When I stand on the bridge in Ballytore and look into the river, I am taken back to childhood
remembering happy times spent walking the banks, going to and from school in Crookstown,
and paddling in the shallows below the bridge.
The Greise river rises in Tubber Co. Wicklow and flows into the ‘Barrow, near ‘Jerusalem’
Its path through the valley that is, Ballytore was one of the main attractions that inspired the
‘Society of Friends’ to build the first planned Quaker village in Ireland. They operated two
mills on it; one at each end of the village. All through the summer months of my growing the
river was a great attraction for families, particularly on weekends. Picnics were loaded into
prams and families headed for ‘Fuller’s Court’ where there was a lovely shady beech walk
beside the river.
What music it was to our little ears walking beside the pram as we drew near, to hear the
sound of the waterfall mingled with laughter and excited shouts of children paddling there.
Further along the bank adults often swam. Teenage boys would make floats and use tubes
paddling back and forth across the river. We once had our picture taken seated on the grassy
roof of the boathouse. I never remember seeing a boat there but there had been an inlet from
the river into the boathouse which had been invaded by reeds and flag irises. I could only
imagine what a joy it was when there was boating on the river.
Since I’ve grown, the boat house and the beech walk have vanished and the most beautiful
waterfall had to be destroyed by the council when the village flooded one very wet winter.
I’ve never fished since my early teens, but I’ve learned recently that crushed ivy berries are
irresistible to trout. What a pity we did not know that then., and a great way to collect earth
worms; is to pour warm soapy water onto grass and in a couple of minutes the worms come
to the top of the grass and give themselves up.
In the fifties fishing was a favourite pastime for young boys. My brother John would get
excited when there was a ‘flood’ on the river. With his friend Tommy they would head off,
sometimes calling at Kerwin’s Hardware for two pence worth of line. Initially their fishing
poles were stout elder sticks. Then one birthday he got a proper rod and reel for his birthday.
Dad and I, each with elder pole fishing rods, went along to see him try out his present that
evening. We were over an hour on the banks waiting in silent patience, all about a cacophony
of birds’ song and the sun setting on a perfect day, no one getting a bite.
That time of the evening would have been more suitable for fly fishing, but we only ever used
worms. Disheartened we gave up and as we were ambling slowly home along the bank. Dad
was ideally tossing his line into the water and whipping it out as he walked when, low and
behold he landed with a slap, a trout on the bank.! It had been hooked through the middle.
There were plenty of trout in the Greise at that time. On reaching home the trout was gutted
and fried in butter. My mouth is watering remembering the taste.