Summer Knights Dash around in Open-topped Sports cars Spurred on by Their knightly quests Of seeking Damsels-in-Distress Into the knight-clubs They gallantly go Ever eager to Seek the foe Of ruffians And rascals They must oust And battle commences With a jostle And joust Victors all The Knights declare Their allegiance in The warm night air To the beauties Forever in their debt And they ride Off together Until another sunset
Phoney Virgins Rap Suddenly it’s not cool To sleep around And be a fool To one’s emotions And break the rule Of saving your Vir-gin-ity For the night of Ma-tri-mony
All those folks Are swearing things And putting on yokes Of purity rings But you blokes Feel the pull Of your natural Urgin’s And don’t be a tool For Phoney Virgins
2009 January 2009 Two thousand and nine Who knows what line You’ll pen this time As you twist and turn And we dream and yearn As new bells chime
Fuchsia and Rainbows 12th December 2008
Late summer’s evening Taking a stroll Down a West Cork boreen Out of control I saw fuchsia flaming In the valley below Beneath blood orange sun Reflecting its glow.
Late spring morning Taking a ramble Up a West Cork hill Through growing bramble Sun shone through rain Taking a gamble And towards a fairy rainbow I did scramble
Changing seasons Changing views Mixing and painting Colours and hues Capturing our being We cannot refuse A West Cork landscape Is our Muse
One Step Forward 5th December 2008 “Jeremiah, Jeremiah!” Somebody was calling him through the haze. Was he in Heaven? “Are you alright?” The voice went on. He thought he recognized it now. It was Gertrude. Jeremiah saw her face appear through the mist. He felt cold and damp now. Gertrude’s hand stroked his face, and she told him that an ambulance was on its way. She told him that she would get him a blanket, and would only be a few minutes. True to her word, it was only moments later that she reappeared from the house with a tartan blanket. Gertrude wrapped it lovingly around him. “What happened?”Jeremiah asked. “You slipped on the garden path when you were pushing the wheelie-bin back,” Gertrude replied. “I think you’ve broken your hip I’m afraid.” “I’m sure I’m fine,” said Jeremiah as he tried to move. He then cried out as he felt a sharp twinge of pain. So he lay back, and waited, and waited... while Gertrude sang ‘Their Song’ to him. At last the ambulance arrived, and the ambulance crew lifted him into the back of it. They apologized for their delay, which had happened because they had been called to a bad car accident. Jeremiah thought they would never get to hospital. The journey seemed endless as the hospital was a good distance away. Gertrude followed behind in their car. When they eventually got to the hospital, Jeremiah was taken into casualty. A nurse came and asked him questions, then a young female doctor, and then more nurses and more doctors; the same questions over and over again. He wondered where Gertrude was. Suddenly he felt alone and vulnerable, bewildered by all the noise and chaos. Then the curtain was pulled back and Gertrude was there. She held his hand and reassured him for hours, but near midnight she reluctantly had to leave him on a trolley in the corridor. They still hadn’t managed to find him a bed. Jeremiah lay there on the trolley scared about what this all meant. He was in his mid eighties and dreaded being put into some institution to end his days. The nurses checked on him from time to time, but they weren’t Gertrude. In the early morning light, he was put into a bed, and he fell asleep. Gertrude was there to visit him when he woke up. She told him that he was to be x-rayed and that if he had a broken hip, he would be operated on in the morning. So he was taken down for the x-rays, and as they thought, his hip was broken. The next morning the operation went ahead and was successful. Gertrude was waiting for him when Jeremiah came round from the anaesthetic. He felt awful. As the days went on, and the physiotherapist encouraged Jeremiah to get moving, Jeremiah just got more and more depressed. He got angry with the physiotherapist and shouted at her that she was cruel to put him through the pain, and that he would never walk again, so why bother. Gertrude came upon this scene, and taking Jeremiah by the elbow to help him hold onto the Zimmer frame, started singing ‘Their Song’...... I'll walk beside you through the world today, While dreams and songs and flowers bless your way, I'll look into your eyes and hold your hand, I'll walk beside you through the golden land.
I'll walk beside you through the world tonight, Beneath the starry skies ablaze with light, And in your heart love's tender words I'll hide. I'll walk beside you through the eventide.
I'll walk beside you through the passing years, Through days of cloud and sunshine, joy and tears, And when the great call comes, the sunset gleams, I'll walk beside you to the land of dreams.
Jeremiah looked up at her, smiled, and took one step forward.
