Paddy Joe Goes Fishing

Today, Paddy Joe is a very happy man. He is going on his spring holidays. Every year, at the end of April, he sets up his fishing camp on the shores of Lough Corrib, one of the most magical places in the West of Ireland. It is a huge lake., home to more than five

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Swallow Holes

My uncle had a well fenced field surrounded on two sides by a road, the other sides lined with elegant Ash and Beech trees. It was known as the “Four Acres” but was actually 7 Statute Acres – the ‘four acres’ being the ancient Irish measure. The field sloped West to East and had a

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The Floating Sandwich

This is a true story told to me by my Nana one day One day while we were sitting by our little stream having lunch with our Nana, she was reminded of a story that her grandmother, Ellen, told her back in the 1950s when she was on her annual summer holiday with her, on

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The Mayfly is Up – Never Forgotten

The Mayfly is up. Four words that cause many a missed heartbeat when heard for the first time each year. Straight away you think of past years, and you think when can I get going? Never forgotten. One small fly provoking such action and emotion for generations. Your parents, your grandparents, yourself, your kids, all

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The Water of Woodlawn

It weaves its way through woodland, fields, ravines and bogs and meanders through the ditch near my house, a forgotten place, silent and peaceful, yet full of life. To see water in the ditch, you must push through the nettles that rise up like guards defending it. Fallen branches cross it like old bridges, some

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The lonely Ciseach

I doubt that anyone will pay me much heed, but I’ll put in writing what happened anyway. It’s not every day you get the chance to talk to a ciseach, to question a jumble of rock and earth and a rust-ing pipe. I’ll keep the background brief; what’s the point explaining if no one will

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Memories

Memories of a childhood spent in Connamara and the Caothann River. The River rises up in the mountains and flows down through the bogs to the Atlantic Ocean at Port Na Linba. It is the boundary between the villages of Lettergesh and Mullaghgloss. Mullaghgloss was where I was born and raised in the 1950’s. At

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Memories and Reflections in Connemara

The euphoria commenced as my father remarked, “who’s coming down to the Connemara shore with me to do a spot of sea-fishing?” One by one we all filtered out of my Aunt Peg’s house down the garden to the first small stone wall. Over we spilled into the field. The excitement was palpable among us

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