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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Michelle, Tricia and Martina were off to a pop festival in the wilds of Kerry. Martina was driving as she was the only one who had passed her test. Their parents had hummed and hawed about them going, but with a long list of conditions, and assurances that the girls had enough money and ways of contacting home, they had reluctantly let them go. The three teenagers had known each other since they had started at St. Anthony’s in the ‘baby’ class. They didn’t even need to speak to know what each other was thinking.

They headed along the high narrow road over the mountains, screaming out of the window as they went through the tunnels. Sheep scattered as Martina honked the horn to move them from their comfortable position on the road. Now and again they pulled right over to let another vehicle pass them coming from the other direction. At those times they looked down at the deep valleys below, where there were oases of green amidst the blue-grey craggy rocks. By the time they had got to Kenmare they were in need of a coffee and a croissant. They pulled into a service station with a shop. They decided to eat inside at the few round tables provided for the customers.

At one of the tables sat a young guy with shoulder length brown hair. He turned to look at the girls as they sat down. Michelle noticed his blue-grey eyes, Tricia saw his dimples when he smiled and Martina was drawn to his style of shoes.

“He’s nice,” Michelle said nodding towards the guy.

“You bet,” Tricia said under her breathe.

“He certainly has good taste,” remarked Martina.

They all smiled at him as they sat down.

“We’ve no sugar on our table,” whispered Tricia to the others.

“But we don’t take sugar…” Martina said raising an eyebrow… “Ah I get your drift,” she continued as she eyed the sugar bowl on the guy’s table.

“Go on Tricia,” urged Michelle.

Tricia got up and casually went over to the neighbouring table.

“Could we borrow your sugar please?” she asked sweetly.

“Sure…maybe I could bring it over and join you,” he replied cheekily. “I’m Hector by the way.”

Hector picked up his chair and brought it over. The girls quickly moved around to make room for him. Tricia slowly put sugar in her coffee and stirred it in. She tried not to wince when she took a sip of the sickly sweet liquid. As they all sat chatting, it turned out that Hector was going to the pop festival too, but had been hitching there. Of course the girls insisted that he came with them.

Hector sat in the front passenger seat beside Martina, while the other two sat in the back. They were all chatting away quite happily, until about half a mile down the road they saw a figure standing at the roadside thumbing.

“Could you stop?” asked Hector with twinkly eyes and dimply smile. It’s my mate Luke from college.

“Okay…” Martina agreed and pulled over.

“Hi Luke! How’s it going?” said Hector. “Where are you going?”

“To Liss Valley Pop Festival,” replied Luke. “Are you going that way?”

“We are as a matter of fact,” volunteered Michelle from the back.

“Hop in here between us,” giggled Tricia. Martina threw her a glance.

Luke got in between Tricia and Michelle. He looked a bit like Ed Sheeran and was great craic.

 

Further along the road there was another guy hitching.

“Oh wow that’s our friend Matt!” declared Luke. “Would you be able to give him a spin too?”

“We don’t have room I’m afraid,” said Martina.

“I don’t mind sitting on someone’s lap,” offered Tricia.

“But it’s dangerous,” hissed Martina.

“Ah go on!” they all pleaded.

“Alright, but don’t tell Mam or Dad. They would kill me.”

So Matt bundled into the back, and Tricia sat on his lap. There was a whiff of drink off of Matt.

As they drove on, Tricia felt Matt’s hand creeping into a place it shouldn’t. She tried to pull away from him,

but he held her tight. Michelle noticed.

“Leave her alone!” she screamed at Matt, pulling at his arm. Luke restrained her.

“Are you jealous or something?” sneered Luke and tried to grab her breast.

Michelle struggled, and pushed up against the driver’s seat. This made Martina swerve.

“Take it easy,” said Hector in a low voice putting his hand on Martina’s knee.

Martina screeched to a halt. “Now get out all three of you!”

“Yeah, who’s going to make us? sneered Matt.

 

Just then a garda from the Traffic Corps knocked on the window. Martina had seen them in the mirror a

while back. She knew they took notice when she swerved. A telling off from the gards was the safer option.

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She has lost all her children

Doesn’t know if they’re dead or alive

Searches from room to room

To see if any survive

Gasping as she turns bodies over

In her deep distress

At the blood, dirt and dust

Covering the gory mess

In a room a neighbour’s son

Pleads for his mother

While dead in his arms

He nestles a baby brother

The woman and boy embrace

Crying out their pain

Together they try to trace

A face in the human remains

As they carefully pass

Motionless toddlers sit silently

With staring eyes of glass

Lost forever