.  Catherine McGrath, of Shore Road, Rostrevor has had the following short poem chosen for publication elsewhere.  We wish her the best of luck.  I’m sure many a lonely emigrant will shed a quiet tear reading her words!

Catherine McGrath  ( age 13)

Rankin Memoirs: 4

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Early in 1915 I went to work in Liverpool as trade was very poor in Newry. I returned to Ireland before conscription came into force.

Maura Maguire is born

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We have recently received  the memoirs of Maura Maguire. So delighted are we with this gift that we have determined to share instantly with the readership of Newry Journal.  We are confident you will love them too.


‘This account is primarily written for my children and their children, so that they might know of the events that shaped the person who is their mother and grandmother.

………………………………….

My name is Mary Bridget (Maguire) Mallon. I was born on 10 September 1936 in my grandparent’s home on Monaghan Street, Newry. 

My parents were Joseph Maguire and Anne Elizabeth (Doherty). 

 


Old School Friends

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Meeting occasional visitors at the ‘paper’ train that arrived from Belfast at 7 pm.  Then a ride home in Sam McCullough’s Austin taxi.

The Turkey Trot

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Bingo had become popular in Newry and weekly sessions arranged by local parishes and clubs were a lucrative way to enhance their funds.  It was also a welcome social event for many of the residents, and better still if you managed to shout, “CHECK!’ and win a cash prize.


Poem on Memories

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I remember the smell from the kitchen,
of bread and semolina buns
cats and kittens asleep by the fire,
and those Sunday visits from the nuns.

And the days we sat in the sunshine
to let our long hair dry,
it seems so short a time ago,
but the years have hurried by.

Bronze Age/Neolithic homes

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It is exactly two years since we posted results of the archaeological finds in the Loughbrickland area, unearthed at the construction of the new dual carriageway …

My Mother

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Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest
And on my cheeks sweet kisses pressed ?
My mother.


Pennyworth of Lies

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There’s them that would ridicule me for telling stories out a’ school, but if ye don’t get them from me, where wud ye hear them nowadays?  Me grandfather and namesake toul’ this one to all he’s, an’ he wasn’t the author he’s-self!  There cud be words missin’ and others outa place but I can on’y do me best.


It called the Pennyworth of Lies and it was Jack’s party-piece, a century ago.

Newry Journal