Birthday Memories

It's our mother's birthday today. Were she alive she'd be ninety-six . 

I have a folder on my hard drive named 'Martha' and I looked at it today to see if I could find anything new to put up for her birthday. And found this poem. It's not a literary gem by any means but when I re-read it I remembered how much she enjoyed writing about her childhood and how much pleasure she took in sharing her stories and poems.

She never did get round to the internet. I'm sure if she had, she'd have been a prolific blogger and much better at encouraging the comments section than this particular daughter. 

When I Was Eight Years Old

by Martha Byrne

One day when walking home from school,

A farmer came our way.

He was driving sheep with little lambs,

That was only born that day.

The little lambs were weary and walking very slow,

He asked us would we carry them as far as we would go.

How pleased we were to do it,

And when we reached our door,

We were sad to leave them down, for we’d never held a lamb before.

There’s a song that brings back memories,

Of that day along the road.

Called “On April Evening” when April airs are abroad,

When we carried the little lambs that we were so pleased to hold.

This happened many years ago,

When I was eight years old.

After The Fall

First of all - I am writing this on a laptop, new to me today. It is going to take a while for me to get used to it. 

it's day 7 after the fall I am mending slowly and steadily. Still finding it hard to get around and haven't been off the yard or been anywhere apart from once to the polytunnel (which wrecked me). Watched all of Ozark, season 4, read half of South Riding and did Wordle every day. I've even started a jigsaw.

Jazzer came on Monday and stayed until Wednesday evening and she was a great help, cheered us up, cooked suppers, got the laundry done, helped me change the beds and blitzed the kitchen. I think, if she hadn't been here, Bert would have already filed for divorce. Because I was so cross about being out of action and when I wasn't raging I was sad.

One thing that was a constant source of happiness was Pippin the kitten. 

The first task that I took on after the initial 2 days of being unable to move was giving Pippin her breakfast.

Since then I have managed to do dishes, laundry, my bed and a small bit of hoovering. I have yet to make a meal. Tomorrow I am hoping to make chilli. With Bert's help, of course. 

vitas interruptus

 I had/have so many things I wanted/want to blog about. My beloved only grandson's 7th birthday, the funeral of an old friend, the new kitten, The Bloody Tories, the weather...

Then this happened. For the second time in two days, I walked into a left-open cupboard door ( Bert's cupboard, left open by Bert), only this time I banged my head, lost my balance, and slammed into a tiled floor.  My right hip, knee and elbow took the brunt. The pain was excruciating. I may have sworn.

I got checked out, nothing broken, just heavy bruising and muscle pain. I cannot fully weight-bear, and am not too great at walking. Since today, I'm using crutches to get around.

If it wasn't for the kitten I'd be really depressed.

Sicken Chicken

I confess - I'm not that great a chicken-keeper. I do the best I can, keeping them fed, watered and clean.  They've got a big range and during the non-vegetable growing months, they get to run around the yard for half the day. The crowd I have now are pretty mature. I'd say the oldest of them are at least six years old. And they decline, especially if they are the ones bred for intensive egg production.

This past week there is one hen that has been relentlessly bullied. The last straw was a couple of days ago when I let them out in the morning and this persecuted hen was first out with the others raging out behind, pushing her up against the wire fence and pecking at her. Horrible to see. It was time to separate her from the others. But what to do? There is a small shed we use for situations like this but swallows are nesting there and the young ones are days from leaving the nest. We couldn't shut the door to keep the persecuted chicken safe. The first night she stayed in the log shed but she was lonely and miserable there. We discussed euthanasia but neither of us wanted to do that. All today she toodled about eating just enough, drinking just enough. She tried to settle for the night in Hannah's place but that wasn't a goer. The log shed wasn't an option either so she's in with the pigs. Sadly, Rusty scoffed her grub. I never knew he liked sunflower hearts, and it surprised me that he could get his big piggy snout into such a tiny bowl. 

When I last looked in she was resting beside Lily. Poor hen. Her own kind won't leave her alone and she finds solace with two pigs around fifty times her size. She might be dead in the morning, maybe naturally, maybe crushed. One thing's for sure - she's safe from Foxy.

No pictures of pigs with hen for it was too dark. So just Rusty and Lily sans chicken.

The Day We Went To Portrush

 

The (not so) little monsters are in Connemara camping and I hope they get fine weather. Just before they left, we went on the traditional trip to Barry’s (now Curry’s) in Portrush. We missed the last two years due to Covid and during that time we heard worrying news. Barry’s was to be sold! It was such a shame as Evie had gotten almost tall enough to ride the Big Dipper and now it seemed she'd never get the chance.

Barry's went on the market in 2019. The Trufelli family who'd started the business in 1928 had hoped that it would continue as an amusement park but it seemed that might not happen. There was even talk of the site being used for apartments. If life was ever going to get back to normal just where were we going to find a decent roller coaster that didn't involve a lengthy car ride?

When the girls were little they were perfectly content to go on carousels, kiddy bumper cars and giant teacups. The Big Dipper, waltzers and the Ghost Train were far too scary and they wouldn't have met the height requirement for some rides. .

On the train to Portrush

Three years ago Martha was tall enough to go on the Big Dipper. Evie was hopeful that she would have grown enough the following year but was not to be. Coronavirus shut Barry's down at the same time as Evie gained those few needful centimetres.

When we first heard the news that Barry's Amusements was to become Curry's Fun Park we were so happy. It opened at Easter and Martha might have dropped a few hints about going then but the very beginning of the summer holidays is our time. There might have been concerns that the rides wouldn't be as good, or that the Big Dipper would be dismantled, and my own private worry - that the Big Dipper would still be there but the height requirement might have increased. We needn't have worried. 

2016 was the year Ben came with us.

On the waltzer with Ben. That was one of the rides where younger children had to be accompanied by an adult. Ben was not quite 18 but he passed muster. The previous year I'd almost thrown up after going on the waltzer.

I gave it a go this year and managed not to get queasy which was pleasing. But I don't seem to be as limber as I was six years ago. The seating was awfully low and as I said to Bert afterwards,

I thought I was going to have to get one of the attendants to pull me out but I managed it on my own.

Then Martha said,

Granny! You crawled out of it on your hands and knees!

Evie did ride the Big Dipper. She was rather pale when she alighted and said just the one time would be enough.

Aboard the Big Wheel in 2019.  

Martha's very first visit to Barry's Amusements. 

Return to the carousel, 2022

The Dead Bird

I brought Peter to the front of the house to show him some dark purple opium poppies; there was a dead juvenile chaffinch on the ground. The wee thing was unmarked and still warm. It must have flown into the window. We were both sad to see it. 

These things happen. At least the cat didn't get it. That would have been a far nastier end for it. Back when Martha was small I might have kept the corpse for her to have a funeral. She used to love that. Instead, I buried it in the compost bin.

I told Bert,

I put that wee chaffinch in the compost. Might do it some good.

What! Sure it's dead.

I meant DO the compost some good.