Once upon a itme there was a river. It was called the Liffey, or An Life, or Anna Livia Plurabelle. They say that the Barrow, the Nore and the Suir are three sisters. The inteniton is poeitcal, misguidedly. Siblings don’t speak delicately to each other, they argue. Rivers don’t babble or sing, they run. They
My earliest memories of going fishing date back to the very early 1960’s. I grew up in Killester, a suburb of Dublin. The venue of my first expeditions, (three small ponds located in the grounds of Clontarf Golf Club), required me surreptitiously climbing over the wall near my home late in the evenings, when Golfers
The Person: My dad, John Sheridan aged 15 The Place: Dublin Coast It was the summer of 1946; the beginning of July and it was hot. I can only remember hot summer days in my childhood, I don’t believe it ever rained when we were on the school holidays. Now, this was a very important
Once upon a time there was a river. It was called the Liffey, or An Life, or Anna Livia Plurabelle. They say that the Barrow, the Nore and the Suir are three sisters. The intention is poetical, misguidedly. Siblings don’t speak delicately to each other, they argue. Rivers don’t babble or sing, they run. They
There are places we go that take us back in time, where the sounds and smells, and the feel of the ground under our feet says ‘you are home’. The Camac has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. It has been part of my family history. It is the
I love steering a barge through the winding countryside canalways. I enjoy seeing the cows and horses wandering alongside, the occasional bemused dog and of course the rare kingfisher flash of blue. I often wonder at how horses used to pull massive M-boats, with only a hint at their majesty remaining in the ridges and
The river Dodder played a huge part in my childhood, as it did for many others. I moved into my grandparents’ home in O’Connell Gardens with my parents and sister when I was six years old. Most of my youth was spent on the Dodder bank with my neighbours and friends. My back garden wall
I lived in County Clare for many years. One of my favourite places was walking through the Caher Valley. I would park my car in the car park of St. Patricks Church Fanore. Then walk the seven miles through the valley. I would pass through the Khyber Pass which is a more spectacular sight when
I was cycling into the Phoenix Park. Where the M50 meets the Grand Canal the water is usually dark. Sometimes you can see pondweed wafting gently there. On the M50 bridge there was a small group of teenagers in wetsuits. A low fence that I hadn’t noticed before protected them from the steep drop. There
On the first day of our school holidays, we made sure our bikes were ready for the long Summer days ahead of them. Washed, tyres pumped, chain oiled, the dynamo working – in case you were out late, the carrier on the back tested in case someone needed a lift. Day two would begin the
When my life’s day draws to a close I pray that scenes such as this, Familiar, beloved, timeless, Will play on the screen of my mind – The sun setting behind the west pier, A calm descending on the cove, The last bathers reluctantly leaving the water, People lingering in the warm evening air, Their
In memory of my Dad James J. Galvin CHAPTER 1 For me, it all began back in 1942 when I was 4 years old. My Dad would say to me “right hop up on the crossbar of the bike”. He would take me down to the Grand Canal and we would feed the swans, ducks