Myths and Legends 28th November 2008 Before people could read and write, events and happenings based in some truth, were passed on to the next generation by word of mouth. This became known as the ‘Oral Tradition’. In this tradition the stories would become embellished by each individual storyteller as they were told and retold through the ages, and thus reality and fantasy became entwined, to produce the folklore of myths and legends. From early childhood when we were told nursery rhymes at our parents’ knee, and then moved on through fairy- tales, ghost stories, historical myths and legends from classical times, Biblical Tales, and onto adulthood and the Urban Myth; we have carried on this tradition. Myths and legends emanate from various cultural backgrounds and can influence the way we feel about ourselves and how we fit into a particular cultural heritage. They help us to identify ourselves with certain nationalities, race or religion. In learning to cherish our own heritage, we should also welcome cultural diversity and expand our knowledge of others traditions and customs, to enrich our experience of what it is to be human. Although I grew up in England, albeit with an Irish father, I felt drawn to my Irish heritage. I remember when I was very young my father singing me ‘Maidirin Rua’ to get me to sleep. I didn’t know what the Gaelic words meant, but felt a tie or ‘ceangal’ with my Irish forebears. When I was a bit older an Irish nurse that worked with my father used to come and babysit. She was a repository of information on Celtic ghosts and fairies. We were enthralled with her stories of leprechauns and banshees (bean si), and would beg for more as we shivered with fear and excitement. At school and church we often had Irish priests or nuns, and rousingly sang ‘Hail glorious St. Patrick’ whilst wearing clumps of shamrock sent from Ireland, along with other ‘Irish’ families. Then there were the St.Patrick’s night dances in the Irish clubs and other venues, with their mix of songs about love and battle. So there was a Catholic twist as well in my upbringing. This ancient path of Christianity was rich with myth and legend, from the lives of the saints to the reasons behind the many rites and rituals in the Church. These all had an influence on me. In individual families there are also myths and legends that are passed down. Certain objects or heirlooms come with stories of some special event or personage in the history of the family. In my own family there was a gold coloured spoon, which was probably brass, that was rumoured to have been my great-uncles, from the time he was in the Boer War. Only last week I found out from my uncle who is researching the family tree on my mother’s side, that: Frank Grove joined the Essex Regiment on 29 February 1892 and served with the Burma Mounted Infantry. He went to India from 20 Feb 1893 to 2 Feb 1900, on his way to India he was on the HMS Euphrates and suffered severe wounds to his first, second and third fingers of his left hand and was admitted to Military Hospital on 1 March 1893. He then served in Africa from 3 Feb 1900 to 14 September 1902, and home from 18 September 1902 to 28 February 1904 when he was transferred to the reserves. Whilst serving in Africa Frank was reported missing at Koorn Spruit. Frank re-enlisted to the Essex Regiment on 1 September 1914 and was transferred to the Suffolk Regiment 16 May 1916. He was then transferred to 6th Batt Royal Defence Corps on 4 August 1917 then to 52nd Protection Company RDC on 1 March 1918 then to the 464th Protection Company RDC and was finally discharged to the reserves on 3 March 1919. Frank suffered from Diabetes and had a leg amputated, he died on 4 January 1943 in the Chelmsford Hospital from ‘Hyperglycaemic Coma from Diabetes and Acute Coryza’. His brother Harry was thought to have died in France in the First World War but it has been found that Harry Grove served in the 5th Essex Regiment and went to Palestine on 16 August 1915. He was reported missing on 26 March 1917 and his parents were notified by letter dated 15 April 1917. He is reported to have died in the first Battle of Gaza. Such is the stuff of legend; epic, heroic and demonstrating pathos. Even as we live our lives now we are creating new stories to be told to future generations.
Normal Would Be Easy “We’ll get back to normal tomorrow,” my mother would say on nearly a daily basis. We would reply, “But Mum what is normal for us?” To us Normal was regular, routine, uncomplicated and definitely not being different. It may have sounded safe and boring, but sometimes we wished for Normal, as Normal would be easy. When you are going through adolescence the last thing you wanted was to stand out from the crowd. So how were we not normal? Well first of all there were six of us children, which was seen as a huge family in England. We went to church every Sunday and even went several times, which was again fairly rare. We didn’t just have one three-wheeler Reliant car, but two. Our unusual brown-sugar or date sandwiches were well known at school. My parents had the habit of picking up eccentric waifs and strays, which were shown the ‘milk of human kindness.’ I could go on..... So understandably I gradually got confused with what was and what wasn’t Normal, and often unknowingly revealed my Peculiar side. I loved to entertain others with mad impressions, silly jokes or playful pranks; but on many an occasion, the timing , place or event was wrong, and I would get that look of (that’s not normal). As I grew up I learnt to read the scenario and people around me, and to rein in some of my natural tendencies. But sometimes I slipped up, such as the time I was at a student party and was retelling the story of a real life event in Ireland, where a corpse had sat up in the coffin and scared those who had been mourning his passing. The group of students laughed at my account, but then I heard a housemate of mine who had recently lost her father burst into our gathering from an adjoining room. She stood in the doorway in disbelief and said, “Thanks very much!” She then ran from the room bawling. I felt terrible. I’m great at the faux pas, or ‘putting my foot in it’. Several times I have asked different women when their due date was, to get a cold stare and a terse reply, “I’m not pregnant.” But then again, I suppose it is quite Normal to make mistakes, I would think to reassure myself. Besides hurting people’s feelings unwittingly, as I get older I find myself drawn to others who are not quite Normal, and relishing in their different take on the world. I aspire to be like those who lift us from the humdrum and take us to another realm. Once you reach a certain age you want to be who you were meant to be, and throw caution to the wind and ‘go for it’ as they say. Watch out world here I come!
