This week's homework:
1. Write a catalogue poem where each line begins with the same phrase. You can use as many or few as you like of the elements of poetry we looked at in class: rhyme, rhythm, imagery, different senses etc...
(By the way, did anyone hear Joseph O'Connor's slightly more freeform catalogue poem about his teenage crush in a sweet shop on Drivetime the other night?)
AND/OR
2. Write some limericks based on local place names or people's names. For more examples, look here: http://www.webexhibits.org/poetry/explore_famous_limerick_examples.html.
If you want more info on writing them, try here: http://www.creative-writing-now.com/how-to-write-a-limerick.html.
Remember that traditionally this was a bawdy and subversive form of poetry - please feel free to follow the tradition....
AND/OR
3. Polish up your favourite pieces of writing for the final evening on 8th December. As well as your own writing, you might like to bring in a favourite poem or extract from a published writer
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Wicked Stepmother
The Wicked Stepmother
The invitation for the event of the year ‘The Princes Ball’ in the palace has arrived for I my husband and two guests so of course my boring very wealthy husband will have to come along with my two beautiful daughters. Surely, one of whom will end up with the Prince afterall why not they each have peaches and cream without a blemish complexion, soft blue eyes and hair as dark as coal. A little plump perhaps but their pleasant sweet manner makes up for it. The elder must do her best to charm the Prince at the ball and hopefully the nuptials will soon follow as time is not on her side. I summons the seamstress who arrived with lots of material to design our three gowns. I instructed her to make the finest that money can buy after all my husband was paying which made him useful for something.
My husband is 22 years senior to me so I expect him to pop off much earlier than I which will leave my two beautiful daughters and I with his wealth and this grand mansion. As for his own daughter Cinderella I’ll get rid of her some how. She is nothing, nothing good for but a slave. I keep her down in the kitchen cleaning, scrubbing and polishing the silver serving dishes. When either of my daughters orders her to do something she actually has the cheek to complain. At times I look at her and despite the rags she wears and the dirty skin I think if dressed up she could be quite pretty which means she will never be presentable and see the outdoors. She will never over shadow my two girls. Her father strongly objects at the way she is treated, how dare he. He married me after his first wife died and in doing so he fathers my daughters which are now his priority. I strongly point out that I am the Lady of the house and I have complete control over what happens within. I even overheard Cinders asking her father if she could go to the ball, imagine the cheek of her as if I would be seen with that small insignificant creature. Can you just see the Prince’s face when he would see this urchin in her rags, oh what a laugh.
Now back to more serious business, the gowns were exquisite mine was gold and turquoise and lavender for the girls. We were all going to be belles at the ball. On the night the Prince welcomed us and admired our appearance. He did promise to return to dance with my stunning daughters. Later into the evening a stunning young girl arrived dressed in pink, glass slippers and diamonds glittering from a far. The Prince immediately welcomed her and they danced. Though it killed me to say it they were a magical couple seeing eyes for no one but each other. I was fuming he was so ill mannered afterall he did say he would dance with my girls. At the dot of midnight the mysterious young girl just disappeared, now he would come over to us. Alas he did not he was too busy instructing his servants to follow her and bring her back. As the ball came to a close we went home and my daughters were distraught and very upset as was I. How could he have passed by two of the most stunning young ladies. I would find that young girl and banish her.
The following morning the servants were trying every house to see whose foot fitted the glass slipper that the much talked about girl had lost on her quick exit from the palace. I had warned my two darlings that they were to squeeze their foot into the shoe whatever pain it caused. Word was that the Prince wished to marry the owner of the slipper. The Servant arrived and my girls tried on the slipper but no matter how hard they tried there wasn’t a chance it would fit. The shock of my life was when it fitted that one Cinders down in the kitchen. How, sure she wasn’t even there but the Prince arrived to meet her and as soon as he saw her he knew those eyes and yes he asked her to marry him.
Despite my absolute shock, I feel it is important that my girls and I take a new look and devoted interest in my step daughter and her wonderful father. We’ll make it to the Palace yet.
Monday, November 21, 2011
The 24hr Shop Attendant
Working this graveyard shift from midnight to 8am is the pits but the money is good and I need it to maintain the lifestyle of a poor college student. Tonight, my priority is the latest John Grisham book ‘The Litigators’ I brought with me. There wasn’t going to be too much done tonight, Wednesdays are mainly quiet just Taxi drivers gathering for the tea, chat and petrol. The odd punter on their way to somewhere looking for the 7up or coke to water down their Jack Daniels and then those who still feel awkward asking for the obvious to ensure the birth rate does not sore. Why is it that those who’s staple diet for breakfast includes milk bread and cereal have to leave it until after midnight to realise they are short of supplies. The thought forever boggles me.
