Fatal Encounter   Leave a comment

“Danny why did you do it?  What hold does she have over you?”  Fidelma shouted as she shook her brother. But Danny just groaned. She turned him over and started CPR on him. After a few minutes Danny made a spluttering noise and Fidelma smartly turned him over into the recovery position. He vomited onto the carpet and gasped. After phoning the emergency services, Fidelma filled a bowl with hot soapy water.  Carefully wiping his face, she attended to the carpet with a dishcloth. Within minutes the ambulance crew arrived, assessed her brother, placed him in the ambulance, and were speeding away to the hospital. Fidelma locked the apartment and sat into her red Mini. She put her head down on the steering wheel and sobbed.

Driving to the hospital she thought of that fateful day she had introduced her brother to Isla. Isla had been someone Fidelma had vaguely known at college, and who now, by coincidence, was working with her in the same office.  Because Fidelma hadn’t a boyfriend at the time, she had asked Danny to accompany her to the office Christmas party, and when Danny met Isla, his eyes lit up and he stumbled over his words in an awkward effort at small talk. Fidelma had to admit that Isla was stunning, like a young Cher, her voice low and mysterious and she had the movements of a cat. Danny was mesmerized.

It wasn’t long before Isla and Danny were a couple. Spellbound, Danny would have done anything for her. Knowing this, Isla took full advantage of him. She made him leave the job he loved to take up a better paid position. She wanted the right house, the right car, all the accessories of the life-style to which she aspired. Danny tried to please her but Isla grew annoyed with his continual yawning and bored expression at the lavish parties they attended. She began to look elsewhere for a bit of excitement.

Isla started hanging out with celebrity DJ Mouldy Grimaldi and took up his habit of snorting cocaine. But before long she reached a point where her demands for the drug outstripped Grimaldi’s ability to accommodate her, and she turned to buying it in the street.

Things went downhill for Isla at work and before long she got the sack. Still Danny stood by her, getting her into an expensive clinic and working around the clock to afford the fees. But Isla seemed to be making progress and was even pleasant to Danny when he came to visit her. But every time Danny asked Dr Merkel when Isla would be ready to come home, the doctor was very evasive and wouldn’t give a definite date.

Yesterday Danny had decided to go in a bit earlier than usual to visit Isla as for once he had a bit of time to spare. As he walked along the corridor to Isla’s private room he could hear her distinctive deep throaty laugh. It was coming from Dr Merkel’s office. The door of the office had been left slightly ajar and Danny saw enough to know this wasn’t an appropriate doctor/patient relationship. He had left a message on Fidelma’s phone but Fidelma hadn’t heard it until the following morning.  When she found Danny, there was an empty tablet bottle on the table beside his chair.

Now, at the hospital, she anxiously awaited news of him. Not long after arriving, the door to the waiting area opened and she saw the doctor, his face bearing the look of one wishing for all the world he was elsewhere. Fidelma screamed. The doctor felt that uselessness at the core of his being that always accompanied this part of his duty. When his patient’s sister had settled a bit he felt encouraged to suggest she join Danny’s partner and Dr Jane Merkel in the family room. “Why?” asked Fidelma. “They killed him. Let them celebrate in peace.” She turned and walked towards the exit.


Posted September 27, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Cultivating Culture   1 comment

Protect, nourish, and nurture a culture

To let it thrive and grow

Do not stick rigidly to rules and traditions

Because it has always been so.

Given the right conditions and care

Arts and ideas flow

Restricting by custom and social mores

Shouts out, “No No No!”


Culture is the manifestation of people’s

Beliefs, dreams and history

Told, sang, created, and expressed

And regarded collectively

We should respect each other’s cultures

And take pride in our own

But not be blind to that which holds back

Or free expression has flown


So go forth and enjoy your culture

And be open to others too

Take what is best and beautiful

And see what you can do

To develop and embellish it

Keeping what’s pure within

Capture the very essence

Giving new life to what has been.

Posted September 27, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Lady of the House   Leave a comment

A woman of renown
From Edgesworthstown
A life of work and a work of life
Educated, celebrated
Singular in thought
No-one’s wife
Father’s daughter
He her mentor
Equal in time of inequality
Mixes socially
With high and lowly
Strong views on society
Maria Edgesworth
Woman of high birth
Living her art in the art of living
Her Anglo-Irish experience
Giving an inward sense
Of socio-cultural giving

Posted June 12, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Lady of the House   Leave a comment

Maria Edgeworth (1 January 1768 – 22 May 1849) was a prolific Anglo-Irish writer of adults’ and children’s literature. She was one of the first realist writers in children’s literature and was a significant figure in the evolution of the novel in Europe.[2] She held advanced views, for a woman of her time, on estate management, politics and education, and corresponded with some of the leading literary and economic writers, including Sir Walter Scott and David Ricardo. ( from Wikipaedia)


A woman of renown
From Edgesworthstown
A life of work and a work of life
Educated, celebrated
Singular in thought
No-one’s wife
Father’s daughter
He her mentor
Equal in time of inequality
Mixes socially
With high and lowly
Strong views on society
Maria Edgesworth
Woman of high birth
Living her art in the art of living
Her Anglo-Irish experience
Giving an inward sense
Of socio-cultural giving

Posted June 12, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Flying Companion   Leave a comment

I made myself comfortable

For the long-haul flight

I knew I would be travelling

Through day and through night

I had just closed my eyes

When to my surprise

My reverie was broken

By big mournful sighs.

