Out of the Cocoon

Castle Writers

Out of the Cocoon

Athlone 2020

Out of the Cocoon

A new collection of original writing from Castle Writers 1 Athlone

Castle Writers

Out of the Cocoon

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Athlone 2020

Castle Writers

Out of the Cocoon

Out of the Cocoon

A collection of writings from Castle Writers.

Athlone 2020

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Athlone 2020

Castle Writers

Out of the Cocoon

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Athlone 2020

Castle Writers

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Introduction Castle Writers has been in existence since 2003 and so far, has published two collections of writings by its members. The first collection, called ‘Keepsakes’ was published in 2009 and this was followed by ‘Words on the Wing’ in 2014.

Due to the Covonavirus-19 pandemic in 2020, our regular meetings at Athlone library have had to be suspended, but some of our members have continued to write, even during lockdown.

This collection includes these writings, as well as other pieces that have been written since the last collection was published.

Margaret Franklin Editor

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Table of Contents Author

Title

Page

Noreen O’Rourke

Cocooned

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Margaret Franklin

There will be Time

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Good Friday 2020

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Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

Summer Rain on Hill of Berries

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Yvonne Ferry

Lip Sync and Ghost Singers

15

Janice Dobbie

Mountain Climbing

17

Imelda McKiernan

Revisiting my Native Place

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Noreen O’Rourke

Poetry in my Life

19

Margaret Franklin

The Song of Sionann

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Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

Technology: Positive or Negative?

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Yvonne Ferry

Roscommon Castle

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Margaret Franklin

Summer Thunder

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Janice Dobbie

Mystery of the West (Story)

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Mystery of the West (Poem)

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Imelda McKiernan

Memories of Christmas Past

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Margaret Franklin

Resolution

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Noreen O’Rourke

The Dead of World War One

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Yvonne Ferry

Italian Holiday

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Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

Hy Falgia - A Tour of the Ancient Territory 33

Margaret Franklin

The Legend of Loftus Hall

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Yvonne Ferry

Eclipse

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Janice Dobbie

Tell Them to you Children

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Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

Valencia

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Noreen O’Rourke

Tea – One of Life’s Great Pleasures

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Margaret Franlklin

Summer Solstice

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Yvonne Ferry

Mass Media – Then and Now

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Noreen O’ Rourke

Turkish Village

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Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

Small Ads – Big Story

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Imelda McKiernan

Maura’s Story

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Yvonne Ferry

Mystery Man (Short story)

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Margaret Franklin

Pandemic 2020

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Cocooned

Here I am, locked down, marooned, cocooned.

No friends to meet.

No conversations over coffee in the cafe.

There is no chapel, Mass or meeting..

Tho' this is now the joyful feast of Easter.

As Hamlet said - 'the time is out of joint' So is there light in all the gloom?

In March, when skies were grey And sleety showers blew down the empty streets, I chanced to find these lines which gave me hope:"O give me faith that I may be alive When April ecstasy dances in every whitethorn tree." * And April has come Sun is shining, birds are singing Trees grow greener every day.

So here within my small domain I dream of happy days to come In fantasy I'll take the train to Dublin..go South along the coast, and gaze across the sea to Dun Laoghaire Pier.

And Howth Head sleeping in a purple haze, Or West to Galway to browse in Charlie Byrnes book-shop.

And best of all, Oh bliss beyond compare I'll sit some day in my hairdresser's chair! *(P. Kavanagh).

Noreen O’Rourke

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There will be Time

There will be time, though now, ‘tis standing still; As this unseen assassin creeps and sweeps Across the globe and while its victim sleeps, Invades the inner spaces, poised to kill.

Within our homes, confined against our will, Time loses meaning, though the clock still keeps Its count of every second. Who now weeps?

Whose loved one died? Has Death not had its fill?

It humbles us that such a tiny thing Could overturn our lives and lay us low, But humans will prevail and science bring A cure for alien genome none did know.

There will be time to laugh again and sing, Embrace each other; time will ebb and flow.

Margaret Franklin Poetry Day 2020

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Good Friday 2020 This was a Good Friday with a difference. We were in the middle of a Global Pandemic, due to a deadly virus called SARS-CoV-2, which causes a ‘flu-like disease called Covid-19. It had originated in Wuhan, China, in December 2019 and was reported to the World Health Organisation (WHO) on New Year’s Eve, 31st December 2019. It is a Corona-virus, named because, viewed with the help of an electron microscope, the virus is spherical in shape, but has crown-like projections on the outside. It is these projections that are able to latch onto host cells, like grappling hooks, when they invade a host organism, such as bats, pangolins or even humans. The outbreak in Wuhan was linked to a food market where live animals are sold. While the virus seems to have originated in bats, it seems to have passed to creatures called pangolins and then to humans. Once the virus has invaded a host, it is able to pass through the cell walls within the respiratory system, where it uses the cell machinery to make replicas of itself. This eventually causes the host cell to burst, spilling out millions of virus particles, which can invade neighbouring cells, cause distressing symptoms and can even be fatal.

These virus particles can then be passed on to other people, through droplets emitted when coughing and sneezing, or even simply through the breath.

For most of the world, New Year’s Eve, December 31 st 2019, was celebrated in the usual way, with fireworks and parties; since, at that time, the rest of the world did not yet know what was happening in China. But towards the end of February, it became apparent that the Covid-19 disease had spread beyond China, thanks to the fact that we now live in a Global Village and air travel allows people to travel anywhere in the world & carry with them on their travels whatever infections they may have.

During the first week in March, we heard that Italy had become an epicenter of the new corona virus in Europe. Meanwhile, a handful of cases were discovered in Ireland, most of them brought by people returning from ski holidays in Italy. Because this is a novel virus, newly evolved, nobody in the human population has any immunity to it, so we are all susceptible. Older people are particularly vulnerable. Our Government acted swiftly to take measures to curb the transmission of the disease, by closing schools and universities and any non-essential industries and offices. Department stores were closed. Even the pubs were closed, in advance of St. Patrick’s Day & the traditional parades all over the country were cancelled. People were asked to work from home where possible and homeschool their children. Those showing symptoms 11

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of high fever and dry cough were tested, to see if they had the virus and while awaiting the test results, were asked to self-isolate, by remaining at home & avoiding contact with other people, lest they pass on the deadly virus.

Then came the news that the number of cases of Covid-19, in Ireland, was growing. It seems this is a very contagious virus and people become infectious even before they start to exhibit symptoms. People were dying from this disease, especially among the older age groups. The Government brought in new measures, asking those aged over 70 to remain at home and not even go out to take exercise, or to buy food.

Instead, they had to rely on family and friends, or neighbours and volunteers, to bring them the bare necessities of life. This was called ‘Cocooning’.

On Good Friday, 2020, I was one of the ‘Cocooners’. It had been over two weeks since I had left my home. Luckily, I had gone out to do my grocery shopping just before the new measures came into force, but by Holy Thursday, my supplies were running low. I was reluctant to try online shopping, as I had been told that there could be a two-week delay, before the goods would be delivered. Then, I was informed that my local Supervalu would accept orders from ‘Cocooners’ by phone or e-mail & would deliver that same day. Because Easter was coming, I decided to avail of the service and I included some eggs in my order. The food was indeed delivered, by a helpful volunteer, that same evening.

Well, Good Friday started like any other day. During the morning, I logged onto facebook and took part in the on-line gentle exercise session for older people, streamed live, on the ‘Age & Opportunity’ facebook page. This is a service they are providing on Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays during the covid-19 pandemic. Then, since I had plenty of food, I enjoyed an excellent lunch (though without meat, since it was Good Friday). Unfortunately, I had run out of bottled gas for my gas cooker.

The local shop, which used to supply the gas, had changed hands last year. The new owner now has a different gas supplier & had refused to accept my empty gas cylinders. So I had not bought any bottled gas & was relying on my microwave oven for hot meals. I found I could cook rice, pasta, baby potatoes, fish and vegetables very well in it.