Tonight the shelves got a quick re-stocking, the paper tops were whipped off, and whatever else would be fine. I was getting down to my book. At last, perched on my stool comfy against the back of the sweet stand, munching my malteesers balancing my lucozade both being complements of the shop. I thought, I hope it’ll be quite I must get this hardback back to Graham before he knows I’ve swiped it. At the end of the first chapter I see a small red car pulling up and out comes this one with a face like the mother of sorrows. She was going to get a quick shift, I approached the hatch she wanted 4 litres of milk and 40 cigarettes. Who in their sane mind would be having a milk and cigarette party with a face like hers. She paid and left strange person I thought she looked like she had the troubles of the world on her shoulders, didn’t say please or thank you but I left her under no illusion that she was disturbing my mission. Yes, it’s now chapter 5 and I’m getting places. The Gardai have had their coffee and sausage rolls, the taxi drivers are fed and watered. It's been a handy enough night everyone came in bunches so I wasn’t disturbed continually. 5.15am I have to wash the floor, put out today’s papers as they arrive. 5.55am, I’m back if I get a good run at this I’ll get it finished. It’s a shame to have to rush it as it is a damn good read, he never lets me down Grisham.
Back in my spot, this time I have coffee and the few sausage rolls that the cops didn’t have. Head back in book and I’m in business. You won’t believe it but what arrives into the forecourt the small red car again. Out she gets, I thought to myself she couldn’t have run out of milk already. Now she was going to get a quick move. I came to the hatch and for some reason her eyes pierced through me she didn’t say anything just stared at me for what seemed like forever but it was only a fleeting moment. She wanted two dozen eggs, as I headed for the fridge I was tickled to decide what kind of orgy was she at where they had smoked and drank milk the night through and were now crowning it off with eggs. I tried to keep my face straight as I gave her the cartons but I knew she was even sadder as she had been earlier. This time I thought she had tears in her eyes but I was in a hurry took her money and back to more important matters.
As she sped off in her car I thought, the first time you were here you looked like you had the troubles of the world on your shoulders but this time you look as if everybody belonging to you had just died.
7.40am, day staff are coming on duty and I have just finished Graham’s book.
Tonight the shelves got a quick re-stocking, the paper tops were whipped off, and whatever else would be fine. I was getting down to my book. At last, perched on my stool comfy against the back of the sweet stand, munching my malteesers balancing my lucozade both being complements of the shop. I thought, I hope it’ll be quite I must get this hardback back to Graham before he knows I’ve swiped it. At the end of the first chapter I see a small red car pulling up and out comes this one with a face like the mother of sorrows. She was going to get a quick shift, I approached the hatch she wanted 4 litres of milk and 40 cigarettes. Who in their sane mind would be having a milk and cigarette party with a face like hers. She paid and left strange person I thought she looked like she had the troubles of the world on her shoulders, didn’t say please or thank you but I left her under no illusion that she was disturbing my mission. Yes, it’s now chapter 5 and I’m getting places. The Gardai have had their coffee and sausage rolls, the taxi drivers are fed and watered. It's been a handy enough night everyone came in bunches so I wasn’t disturbed continually. 5.15am I have to wash the floor, put out today’s papers as they arrive. 5.55am, I’m back if I get a good run at this I’ll get it finished. It’s a shame to have to rush it as it is a damn good read, he never lets me down Grisham.
Back in my spot, this time I have coffee and the few sausage rolls that the cops didn’t have. Head back in book and I’m in business. You won’t believe it but what arrives into the forecourt the small red car again. Out she gets, I thought to myself she couldn’t have run out of milk already. Now she was going to get a quick move. I came to the hatch and for some reason her eyes pierced through me she didn’t say anything just stared at me for what seemed like forever but it was only a fleeting moment. She wanted two dozen eggs, as I headed for the fridge I was tickled to decide what kind of orgy was she at where they had smoked and drank milk the night through and were now crowning it off with eggs. I tried to keep my face straight as I gave her the cartons but I knew she was even sadder as she had been earlier. This time I thought she had tears in her eyes but I was in a hurry took her money and back to more important matters.
As she sped off in her car I thought, the first time you were here you looked like you had the troubles of the world on your shoulders but this time you look as if everybody belonging to you had just died.
