It may be the weather today, final warming on the skin, family sitting in our garden outside my window. Whatever, it draws me to share this poem that I wrote last year in Winter when reminiscences kept the cold at bay. It also seems to be a time now when I am drawn to the past or simply old age calling me back to younger times as escape. Enjoy.
Remembrance of a Seaside Outing
Nana Dillon thought nothing
of packing a picnic, marshalling
eight grandchildren like a
duck and her ducklings,
trekking us from Crumlin,
on buses and trains, to Blackrock
on a day when the sun shone.
Sand to play on or sea to swim in
but never both. Always
midweek, when travel was easier,
famed outdoor swimming pool
beckoned but never permitted -
it cost threepence
and we would be out of sight.
Seaside was concrete steps,
outdoor stone pool, endless dips,
picnic sandwiches with sand,
orangeade, flasks of tea,
a homemade cake, sunburn,
building castles, burying feet,
sand fights, ducking heads.
Home trek always came too soon.
Tired small bodies dozing
on long seats in old carriages
behind belching steam engine.
Nana ever caring for her keep.
The final crawl from the bus,
dinner, blacked out sleep.
Joanne Powell
15.05.2018 12:45
Love this, Peter. Very evocative. Thanks for sharing.
Leo S
14.05.2018 18:24
Well done, Peter. I love the sandwiches with sand, the sunburn - how it felt like your skin was too tight to fit - belching steam engine, you forgot the smut in your eye that took ages to get out
Clíodhna
12.05.2018 21:37
Sounds like a wonderful woman - like so many Nanas!
Colm
12.05.2018 19:08
"Sand to play on or sea to swim in but never both." He he he he Love it! So true, sums up a Dublin childhood. You cant have your cake and eat it...without crunch'n sand.
Raymond Cadwell
12.05.2018 17:15
Yes very evocative--it reminds me of trips to Bray with my Mum and we have ice creamand candy floss-all on the train from Clontarf-a wonderful outing--well done Peter
Rosy
12.05.2018 16:34
Love it. Coincidentally Ive just written a similar one. Rosy
Catherine
12.05.2018 15:59
That’s a very evocative scene that you have set.
Michael
12.05.2018 13:33
That's a lovey evocation of summers in Dublin. For us it was Dollier on the No. 30 bus or our dad's Ford 'Anglia', and then Calamine lotion and tortured nights.
Brid
12.05.2018 13:10
That's beautiful Peter. What a lovely memory .Wasn't Nana Dillon marvellous.
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024