Due to the pandemic, large gatherings were forbidden, so there were no Holy Week ceremonies in the churches. Instead, I tuned in to RTE 1, to watch the Good Friday Liturgy, which was broadcast from Mullingar Cathedral. It was most devotional, but in an almost empty church. Apart 12

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from the priest and readers, there were four vocalists, who sang appropriate motets ‘a capella’, in beautiful harmony.

After that, I pottered around in the garden for a while, cutting the grass and sweeping and raking debris. In due course, I came in to get myself a cup of tea & some toast & I decided to have a boiled egg as well.

Normally, I would boil an egg in a small saucepan on the gas cooker, but since I had run out of gas, I decided to use the microwave oven. I boiled a kettle, poured the hot water into a small pyrex bowl, carefully lowered two eggs into it, using a dessert spoon and transferred it to the microwave oven, to cook on high for 5 minutes. (I don’t really like a soft boiled egg.)

Then I used the dessert spoon to fish out one of the eggs and left the other egg to continue cooking for another 5 minutes. I intended to hard boil that egg & use it in a salad the following day.

Well, I was enjoying my boiled egg, with tea & toast, when suddenly there was an almighty explosion! It caused me almost to jump out of my skin! There was a loud report, the door of the microwave oven flew open and out poured clouds of steam, as well as tiny bits of exploded egg.

Needless to say, I got a terrible fright and I made a mental note never to try to hard boil an egg in the microwave oven again. It took me ages to clean up the mess. While I was doing so, the radio was on, but after about 20 minutes it suddenly became silent. I checked and realized that there was a power cut. However, the lights were still working, so I knew that one of the circuits had been tripped. I went down to the utility room & climbed a stepladder to check the switches & found that the ELCB (Earth Leakage Contact Breaker) had been tripped. So I returned it to its ‘on’ position and when I returned to the kitchen, I found that all the appliances had power again, even the microwave oven. So, to test it, I put a cup of water in it and turned it on for 30 seconds. It started to work as usual, but before the 30 seconds were up, the ELCB had tripped again. So now, it appears, the microwave oven is out of action.

This happened a week ago. Luckily, I still have some bread & cheese, salad, fruit and wine, as well as tea & coffee, milk & breakfast cereal.

That will do me for a while. But I do hope to be able to get out again before too long, to see if I can find someone to replace my bottled gas & maybe buy a new microwave oven!

Margaret Franklin

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Summer Rain on Hill of Berries I stand at the door, expectant; Fresh from the night’s Warm embrace, sensing a drowsy world still dreaming.

Wake up my love Hot is the brew!

A roaring in the wind all night; Sky rejoices in the morning’s birth.

A butterfly Fresh from the Night flowers’ kisses Touches my hand.

But the sun is rising calm and bright.

Hedge-crickets sing And now with treble soft The red breast whistles from a garden-croft.

Gathering swallows twitter In the distant woods On Hill of Berries All the air is filled With sounds of nature Along Shannon’s edge.

The Rainbow looks at the world With glorious eye, As it comes and goes And lovely is the rose, Wisteria blue and marigold – a confusion.

Scent a haunting Reminder of Summer; And rain is never far away.

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Lip Sync and Ghost Singers Lip sync battles are featured on TV at the present time. Lip sync is a technical term for pre recorded vocals matching a speaking or singing persons lip movements "The hills are alive with the sound of Music".

Julie Andrews's singing was as authentic as the lady herself. She had no need to avail of a "ghost singer", or to lip sync, as she played the role of Maria in the wonderful production "The Sound of music" filmed in 1965.

It is the story of a young woman who left a convent to become a governess to the seven children of Captain Von Trapp. She later married him, and they formed a concert group. A lady called Marni Nxon played the role of Sr. Sophia in that film, she had a beautiful singing voice and actually dubbed other star's voices in many films.

The King and I, also a Rogers and Hammerstein production was filmed in 1956. Yul Brynner played the King of Siam opposite Deborah Kerr who played Anna. Marni Nixon sang six of Kerr's songs, but she only received the paltry sum of $10.000 and the film made millions at the box office.

She also sang for Audrey Hepburn in Lerner & Loewe's "My Fair Lady ".

Audrey herself sang "Just you wait ‘Enri ‘Iggins ". Rex Harrison, the male lead in that film, had a poor singing voice, but spoke his songs in key which proved effective, as in "Why can't a woman be more like a Man".

Marni Nixon was an accomplished singer in her own right. She sang opera and recorded many songs. She also dubbed Natelie Wood in Leonard Bernstein's "Westside Story". This film was the 1961 version of William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It was set in New York and featured rival gangs that became violent and the film ended in tragedy. A lady called Betty Wand sang for Rita Marino in this film, and she also dubbed Lesley Caron in the film Gigi.

Male ghost singer Bill Lee sang for Christopher Plummer in the afore mentioned film" The Sound of Music". Plummer's voice was deemed to be weak so Bill Lee sang the beautiful song " “Edelweiss". He also provided many voices for Walt Disney.

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The film South Pacific, another Rogers and Hammerstein production was released in 1958. It featured sailors and nurses involved in the war in the South Pacific. A man named Georgio Tozzi dubbed Rosano Brazzi's voice. “Some Enchanted Evening” was a memorable song rendered in this manner. Co-star Mitzi Gaynor was not dubbed. “I'm gonna wash that man right outa my hair” was all her doing!

Getting back to the ladies, Kathie Green sang for the youthful Mark Lyster in the 1968 film Oliver, which was based on the Dickens novel Oliver Twist. She sang the emotional song "Where is Love". The young actor was brilliant throughout the film but did not have a good singing voice, and onions were placed under his nose to bring on the tears needed for that song!

One India Adams ghosted for Cyd Charise in the 1953 film Band Wagon, and for Joan Crawford in the film Torch Song.

In modern films the singers are not usually dubbed. In the film “Les Miserables”, Anne Hathaway sang a heart rending “I Dreamed a Dream", and proved her singing ability with all the emotion which that song required.

So, much ghost singing was used in the smash hit musical films of the 1950's and 1960's. Alas, the ghost or secret singers were not given their due recognition at the time, payment was poor and their contract demanded that the dubbing was not to be disclosed. Later, Marni Nixon got together with her fellow secret singers, and demanded and finally received some recognition and recompense, which they had so richly earned. She passed away in 2016.

We have all heard of the big Hollywood stars such as Joan Crawford, Deborah Kerr, Audrey Hepburn and Christopher Plummer, but how many of us have heard the names of their ghost singers? They helped the stars enormously on the road to fame, so let us remember them and give them their due place in entertainment history.

Yvonne Ferry

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MOUNTAIN CLIMBING You will never find me at the top of Kilimanjaro, or even half way up.

Nor will you see me scaling Snowdonia, Ben Nevis or even Croaghpatrick. That sort of thing is just not in my psyche. Physical mountain climbing on that scale I do not even entertain, however I do admire those who do, and especially those who participate in it for charitable purposes.

In this life, however, I believe that we all have mountains to climb, be they of many different sorts. In our individual lives, some of these can loom just as large as Kilimanjaro or even Mount Everest, but the same principle needs to be applied in every case. That is preparation, training, the right gear, encouragement, support, and taking on each mountain, one step at a time. I’m sure Sir Edmund Hillary when he stood at the top of Mount Everest was thankful for all the other small peaks which he had scaled previously.

Your mountain will be different from my mountain and mine will be different from anyone else’s. We are all unique. But whatever our mountains, the same principles apply and as a famous author one said “Bumps are things you climb on” and what are our mountains but large bumps or a series of bumps. As we climb them, they stretch us, test us, and strengthen us developing our skills and character as we learn endurance, patience and many other valuable qualities. Mountains in life are tough but have a real purpose in the formation of our continual development.

For some their mountain is to run a successful business. From where they are standing it seems impossible – no money, little education, no support, how would it ever happen ? However with determination, perseverance, education and support from the right quarters, it is possible to make a go of it. Starting small, it can happen with possible expansion to follow.

A friend I know says her mountain is to lose weight but no matter how hard she tries she just cannot do it. That is a real tough one to climb.

For others their mountain is simply to get through the day without blowing their top! This can be a real problem for some as the many 17

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pressures of society cram in on us and everyone wants everything done YESTERDAY. We need to remember that we have 24hrs today and that tomorrow we will have yet another 24hrs so each one should be used wisely.