7.40am, day staff are coming on duty and I have just finished Graham’s book.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Dad
To my invalid and ageing father
I dedicate this poem
Without your activity
Our house is not a home
How I loved your laughter
When I heard you at the gate
The glint in your eyes
Looking for a debate
Now I as I watch you
As you sit and waste away
I wish I could change places
Even for just a day
Yet you seem so content
Never sigh or complain
Now I must realise
Things will never be the same
What an example
You set your sights so high
Daddy you are the best
Goodbye, Goodbye Goodbye
Frank Sheridan
Monday, November 14, 2011
10th November homework
This week's homework:
Listen to conversations around you, especially those that seem to be about more than just social chit chat. Listen to the way that people often express themselves indirectly.
Write up a piece of dialogue - either overheard or invented. Avoid the pitfalls we practised in class. For those not there last week, use the hints on this web page for writing good dialogue.
http://hollylisle.com/dialogue-workshop/
Listen to conversations around you, especially those that seem to be about more than just social chit chat. Listen to the way that people often express themselves indirectly.
Write up a piece of dialogue - either overheard or invented. Avoid the pitfalls we practised in class. For those not there last week, use the hints on this web page for writing good dialogue.
http://hollylisle.com/dialogue-workshop/
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Homework for mid-term break
For anyone who missed the last session and if you want to do the homework, here it is.
Think of a song you like and use this as a starting point for a short story up to 1000 words.
The connection between the song and the story doesn't have to be clear to anyone, even to yourself - it's just an inspiration.
You can start by using mind maps (google if unsure) to generate ideas.
Play around with ideas and experiment with different ones before starting to write.
Enjoy!
Think of a song you like and use this as a starting point for a short story up to 1000 words.
The connection between the song and the story doesn't have to be clear to anyone, even to yourself - it's just an inspiration.
You can start by using mind maps (google if unsure) to generate ideas.
Play around with ideas and experiment with different ones before starting to write.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Funeral. Final Episode
Mary and Mike had been married for forty years. They had three children, all grown up, married and living away from home. His dictatorial and tyrannical ways had encouraged their swift departure from under his roof as soon as they were viably independent. He rarely saw them. They called occasionally but he was generally at work. Mike was ten years Mary's senior. He would be retiring from his job as a driver with Dublin Bus next year after forty-five years service.
Originally from Cavan, he was now settled and living in Coolock on the north side of Dublin. Mike had retained tracesof his flat Cavan drawl, although he never returned to visit relatives still living in the old place. Mike had maintained strict control over Mary all their married life. he didn't approve of her mixing and socialising with neighbours and having a life of her own. He opened the hall door a fraction when friends called, his body blocking their entrance. Mary had to forcefully push him out of the way to allow the caller space to pass between the door and the wall. He then sat in cold silence during the visit, until eventually, Mary's friends declined her invitations to call around. She had umpteen rows with him over what she called his control tactics, she called him a psychological bully and anti social, but of course he didn't agree. When he came home from work, he expected Mary to put his dinner up on the table and stay watching his choice of television. Mary was slowly smothered. Her confidence reached rock bottom.
She astounded him one day by announcing that she had got a job. Mike's mouth went slack and for once he hadn't an instant reply, but when he did get his voice back, he spluttered, 'you've got a job, who in the name of God, in their rightr minds, would give you a job?' He looked at her over his glasses waiting for her reply. Twisting her hankie into a ball, Mary straightened her back, raised her voice and said, 'I've got a job in the local corner shop and no matter what you say, I'm going to take it.' Mike opened his eyes wide, he turned his head slightly and watched her closely, he saw the stiff back and he took in the set of her mouth and knew she meant what she said. He shook his head to cover his confusion, passing his hand slowly over his mouth, as he continued to stare at her, she turned and walked away.
It was the turning point in their relationship. Mary was at last out of the house, no longer under Mike's control and for the first time making her own money. She was independent and it showed. She now challenged his authority, she had opinions which she maintained and supported, he found it hard to accept but reluctantly he realised he had no choice. She blossomed and grew in confidence, she loved her job. Her life took on a new meaning. She got to know all the neighbours; because the corner shop played a pivotal role in the fabric of the closely knit community. For Mary, life had a new meaning and at last she was really enjoying it.
