The Call of the Sea

Living by the Irish Sea for most of my life; the poem ‘Sea-Fever’ by John Maseifeld strikes a special resonance for me and has a particular place in my heart. “I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call That may

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The Camac River

I was born in 1957 and grew up on the Commons Road in Clondalkin village. The Camac River – also known locally as the Drinker, or the Sandy-hole, depending on which era you were born into. In my childhood we nicknamed it – the Drinker. The River was synonymous with all aspects of our childhood.

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Soggy Sandwiches

I have had many great memories and stories from the river as I live in the beautiful town of Graignamanagh, where the river barrow flows through. I have been swimming and kayaking in the river from a very young age, thanks to my dad. My dad, sister and I started kayaking a good few years

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Stories From The Waterside

In the rural Ireland I grew up in the nineteen fifties/sixties holidays abroad were not common. Indeed, a trip to the seaside was a once a year event. So ‘the river’ was very important in our lives. The river Douglas was our local river. It was easy flowing and as safe as a river could

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Back in my day

When I was young a long time ago, we lived on a farm in a place called the Illies. There were nine children in the family and we all had jobs to do every day. Our land at the front of the house sloped down three fields to the river and the field at the

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Sunday in September

It was 1960 something and myself and the Da went for a walk down the Grand Canal At Inchicore. Da had the transistor radio blaring out the All Ireland and passers-by hovered to catch the latest score. I on the other hand was not interested in the match I was fishing. I had a stick

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Riverside Magic

To have been brought up on the banks of a river – for me, the meandering Shannon – was a privilege granted to few only, I didn’t realise it as a child. To be sure, I had a vague notion of the river’s probabilities – a place to paddle, swim, fish in, stroll along its

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Ruminations on a River

Ours was a house with a view: the Abbey River, deep, brooding, like the Danes that were alleged to have formed it: Inis Oibtain, King’s Island, The Parish, There is an Isle. Like a bold child, it broke away from its mother – the Shannon – at Corbally, before being reigned in below the Curraghower

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Sandy Times

Sunday was always family day and a day when you did something together as a family so everyone looked forward to Sunday especially if the day was good in the summertime. We were lucky as we lived about two miles from the beach. This beach was called Stragill and is part of Lough Swilly one

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Shannon Fields

It is Sunday and our family are going on a picnic. Preparations begin on Saturday when tarts or buns are baked. My older sisters help my mother make sandwiches with a variety of fillings. Our house is on the Dublin Road in Limerick City and we cross it to reach the by-road that leads to

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Shoot That Weir

A conversation with Jean Montgomery. She was a paddler. Not a rower, a paddler! She paddled a kayak. It started with a beginner’s course on the River Liffey. October and icy mists swirled on the water’s surface; airborne eddies, wrapping around trees, appearing, and disappearing. Wobbling in general purpose canoes, the small group drifted down

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Six Miles From The City

It’s still dark. 4am. The Liffey flows gently by. Our van moves so smoothly it is along the empty road it almost seems silent as we pull into the car park of the Wrens Nest. Lifting the punt from the roof we make our way through the bushes to the water’s edge. The sky brightens

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