A month after my mother’s death her grandchildren gathered after Mass and planted a tree in memory of Peg. During the week, Shane called from Mayo, paused at the tree and admired the new signs of life growing.
The tide is at its lowest of the entire year these days and the razorfish are plentiful. Helen and Eddie Linnane brought crates of freshly harvested fish today for distribution in the fish market in Lyre. Briget and Mick Naughton and Tim Nash have a huge appetite for them.
Also down gathering the razors was Ned Daly of Sliss and Kilkenny. He uses the shells to make jewellery in Kilkenny. Sean Stack designs patterns and apparently the pieces are a great hit in land locked places.
“The Night Manager,” the BBC/American production of John leCarre’s novel is getting great attention here in Asdee. Olivia Colman and Tom Hiddleston are building a solid fan base here as nights have turned cold and we hear hail stone showers. There are outbreaks of binge viewing again that can only be cured by fine weather.
Who wrote this poem found hand written in a book with no author’s name?
” When the shadows of the evening are absorbed within the mantle
That the night has cast upon us when the sun is neath the sea
In the corner of my fancies then I light a little candle
To guide me ore the green fields to the days that used to be
Ring the silver bells of springtime as I love to hear them chiming
Ere the virgin dream of childhood bore the burden of a care
When the sun was neath its ladder and the lark above the mountain
Poured a welcome to the morning in the music of its prayer.
Take me back to pleasant pathways where the buoyant breeze was sweeter
To the fickle grounds of glory to which vanities aspire,
Where a white embroidered collar ringed the neck of every daisy
And a bowed bluebell beckoned to a boys imprisoned fire
With my spear a brown bull rush I rode a boyish chieftain
Ore the white steed of innocence, ore the mountains glens and dale,
Ore the cliffs where wonderous waters came like boyish fancies leaping
When I dreamt I was Sir Galahad and sought the Holy Grail.
Draining dews of night and darkness in the world’s living flame
The green upon its branches was the gift of God’s remembrance
And the anger of its thorns was a symbol of its pain
The peace he left the world reigned upon the wild labornum
Blossoms bowed in prayerful measure love in loveliness apart
As the candle dim light flickers it is waving, ever waving
Thumbing drives I can’t refuse it down the roadway of my heart.
Have you roamed in your reflections down the winding paths of childhood
Watching sunbeams kiss the cobbles that the laughing waters washed?
Can you feel them throng around you, loving hearts that filled the measure
In a surge of wild emotion from the caskets of the past?
Can you feel the peace of evening when the Gabhairn Reo was calling
Through the mist that wrapped the valley down below
Do you feel it is a fragment of the heaven that is waiting
When the great day breaks upon us and the candles burnt out?
I have asked a few people and we have ruled out Paddy Kavanagh, David Browne,Sigerson Clifford,Dan Keane, Mike Joe Thornton….any ideas??