SEPTEMBER 2005

In Inistioge we have a Poet, Maura O'Neill. For sure, she is our "Pride of Place"; her songs and poems are the kalaedescope of a generation now going on in years but not in identity - for Maura has depicted memories of her peers and relatives and there follows here a sample of these ; memories that will surely be a source of pleasure and amusement for many succeeding generations.

Mick's 70th Birthday

Do you ever think of our childhood days
When we ran wild and free,
Our pastimes were so simple then
As we roamed o'er hill and lea.

Many hours we spent in Kill field
Where we displayed our hurling skill,
And you were a "wizard" at marbles
At the bottom of the hill.

We played skittles at the Screen Lane,
All the neighbours gathered there.
And around the fire in wintertime
Mam read "Our Boys" and "Kitty the Hare".

How fast the years have passed since then,
Now we're almost "over the hill"
But it's nice to recall those far-off days
And keep our fond memories still.

Nora's Shop

There's a grand little shop down Ballyneale way
Where Nora, so jolly, always holds sway.
She has a smile and a chat for one and all,
And a good yarn or two whenever you call.

She sells duck eggs and hen's eggs straight from the nest;
Turnips and cabbage and spuds of the best;
Bacon, rashers and sausages, and all that you need
To put on the table and have a great feed.

Local lads gather in for some craic every day;
Sean, Paddy and John, such prime boys are they
Jimmy is Chairman for the hurling discourse -
The Ref. always wrong if they lost, ofcourse !!!

They talk of the weather, be it wet or fine,
The crops and the cattle are discussed all the time,
And what salmon were caught the week in the Nore,
Plus all local news, tit-bits by the score.

Good luck to you Nora, in your grand little shop -
When passing that way I will always stop
For some nice fresh eggs and the news that way.
With a chat and a yarn to brighten my day.

Nature's Miracle

The autumn leaves, like precious jewels
Adorn the woodland trees;
In showers of gold they tremble down
With every frisky breeze.

Away they dance on the highways
And through every street in town
Until they find a resting place
Beneath a hedgerow, rustling brown.

Then the trees stand stark and bare
Against the stormy sky;
Through wind and rain, frost and snow
As the Winter days go by.

Hurrah! when Spring comes round again
And bird-song heralds the break of day
"Nature's Miracle begins once more
Throughout the woods and o'er the lea.

Mushrooms

The morning dew was on the grass
When I arose at dawn
And made my way by leafy lane
To pick mushrooms on the Bawn.

Golden rays o'er the hill
Spread diamonds at my feet;
Spiderwebs adorned the hedge
Arrayed with berries sweet.

Oh. the magic of that scene
On that glorious Autumn morn
As I filled my bowl with Nature's gift
Scattered stardust on the Bawn.

Back home again, I set to work
Among the breakfast things,
Then sitting in my favourite chair
I enjoyed a feast, fit for Kings.

Summer Rain

The rain is falling, oh so softly,
Like a curtain o'er the hill
And flowers beneath the window
Give a perfume rare - the air to fill.

The swallows soaring overhead
Seem to ride the gentle breeze,
And the pigeon's call is heard
As they settle in the trees.

Now the sun is breaking through -
The "forecast" said "just summer showers."
The bees must know the weather signs
For they are busy among the flowers.

So now I'll put my 'wellies' on
And over to the fields I'll go
Mushrooms I will look for there
They've had rain and heat to make them grow.

Childhood Memories

God be with those happy days
Of my childhood, long ago,
When life just seemed to flow along
So leirsurely and slow.

We had such lovely weather then,
Days filled with fun and glee,
The sun was ever shining
In my childhood memory.

We went to school, so long ago,
Barefoot in summer time;
Such a crowd of us together
As we raced to get in line.

Going home, we strolled along
Gathering wild flowers on our way
And watched the birds feed their young
And small lambs skip and play.

When we got summer holidays
We all had jobs to do
Thinning turnips and cutting weeds,
But there was time for playing too.

In the "Kill "field down the way
Hurling games were played -
Such a crowd as gathered there
From tiny-tots to middle-aged.

Then when the days were very warm
We wentswimming in the river,
And sometimes in the stream, so cold,
The thought now makes me shiver.

We played marbles, jack-stones and skipping
And "Cabby Houses" in the Screen
And many happy hous were spent
Gathering nuts for Halloween.

Then as the darker evenings came
When the Rosary was said,
Cards were played, ghost stories told,
Until it was time for bed.

Then up the stairs by candle-light
With shadows leaping up the wall -
Quick ! Into bed, with covered head
For fear we'd hear a ghostly call.

Now, I look back o'er the years
And think of picnics in the sun
When all the neighbours got together
In those days of joy and fun.

Oh, such splendid times we had
In that happy "long ago"
We were young and carefree then
But time just flies as we older grow....

Busy Boys

Two small boys with eyes intent
Were squatting by the stream,
Gazing at the coloured stones
Caught in the sunlight's beam.

A shoal of minnow swam into view
Such excitement filled the pair
They built a dam, to imprison them,
While they searched for an old jamjar.

Back again, they made a gash
In the centre of the dam,
And wedged the jamjar in the flow
To catch as many as they can.

They closed the gash and made a pool
Their booty to impound,
Back again to catch some more,
True "Fishermen" on duty bound.

All evening long they stayed to fish
There in the stream and sand,
Two happy boys at one in thought,
Working hand in hand.

The Pattern of Saint Colmcille

The 9th of June had come again
Once more we climbed the hill,
As pilgrims did so long ago
To honour St. Colmcille.

There were people ther of every age
From grandparents to the very young
Everyone joined in with the choir
As lovely old hymns were sung .

We gathered round the altar there
Our prayers to God to tell
And after Mass we climbed the steps,
To the ancient blessed well .

Now let keep this custom on
In ages yet to come,
And St. Colmcille will be our guide,
Till we reach our Heavenly Home.

Maura O'Neill©
Inistioge

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