A Childhood Scene (Essay)

I am remembering a Christmas past, not for the usual activities associated with this festive season, but simply for a most truly memorable stroll taken by myself and the family dog, Scamp, through a beautiful snow-covered Ringsend Park.

It is a couple of days into the New Year of 1963 and just another few days remain of the school holidays. At this stage, time is moving in what almost feels like slow motion.

"Oh well, why should today be any different from the rest?" I think to myself as I lazily drag my tired body out of its warm nest. Having pulled the blankets and old overcoat back up over the bed to keep the heat in I move towards the window to see what the day has to offer.

A magnificent sight greets my eyes. Overnight there has been a heavy fall of snow. Our avenue resembles a scene from one of those old-time Christmas cards depicting images of snow-covered roofs, smoke swirling from tall chimney pots etc.  "Today will not be like any other day" I decide. With that thought in mind I quickly dress and hurry downstairs. After a warm breakfast Scamp and I set off on our travels to our beloved park, her favourite playground.

As I approach the gates I see before me a beautiful vision. Overnight, our park has been transformed into a snowy wonderland. There is not a soul in sight and as I walk along the sound of crunching snow beneath my feet is pure music to my ears. I begin to imagine I'm in another world. A world where no human beings exist, nobody to put me down or hurt me. Yes, here I can feel safe and happy. Scamp is having a good time too. She barks and rolls around and sniffs the snow for any juicy tit bits that might be lurking beneath.

Now I decide to build a snowman. Having rolled enough snow to make the body and head I set about putting him together. I want him to look happy so I carve out a large smiling mouth, turning it up at both ends. "He does look jolly" I decide as I stand back to admire my creation.

I remain in my winter paradise for quite a while after that, allowing my mind to wonder and absorb the great beauty which lies all around me. The already grey skies now begin to grow even darker as I make my way back home.I will always remember that morning. It is one of the magic moments of my childhood.


Above image taken by me in June 2005

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A Country Life (Essay)

My adoptive mother came from Co. Meath so every year, up until I was sixteen, we would spend the first two weeks of August (that's when my father had his holidays as he worked in the building trade) down the country in her wonderful old cottage where she and her many brothers and sisters were born. Two of those siblings, a brother and sister still lived there.

During those two weeks, plus a few days over a Christmas now and again, I would be transported to another world. As I had no brothers or sisters to distract me I was free to give full reign to my imagination, I was queen of my castle with my parents, aunt and uncle, my servants. I remember one time when all the hens were gathered together asleep I pretended I was a teacher and they were my pupils!

One day when I was about five years old I almost ran off with a travelling family. They used to pass by every so often in their beautifully coloured horse-drawn caravans. On this particular occasion they stopped by the gate where I'd been standing and invited me to look inside their "home" which of course I was only too eager to investigate. As soon as I was inside they immediately took off. I wasn't in the least bit upset probably because previously I was used to moving from family to family. The same can't be said of my poor mother who by then was chasing frantically after the speeding caravan! Happily, I was returned safely to the fold.

My most precious memories from those times are being woken up each morning by the cockerel, walking with the whole family along the quiet country road to 8.00am Mass on Sunday mornings, being almost hypnotised by the sound of the buzzing bees on a lazy sunny afternoon, walking with my Dad in the evenings and hearing the crickets in the ditch, also in the evening listening to the wood pigeon, watching the sun set, lying in bed at night listening to my parents and aunt and uncle talking while the gap in their conversation was filled by the slow ticking of the grand mother clock above the fireplace. Life in the country was fine.

The above image which I took in 1969 shows the cottage with the porch extension added on a few years previously.

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