12/08/2021
It's amazing how a photgraph can evoke memories.
This is me and my brother Éamonn in Portrane in 1966. Our family had a converted railway carriage for summer holidays, no electricity, no running water and an outhouse for a toilet. But the freedom .....
I wrote a poem about it some years back to try and recapture those memories. Hope you enjoy it.
The Dunes of Portrane. - By Gerard McGrath
Geronimo! The shout, suspended in air,
On soft sands they tumbled down laughing.
A race to the top, and then leap out once more
In a game they could never see ending.
The make-believe world of two brothers enchanted
By the dunes of Portrane, their haven.
Two cousins arrive, now fearless four,
Imagination the ficklest of boundaries.
Sea monster jellyfish speared where they lay,
They scoured the shoreline for bounty.
Driftwood and seashells the rewards for their journeys
In the dunes of Portrane, their haven.
A two fingered whistle pierced through the air,
A call to the cabin for fuelling.
Corned beef and batch loaf with guzzled down milk,
Their schemes and desires still brimming.
Then off out again to adventures unknown
In the dunes of Portrane, their haven.
Cowboys and Indians, with a stick for a gun
They giddy-upped over the range.
Barefoot and fleet foot, with lung bursting runs
Hollering and whooping they bounded.
The outhouse a lookout for I Spy in the fern fields
Of the dunes of Portrane, their haven.
Four in their bunk beds, still buzzing like fireflies
They recounted the thrill of their quests.
Who ran the fastest and who jumped the highest
The magic of youth wove their stories.
Then drifting off slowly, their dreams in the gloaming
Of the dunes of Portrane, their haven.