Well was when my story really began. Following directions, I found the well, and filled my bucket. As I made my way back, I met a neighbouring young man whom I had known previously as a lankly shy bashful young fellow who always carried a hurley while he was romance It was the Summer of
The stress had built up in me to the point where I felt I was going to explode. I could no longer cope. Grief, sorrow, anger, self-pity all swirled around my confused, tired brain. Mum was so ill, I knew she was dying, it could be days, it could be weeks, it might even be
I grew up not more than a hundred feet from the Conoboro Bridge, which spanned the River Erkina. My life is dotted with memories of the river, a river whose banks I’ve walked hundreds of times, a river whose trout I’ve caught for competitions and sport, a river with its own history and each individual
Once upon a time, the Mountmellick branch of the Grand Canal was a hive of activity, channelling brimming barges and their solid equine companions from Monasterevin, Athy and beyond. Today, the amputated waterway bustles with other colourful creatures. Stretches of it echo Kavanagh’s “leafy with love”, while elsewhere cold cement roadways have ceased its life
“Here! Hand me that pump, Har, and I’ll have these cans filled in no time at all”, said John. Looking up, Har counted five more neighbours with their tractors and trailers, behind John waiting in line to use his water pump by the Timogue River. Irritable as hell, he handed it over, saying ‘·Are ye