Whatever your mountain, consider it well. Some mountains are not meant to be climbed alone. Is yours a team mountain? If so, think about who would be willing to join your team to help you. What assets could they bring and how exactly would they help and enable you to climb that mountain. Get your plan of action in place (with your team of course) and then set it in motion, one step at a time. After a few weeks review it.

What is working, what is not? Does it need to be adapted? If so adapt.

Remember these mountains are there for a purpose and will develop your strengths, perhaps inspiring you to go on to much better things.

Janice Dobbie

Revisiting my Native Place On a sunny March day just passed, I went to see the house where I was born, now roofless, without a door or windows. I got the sense of love and security, from that old ruin, that had existed there in my younger days. I could smell the turf fire burning on the hearth. I remember five children and my mother, a young widow, sitting around it to keep warm on a cold winter’s night; we got turns sitting on the hob.

In the shed behind the house, I had a vision of a rope hanging from the rafters – our swing. I recalled all the hours spent swinging there. In my mind’s eye I saw again the barrel outside catching the rain water.

Then I went to the well, now choked with weeds. I thought of all the buckets of water I carried in from there to the house, in hail, rain, or snow. In the dyke beside it I found a bunch of primroses with their heavenly smell.

I left with all those memories and they will stay with me, as this will always be my favourite place.

Imelda McKiernan

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Poetry in my Life My first experience of poetry was hearing my Grandmother reciting from memory as I sat beside her by the fire. I was too young to memorize many of the lines , but I can clearly recall her voice, and how she would repeat the last line of a verse as she paused to remember the next.

One of her favourites was ‘Lord Ullins Daughter’ who ran away with her lover , was chased by her angry father and was drowned.

It began A chieftan to the Highlands bound Cries , Boatman do not tarry, And I’ll give thee a silver pound To row us o’er the ferry.

And the last lines ran The waters wild went o’er his child And he was left lamenting.

At primary school, we learned many poems and recited them in class.

We loved the jaunty rhythm of ~Up the airy Mountain~ and ~I remember, I remember the house where I was born~ and we felt the wistful longing in

~The old Woman of the Roads~ ~Oh To Have a Little House…~

At secondary school the English course did not give a lot of space to Poetry, unlike the present day. Mostly it was studied with exams in view.

There was a section called “Appreciation of Poetry”. It was something about which we read other people’s opinions, without forming many of our own.

Fortunately in later years , I came to have a real appreciation of poetry. It is so much easier to experience a great variety of poetry because of the availability of books and the opportunity of hearing recordings by the authors , or by readers with special expertise in recitation . We can hear Seamus Heaney in his gritty Northern accent , and Brendan Kennelly in 19

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the soft tones of his native Kerry. Getting to know the lives of poets leads to understanding of their themes , and how the imagery in their poems comes from the environment in which they lived.

Patrick Kavanagh celebrates his native county in the lines ~Monaghan hills, you made me The sort of man I am~ Emily Dickinson lived a secluded life in Massechusetts. . Many of her poems are dark and dig deep into the mystery of Life and Death— Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves And immortality~ W. B.Yeats found inspiration for many of his poems from the landscape of Sligo – the best known- “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” Out of his life long passion for Maud Gonne McBride came - “The poet longs for the cloths of Heaven”, which ends with the memorable lines – But I being poor , have only my dreams – Tread softly because you tread on my dreams Noreen O’Rourke

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The Song of Sionainn I am Goddess of the Shannon, in Erin’s deepest heart.

The wisdom of the ages I am ready to impart.

I glide along forever, though mortals come and go, The constancy of Nature is in my endless flow.

From Cavan’s Cuilceagh mountains, through Ireland’s central plain,

I slowly wend my way down south, refreshed by gentle rain.

My lakes are full of beauty and my wooded islands green.

You may bathe in my cool waters, or sail a boat between.

But I am not always gentle; my water is wide and deep.

Beware of my strong current; remember those who weep For friends, who perished in my depths, some never to be found .

At times, I even burst my banks and flood the land around.

I saw the monks of Clonmacnoise, who settled by my side And I witnessed daring Viking raids; but my time I did bide.

King John’s castle at Athlone rose proud upon my bank And many boats passed up and down and some there were that sank .

I have seen fierce battles here; a famous siege took place, But through it all, I still flow on, in majesty and grace.

You learned to harness something of my energy, that’s true; At Ardnacrusha station, I share my power with you.

But take me not for granted; I am worthy of devotion; I am Sionainn, Celtic Goddess, ever flowing to the ocean.

Margaret Franklin January 2020

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Has Technology made a Positive or Negative Difference to our Lives?

The development of Science and Technology makes our life more comfortable and convenient, even exciting, or does it? From personalized computers in our pockets to self-driving cars, the world is at our fingertips today thanks to technology. Technology has advanced into many areas of our lives, making information more accessible, improving communication; changing transportation, and the list goes on. While it is easy to sit back and benefit from a plethora of technological advancements, it is crucial we do not become blind to its effects on society. Today, society is hugely reliant on technology and showing no signs of curtailing its dependence. When thinking about technology impacting our lives, what comes to mind may be more extreme than what is currently impacting us.

Small aspects of everyday life in society are changing, or have already changed so drastically that it is merely just a societal norm. We may not have flying cars yet, and artificial intelligence has not taken over the world, but technology is still influencing society. Something simple to notice on the surface of technologies is that people no longer memorize phone numbers. Smartphones and most phones today, in general, can carry hundreds of phone numbers that are all a click away. If you lost your mobile phone, and all its contacts, you'd have no idea how to get in touch with anyone. Technology, in the main, makes our life more comfortable and convenient and offers older people new insights, more choices to live a happier and fulfilled life.

There is a new vocabulary: High speed Broadband can now be brought to every home and business, or soon will be...through new broadband infrastructure and fibre optics. This will in turn give us opportunities to entertain ourselves through computers, electronic gadgets and games, and instant communication through mobile phones. Information technology has advanced and is readily available at the tap of a key. I can play a game of chess or create a biography. It is now blog-ographics rather than biographies. Life is changing rapidly and S & T has come a long way since the millennium. These effects make our life trouble free and it is all due to the wonder of science New Technology has brought wonderful advances in medicine, a particular tiny miracle I have personally come across is some cancers are cured through nuclear medicine with radioactive pellets injected straight to the source.

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However, scientists have created many problems which are not easy to be resolved, such as air pollution, deterioration of the environment with creation of new diseases and viruses; and the scarcity of natural resources, to which we must find solutions.

The disadvantages are there too. Men and women have misused technology and terrorists are using modern technology for destructive purposes. Due to the development of nuclear energy, horrific accidents have occurred causing death and harmful diseases. New Technology such as mobiles and high speed 'smart phones' can have ill effects on children, and the fashion of texting and use of calculators can cause lazy brain syndrome.

We must not forget that in the midst of all this powerful symbiosis of art, architecture and engineering, we are still confronted by drugs, crime, unemployment and poverty. Confronted by these new problems can scientists find prompt and feasible solutions.

Would we go back to the 'old days' pre millennium - a quieter era, a world not dominated by devices and gadgets; without disturbing piped music at every outlet and venue. There was less stress in life, less pressure to achieve, though we will remember there still existed unemployment, poverty and uncertainty, and less over-crowding, with no forced immigration of non-nationals. The question is, have the advantages outweighed the disadvantages of modern technology?

The advancement of Science and Technology has brought about both positive and negative effects on us. Let us hope new developments utilise technology in the service of humanity and improvements in the quality of life.

Helga Raesfeldt-Mings / 2020

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Roscommon Castle

The castle was built in 1269 by Robert de Ufford, Lord Justice of Ireland, beside a lake on lands seized from an Augustian Priory. It was built in a large quadrangle with corner towers and a gatehouse. A mote with a drawbridge surrounded the Castle.

It was attacked by the Connacht King Aodh O'Connor in 1272 and in 1280 it was again in the hands of the English garrison and fully restored.

