A Sentimental Walk

By:  D. Errol McCrory, Oct. 1995

I walked today along the Loughgall Road,

And thought of the past as it did unfold,

The gentle Autumn wind the colourful leaves,

Spiraled to the ground with the greatest of ease.

 

The Ulster Laces now lies silent and bleak,

Which for years young girls employed, beautiful and sleek.

The fields on each side where apple trees once grew,

Now cattle are grazing, which seems quite new.

The many raids we made to pilfer the choicest crop,

Came flooding to memory, as I gazed there and stopped.

 

Kilmoriarty Orange hall was a welcomed spot

To the thirsty and tired who lulled there and sat.

Refreshed and renewed from the old water-pump,

Which now is no more, but concealed by whitethorn clump.

Many young lovers at hall turned right

And followed the lane with anticipated delight.

Initials carved deep on the trees high and stout,

Still speaks of the past at the dumbies old house.

 

From Morgan’s hill a great view comes in sight,

As far as the Mournes can be seen, most clear and bright.

The old town too with church spires pointing to skies.

Today I stood there, and wondered, and thought and sighed.

This same sight many also have seen, in days which long are past

But now they’ve gone on hopefully to their resting place at last.

 

Mullantine Road, Ballybay Bridge, which holds such a store

Of daring deeds and catching fish sometimes galore.

A boy named Maurice, who knew no fear,

Often on motorbike rounded bridge coming off on his rear.

Another called Aubrey, under bridge one day did stand,

With haste to catch fish, hit stones with glass jar in hand,

The river with blood from cut fingers turned red,

Soon all of us scampered home and fled.

 

Along Mullantine road to the old railway bridge,

Where young lovers often courted on top of bank’s ridge.

Old men too, their knives did sharpen, as pipes they also smoked,

Today, they’ve left worn stone in view, where once I’m sure they joked.

From there a famous loanin is known, none other than Campbell's,

A favorite walk and cuddling place which knew more thrills than rambles.

 

As I walked by that poplar so straight and high,

I wondered how many young lovers she heard whisper or cry?

The cherry tree too not far away,

Today without blossom, in the wind did sway,

The line of beech trees, whose ranks have been sadly depleted,

Once stood as soldiers without much space,

But winter winds have now defeated.

 

The Armagh Road is now in sight,

A string of old fir trees on my right

As now I dip this quite steep lane,

I thought of Billy’s shock and pain,

As dad and us in bank did find

A robin’s nest, obscured, confined.

Not knowing Rob’ was in his nest,

Billy’s bitten finger withdrew to laughter and jest.

 

 

The busy Armagh Road with its lorries, cars and vans

Today I missed black motorbike ridden by cheerful A.A. man.

The trees still stand at Old Rectory Estate,

Where we as young lads played till it was late,

On top of trees many homes were found

Owned by noisy rooks who built them so sound.

 

Turning left into Brownstown Road the stands of Shamrock lie empty.

But she has hosted many events which must be complimented.

From great Agricultural Shows to College sports days,

The grounds then was a crowded place, that we all can say,

From cows and sheep, to birds and dogs and bulls and horses too.

The smells and sights of pens and tents to mention just a few.

 

The college sports was no doubt a great and fine occasion

When many budding athletes performed with much determination.

But one above all others shone and outran all the boys,

His posture, and style, his lightning speed – none other than Maurice McAvoy

Not forgetting the many times when the Reds they did their stuff,

Defeating the challenges from the best of teams – collecting coveted cups.

 

I’m glad I walked the roads today and savored the good old past,

I pray we all shall make some worthy contributions that’ll last,

That those who see and come behind are touched by our impressions,

So they in turn will likewise set for future generation,

Life is but vapor at its best so as we journey on,

Let’s trust in Christ and walk by faith until that perfect dawn.

 

D.Errol McCrory 1995.

 

 

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