Glore River

When I was in high infant’s class they decided to close the school
while repairs were being done. The pupils were scattered to their
next nearest school. In my case I was sent across the river Glore to
Shanvahera. I didn’t know anybody up there and they did not know
me. The only consolaiton that I had was that the river Glore was on
way. Every morning I would stand and look into the clear silver water
as it moved off gently towards the sea. I was always hoping that I
might see a ifsh.
Some of us used to wade about the shallow river. We used to sit on
the little island and dangle out bare feet in the cool clear water. I
told a few of my closest friends about the young ifsh that I had at
home. I explained how I had got about ifve or six of them with one
swoop with a two pound jam jar. These ifsh were in a stream in our
bog garden. I had about twenty of them in a tub of water near the
house. I had sliced up some potatoes and I hope to feed them unitl
they grew into big ifsh.
Some of the bigger boys were doubftul.
“They are not ifsh, them is bleddy young frogs.”
They laughed loud and long and most of the boys joined in.
The way the boys used to play handball up against the high wall of
the school, was good. We the younger fry got no chance to play this
game. I needed a handball. In Kilkelly I asked in the shop, but they
said that there was no geittng of handballs since the war. It seemed
most unfair that these soldiers had guns to play with and aeroplane
too, and sitll they had to gather the handballs and bring them with
them. My mother said that there was a chance that Santa might be
able to get one. It was an awful long itme to wait.
In the bog garden, I saw an item half buried in the black soil. At ifrst
glance it looked like a itny saucer. I found that it was rubbery like a
ball, but it was completely lfat on one side. My mother told me to
warm it to the ifre and that it might get round. I heated it and I
carried it about in my pocket, but all was to no avail. Then one night
my father examined it.
“There is a bit of crack there and it is there that the wind has come
He heated the poker and shoved the point of it into the ball and
burned a round hole. Then he took the ball and it almost hit the roof
it was so supple.
Ball playing on you own is only poor play. I brought the ball to school
and the big fellows took the ball from me by force. It was a bit too
sotf for their game and so they began to kick it unitl it was as lfat as a
penny biscuit. I ran off to cover my tears. On the way home we
began to kick the ball in front of us and somehow it got iflled with
water. Then my friend had an idea.
If we dropped the ball into the river it might ifll up like a football. We
can catch it on the other side of the bridge. I could tell by the grin on
his face that the ball was gone for ever. Sitll I had my dream.