Mike was brought back to reality by the fussy undertaker; who had finally sorted out the paper work. He informed him that the body could now be released. Mike walked out the mortuary after his wife's coffin. His heart was heavy with an unfamiliar feeling of sadness and for the first time since he had married, he felt unsure of himself and alone. He had lost the woman, whom he now realised was his life, but this realization was coming too late for Mary and way too late for Mike. He now felt he had nothing worth living for and without Mary, he didn't know how to handle this new empty feeling.
Originally from Cavan, he was now settled and living in Coolock on the north side of Dublin. Mike had retained tracesof his flat Cavan drawl, although he never returned to visit relatives still living in the old place. Mike had maintained strict control over Mary all their married life. he didn't approve of her mixing and socialising with neighbours and having a life of her own. He opened the hall door a fraction when friends called, his body blocking their entrance. Mary had to forcefully push him out of the way to allow the caller space to pass between the door and the wall. He then sat in cold silence during the visit, until eventually, Mary's friends declined her invitations to call around. She had umpteen rows with him over what she called his control tactics, she called him a psychological bully and anti social, but of course he didn't agree. When he came home from work, he expected Mary to put his dinner up on the table and stay watching his choice of television. Mary was slowly smothered. Her confidence reached rock bottom.
She astounded him one day by announcing that she had got a job. Mike's mouth went slack and for once he hadn't an instant reply, but when he did get his voice back, he spluttered, 'you've got a job, who in the name of God, in their rightr minds, would give you a job?' He looked at her over his glasses waiting for her reply. Twisting her hankie into a ball, Mary straightened her back, raised her voice and said, 'I've got a job in the local corner shop and no matter what you say, I'm going to take it.' Mike opened his eyes wide, he turned his head slightly and watched her closely, he saw the stiff back and he took in the set of her mouth and knew she meant what she said. He shook his head to cover his confusion, passing his hand slowly over his mouth, as he continued to stare at her, she turned and walked away.
It was the turning point in their relationship. Mary was at last out of the house, no longer under Mike's control and for the first time making her own money. She was independent and it showed. She now challenged his authority, she had opinions which she maintained and supported, he found it hard to accept but reluctantly he realised he had no choice. She blossomed and grew in confidence, she loved her job. Her life took on a new meaning. She got to know all the neighbours; because the corner shop played a pivotal role in the fabric of the closely knit community. For Mary, life had a new meaning and at last she was really enjoying it.
Mike was brought back to reality by the fussy undertaker; who had finally sorted out the paper work. He informed him that the body could now be released. Mike walked out the mortuary after his wife's coffin. His heart was heavy with an unfamiliar feeling of sadness and for the first time since he had married, he felt unsure of himself and alone. He had lost the woman, whom he now realised was his life, but this realization was coming too late for Mary and way too late for Mike. He now felt he had nothing worth living for and without Mary, he didn't know how to handle this new empty feeling.
How to comment
Hi Folks
Looks like you have the commenting sorted now but for anyone still unsure....
Under each post it should say "0 comments" or "2 comments" etc. Just click on this and it should open a box in which you can write your comment. Do this and click "Post comment".
If you're still having trouble, let me know on Thursday.
Looks like you have the commenting sorted now but for anyone still unsure....
Under each post it should say "0 comments" or "2 comments" etc. Just click on this and it should open a box in which you can write your comment. Do this and click "Post comment".
If you're still having trouble, let me know on Thursday.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Funeral. Second instalment.
He went back to the day that Mary had received the invitation from her cousin Brenda, requesting her to travel to Devon, to join in an extended family celebration for Brenda's seventieth birthday. When Mary read the letter at the breakfast table, Mike, without giving it a second thought, had instantly put his foot down and said they were not going.
'Why do you want to traipse all the way over there for that kind of thing?' he growled, 'as usual,your family must have everyone dancing attendance on them,' he continued, as he spread a generous dollop of marmalade on his toast. As far as he was concerned that was the end of the matter, in his house, his word was law, that's the way it was and that's the way he wanted it to stay.
Without saying a word, Mary abruptly stood up from the table; her chair loudly scrapped the floor as she angrily pushed it away. She sharply pulled her navy blue cardigan tightly around her generous bosom, and then clattered the dishes off the table and over to the sink, slamming closed the door of the press under the sink, after she had discarded the used tea bags. Mike looked up from his morning paper, he noticed the short abrupt angry movements and he knew she was in a tear but he didn't know what was wrong with her.
