A man once told me he saw a space craft hovering over Marlfield Lake outside Clonmel. This is a true story as told to me and I believe he believes it. I wasn’t there. It was a nice fresh morning in the late 1990’s, the sort day where you know will it be warm when
A young boy, to the ducks, threw some bread. “Not so close!” his parents berated. But too hard did he throw, Went head over toe, And sulked his way home, saturated.
Water is a liquid formed when two gases come together to form H O. The whole world would starve as nothing would grow without it. Everything would be barren like the Sahara Desert. Let us think of where water has done a lot of good and made the world a very beauitful place. My mind
Oh how the memories come lfooding back of my childhood, the wonderful itmes we had in Graces bog, 6 acres of magic at the back of my own home. Every season had something different to offer in this oasis of beauty. Oh how I remember the morning mist as it rose over this wonderful place
My granny grew up beside the Mulkear river at the foot of Keeper Hill in the Silvermine Mountains in Co. Tipperary. It was so close that the house flooded a few times during the winter, and Granny remembers being carried out in the middle of the night. Until the 1970’s you could only cross by
Rachfá thairis I ngan hfios duit féin-ifántas de ghiolcaigh agus locháin uisce ag síneadh uait go bun na spéire nó ar a laghad go cuar line sail I bhfad thios sa riasc.Anois tá conair dúlra,cosáin hféir agis ionad oideachais ar an láthair ach an mhaidin sin,an chéad lá de shéasúr seilge na néan sa bhliain
As I write, it is the 22nd April. The sun is shining, the bees are buzzing, the birds are singing, and the temperature is 19°C. Social isolation is beginning to bite hard. Many of my angling friends are suffering from cabin fever. We must stay within a 2km radius of home. I live in Cahir,
On the approach to Kilruane village, on the Nenagh to Cloughjordan road, there is a large area of wetland and bog. Between the bog and the road stands the parish hall – locally known as the floating ballroom. I am sure there are great stories told of dances and plays held there over the years.
He walked to Lough Derg every day during lockdown. By himself. It wasn’t lost on him how blessed he was, to have such beauty within two kilometres of his home. He didn’t have to worry about social distancing, he met no one except the birds. He would start most days at the inlet of Castle
The tractor trundled slowly over the bridge and jerked to a stop midway. “Ah it’s only yourself Albert. Are you fishing?” I was just about to reply when tractor stuttered into life. Summer on the farm is no time for long conservations, but the thread of our chat can be continued later on. Myself and
“Flow on lovely river – flow gently along ” The river Suir threads its way through the lush lowlands of South Tipperary, as it does through the pathways of my memories. Growing up in Carrick – on – Suir the river was a constant presence in our young lives. As children it was our playground;
The River Suir cutting through the Golden Vale leaving the majestic Sliabh naMban in its wake flows into my hometown of Carrick-on-Suir with a mysterious composure. This stately flow masks a turbulent force, evokes perpetuity and a seeming indifference to the generations that have traversed its banks, lived, loved, and died in the market town