Three Poems Spell A Letter
Stars in the beet field
Ways of seeing the cottage
Telling the story of the fire just has everyone rolling about in laughter, but it could have been disastrous. About 1.30 am the youngest came into our bedroom to say her bed was on fire. It took a minute or two for the penny to drop and we leapt. Her room was full of toxic smoke and when we threw the quilt off her bed the mattress burst into flames. Husband threw it out of the window, we gathered up all the smouldering and burning bedding and threw that out too, then he went out with a fire extinguisher to try and put out the flames. Meanwhile the whole house had filled up with this awful toxic smoke so we had to sleep with all the windows open to let it out, lock the cats in the veranda so they couldn’t escape, and let the dog sleep with us.
It was her electric blanket. It was turned off but had obviously been smouldering for hours. She sleeps just underneath the hay loft…
Sneem is where my mother’s father dreamed of going back to, but he never did. I love it down there. My mother’s family was from County Meath and emigrated to England where I was brought up. My dad’s family were from County Donegal. They always wanted to go back home but never did. We children have moved on again so they may just as well have gone back. We’ve talked about it, almost did it but couldn’t afford it in the end. Likewise one of my sisters. She’s gone to Spain instead—warmer.