'Yerra,' he thought, 'what ever it is, she'll have to get over it.' He shrugged his shoulders and returned to reading the sport's section
Mike's wife of forty years, much to his surprise and against his expressed wishes, had travelled to England to attend the family celebration. The morning after the party Mary had collapsed and died suddenly. She had come down to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning to make herself a cup of tea, obviously she had taken a bad turn and had collapsed just inside the kitchen door and although not dead on impact, she had died before the medical team arrived. Her cousin Brenda had heard the crash, she had rushed down the stairs, ran into the kitchen where she had found Mary lying on her side in a heap on the floor. Her face was grey in colour and her breathing was noisy, in fact Brenda thought she was snoring. She knelt beside her, gently brushed her hair away from her face and softly whispered,'are you all right?' She didn't get a reply and Brenda drew back in horror when she saw the expression change on Mary's face. Her mouth twisted open, her lower lip became slack, her nostrils dilated and her chest heaved suddenly and out of rhythm as she drew her last breath. Brenda was afraid. She put her hand up to her mouth and watched in horror as she saw Mary's face go still. She saw the colour drain from her face and the grey became white. She had never seen anyone die before, but now she knew she was seeing death steal over Mary's face.
The emergency services were called, they filled the kitchen, chairs were pushed back and the kitchen table was shoved against the wall. Their equipment was scattered around the floor and the room became too small for all the people standing around watching the resuscitation. the team worked on mary for half an hour but gave up when it was apparent that nothing could be done.
Brenda then phoned Mike and between sobs and sighs she told him the bad news. Mike was shattered. Putting the phone back on the receiver he called the family and listened in sadness to their shocked gasps and cries of disbelief to the news of the sudden death of their mother. By the law of averages, Mike should have been the one to go first but surprisingly Mary had got the call, leaving Mike to muddle on. He passed his shaking hand over his bald head as he pulled out a kitchen chair and rested his small fat frame carefully on the hard seat. In shock, he bent his head into his large hands and went over the events leading up to this dreadful news.
'Why do you want to traipse all the way over there for that kind of thing?' he growled, 'as usual,your family must have everyone dancing attendance on them,' he continued, as he spread a generous dollop of marmalade on his toast. As far as he was concerned that was the end of the matter, in his house, his word was law, that's the way it was and that's the way he wanted it to stay.
Without saying a word, Mary abruptly stood up from the table; her chair loudly scrapped the floor as she angrily pushed it away. She sharply pulled her navy blue cardigan tightly around her generous bosom, and then clattered the dishes off the table and over to the sink, slamming closed the door of the press under the sink, after she had discarded the used tea bags. Mike looked up from his morning paper, he noticed the short abrupt angry movements and he knew she was in a tear but he didn't know what was wrong with her.
'Yerra,' he thought, 'what ever it is, she'll have to get over it.' He shrugged his shoulders and returned to reading the sport's section
Mike's wife of forty years, much to his surprise and against his expressed wishes, had travelled to England to attend the family celebration. The morning after the party Mary had collapsed and died suddenly. She had come down to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning to make herself a cup of tea, obviously she had taken a bad turn and had collapsed just inside the kitchen door and although not dead on impact, she had died before the medical team arrived. Her cousin Brenda had heard the crash, she had rushed down the stairs, ran into the kitchen where she had found Mary lying on her side in a heap on the floor. Her face was grey in colour and her breathing was noisy, in fact Brenda thought she was snoring. She knelt beside her, gently brushed her hair away from her face and softly whispered,'are you all right?' She didn't get a reply and Brenda drew back in horror when she saw the expression change on Mary's face. Her mouth twisted open, her lower lip became slack, her nostrils dilated and her chest heaved suddenly and out of rhythm as she drew her last breath. Brenda was afraid. She put her hand up to her mouth and watched in horror as she saw Mary's face go still. She saw the colour drain from her face and the grey became white. She had never seen anyone die before, but now she knew she was seeing death steal over Mary's face.
The emergency services were called, they filled the kitchen, chairs were pushed back and the kitchen table was shoved against the wall. Their equipment was scattered around the floor and the room became too small for all the people standing around watching the resuscitation. the team worked on mary for half an hour but gave up when it was apparent that nothing could be done.