By 1340 the O'Connors regained possesion of it and held it for almost two centuries. The O'Connor family enjoyed a good time and had lots of parties. They enjoyed listening to music,they liked to be entertained by minstrels and bards and loved music played on a harp. The Castle changed ownership between the Irish and English many times, through many battles.

It was made into a modern Elizabethan Mansion in the late 1570's by Sir Nicholas Malbay the English govener of Connacht. windows were added and gardens on the east side were enclosed by high walls. inside the Castle walls was a kitchen, hall, pantry and buttery, a bake house and store room where food and other supplies were kept. Toilets called garderobes were built into the thick Castle walls. A murder hole, an opening in the roof was put in so the soldiers could drop hot oil on, or shoot arrows at attackers, which were many.

In 1641 the Parlimentarian faction gained the Castle until Confederate Catholics under Preston captured it in 1645. It remained in Irish hands until 1652 when it was partically blown up by Cromwellian "Ironsides".

The castle was burned in 1690, and the remainder fell slowly into ruins.

Some of the stones from the Castle were used to build the Old Jail in the town, a stone's throw away from the Castle!

The Castle remains open to the public, but there is no access to the towers. It was not so in the 1950's when my siblings and I, having lived in view of the Castle, used climb up the crooked stone staircase and stand on top of a tower and view the scene below.

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What a wonderful scene is there now, since the great development of the Loughnaneane Park. This park is right in front of the Castle Ruins. It is a 14acre recreational area. it includes a crannog known locally as the Hill O Bones, a wild flower meadow, a swallow hole, a lake feature with ducks and various birds. Nature walks are provided to observe the wildlife.

There are picnic seats, a car park, and a children’s playground.

On a recent visit to the Park, I relished the atmosphere, with the bird song, the numerous trees and the whole picturesque scene. What a difference now from the time in the 1950s when we waded through the rough ground and the dock leaves. At that time this area hosted the football matches that had to be cancelled whenever the field was flooded!

Indeed the Castle and the Lough have proudly come into their own and they are a credit to County Roscommon. The highlight of a trip to Roscommon Town could well be a visit to Loughnaneane Park and the lovely ruins of the historic 13th century Norman Castle.

Yvonne Ferry

Summer Thunder Summer Thunder in the air, Sounds of anger and despair.

The sky lights up with lightning flash While peals of thunder roar and crash And then the rain comes pelting down It seems that everything will drown In pools of sorrow, flowing streams, Washing over all our dreams.

But now, the rain has stopped at last, The roar of thunder too has passed.

Now I feel the silent calm That soothes and brings my spirit balm.

Margaret Franklin

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MYSTERY OF THE WEST I found these early morning walks most exhilarating; the fresh air, the silence, the salty tang and the wind in my hair, while straining with Duke on the lead, my little Western terrier, across the firm sands. I often wondered just who was taking who for a walk. After some struggles with him this morning, I let him off the lead and I followed on at a more leisurely pace. He bounded across the beach chasing birds, barking at the seagulls, nosing into crevices and thoroughly enjoying himself. It was just coming up to 7.00 a.m., a lovely way to start the day. My thoughts took in the beauty all around me. The peace, the water’s edge, the tide gently lapping just a few feet away. The tide had turned just about midnight and was now on its way out. Few people walked this stretch early morning and that was one of its attractions.

Suddenly I was shaken out of my reverie by a loud barking. What was happening? I looked up to see Duke frantically barking and scrabbling into the sand about 200 metres along. I started to run towards him, shouting as I went “Stop that, come back here.” All was to no avail. He continued. Eventually I got him, pulled him back and put him back on the lead. The sight, which met me, was not what my early morning walk had prepared me for. No wonder Duke had been so excited. Was he shocked too?

There on the pale sand lay the body of a beautiful young woman face down in the ground. Thick jet-black hair lay over her shoulders. She seemed to be maybe early twenties and was wearing a cotton blue and black floral dress. She wore one black shoe, so where was the other? My first reaction was that she could be my daughter and then reality hit and I began to shiver. I didn’t know what to do. She was just so beautiful. All this time Duke was straining and barking, barking, barking. I longed to tell him to be quiet but I just couldn’t.

Suddenly by my side a voice said “Is there something wrong? I heard the dog.”

I pointed to the girl.

“Oh we must call the police.”

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Immediately he got out his mobile and called them. Why didn’t I think of that?

In a relatively short time, Gardai arrived and took in the scene.

“Who found the body?”

“I did. Well Duke did. My West Highland terrier.”

“I see. We’ll need to ask you some questions, but you’re shivering.”

He detailed a young woman to get me some tea and a blanket for which I was grateful. I didn’t say much, just talked about our morning walks on the beach then how Duke had taken off this morning and started to scrabble and bark.

“She is so young and beautiful – like my daughter.”

I wondered then who she was and where was she from? Was there a mother anxiously waiting for her to come home? I remembered the feeling well.

The senior officer came back and asked how I was. He told us “We think she’s been dead for about 4 hours but we’ll know more later.“ “The tide turned at midnight – what would she be doing out here four hours ago? Do you think she jumped? Or was pushed? Surely it couldn’t have been an accident?”

“As I say, we’ll know more later.”

“The ring.” I whispered.

“The ring.” He repeated “What about it?”

“Did you notice the Claddagh ring?”

“You’ll have to explain.”

“It has special significance; can be used as a wedding ring, engagement or friendship ring depending on the way it is worn. Check which hand it is on and which way the heart is pointing and it will tell you a lot.”

“Come with me and show me.”

They went back to the girl and found the ring was on her left hand with the heart towards her fingertips showing that she was indeed, engaged to be married. He was not from this area and did not know the story of the Claddagh ring.

“So now there is a fiancé in the picture as well.”

“I think the best thing for now is to get you home and tomorrow we will call and see if you are up to some questions, though you have been of great help already. Meantime we will get back to the station. We need to

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find out who she is, try to contact family, fiancé and friends and unravel the mystery.”

After a fitful night, my thoughts full of beautiful blue eyes, dark curls, blue flowers and lapping waves, I finally fell into a light slumber abut 5.00 a.m. Soon I awakened to prepare for my visit to the station that morning. I was taken and asked to state exactly what I had seen. This I did as clearly as possible, giving all the facts I could recall.

The questions were – who was she? Where was she from? Did anyone see her? Who gave her the ring? Was the death an accident or by design?

It was now over 24 hours since she had died so police were looking out for reports of missing persons. No one seemed to have seen her in the vicinity and yet there was this niggling thought; what was she doing there on her own when the tide was full? Did she jump, or did someone push her into the water?

Janice Dobbie

Mystery of the West She lies on the beach, still as a stone, Her jet-black tendril over her shoulders.

Who is this beauty? Where is she from?

Why washed ashore on this Western coast?

A Claddagh ring tells us she’s spoken for We hear she’s been dead for four hours.

Was it an accident, or by intent Perhaps she herself meant it to be.

A family somewhere is seeking her Searching her whereabouts just now.

Did no one see her, fishermen, friends?

This mystery woman tugs at our hearts.

Where is the one who gave her the ring?

Is it him whom she’s running from?

No one knows, no one sees, no one tells, As she lies on the beach, still as stone.

Janice Dobbie 28

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Memories of Christmas Past My memories of Christmas past are something that will never be erased as long as I live. December the 8 th was always regarded as the start of the Christmas season, but there were no shopping trips to Dublin then. I remember being taken down the town after Mass, as it was known as a ‘big shopping day’. We looked in the shop windows adorned with tinsel of all colours; the chemist shop, with lovely boxes of creams and perfume, the newsagents had rows of Christmas cards on paper clips hanging inside the windows and also toys displayed in their window. The town was a wonderland for us country children. I looked at the calendar every day and counted them down.

At last, the day came for us to buy the turkey. My mother took us in the donkey and cart. I remember crossing over the town bridge and seeing all the turkeys and geese and I can still hear the noise they made. Then my mother would go from one farmer to another, haggling about the price: being a widow, she was used to haggling. At last, the purchase was made and the farmer killed the poor turkey by wringing its neck. He kept the turkey while we went with friends of my mother to the pub. No women or children were allowed, so we went into the snug. We had lemonade, while the women had a port wine. Then, the turkey was collected, placed in the cart and we set off for home. On the way, the Christmas list was left into the grocer’s. The order would be delivered. It always had a Christmas candle and a bottle of raspberry cordial as a gift.

