We conclude the poem of T J Charleston on The Loss of the Titanic.
Short Stories
For Fear of Little Men
I will, as I promised, soon return to our analysis of ‘steps’ (of 100Ma!) in Earth’s history. I’m afraid however that, while strolling in Narrow Water Quarry, I was taken with a compulsion to walk once again through the Fairy Glen. So I did! And thought of William Allingham’s poem, beloved of our childhood and school days. You remember it!
The Fairies
Up the airy mountain
Down the rushing glen
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk
Trooping all together
Green jacket, red cap
And white owl’s feather.
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake
With frogs for their watch-dogs
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King rests
He is now so old and grey
He’s nigh lost his wits;
With a bridge of white mist
Columcille he crosses
On his stately journeys
From Slieve League to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone
They took her lightly back
Between the night and morrow
They thought that she was fast asleep
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake
On a bed of flag-leaves
Watching till she wakes.
By the craggy hillside
Through the mosses bare
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men
Wee folk, good folk
Trooping all together
Green jacket, red cap
And white owl’s feather!
On the Buses in Kent
Perhaps other Newry exiles in England and abroad have had early experiences of work similar to my own, which follow.
Or could anyone else possibly have been as stupid as me?
None of this seemed funny at the time but I shall leave you to judge.
We were pretty desperate for work then in the early 60s and were prepared to travel to
Eenie, meenie, monie my
‘Eenie meenie, monie my
Bessalooney, boney, stry
Hare, ware, crown, nack
Alko, balco, wee wo wack!’
Farewell Poem
Farewell to every hawthorn hedge, from Killeen to Belleeks
And every pool of sticklebacks and every shady creek
In the Coffin …. 2 …
One beautiful summer’s day we arrived at these premises to make a delivery. Maybe it was the good weather, or maybe it was just that I was feeling a little sanguine …
Imperfect Peace?
Peace broke out in 1994
Then the semantic battles
Began, highly explosive verbs
And nouns were fired
Without warning by all sides,
Sending newspaper editors
Diving to the floor.
The Twelfth of July
Now Willie was an Orangeman as loyal as can be
Virtuous and upright, a decent man was he
A man who’d always do his best to help a friend in need
Poem for Niamh
Niamh
Some hours ago the water fell
To christen you, to work its spell
And wipe your slate, we hope for good
But now your life is sleep and food
Which, with our love will, by your leave
Suffice you now, our darling Niamh.
This happy birth, two thousand years
Our harbinger of peace, endears
Weaves webs of steel to bind our hearts
A laser light to pierce the dark
Darling child, my dream come true
We celebrate this day for you.
Ravelling strands of families mesh
In love knots of two minds, one flesh
Our future’s not our own, we’ll weave
An in-law maze, we’ll nod and wave
With trust: and silently we’ll pray
So this is a billet-doux to say
That on this warm mid-summer’s day
Cradled on my lawn you lay
While all around the raucous sound
Of laughter echoed in the mind
Your loved ones celebrate with food
Your birth in Christ at Cherrywood.
Our journey through this life, this fate
Ordained as by a friendly state
From Avenue to leafy meadow
Track of forebears, free from sorrow
Come and join our happy throng
We’ve waited for you for so long.