Brenda then phoned Mike and between sobs and sighs she told him the bad news. Mike was shattered. Putting the phone back on the receiver he called the family and listened in sadness to their shocked gasps and cries of disbelief to the news of the sudden death of their mother. By the law of averages, Mike should have been the one to go first but surprisingly Mary had got the call, leaving Mike to muddle on. He passed his shaking hand over his bald head as he pulled out a kitchen chair and rested his small fat frame carefully on the hard seat. In shock, he bent his head into his large hands and went over the events leading up to this dreadful news.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
My wedding day
I was seven years old standing in what my school called the nature garden a fenced off area that ringed the playground with trees and a pond and grassy areas and it was my wedding day. Peter was my best friend and he was also my fiance at the time. We were obsessed with having a fake marrige and i got busy organising. First the priest, my friend Anthony offered himself for the job before i even had to ask. I tried to decide how many bridesmaids and flowergirls to have. Every female in the class begged me for the honour as this was the only fake marrige to ever happen in my school. I finally settled on several girls I had Amy,Aisling and Rebecca as bridesmaids and Lillian, Emma and Stephanie as my flower girls. The location was obvious there was two lines of trees forming an arch over a mubby slope that was used as aslide by everyone I thought it would be the ideal place. Peter of course had nothing to do but show up which he assured me he would do. As I headed to the place i would me married i saw people clearing the way and spreading the news that Peter and I were getting married. As I made my way to the top of the slope a crowd consisting of most of the year twos had assembled to watch the marrige. I had no reservations about the marrige at all. I had planned in tyhe ten miutes of first break and now at lunch it was going to happen. When it came to the actual ceremony the group gathered around had stopped people sliding down the slope as Anthony made a good attempt at a wedding mass and had us saying very short vows i was pretty sure he made up. After he said you may now kiss the bride Peter kissed my cheek and everyone cheered I was now married to my best friend. Our honeymoon consisted of hanging out with our friends and talking about the wedding untill they bell rang. A year later we had another wedding for us almost an exact replica of the previous years one. Exept a couple of days later I found out he was moving to "somewhere near Manchester" and a couple of weeks later my pretend husband had gone never to be seen again.
I was seven years old standing in what my school called the nature garden a fenced off area that ringed the playground with trees and a pond and grassy areas and it was my wedding day. Peter was my best friend and he was also my fiance at the time. We were obsessed with having a fake marrige and i got busy organising. First the priest, my friend Anthony offered himself for the job before i even had to ask. I tried to decide how many bridesmaids and flowergirls to have. Every female in the class begged me for the honour as this was the only fake marrige to ever happen in my school. I finally settled on several girls I had Amy,Aisling and Rebecca as bridesmaids and Lillian, Emma and Stephanie as my flower girls. The location was obvious there was two lines of trees forming an arch over a mubby slope that was used as aslide by everyone I thought it would be the ideal place. Peter of course had nothing to do but show up which he assured me he would do. As I headed to the place i would me married i saw people clearing the way and spreading the news that Peter and I were getting married. As I made my way to the top of the slope a crowd consisting of most of the year twos had assembled to watch the marrige. I had no reservations about the marrige at all. I had planned in tyhe ten miutes of first break and now at lunch it was going to happen. When it came to the actual ceremony the group gathered around had stopped people sliding down the slope as Anthony made a good attempt at a wedding mass and had us saying very short vows i was pretty sure he made up. After he said you may now kiss the bride Peter kissed my cheek and everyone cheered I was now married to my best friend. Our honeymoon consisted of hanging out with our friends and talking about the wedding untill they bell rang. A year later we had another wedding for us almost an exact replica of the previous years one. Exept a couple of days later I found out he was moving to "somewhere near Manchester" and a couple of weeks later my pretend husband had gone never to be seen again.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Moving On
Goodbyes are never easy, and this goodbye was no different. This was a Saturday
in July during the hot summer of 76. I'd lived with my family for seven years in one of two adjoining guards houses on the outskirts of Kilrush, a small town in County Clare. We were moving to the town of Navan in faraway County Meath. I remember sitting in the back seat of our wine coloured Escort car saying goodbye to David, my next door neighbour, who was also aged nine. The leather seats were hot from the sun and were uncomfortably sticky against my bare legs. " You know when the time comes we will be able to marry", David was saying. "Its a bit off but I'll wait if you will". We promised faithfully to write weekly until this should happen and hugged our last goodbye.
