Shadows of the flickering lamp
Jump like dancers to and fro.
The dresser at the gable wall
With dishes all in a row
Reflect the fire’s dying light
On the kindly hearts below.
A tay pot sitting on the hob
And kettle on the crane
Pictures frozen in the mind
But never seen again.
A water bucket on the chair
Kept beside the door
A heather besom against the wall
To sweep the stone slab floor.
The lurking ghost on Nutfield Brae
And banshee down the Glen
Stories long told around the fire
But chill us once again.
The mountain home is long gone now
And the kindly voices still
But I see it all when my mind returns
To the town land of Slushhill.
Winston Graydon
Flitting
We kept well down behind the cart
Keeping our faces hid
We didn’t want the neighbors to see us there
Or the few bits of things we had.
We hadn’t got much in a worldly sense
A couple of beds and chairs
A table maybe or an apple box
And a few other odds and ends.
On we went with Bob the horse
Taking it all in his stride
We didn’t stop much except to check
That the hens had their legs well tied.
It’s a humbling sight when I think of it now
Trundling up a dust road
Our couple of things on a horse and cart
Bound for a new abode.
We made it there and I have to say
It was nothing much to inspire
But walls and a roof and a place to lie
And a hearth to light the fire.
But worldly things are not all there is
And we were happy in our way
With the flitting done, the hens untied
And the thought that we might stay.
Winston Graydon
Winston Graydon also contributed two poems to a book, Fermanagh Miscellany 2. Below is exact quote from that book.
Two Poems
Winston Graydon
This poem was inspired by a recent visit to Stanafeley, not far from my childhood home at Brookeborough, which I left nearly fifty years ago. My mother started school at Stanafeley nearly ninety years ago, walking across the hills from the family at Slushhill. My mother often spoke about the school, now in ruins and almost hidden in the undergrowth. She spoke of Miss Mayes, the teacher at that time who often took the children on nature walks and visited the waterfall in the nearby woods. In fact, there are two waterfalls.
It was an emotional experience for me, to stand where the children stood all those years ago and watch the water still cascading down. I can hardly put into words how beautiful a place it is and just one very small corner of Fermanagh. To stand at the ruined school, near the site of Maguire’s Castle and the waterfall and look across the rolling valley to my childhood home was just awe inspiring.
Give us a road that wind it’s way
Past the site of an ancient hall
Pause again, in woodland glen
Beside a rushing waterfall.
Hidden away, from the passer-by
Near the ruins of a country school
Countless children came this way
To stand by its swirling pool.
On a new spring day we found it
Down a path from a whinny lane
The sound of the water calling
Stirs the peace of this lonely glen.
This place stirs every emotion
You can sense the Creator’s hand
The rocks and falling water
Here is nature’s wonderland.
It’s here you will want to linger
Among carpets of Celandine
Wood anemone and primrose
On the banks of a mountain stream.
Look across the rolling valley
Listen to the wild birds’ call
Come on back to Stranafeley
And it’s tumbling waterfall.
The Clogher Valley Railway
There’s a picture in my memory
Of a quiet bygone day
The Clogher Valley engines
Rolling along the Permanent Way.
There were four named after rivers
Fury, Blackwater, Colebrooke, Erne
And three of noted places
Caledon, Errigal and Blessingbourne.
From Maguiresbridge to Brookeborough
Through the street at Fivemiletown
On to Clogher and Augher
Then Ballygawley town.
Caledon and across Blackwater
The journey’s nearly done
Stemming in to Tynan
To meet the Northern Line.
Sometimes overloaded
On the Twelfth or valley fair
Two engines a third pushing
Over the top of Tullyvar
Through scenic wooded country
Dotted along the way
Quaint station and keepers houses
Some still stand today.
I think I see a horse and cart
Waiting patiently
On the train to cross the country road
By the halt at Aghavea
The smell of the smoking engine
And the boiler blowing run to Maguiresbridge
On a sunny afternoon.
In May of eighteen eighty-seven
When first the line was new
Running fifty-five more years
Until January forty-two.
Gone in the name of progress
Dimmed by the hand of time
Resigned to history’s pages
The Clogher Valley Line.
Winston's parents never married and Graydon is his mother's name.
As I run across things to put into their book I think you might like I can send them along if you are interested. I'm attaching an updated version of my story on Alexander and Jane.
We plan on going to see the new movie Julie and Julia tomorrow. Hope you are right about it being good.
Your cousin,
Carolyn
