www.UpTheDeise.com, The Waterford People's Website!
back to Waterford Songs & Poems
BY CLION
In minds eye I shall ever see,
the childhood days of memory,
when we played and paddled on Tramore Strand
and tested our cartwheels on the golden sand.
Those sunlit days will eternally be,
always a loving part of me.
Walking to the Railway Square, holding hands with Mam,
down steeply sloped Castle Street, laughing in the sun.
Queuing up for tickets in the crowded railway hall,
boarding the small railway cars with scarcely room for all.
The cavernous mammoth engine shed that was sited nearby,
looking out the window, seemed to fill the sky.
The smell of hot oil and coal and steam, all mixed with smoke,
nerve-jumping screech of whistle and the piston’s hissing stroke.
The water tower standing high positioned on the bank,
with loading arm and canvas hose swung out to fill the tank.
In a space by the level crossing gates, the signal post stood near
and when the arm dropped down a-ways, it meant that all was clear.
Then slowly moving, lumbering on, wheels clawing to make their play,
with the crossing gates at Poleberry closed but opened to our way.
Thundering out the country through fields of wetland reed,
past Black Rock, beneath Sheeps Bridge, as a swallow on we speed.
Hurrying towards the Sun’s bright eye like a powerfully thrown lance,
across the undulating fields where in a fleeting glance,
I saw a preying heron poised to make a darting launch
tensely waiting by a golden pond to catch its silvery lunch.
On the way past mystic land with warm wind that could sing,
spotting groves for leprechauns and a mysterious fairy ring.
Then across a high embankment with cow fields down below,
racing out the seven miles, through tunnels on we go.
Along the foothills of a mountain with a tall cross upon the top,
having passed the Halfway House, Tramore the coming stop.
On the left soon is Drumcannon where up a little rise
is the home of the Connors Family, which we went to once or twice.
Crossing an iron bridge with a loud steam whistle blow,
above a hairpin bending road, a frightening, awesome show.
Approaching Tramore Station, and the first sight of the sea
The sunshine sparkling on the waves seemed beckoning to me.
With heart beating quicker, I longed to be on the beach to run,
for time was passing quickly and the fun not yet begun.
But the stationmaster Mr. Condon, a giant, stood by the exit door
calming the crowding children and allowing prams to go before.
Swimming in the shallow pools, the tide had left behind,
we engaged in competition but always of a playful kind.
We spent a long time in Tramore then the sun slipped on its way,
behind the Metal Man headland, to slowly close the day.
All stayed just a little longer in the gloaming while the light
gently faded behind church spires and ushered in the night.
But the irresistible Arms of Morpheus take the weary to their sleep
and lost to ones too tired and whose slumber is too deep,
is the journey home, tucking safe in bed,
the goodnight blessing and soft words said.
These memories that in my mind seep,
are far too precious not to always keep.
_________________
King Arthur Guinness has many arrows in his quiver,
Coronary thrombosis and cirrhosis of the liver.