Our next task was collecting the holly and ivy. The week before Christmas we would go to a neighbour’s field and there, beside the crab apple tree, was a holly bush, laden with red berries. Even though we had gloves, the prickly leaves would still leave their mark. The next stop was the ruins of an old shed, where the ivy clung to the stones for dear life.

We coaxed it off, trying not to break the long stems. We carried our treasure home in the wheelbarrows. On Christmas Eve, we would decorate the Sacred Heart picture, which took pride of place, with the ivy hanging across the top and down the sides. The mantelpiece would have the holly placed on it and also the top of the dresser and the window sash.

I remember the Christmas pudding hanging up in its calico bag from the rafters in the kitchen. We had all played our part in getting it there, stirring it and making wishes. I will never forget the waiting and longing for Santy to arrive. I was hoping that Santy would bring that lovely green

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pencil case displayed in Mrs. Murray’s shop window and I’d look in each day hoping it would still be there when Santy came for it.

At last, it was Christmas Eve, the greatest night of the year. The red Christmas candle was put in the jam jar amid the holly and ivy, decorated with red crepe paper, lit and placed in the window, to light the way for the coming of Baby Jesus. I hardly slept, waiting for the sound of Santy and his reindeer. I prayed he would get down the chimney safely and did not touch the hot embers burning in the hearth. Morning at last, but no Christmas tree then, to leave the presents under, but there on the kitchen table was my green pencil case. Then we set off walking to Mass, with snow covering the ground. Magic Christmas Day was here.

Imelda McKiernan Resolution Let us make a resolution To have no more revolution, As too much blood already has been shed.

Let us talk to one another, As to sister or to brother, Until there's simply no more to be said.

Until we reach consensus, Let's not dwell on past offences, But forgive the wrongs of generations dead.

Looking forward to tomorrow, In happiness or sorrow, And build a Nation for the years ahead.

Margaret Franklin National Poetry Day 28th April 2016. The suggested theme was ‘Revolution’

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The Dead Of World War One

Their names are carved in stone On graves in France and Belgium We wear red poppies for the blood they shed Lest we forget…………

Shells and gas and mud-filled trenches Ypres, the Somme and Passchendaele Families keep momentos of the lost ones There is Grandad , proud in uniform Here is his last letter from the front We speak of all those men and boys as heroes More apt to call them martyrs And with our pride feel pity for their fate

Noreen ORourke

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Italian Holiday

I pulled back the curtains of my hotel bedroom on an October morning in 2012. I can still see the marvels that met my eyes! Blue, blue water edged with lush greenery and various kinds of vegetation. In the background majestic mountains framed this sumptuous scene. Overhead, the sky was blue, with not a cloud to be seen. I called my companion to have a look.

We had not expected to have this marvel await our eyes! It was the first day of a wonderful holiday at Lake Como, Northern Italy.

There followed 10 glorious days of sight seeing all around the area, where you took a boat, rather than a bus to travel to various places. We visited Bellaggio and Menaggio, before we took a trip to Milan,where we viewed La Scala, the statue of Leonardo da Vinci, and the Duomo Cathedral.

Back to Lake Como. On our cruise, we passed George Clooney's villa Oleandra and we got a glimpse of it, though secluded in the trees. Sir Richard Branson the English Business magnate of the Virgin Group, the singer Madonna and Donatella Versace, all have properties on this lake.

In my mind's eye, I could see Madonna having her toe nails painted by a handsome male servant and George Clooney sitting on his balcony sipping a "Cardinale". Maybe Donatella Versace would host a dinner party for her friends and produce swathes of colourful material, and get their opinion as to what would be suitable for the next Versace collection.

We went to see Villa Balbianello, house and gardens. It was here that the films Star Wars and Casino Royale were shot. Villa d'Este is a luxury Hotel in Como. There are villas to rent or buy on the Italian lakes. I don’t know the cost, but for folks like me I think Air BnB would be a more realistic prospect! That holiday was certainly one to remember.

Shakespeare wrote in his play Henry 1V, " If all the year were playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work"

I'm not so sure!

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Hy Falgia - A Tour of the Ancient Territory The last thing I wanted to do that day was disturb myself out of my comfort zone and be pressured into taking a car trip, but my sister (on holiday in Ireland for a few weeks) was determined to drag me out. I picked my way through the nettles and brambles of my brain and, as I began to see the potential of an interesting day ahead, I entered into the spirit of planning. She was doing the driving; I would make a picnic.

Thence I dived into cupboards and drawers to drag out picnic paraphernalia. Within an hour I had packed an assortment of goodies. It was still early morning when we started off, on what we called our mystery tour in Ireland's Ancient East. The bright sky was promising, no rain-sodden landscapes today hopefully.

In the course of exploring Co Offaly, many great historical facts and monuments emerged. At the dawn of Irish history this county formed portions of the territory called Hy Falgia which included Meath, Westmeath, Kildare and Dublin. From 1170 the English penetrated the country and effected settlements, though stoutly opposed. Constant insurrections against the foreign power came to no avail. The O'Connor's spreading disorder through the whole of Leinster were dispersed by a force from England under King Henry VIII and the lands forfeited were shared among the English.

Offaly, being the ancient name of the Kings County from the times of the Kings of Ireland in 906, was then divided into many baronies and at least 50 Parishes, all under this name. Surprising to me even now I was reminded that I was born in the ancient Kings County in a place called Shinrone, Birr, a former English garrison town that is still the Irish seat of the Parsons family who are the Earls of Rosse. The family were the developers of the town and for a period it was called Parsonstown. Birr Castle was enlarged over the centuries and several succeeding Earls became internationally famous as pioneering astronomers. Before I leave this amazing county I will give you one further gem of interest. It has been said that Anne Boleyn's two nieces lived in Birr. Anne Boleyn, 2nd wife of King Henry VIII had Irish connections through her cousin James Butler, 9th Earl of Ormond. Her father, Thomas Boleyn, was first given Clonony Castle in Co Offaly, and after the execution of Anne Boleyn and her brother George, the Castle passed to George's illegitimate son. Two sisters descended from this man and lived and died at this Castle. The Castle is currently being restored, and in time may be on exhibition.

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Still close to home my sister and I moved on to Banagher and visited the grave of Arthur Bell Nicolls, former husband of Charlotte Bronte. After she died in childbirth he returned to Banagher and married Mary Anna Bell his cousin. The Bell family has a large cemetery plot with ornamental trellis bordering their graves. The sleepy little town of Banagher on the banks of the Shannon had many surprising secrets, including its great connections with Oscar Wilde's father, the pioneering surgeon, Sir William Wilde. William's paternal ancestor apparently was a soldier in the army of William of Orange who came to Ireland as part of the invasion force in 1689. William was born in Castlerea and was a past student of Banagher Royal School. Banagher area is a treasure of monastic sites, a Martello Tower and a Cromwellian Castle. There are amazing examples of well preserved bow-fronted Georgian houses lining the wide streets of both Banagher and Birr. Anthony Trollope was stationed in Banagher as Post Office surveyor in 1841: it was here he wrote his first two novels, both with Irish settings.

Where better to stop for an alfresco picnic than in the heart of the green jewel of Ireland. Under blue skies we devoured chunks of fresh brown bread with pate de foi gras, Irish smoked salmon in an assortment of savoury sandwiches, washed down with hot tea en flask, while basking in the soft fresh countryside around us.

Moving on we explored a lot of Co Roscommon's famous places, including Strokestown Park House and National Famine Museum. The 18th century mansion has been faithfully preserved. I was stunned by the beauty of one particular room we were shown into. A Renoir masterpiece hung above the marble fireplace, its soft pastels echoed in the thick Oriental rug. A carriage clock was perched on the mantle opposite a crystal vase of orchids. A walnut Chippendale secretaire desk gleamed in a corner. We managed to walk a little of the six-acre Georgian walled garden complex, and got an insight into the horticultural practices from the 1740's to the present day.

