Courtesy of Kevin McDermott 2000
 'The Time Of The Corncrake’

 stood upon the Gallows Hill and gazed down at the town
My mind went back some fifty years to when I was around
My place of birth so snugly set,so peaceful and serene
And I thought of all the changes that those narrow streets had seen

 see that fine Cathedral, now weathered grey and drab,
Whose golden cross I often saw from the Mile Bush near Drumcrave
The lofty Church of Ireland standing stately in its shadow
Whose clock chimed out the daily hour across a Keadue meadow.

ridge Street and the Scout Den,where with ‘dues and book of deeds’
We listened to the Master who took care of all our needs.
An honest John who did his best our troubles to defuse
A saintly man who worked all week in Brady’s, selling shoes.

he Magnet and the ‘ Auld Hall’,where silver screens did flicker,
With images of Gene and Roy and a trusty steed named Trigger
Outside those doors we’d weekly queue,we’d jostle, shove and push
To hold our place in what was called ‘That damned four-penny rush’.

he Brother’s School where tears were shed,where boys were taught to read
And learn about the many things that one day we would need
Where teachers dressed in cassocks black,and Brother Mark was King
Where leather straps did rend the air and caused our hands to sting.

nd then Saint Patrick’s College where the well off boys did go
But not for me an ordinary lad who lived up in ‘Owen Roe’
The ‘Tech’ for me to learn to work with metal and with wood
My Mother said “in later life those skills will do you good”

 stone of spuds from Harry’s,the coal from Fagan’s Yard.
Some paint and paper from the the ‘Stores’ and Byers for the lard.
A piece of shin from Hickey’s,a vest from Maurice Brady’s
A part worn suit from Anthony Farrell’s and Vera’s for the Ladies.

ive apples for a penny from Joey’s in the Acre,
An ice cream from Kathy Bannon and Foster’s for the paper
The smell of sweets in Maggie’s shop and the empty chocolate boxes.
A pound of ham from Barney O ,a pair of shoes from Fox’s

he Convent with its early Mass,then fishing out at Rann.
The Sunday march to Breffni Park with the Cavan Labour Band.
Some oranges from McCaffrey’s,a half time treat for all
Then watch the local heroes play a team from Donegal

iving from the ‘spring board’ that stood at Swellan Lake
Sitting in the ‘Central’ drinking tea and eating cake
And then before the Ceili go with ‘Tolly’ for a jar
Or take a spin to somewhere else in Rafter’s hired car.

he Town Hall where we often danced to Eugene Leddy’s Band
With polished shoes and brylcreemed hair we thought ourselves so grand
’Twas there we met the local girls and those from Ballinagh,
And swung our way through jigs and reels with some as auld as Ma.

he lovely old ‘Pavilion’ where Dixon’s Band held sway,
And thrilled the dancers gathered there with ‘music of the day’
A place where hearts were broken or sometimes joined forever,
Where after wards young lovers kissed near the road to Killynebber.

olfe Tone Street and its Barracks,where I joined the FCA.
The yearly trip to Gormanstown,two weeks on army pay.
The church parade on ‘Field Day’,and the shooting on the ranges
With dinner first in Donohoe’s,all free by prior arrangement

 

The Mineral Waters where I worked with Benny,Ba and Tommy
The endless trips around the pubs delivering from a lorry.
And then the termination at the end of every season
Last in,first out and lack of work was usually the reason.

 hear again the laughter from those happy teenage years.

The echoes of the songs and tunes still linger in the air.
I think of all the dance halls from Bawnboy to Lavey Strand
Where with friends I helped make music in a local ‘pick-up band’.

 remember all the tears I shed that day at Cavan Station,
When I joined the fifties exodus,the shedding of a nation.
I left to work on foreign shores,to earn an honest pound,and
I said farewell to my boyhood friends and my native Cavan Town.

nd now I take my final look at that familiar scene.
With tear dimmed eyes I turn away and leave that old Fair Green.
A stranger in my native town,no reason now to tarry,
For my only kin are all at rest in their graves at Killygarry.