Hallowe'en has become something of a commercial event as of late in that almost every business interest with a bone to pick or crow to pluck would seek to profit from it in some way. Not that it wasn't ever thus, except that in more distant times it was left to individual enterprise or endeavour and the futures market for turnips was such that it wouldn't be any use looking for one in your Christmas stocking. Our American cousins and the advent of television not to mention the proportions of some "starlet" wandering around in the upstairs with only a torch on while the telephone is ringing downstairs put an end to that! Though it has its good side, I can put up with a fire on a hillside if it prevents that hillside from being turned into a quarry or an open cast mine, which has happened to quite a few hills around County Meath and other places, and their storied past and heritage didn't save them. Now where's that broomstick!
A few diversions.
Oh, the night that was in it
Berries, crab apples
Nuts,
And the bull's wool tied
You could lose
The thread.
And coming home from Devotions
A man might want his gates removed
A sobering thought.
The talk of the harvest
Diversions,
Oh, there was no day in it!
A few figures close to the verge
And the curtains twitching.
You could spend a day
Scooping out
The turnip!
Frank Murphy: from Excursions.
Photo: The Hill of Ward Athboy County Meath.
Where it all began!
With thanks to Google Images!
With thanks to Google Images!
2 comments:
Now I know what happened to my uncles gate, be suing you.
It wasn't me I swear!
FM.
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