Back in the house, I went through the rooms. The sitting room with its gold stencilled walls, and the table at the end where we played draughts, cards and Scrabble and did schoolwork, all under the watchful eye of a rather scary ridged laminate framed picture of Our Lord, an Our Lord whose eyes opened and shut if you bobbed your head while staring at Him. The room looked so bare without our ancient but comfortable three piece suite, given to us by great aunt Nora before she went into a nursing home. Even the fireplace looked bereft without its brass tongs set. On to the kitchen where all the chests were ready for the removal van. Without our stuff it just wasn't home anymore. "No we are leaving the shades" , Dad was telling the removal men as they shuffled out the door with our piano, my mother's pride and joy. I then headed upstairs to get a final feel of the four rooms where I and my family had slept during my formative years. My sister Sabina was sobbing her heart out sitting on the bare floorboards where her bed used to be. My brother Colm passed, and on seeing her threw his eyes up to heaven. "Avoiding the work as usual", he muttered to my sister. From my bedroom I looked out at the back garden with its sweetpeas, marigolds and tomato plants, at the lawn where I had played so happily for most of my life. I touched the walls of my bedroom, telling each a different secret. Lastly I sat on the loo, pondering the yellow bath and sink, wondering if there would be a shower in our new house.
"Time to go", came the shout, a call I was anticipating with a mixture of trepidation and pleasure. Sabina was last down the stairs, her eyes puffed from crying. Mam was already in the car. Dad closed the front door after us and locked it dropping the key into the letterbox. All the neighbours were out to aay goodbye as we kids piled into the back seat. The goodbyes all said, finally we got on the road. The start of our long journey to another life. My mother said quietly "We'll say a few decades"
in July during the hot summer of 76. I'd lived with my family for seven years in one of two adjoining guards houses on the outskirts of Kilrush, a small town in County Clare. We were moving to the town of Navan in faraway County Meath. I remember sitting in the back seat of our wine coloured Escort car saying goodbye to David, my next door neighbour, who was also aged nine. The leather seats were hot from the sun and were uncomfortably sticky against my bare legs. " You know when the time comes we will be able to marry", David was saying. "Its a bit off but I'll wait if you will". We promised faithfully to write weekly until this should happen and hugged our last goodbye.
Back in the house, I went through the rooms. The sitting room with its gold stencilled walls, and the table at the end where we played draughts, cards and Scrabble and did schoolwork, all under the watchful eye of a rather scary ridged laminate framed picture of Our Lord, an Our Lord whose eyes opened and shut if you bobbed your head while staring at Him. The room looked so bare without our ancient but comfortable three piece suite, given to us by great aunt Nora before she went into a nursing home. Even the fireplace looked bereft without its brass tongs set. On to the kitchen where all the chests were ready for the removal van. Without our stuff it just wasn't home anymore. "No we are leaving the shades" , Dad was telling the removal men as they shuffled out the door with our piano, my mother's pride and joy. I then headed upstairs to get a final feel of the four rooms where I and my family had slept during my formative years. My sister Sabina was sobbing her heart out sitting on the bare floorboards where her bed used to be. My brother Colm passed, and on seeing her threw his eyes up to heaven. "Avoiding the work as usual", he muttered to my sister. From my bedroom I looked out at the back garden with its sweetpeas, marigolds and tomato plants, at the lawn where I had played so happily for most of my life. I touched the walls of my bedroom, telling each a different secret. Lastly I sat on the loo, pondering the yellow bath and sink, wondering if there would be a shower in our new house.
"Time to go", came the shout, a call I was anticipating with a mixture of trepidation and pleasure. Sabina was last down the stairs, her eyes puffed from crying. Mam was already in the car. Dad closed the front door after us and locked it dropping the key into the letterbox. All the neighbours were out to aay goodbye as we kids piled into the back seat. The goodbyes all said, finally we got on the road. The start of our long journey to another life. My mother said quietly "We'll say a few decades"
Monday, October 17, 2011
The Night My World Fell Apart
I had sat there for a number of days and nights. The dreaded inevitable was drawing nearer. The one thing in life I wondered if I would ever be able to face or accept.
Sitting there in the dimly lit room, the lemon walls seemed dull and gloomy the cream curtains were closing in around us. Normally a bright airy room, though the warmth enveloped us I was chilled to the bone. My dark trousers and check shirt did not protect me from that bitter cold feeling. My other family members were present almost like shadows as to me it was only him and I. He slept peacefully but I continued to talk to him as if we were having one of our usual hearts to hearts. The devoted bond we had for each other was more precious than one can know. We had soldered a long road together and whatever life would bring he was always there to carry me through.
At 1.10am I drove to the 24 hour shop for milk. The shop attendant almost begrudged my custom as he had to put down the book he was reading and serve me. He certainly had not learned any customer care skills.
Back to the house again we replenished our coffee cups and I stayed close to him once again. He continued to sleep but occasionally he would open an eye as if to check that we were all present. He looked so serene in his blue pyjamas and his grey short beard was perfectly groomed. As the dark began changing to dawn, amid his loving family he drew his last breath without any fuss just as he had lived his short life.
