Portrane
written by: Deborah Joan Jones
There was a time in childhood, it came ‘round every year
The summers were our playground. Ran wild without a fear
There was no thing as strangers, no ‘mind now, how you go’
No barriers to plague us, just roaming fast, and slow
Playing in the sandpit, swimming in the sea
Kick The Can by lamplight. Those days, the best could be
The older kids included us, it made us feel so grown
And them lived in ‘our’ field, treated us just like their own
The Simpsons and the Boxwells, Darren, Garrett, Shane
‘Bocker’ and Melissa and that fella, Whatshisname
Barefoot through the reeds and ferns, mudslides in the rain
Oh, how I miss those summer days, I long for them again
Upon that beach, saw ten foot waves, and my first sandstorm, too
I wrapped my sister in a towel and carried her on through.
The cousins that we’d missed all year, grandparents we adored
And us so free, so full of life. Not once, was ever bored
Brack and butter, soda bread, washed down with Barry’s tea
My Nana, just enjoying life, with baby on her knee
The Lambay Island out at sea, to Joe’s for crisps and pop
I loved our life, those simple things, the pleasures never stopped
Hikes along the gravel roads to spot the fairies roam
Playing in the Irish sun, our home away from home
Morning walks with Grandad, just the two of us, instead
Hand in hand, down to the shops for teabags, jam and bread.
Nana in the kitchen, with my mother by her side
Feeding us, then ushering, ‘now go on, play outside’
Nightfall, tucked up in our beds, the adults’ time was back
The Guinness, and my Grandad’s Johnny Walker, rum and black
They laughed and joked, we learned so much, they talked into the night
Till all were done, we’d hear Mum say, ‘Put out the (paraffin) light’
And with the morning Grandad came, with porridge served in bed
A twinkle in his eye, ‘eat that, and I’ll bring you an egg’
Warm mashed up egg with butter, I still love it to this day
I make it for my children now, and wake them up that way.
Fish and chips on Friday, they always tasted good
With bread and butter, pots of tea, enjoyed, the way it should
Sunday, dressed in Sunday Best, to church we made a show
Hoping that the priest talked fast, a quick mass, home we’d go
Playing tom-boy with my brothers, and my cousins too
Thinking back, I laugh at all those things they made me do
Climbing on the roof, I froze, for falling that far harms
But, Dad came to my rescue and I fell into his arms
We played there without fear, and if a minor injury
It was Grandad to the rescue, with a drop of Tom Cat’s Pee (TCP)
Knocking on the front door in the daytime didn’t fly,
‘Go ‘round the back!’ we‘d hear them shout, still, every time we’d try
Friends, we made them every year, and most we’d known for years
And when it came to summers end, we parted them with tears
With shouts of ‘love you, miss you’, ‘you write to me, ya hear?’
Aunts and uncles, cousins, ‘sure, we’ll see you all next year’
Portrane, it was our freedom, full of fun and smiles
Filled with all our loved ones, with space around for miles
The ‘hut’ it was our refuge, though, it no longer stands,
That my Grandad built for his family, with his strong and loving hands.
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