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"When I Dream of Ireland..." Entries



2011-09-21
I dream of all those shady deals that made me so rich. Bribing the officials to get the land cheap, then selling it dear to the developers. That is, until I became a developer myself. That was when it really took off. Sure, everyone was doing it! Wasn't the whole country buying a load of rubbish from the neighbour on the left and selling it to the neighbour on the right. The thing was to know when to stop. And that's why I'm here in sunny Portugal - and I'll never have to go near that god-forsaken place again!
Jamesie
2011-09-19
Friday evenings are best. Work at the mill is done for the week. Unless there's overtime, but that hasn’t happened this many a month now. Me and Mikey – he works in ‘shipping’ – meet at Maloney’s regular like and ease into the weekend with a bite and a few jars. But regular as clockwork, by 10 o’clock Mikey and me are singing and laughing and remembering 4 summers ago when we both went to Dublin for our first visit back home in years. Maybe it’s the Guinness, but we always start to dream of going back. Real soon.
Sean
2011-09-15
all of my senses compose a harmonious symphony of memories. I see the rolling soft green hills throughout the picturesque countryside; I hear the musically lilting accent that goes unnoticed by the native born; I taste the bold robust flavor of a pint of Guinness lifted at a neighborhood pub; I touch the sea breeze as I extend my arms to envelope all of the Cliffs of Moher; I smell the warmth of a peat fire burning somewhere in a thatched roof cottage, ready to welcome a weary traveler inside for a soothing cup of tea and a smile...
Vera
2011-09-14
Early morning is best. Dew on the grass, birds chattering, sun peeping over the hedgerow. Lying there, counting my blessings refusing to get up lest I spoil the moment. Wasn’t always so lucky. Last year lived in a flat in the city with my cat. The racket of the traffic morning, noon and night, sure you could hardly even think. Then one day everything changed. A relative in America died and left me this cottage in the country and a little nest egg so I don’t need to work any more. Magnificent! Oh! Damn that alarm spoiling my dreams….!
Frankie
2011-09-13
Yes, I still dream of the old country. Although it's a queer long time since they waved me off from the quay on my way to the land of opportunity I still remember every detail. The long days digging praties with the larks singing high in the air where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to Galway Bay. And the way the Mammy would look at you, and you after staggering in after a hard night's drinking down in the old shebeen. But I'll go back one of these fine days, indeed I will, sure I will, (cough, cough...)
Donal
2011-09-08
Ah, yes. I see those vast stretches of ice reaching far into the distance. The white-topped mountains piercing the clear blue sky. The amazing geysers that shoot boiling water high in the air, and the hot springs where you could bathe in luxury in the depth of winter. Then the friendly fishing port with its busy harbour and even busier processing plants and canning factories. And the way a total stranger will stop you on the street and rub a handful of snow on your nose to prevent frostbite. And the... Oh bother! Should have checked the tile properly.
patsy
2011-09-08
When I dream ? Nightmare, more like! Woke up sweating last night - reliving it all again. There we were on the plane, looking forward to the Spanish holiday, when they announced the diversion to Shannon, Co Clare. Something to do with bad weather. Well, we got that all right. Sitting on plastic chairs in this airport in the middle of nowhere, staring out at the solid wall of water. Nothing to do but listen to the drunks. -Must have brought the booze with them for there was certainly nowhere to buy anything, not even a cup of tea...
v
2011-09-07
Ma told me many stories about her great, great, gran, Brigid, living on a small plot of land near Cork Till the Great Famine came and the family starved. Of the 5 childer only Brigid and Mary survived, eventually reaching America. Struggled for years, hoping to go back one day, but never did. Perhaps it’s the stories, but Ireland means so much to me I’m sure that’s where I belong. Nobody in our family has ever been back. My final days are getting close. Perhaps next year I’ll surprise myself and visit Ireland, the land of all my dreams.
Eamonn