It has been for decades now that meetings with my cousin, Pat occur save for the likes of funerals, memorial services dedications and planned reunions of family members. Geography, of course, is partly responsible and, pre-retirement, avid pursuit of chosen avenues of employment.
Almost by chance we discovered that both of us enjoy tacking words together to portray events either true or, in my case mostly, fiction.
That, coupled with email, word processing capacities, has now stimulated fascinating and frequent contact.
Pat was the eldest daughter of Uncle Willie, a master craftsman in wood. Not least, he produced magnificent Church furniture in a little workshop in the town of Abbeyleix. One son, Teddy, all those years back, was the member of the family who attended our wedding and said a few words.
Sister Helen emigrated to New Zealand and sister Muriel lives down South. Another brother and sister died. But it was always with Pat that one sensed a kindred spirit in waiting.
Probing round this Cannock Town,
Across the Penkridge Way, at last
To re-visit old family pals still
Redolent with memories of
Ireland. Strange how re-
Capturing it, remains forever
In the mind of Irish diasporas.
Abbeyleix, Fordville, De Vescis
And the bridge at Durrow
Near the pub where as children
Daringly we raced over. No
Mad dread of tumbling off
Into the trickling rivulet below.
Knowledge that now we can both
Explore in embroidered yarns
Misted over by time's ravages. Yet
Clear in the startled mind's eye. Sincere
Commendations for stalwart Anna
On her Scottish feats, fording
Rivers, footsore, weary, from stalking
Mountainous terrain. Amazing how
All tiredness evaporates once stern
Challenge is surmounted. May we all
Keep our ambitions burnished.
March 3rd 2002.