Call of the hills

On the Keeper Mountains with tis herd of horses free ranging the hillside with a view of the river Shannon behind. All morning was spent immersing myself in more memories and nostalgia to be rationed through the coming winter to re-ignite remembered instances and encapsulated childhood visions.....like the headless turkeys in Mrs Carey's yard and a wild four year old running as fast as his little legs could carry him, a dragged hurley gripped tightly in his fist....but that's for another day.

Townlands came to mind as I passed through Capparoe, Dolla, Stangs, Silvermines, Shalee and on out towards Birdhill. The cottage ruins left without "a stone upon a stone"...

Memories flooded back of funerals bonfire stretching 30 miles from "The Mines" to Roscrea....and the graveyard full of death with myxomatosis the culprit.... The loss to modernity of the family trades of farriers, wheelrights and blacksmiths looms large with me still... but I picked blackberries in the hedges as the horses nudged me for attention and that too brought fond memories.


My name it is Sean Demspey, as Dublin as can be
Born hard & late in Pimlico, in a house that ceased to be
By trade I was a cooper, lost out to redundancy
Like my house that fell to progress, my trade's a memory

The Rare Auld Times