So, our day of discovery was nearly over. My sister and I agreed with Oscar Wilde's saying that: "We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible".

Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

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A Scary Story for Hallowe’en: The Legend of Loftus Hall One of the scariest stories I remember from my youth, was the legend of Loftus Hall. The building is a gothic mansion, located on the bleak windswept Hook peninsula, in the very south of County Wexford, my native county.

The saying, ‘By Hook of By Crook’, may have been inspired by the Hook Peninsula, though the exact origin is obscure. Some say that the Normans, who invaded Ireland in the 12th Century, first coined the phrase. At that time, there were few safe harbours in Ireland where an invading ship might land. One was on the Hook Peninsula, in Co. Wexford, while another was on the far side of the estuary of the three sister rivers (Barrow, Nore & Suir), in the village of Crook, on the Waterford side. Some suggest that it was Cromwell who said he would take Ireland ‘by Hook or by Crook’, but the phrase seems to be of more ancient origin.

We often visited the Hook peninsula when I was a child. It is so narrow that in many places one can see the sea on either side. The treacherous rocks that have caused many fatalities, in both ancient and modern times, were an obvious risk to mariners and so a lighthouse has been situated at the end of the Hook peninsula for over 1,000 years. The lighthouse is now automatic and the homes of the lighthouse-keepers have been turned into a visitors’ centre, along with the inevitable café and gift shop. It is a popular attraction in summer.

But, in order to reach the lighthouse, you must pass by Loftus Hall, as the only road on the narrow peninsula runs right in front of it. The original owners were the famous Redmond family, of County Wexford, but the site was taken over during the Cromwellian wars, when it was given to an English family, named Loftus. Why any one would want to live in such an isolated place is beyond me, though its strategic position as a defence against invasion was obvious. However, the house itself was not designed as a stronghold, but as a residence.

A number of terrifying tales are told of Loftus Hall. There were stories of card games in which the Devil himself took part and of a young woman who died under tragic circumstances and whose ghost haunts the house.

It is said that, on one occasion, a stranger arrived at the door of the house on a stormy night and was given shelter. It is quite extraordinary that anyone would be passing that way, as the road doesn’t lead to anywhere, 35

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apart from the lighthouse. Some say that he was the only survivor of a ship that had been wrecked on the rocks. The stranger stayed for some time, waiting for the weather to improve. One evening, the visitor was invited to join in a card game that was in progress. During the game, a card was dropped on the floor and when someone bent down to pick it up, it was noticed that the stranger had a cloven hoof! When challenged, the mysterious visitor disappeared through the ceiling in a puff of smoke! It is said that the daughter of the house may have fallen in love with the visitor. After that fateful night, she locked herself in her room and starved to death. It is believed that her ghost now haunts the place Loftus Hall is now almost derelict. But it has recently been purchased and is being restored by its new owner. It can be booked for scary weekend events, by those who enjoy spooky horrors. Hallowe’en is usually its busiest time.

Margaret Franklin

Eclipse The Earth blanked out the sun, Almost.

It grew darker & colder For a short time March 2015.

Irish eyes squinted towards the heavens.

The mystery of the skies and Earth, An eclipse, Not to be seen again until 2026.

Yvonne Ferry 2015

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TELL THEM TO YOUR CHILDREN I have a wealth of unique experiences in my life now and the question is, what am I going to do with them? The idea from America is scrapbooking but that does not really appeal to me. I think the Bible people had it right when they were told “Tell them to your children and to your children’s children so that they may know.” The reasoning here is if they are not told the children will not know. This fascinated me and as I began to think about it and compare how different my life growing up was to my grandchildren’s life is now, I determined to put pen to paper.

I want to tell them about the day the oil tanker exploded in the lough and we were evacuated from school; about all the hard work at Christmas time, when 14 adults and 5 children all squeezed around the table for Christmas dinner. The table was a door kept especially for the occasion and brought downstairs with great ceremony to be covered with a pristine white sheet.

My eldest granddaughter needs to know especially just how like her great-grandmother she is. How her paternal great-grandmother loved dressmaking and even though she was not allowed to pursue this when she left school, took evening classes and became very professional eventually achieving her dream to open her own business. This took great determination and through it all she met my father!

Life could be hard. Children today have no comprehension of having to physically get up to switch on a television or to change channels never mind running in and out of the bathroom because it was so cold, that is if there was a bathroom. I remember as a child going to the outside toilet, armed with a collection of magazines as it was the only place where I could get peace to read them and not be disturbed.

I know very little of my own grandparents and feel deprived almost bereft. It is no-one’s fault. My paternal grandfather died before my father was married, and grandmother had died many years before. I have a few photos but not much more. For this reason I do not wish my grandchildren to feel the same. I want to give them as much information as possible about our family, what they do with it is up to them.

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When my brother and I were researching the family tree, we made a shocking and thrilling discovery. My grandparents had four children; my father, two sisters and a younger brother who died as a teenager. As my brother searched through the microfilm he discovered another grave with a male child in it. No other information. To this day we know nothing more and have no way of finding out. He may have been stillborn. He may have lived a few seconds, a few hours or days. We simply do not know. But he is someone whom I wish my grandchildren to know about.

Our family is quite a mix. I myself am from Co. Antrim and my husband is from Scotland. My children have both married Limerick people so the grandchildren have interesting and rich family history. What stories are there to tell! Some people say you shouldn’t look into the past because you never know what you might find, but I disagree. We need to know where we come from, what our roots are, what we are made of and what we are going to make of ourselves.

My grandchildren might see me as a pensioner stiff with arthritis, but I wonder what they would think when they heard of me as a teenager sobbing my heart out because I was not allowed to go to see my favourite showband playing. It was a cruel trick played on me by my brother but my heart was broken.

All experiences were not childhood ones and all were not good either.

Some are better left out. I can hear my son breathing a sigh of relief.

However, one incident, which comes to mind, is of a Sunday afternoon when our family were very young and we were walking down by the docks in Athlone. It was February and the river was quite high. The last thing I said to my 2 year old son was “Hold tight, don’t slip off”, as we walked across the old wooden crossing at the lock gates. The next thing I knew was that I was bobbing about in the freezing cold water of the Shannon. My first thought was I couldn’t lose my spectacles or I would be completely finished. I was wearing a wide skirt, which was billowing all around me, my hat still on top of my head and something green floated beside me. I realized it was a piece of algae on top of my son’s head! I managed to lift him up and a friend and my husband grabbed him taking him to safety. All this time my daughter was standing against the wall,

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her face as white as a sheet. My next thought was “This is supposed to be quite a pleasant way to die.” I wasn’t worried, as I knew I was ready to meet my Lord. I was still bobbing up and down when an arm reached out and then another. At last I was unceremoniously bundled into the boot of the car and taken home. Once home, we were all dried and clothed, and hopefully in our right minds. The consequence of this is that my son has ensured all his children have learnt to swim, but who has taken them to learn, but his wife.

I thought my life was boring, but as I look back, into childhood, adulthood and even recent years, there is a rich tapestry of events unique to each person. Do not let them be lost.

“Tell them to your children, and to your children’s children, so that they may know.”

Janice Dobbie

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Valencia

The ebb and flow of warm waters through ancient cairns and wedge tombs.

Down by Dohilla A few million years before did glean a fossil trackway.

And the gems off the Skelligs Between Knightstown and Hearts Content.

History will tell of the First signals sent.

But wait!...from the Fogher Rocks To the Geokauns Did you hear the mystical Mug Ruith call in the ancient ruin.

Helga Raesfeldt-Mings

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Tea – One of Life’s Great Pleasures.

On any list of pleasures of life, one would surely include tea, the most popular beverage enjoyed by the Irish and English people. What can compare with the first cup in the morning, freshly made and piping hot, a tonic for body and soul? Arriving home tired and irritable from an exhausting journey, the cup of tea will sooth the mind and restore the spirits. Someone getting back on food after an illness will begin with tea and toast. All social occasions are enhanced, by the serving of tea. People relax and conversation flows more freely.