Sometime later, I had to go back to the same shop and there was the same assistant sitting in the same seat reading the same book. As he went to get my goods I realised that his world had not changed in those short few hours but mine had fallen apart. Little did he know I had lost my one and only brother whom I loved with all my heart.
To this day that shop attendant still stays in my mind. I expected the whole world should have stopped when my loved one had passed away.
The Funeral
Mike O'Regan was in the mortuary building at Dublin Airport, waiting for the release of his wife's remains. He was frustrated and annoyed because the red tape and time consuming formalities had delayed the discharge of the body. One of the necessary documents required by the city coroner's department had gone missing; the undertaker Mike had engaged was now in the process of sorting that out.
Mike's face was set in hard lines; his eyes were dark and miserable as he prowled the waiting room in a weary circle. he furrowed his brow as he saw the mortuary's supervisor, who was called Joe, heading, once again, in his direction. This small wizen man was getting under his skin. He took in the long face, the forced smile, the jerky hand movements, dry skin rubbing off of dry skin. He glared crossly at Joe as he heard him say, 'ya know, there isn't a day passes that we don't have trouble with some missing document or another, your case is no different.'
Mike knew that he was being set up; he knew, for certain, that Joe was just passing time and he wasn't in the mood for this. He gave him a cold stare, followed by a deadener of a look, as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes to ease the strain. He rudly turned his back on the man and walked towards the window. He just wanted to be left alone.
The waiting room was painted light beige, scuff marks were showing on the wall where the door had continually banged off the plaster. Unread magazines were scattered across the low table which seperated the rows of low, unoccupied arm chairs lined up on either side of the room. Stillness hung depressingly around the area. Even though it wasn't cold, Mike felt chilled, he hadn't slept properly since he had heard the news, may be that's why he felt cold to his marrow. He thought of all the people, who like him, had waited in sorrow, in this very room, for loved ones to be released from the holds of planes. What tears must have flowed here, how many hearts had been broken, how many lives destroyed?
The single storey, grey building, adjacent to the air freight hanger was situated well away from terminal 1 and 2. The Dublin Airport Authorities, just like every airport authority in the world, shielded travellers from the depressing realities of bringing home the dead. Coffins were off loaded from the hold long after passengers had departed into the terminal building, blissfully unaware that they had travelled with a corpse. Looking out the window of the mortuary chapel, Mike observed the comings and goings of planes, as they carried commuters and holiday makers to their various destinations and he accepted that life must go on. Not for the first time, he tried to put together the pieces of the jigsaw that had brought him to this sad and lonely place.
Mike's face was set in hard lines; his eyes were dark and miserable as he prowled the waiting room in a weary circle. he furrowed his brow as he saw the mortuary's supervisor, who was called Joe, heading, once again, in his direction. This small wizen man was getting under his skin. He took in the long face, the forced smile, the jerky hand movements, dry skin rubbing off of dry skin. He glared crossly at Joe as he heard him say, 'ya know, there isn't a day passes that we don't have trouble with some missing document or another, your case is no different.'
Mike knew that he was being set up; he knew, for certain, that Joe was just passing time and he wasn't in the mood for this. He gave him a cold stare, followed by a deadener of a look, as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes to ease the strain. He rudly turned his back on the man and walked towards the window. He just wanted to be left alone.
The waiting room was painted light beige, scuff marks were showing on the wall where the door had continually banged off the plaster. Unread magazines were scattered across the low table which seperated the rows of low, unoccupied arm chairs lined up on either side of the room. Stillness hung depressingly around the area. Even though it wasn't cold, Mike felt chilled, he hadn't slept properly since he had heard the news, may be that's why he felt cold to his marrow. He thought of all the people, who like him, had waited in sorrow, in this very room, for loved ones to be released from the holds of planes. What tears must have flowed here, how many hearts had been broken, how many lives destroyed?
The single storey, grey building, adjacent to the air freight hanger was situated well away from terminal 1 and 2. The Dublin Airport Authorities, just like every airport authority in the world, shielded travellers from the depressing realities of bringing home the dead. Coffins were off loaded from the hold long after passengers had departed into the terminal building, blissfully unaware that they had travelled with a corpse. Looking out the window of the mortuary chapel, Mike observed the comings and goings of planes, as they carried commuters and holiday makers to their various destinations and he accepted that life must go on. Not for the first time, he tried to put together the pieces of the jigsaw that had brought him to this sad and lonely place.
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