The Little Brook and the World

Many years ago, I used to spend two weeks of every summer break at my Grandparents’ and that was always the highlight of my summer. Granny told many stories from the past, but Grandad only had one story. He told me that story once every year: it was about a little brook in the nearby

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The Lost Cygnet

One beautiful spring day two cygnets were born on a sunny swamp of Lough Derg, just outside the tiny village of Dromineer. “Can we look at them please!”, asked four older baby swans. “Not yet” their mother replied. Every swan was eager to meet the new-born chicks, especially Smoke, their father. One day passed and

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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 New Discovery of the Water Fish

I have three friends that I took a trip in the car to Laytown beach a month ago. When we were there, we went into the sea, and we found a new discovery – An animal about a metre long, with …. a yellow tail, a black mouth a white body a blue head and

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The Phantom Currach

On the last day of October 1923, a man was waiting by the old dock for his mate just as dawn was breaking. He had walked all the way from Blacksod Point, a distance of almost four miles, to go out into Elly Bay to lift the two herring nets they had cast the night

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The River and The Sea

There is a certain point in any conversation with a local, where my lack of knowledge of a particular person or place makes it obvious that I am not a native of these parts. “Where are you from?” “Galway.” “What part?” “Salthill.” “You must miss the sea…” Of course, I do miss the sea –

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The River Bandon An Bean Deas

I have lived with a goddess all my life. She is full of surprises; her twists and turns spectacular, unpredictable. Sometimes she looks hollow and lean timid and shy, sometimes brimming full, bubbling over. Always changing. Never ever quiet though. In the past there were times when her anger raged, erupting escaping onto the streets.

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The River Below The Town

If Rivers could talk what stories they would have to tell, good and bad. Unfortunately they can’t – at least, not in language we can understand – so we have to tell their stories ourselves. I’m from Bray in County Wicklow, and like anyone else from the town I have plenty of stories about the

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The River Castletown

She looked into the screen and waved goodbye to her students. Closing her textbook, she switched off the laptop, the diminishing icon heralding the end to her online classes for the day. Her mood was unusually low, these were strange times after all. Perhaps some fresh air might lift the heaviness from her mind. The

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The River Moy

On the border of East Mayo and Roscommon a little river rises in the hills. It winds past old cottages, trickles under grassy Boreens and loops around fields full of livestock. Eventually it meets the mighty River Moy and joins the Atlantic Ocean at Killala. This tiny Mayo river runs on two sides of my

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The River of the Town of the Waterfall of the Oak Trees

Sligo is the Shelly Place, on the Little Rough River that runs, short and fast, from the Bright Lake to the shining sea where Eva Gore-Booth’s ‘little waves of Breffni’ lap gently on the shore. Sligo is ‘the holy mountain (Ben Bulben) whose mighty heart gathers into it all the coloured days’ of Seamus O’Sullivan’s

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The Gap

My Father, the Fisherman I can still see him standing at The Gap, a local fishing spot in Thomastown, casting his line into the surging water – a man who loved the river bank and who’d spend hours waiting for the salmon to bite. Many times I was there when a tug would come on

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