During the Second World War, when rationing was in place, one of the great privations suffered by people was the scarcity of tea and there was a brisk trade on the black market. In my family, the extra allowance for us children was saved for my grandmother, tea being one of the comforts of her old age.

The growing of tea began in China many centuries ago, spreading from thereto Japan and later to India. A thriving trade developed as ships transported the precious commodity to England and America. From the seventeenth century, tea was served at coffee houses in London, soon becoming the post popular drink. Afternoon tea in silver tea services with cakes was presided over by the ladies of great houses in the 18th and 19th centuries. The expensive grain was stored in ornate caddies and packed away out of reach of servants.

The now indispensable tea bag originated in America, when a merchant named Sullivan sent samples to customers in silk bags. At first considered inferior to leaf tea, over time the tea bag became widely used. Before then, tea came in wooden chests, from which the grocer filled quarter and half pound amounts in strong paper bags.

Nowadays, all the tea is packed in boxes, brightly labeled by various suppliers, each vying for shelf space.

Whether we use leaves or bags, tea deserves to be made with care. A tea bag in a mug may be suitable for a traveller breaking a journey, but it is only second best. Ideally, a teapot should be used, heated first, boiling water added, a tea cosy and brewing time.

Perhaps now and then, for a special treat, take out the heirloom china. The Zen Buddhists tell us, for calm and contentment, tea should be drunk slowly, enjoying every sip.

Noreen O’Rourke

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Bealtaine Writing Project Summer Solstice The sacred Hill of Uisneach, in the centre of our land, Is still a place of mystery that we strive to understand.

To mark the Summer Solstice, people came from far and wide, To spend time in deep reflection, as they walked the green hillside.

We visited the Catstone, where Erin’s goddess lies And sat in meditation, beneath the summer skies.

And then we walked in mindfulness, to reach the highest place On that green hill of Uisneach, full of majesty and grace.

As we measured our own heartbeats by the rhythmic drumbeat We inhaled the breath of summer in this ancient royal seat.

The sound of a lone piper wafted on the perfumed air As we turned of faces westward, for a sight beyond compare.

And hundreds sat in silence, to watch the setting sun, As five millennia ago, our forefathers have done.

The golden orb sank lower in the sky, to the northwest The sun-god Lugh bade us adieu, upon the hilltop crest.

And as the last faint rays were seen to vanish from our sight We bade farewell to longest day, embraced the shortest night.

This mystic place of myth and lore remains for us today A place of peace ‘till time shall cease and Earth has passed away.

Margaret Franklin. June Solstice 2018 The above poem won the Tom Geoghegan memorial trophy 2019.

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Mass Media: Then and Now Life was much simpler in the 1950's, in many ways. With regard to the Media we had newspapers, radio, magazines and emerging TV in Ireland.

Our newspapers were much more compact, than now, they hadn't as many supplements and didn't cost as much! Four or five supplements is now the norm. with many newspapers. We had the Irish Independent, Irish Press, Irish Times, and of course the local papers. As for magazines, we had The Sacred Heart Messenger, Ireland's Own, Woman's Own, Woman's Weekly, and a few glossies such as Social and Personal, and The Tatler.

I still remember the joy and excitement I felt when a neighbour left a bundle of magazines in our house during my late teens. Woman's Way, Woman's Weekly, Woman's Own opened a new creative world to me.

There were knitting patterns, recepies for all kinds of baking and meals, beauty hints, household hints, health advice, quizzes, celebrity pictures and of course stories. I cut out many of these and pasted them in my scrapbook. The newsagent’s shelves are weighted down with papers and magazines nowadays. We have My Weekly, Take a Break, Senior Times and many glossies like VIP, Country Magazine and many more similar publications.

Radio also provided much enjoyment in the 1950's. As well as advertising programmes, there were request programmes, like Hospital Requests and serials such as The Kennedy's of Castlerosse. There was a popular feature called Dear Frankie, on which Frankie Byrne dealt with all sorts of problems, chiefly to do with love and relationships. She was one of the first agony Aunts in Ireland. If you were a fan of Frank Sinatra, you were lucky as she nearly always played one of his songs appropriate to the problem dealt with. We had only a few channels in the fifties, as Local Radio & Lyric FM came much later. I got a lovely surprise one week-end when I came home from work. There stood our first rented TV! The Late Late Show hosted by Gay Byrne, was a particular favourite of mine. I liked the news also. Glenroe and The Riordans were very popular, and gave an outlet to many Irish Actors, as Fair City does to the present day.

You could receive BBC if you had a large enough aerial on the roof of the house.

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Colour TV came to Ireland in 1976. Now we can receive at least a hundred programmes at the touch of a button!

The world of electronics has developed at an enormous rate in recent years. We have mobile phones, laptops, tablets, smart phones, all of which can connect to the internet, which is indeed the world wide web.

We have communication and education at our fingertips, which is an asset if used wisely, but alas this isn't always the case, as lots of unsavory material can be accessed, which can be harmful to young minds especially. We can read an electronically produced book called kindle.

Ours is a very different world to that of the 1950's and 1960's. I wonder what our parents would think if they saw things as they are now. Yes, life is all about change and in years to come maybe people will look back on this era as old- fashioned or backward. I wonder.

Yvonne Ferry

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Turkish Village.

Under a broad green tree, the women gather, Shaded from the scorching sun.

Their morning chores are done They've fed the children, Baked the day's supply of bread.

Dressed in black, with brightly coloured headscarves, They huddle close on the cool grass And share their cares and joys.

Honey-colored houses along the dusty street, Tiny gardens lush with cabbages and lettuce.

Here and there, a blaze of red geraniums.

Goats in sleek brown coats are nibbling sprigs of green between the stones.

Two barefoot boys scoot by on a beat-up bicycle.

At the solitary cafe, under faded awning, The old men sit, and while away the hours.

Noreen O'Rourke

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Small Ads - Big Story The advertisement said "Carer Wanted - North County Dublin".

I drove through the suburban countryside, on through a pine wood, crunching some dead bracken and leaves scattered from last year. There was a promise of spring. The ad gave no specific details, fairly short, sharp and to the point. Carer wanted, North Dublin, capable driver and a Box No. I am a capable driver I thought as I proceeded through a tall iron gate, down a short gravel driveway and faced an imposing grey house. But was I carer material? I glanced around at the freshly mowed grass, clumps of cowslips and primroses dotted under trees and stumps.

There was a rose archway leading somewhere and a crescent shaped forecourt. There's a timeless air to the place I thought. I took a deep breath. Well here goes! I rang the bell.

The man sitting opposite me on the shabby Chippendale fringed green sofa looked to be in his late 40's, perhaps older. His appearance was of an ordinary man with a rather squashed-in look, rather like a crumpled cushion, with twinkling friendly eyes. The room itself from a cursory glance was what I would call shabby chic. As he outlined the tasks the position of carer would entail, he had the air of somebody in complete control of his life. Over tea served in bone china I learned a few basic facts.... that Jim Bolger had experienced an unfortunate accident two years before that had left that part of the brain, which controls one's balance, completely and permanently out of synch. He picked up a walking stick lying by his side and remarked that without the help of this he would keel over on a windy day. He laughed in good humour, adding that he wanted to live his life as normally and independently as possible, and with the help of a carer he would achieve this. We chatted for over an hour and I had the distinct certainty that the interview was almost a fait accompli. And that interview was the beginning of an extraordinary phase in my life!

Jim Bolger enjoyed the good things of life. As a former busy auctioneer he had many contacts and he still kept up a small practice working from home, dealing in land purchase and commercial premises. He loved getting away for long weekends and though he could drive his automatic BMW, he couldn't steady his balance getting out of the car, especially in windy weather. So I was his driver and his steadying hand.