The woman beside me

Let out a high-pitched sound

Grabbing attention

From those all around.

Especially as I’m sure she knew

From the anxious, attentive

New Zealand crew.

She screamed out

Her fear of flight

And they asked me to

Help the woman’s plight.

They plied her with tablets

Coffee and drink

And she talked and talked

And my heart did sink.

It was all about herself

Her dramas, her life

But just when I was ready

To lunge with my knife

All went quiet

Except a slight snore

From a drugged-up sleep

From the woman next door.

Posted April 13, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Reverie Re-Visited   Leave a comment


The machine shuddered down in front of me

A light went on that said TIME MACHINE

I entered in and looked at the array of buttons

To choose my destination.

I chose 7 year old self

Big field at primary school

Summer term 1963

I pressed the button and

Zoomed down on the

Great Green Expanse

There I was lying in the long grass

At the edge of the field

Facing upwards towards the blue sky

Listening to the grass-hoppers chirping

And the drone of planes

Feeling the heat of the sun

The touch of long grass

Surrounding me securely

Relishing the moment

Being fully in the present

“Remember how to do this

When you grow up

And  don’t get distracted by

The world and its worries,”

I whispered gently.

My younger me cocked my head

And nodded silently.

I went away smiling

Knowing my work was done.

Posted April 7, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized

Going with the Flow   Leave a comment

The storm blew hard all night. The rain lashed out of the heavens. It rained all night and most of the next day. I thought it would never stop teeming. Eventually it did stop. I looked out the window from upstairs, and saw that the whole neighbourhood was flooded.

I rushed down three flights of stairs to the basement. Just as I had feared the basement was full of water from the overflowing street drains. Some boxes were floating around. I panicked when I saw my belongings, my family belongings, my memories being destroyed. I took off my shoes and waded into the cloudy liquid and started grabbing at boxes of precious objects that represented my whole life. It was hopeless. I didn’t know where to start. I started crying and screaming in despair. After a few minutes I realised that I had to do something if I wanted to save anything. So taking a deep breath I tried to think. What did I want to save? What was most important?

As I thought about my life and family I thought of all the photo albums and framed photos I had. Luckily the photos were in boxes up on shelves. But how was I going to get them down and safely across the rising fluid? I would have to get help. I made my way back to the basement steps. I didn’t want to open the door that led to the steps to the street, as the rainwater was already gushing under the door, so I went up to my front door.

I opened the front door. Paul Wynberg from across the street was brushing mud off his steps. I called his name. Paul stopped brushing and looked up.

“Could you help me please?” I pleaded plaintively.

“I need to get my photos out of the basement before they’re lost forever.” I smiled gratefully.

There and then he pulled off everything except his boxer shorts and braved the deluge.

“I hope you don’t catch something from the drains,” I gasped. But he was in the torrent and making his way across. I helped him up out of the murky flow and led him up to the front door.

“Wait there while I get you a towel,” I said. I went and grabbed an old towel. Paul wiped himself quickly.

“Thanks. I wouldn’t like to drip all over the house,” he laughed.

I led him down the steps to the basement and pointed to the boxes on the shelves. Without hesitation Paul entered the rising water. Dodging boxes and objects floating everywhere, he made his way to the shelves. Using his head and his hands he somehow managed to haul the first box of the shelf. Paul moved slowly back to me balancing the box precariously on his head, with his two hands trying to keep it in place. Between us we heaved it onto the steps and he went back to get 2 more boxes. Once we had all three boxes Paul helped me to carry them up to the next floor.

“You better have a shower after that,” I said practically, “and after that stay for a bite to eat and some wine.”

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he grinned.

While he showered I looked in the mirror and tidied myself up. I opened one of the boxes and rummaged around for a certain photo. I found the framed photo and dusted it with a tea-towel. I placed it carefully on the kitchen table. Suddenly I spontaneously decided to go upstairs… the dinner could wait.

Sometime later when we came down to the kitchen Paul lifted up the photo of our wedding day many years ago and looked at me with the question in his eyes.

Posted March 23, 2017 by eileenmoynihan in Uncategorized