One weekend, shortly after I was formally hired in my new position we set off to the West of Ireland. He had made all the arrangements and booked Renvyle House in Connemara. I found that he was an easy travel 46

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companion, as he loved to talk about his three little sons living in south Dublin with his ex-wife. After Galway we lapsed into silence.. taking in the scenic beauty of Yeats country, the lovely Lough Corrib on our right and straight ahead the beautiful Maumturk Mountains. It was only after we entered Renvyle House Hotel that I discovered it was the former home of a man who is immortalised in Ulysses, Oliver St John Gogarty. With adjoining rooms I did what I had to do to make Jim comfortable, and thus passed a very fragrant couple of days in a beautiful quiet glade surrounded by old trees, backed by a high cliff down which a waterfall fell in thin hairs of silver.

This became the pattern of my carer's life, and over the next 18 months there were many such trips, to places like Powerscourt Demesne, or Kinsale, a favourite haunt of Jim's, where he enjoyed the top class restaurants. Another favourite was a scenic drive out of Killarney along the more unused route via Morley's Bridge and Kilgarvan to Kenmare, and slowly drive along by the Kenmare River. The purple/blue Macgillycuddy reeks were still majestically visible on our right. There was only one aspect more perfect than pulling in on an old abandoned pier against the backdrop of a quiet flowing lake, luscious willow branches swaying over the water, and that was to sit by a turf fire in a pub - always burning even in the height of summer - for a seafood feast. Jim didn't always direct me towards an award-winning gourmet restaurant; once I drove us around the remote Beara Peninsula and we found a cafe which sold the freshest cod straight off the trawler that morning, and chips to die for.

The winter months were the most difficult season for Jim as he was forced to stay indoors quite a lot, and to relieve his boredom he increased his intake of alcohol. Though outwardly his cheerfulness prevailed, it was evident that inwardly he was depressed. He opened up to me about past escapades in his life and revealed the shocking news that his accident occurred while he was drinking heavily. He tumbled down the stairs with a full glass of brandy in his hand and ended up in hospital in a 3-month coma.

In the following Spring I went abroad on holiday with my sister.

On my return I heard nothing from Jim. As I called to the house I felt a chill in the pervading silence, a cool breeze and shadows in the crevices.

I knew without a doubt that Jim's time had come, that he had been called to the beautiful Yeats country in the sky. For me, responding to a vague advertisement led to wonderful experiences and friendship with a very interesting man.

Helga Raesfeldt-Mings 47

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Maura’s Story At 7.30a.m., on a lovely summer morning, Maura walked along the grassy path, humming to herself, as she went to the callows to bring home the cows for milking. She helped her father as best she could. Her mother had died some years earlier and her brother had packed up and gone to Australia, despite his father’s pleas to stay at home and help him.

No, he wasn’t staying on the land.

Maura worked as a clerk in the creamery – a humdrum job listening to the farmers, day after day, complaining about the weather or the price of cattle and milk. Her only outing was on a Sunday night, when she dressed up and went to the dance. It too had farmers’ sons there. But they did not talk farming, as they had enough of that during the week.

Maura had great plans for the future. She thought that after her father’s death, she would sell up and head for the ‘land of plenty’, to be near her brother, who had got married and had a family. But her father’s death came suddenly. Her brother did not, or would not come home for the funeral. Maura was left to do everything by herself.

The biggest shock of all came when the Will was read. Her father had left everything to her brother, as he wanted the name to be carried on.

Maura was left ‘high and dry’, as they say. Her brother and his family then came home and she found herself in the way. There was no room for two women in the house. With her small savings she decided to emigrate.

She took the boat to England, like so many of her generation. She got a job in a factory and availed of night classes to improve her secretarial skills. She became friendly with a nice Englishman on the course and friendship developed into love. They got married, bought a house and in due time, had a family.

In all the years since she left Ireland, Maura has never gone home. As she often says, “Hone is where the heart is and my heart is right here.”

Imelda McKiernan

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Mystery Man Mary examined the scruffy-looking man who was sitting directly opposite her in the cold, dilapidated waiting room of the bus station. His face looked vaguely familiar to her. He was tall and thin, had hunched shoulders, unkempt hair, with stubbly growth on his jaws and chin. She reckoned that he was in his early forties, something near her own age.

Mary was a tall, large-boned woman aged forty-five. She had dark brown hair, cut in a youthful bob. She had blue eyes and a lively confident look about her. She was very sporty; she walked, cycled and had run some marathons. But her real love was dancing. Her week was not complete unless she got in at least two or three dances. She followed all the latest country bands and loved jiving to all the fast music. She couldn’t wait to get on to that dance floor! She was of an independent nature and somewhat restless and always said that she never intended to get married and she didn’t.

The man stared back at Mary. The more she looked at him, the more she felt that she had met him somewhere, perhaps many years before.

Although he had a slight menacing air abut him, Mary decided to speak to him. “Are you going on a holiday?” She asked, noticing that he had a rather large black suitcase beside him.

“Yes” he said, “I’m going to Spain. I’m hoping to get a job there, maybe hotel work. There’s nothing for anyone in this darn country and I love the sun” he added quickly.

“I’m going to Spain myself, on holiday” said Mary, brightly. I’m joining a group who do set-dancing there, in Benalmadena”.

“I’m going to the costa too” he said, “Maybe we’ll bump into each other and have a trip around the floor together”, Mary smiled but did not answer. I hope you’ll be dressed up and look smart then, Mary said to herself as the bus arrived.

She took a front seat and he went to the back. Mary met her friend and former classmate Nora at the airport. Nora was a fair-haired stylish lady of forty-four. She had a plumpish figure and was of average height. Apart from her family, nieces and nephews, she loved animals and had cats and dogs always. She lover Art and had many paintings to her credit. She also loved to travel abroad two or three times a year. She was a magnet to men with her easy nature, but somehow she had not met the right one to date.

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Both Mary and Nora now lived and worked in Dublin, but they both camefrom Monaghan and had gone to school together. They had kept up their friendship through the years and were now looking forward to this holiday together. On the flight, Mary told Nora about the man with whom she had had those few words at the bus station and how he had looked familiar to her. She wondered had they met as children, or had they gone to the same school.

“Maybe it was Rory Kelf” said Nora, who had a good imagination.

“Do you remember he was suspended from school, after they found out that he had stolen a £10 note from Miss Crehan’s desk?”

“Had he a dimple on his chin?” asked Mary. “No” said Nora.

“Well then he’s not my mystery man” Mary concluded.

There was no sign of the mystery man on the plane or at the airport. The two women enjoyed their holiday to the full, sharing an apartment and eating and drinking to their hearts’ content. There was swimming, walking, a few trips by bus and boat and of course plenty of dancing! The ten days passed all too quickly. They boarded their plane for Dublin on a sunny Sunday morning.

Mary settled herself comfortable in her seat and opened the newspaper just as the plane began to ascend. There was the face! The face of the man whom she had met at the bus station at the start of the holiday! “Irishman arrested for drug dealing in Spain” she read. Derek Noonan was arrested in Marbella. He was part of a gang of drug dealers.

Mary quickly covered the name and showed the picture to her friend.

“That’s Derek Noonan” said Nora, after studying the face gravely.

“What’s he there for?” She read on. “Good Lord, drugs! Do you not remember he was in the class above us in national school? He had lovely blond hair and blue eyes and butter would not melt in his mouth.”

“I remember he gave me a lollipop one day, when I was crying because my mother was late collecting me for home. We were only about seven years old at the time.”

Mary too remembered Derek as a kind, thoughtful boy and wondered what circumstances had changed his life for the worse. At least the mystery that had preoccupied her idle moments during the holiday was solved. Nora was still reminiscing on those old school days.

“I had a crush on him as a teenager” she added. “We used to dance together at the disco and I really fancied him, but I think he went abroad very young; Imagine turning out like this” she continued regretfully.

“That’s life” said Mary. “Wasn’t it lucky we didn’t meet up with him last week?” “Maybe or maybe not” replied Nora wistfully.

Yvonne Ferry

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Pandemic 2020 Shielding from the Pandemic, I have become a hermit.

My life is lived on-line.

With Zoom, facetime and WhatsApp, I have a virtual life, Living through my avatar.

My personality reduced to a profile; My experiences viewed through a screen.

It is an out-of-body existence, Not really owned by me.

Will I ever truly live again?

Technology can work wonders, But it cannot replace the human touch.

I miss the hugs.

Margaret Franklin September 2020

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