and somehow known; it was a talent he possessed, a gift that he must never neglect. Picking up his pen he wrote down the following words...
“Christmas Eve so still I know,
But something’s in the wind,
There is a sense of magic about,
It’s now we need our friends.”
Those were all the words that came to Wot at this time, and they puzzled him, so. What meaning or relevance they had, if any, eluded his tired mind, but he recorded them dutifully into his little book, calling his poem ‘Words in the Wind’. Before putting his book away, he tried reading the poem out aloud, hoping he might somehow gain a better understanding, but it still made no sense to him. Giving up, returning the book to the safety of his shirt pocket, Wot relaxed in front of the warm fire, listening to the logs crackle and sparkle up the chimney. It was such a splendid start to Christmas, he thought. Indeed, he felt so content he could have sat there all night without a care in the world.
Suddenly, a loud knock on the door interrupted Wot’s relaxation. His first thought, in his half-sleep, was that he had imagined it, so closing his eyes he relaxed again, listening to the logs crackling and sparkling up the chimney.
To his utter annoyance, another even louder knock struck the front door. “Who on earth can it be?” he grumbled, reluctantly rising from his wonderfully comfortable chair. Approaching the door, Wot found himself staring at the coat stand beside it, upon which he had placed a peculiar Christmas card, earlier that day. It was small, very small. His friend, Nott, had sent it to him. He picked it up, remembering how surprised he had been that Nott – his best friend – would have sent so small a card. Looking at the picture, a wonderful summer scene of a house in the country, Wot found himself once again intrigued by it. He studied it closer…
The house in the card with whitewashed walls and weathered, wooden beams, strategically placed for the maximum visual pleasure of the onlooker, had a cottage-garden in the full bloom of summer. There was a duck-pond, an arbour, a rustic garden shed, a wishing well and so much more, and all of this enclosed by a white picket fence. It was the perfect picture of summer, not your usual Christmas card theme by any means. Studying it in fine detail, Wot held the card closer to his face. He had completely forgotten by now to open the front door, to see who was out there. Wot’s eyes, once again magnetically drawn to the picture, noticed how big and sturdy the door of the house in the card actually was. It was dark brown in colour, sporting a large, brass knocker. “They don’t build them like that anymore,” he said, inspecting it further.
“It’s a bloody good job they don’t,” a voice suddenly boomed.
On hearing this, a disembodied voice speaking to him, Wot got such a fright he dropped the card and very nearly jumped out of his brand-new Christmas slippers.
“Take it easy, you could have killed me!” the mysterious voice boomed again.
Imagining there was someone hiding, playing a prank on him, Wot searched the entire room, trying to find the hidden person, but he did not find anyone. He was confused; he was puzzled with no idea what he should do. In fact he was not one hundred percent sure that he had heard the voice at all. “This might all be in my imagination,” he said, though not very convincing, as he stood there in the room, unable to decide his next move.
“Are you listening to me?” the mysterious voice boomed again. “Wot, I am speaking to you!”
Being personally addressed by a disembodied voice, confused poor Wot no end. He wondered was it a ghost, or was he simply going mad?
“Pick me up!” the voice shouted at him.
Pulling himself together, trying to show at least some courage, Wot whispered timidly, “Where are you?”
“On the floor! At your feet!” the voice tersely replied.
However, on looking down to the floor, the only thing Wot could see was the small Christmas card he had dropped, so he said, “I can’t see you! There’s nothing there!” Looking up and down the hallway, hoping to spot the person playing such a nasty practical joke upon him, Wot, however, saw no one. “I can’t see where you are!” he whispered to the disembodied voice.
Beginning to lose patience, the voice shouted, “Wot, I always thought you were a bit slow – now you have proven it. I AM IN THE CARD. Pick it up! BUT CAREFULLY!”
Confused, wondering how anybody could possibly be inside a Christmas card, Wot bent down and carefully picked it up. Opening it, Wot half expected to see someone crammed inside, but there was no one. No. Except for the short, standard greeting of Happy Christmas, there was nothing out of the ordinary inside it.
The mysterious person, loosing what little patience he had left, interrupted Wot’s floundering thoughts, shouting, “LOOK IN THE WINDOW, you berk!”
With those words, something clicked in Wot’s bamboozled brain. The voice, THAT voice, was starting to sound familiar! Scratching his head, trying to figure out just who it might actually be, Wot closed the card and looked again at the picture on its front. His eyes, drawn to the quaint old house with its wonderful leaded windows, saw something, something MOVING! It was a person, someone he recognised! It was his best friend, Nott, staring out from one of the small windows, waving frantically in a most agitated manner. This was just too much for Wot and he passed out, dropping the card onto the cold hard floor once again…
CONTD
Don’t be a Gadabout!
If you chose to walk alone,
Down country lanes far from home,
Don’t be shocked if someone jumps out,
To say hello to the gadabout,
Who strolls around like he owns the place,
Each yard and inch, each wall and gate.
You might now say, that’s him, not me,
Who has a problem with affinity.
But I tell you this, in truth, steer clear,
From spots remote near park and weir,
And if you choose to heed my call,
Your life will be good; you will not fall.
Ring a Ring a Roses
Ring a ring a roses,
A pocketful of posies,
Atichoo atichoo,
We all fall down sneeze.
Dancing round the garland,
Children all a starving,
Atichoo atichoo,
We all fall down.
Ring a ring a roses,
A pocketful of posies,
Atichoo atichoo,
We all fall down.
Lying in our bedsteads,
Staying there until we’re dead, dead
Atichoo atichoo,
We all fell dead,
Atichoo atichoo.
We all fell dead.
I Fell Down a Waterfall
In this story I will be telling you about the scariest, most frightening experience of my entire life.
Way back in the mists of time, in the far off year of 1975 I went for a drive in the county with my brother, Tony. We were living in Dublin, then, and a drive into the country, in my new Ford Cortina (well it was almost new) was a real treat. Asking where were we heading, Tony was delighted to hear that we were going up the Wicklow Mountains (we always called them the Dublin Mountains —I have no idea just why). It was springtime, May, a wonderfully warm and sunny day. As I drove along the narrow, winding roads, with not a care in the world, I had absolutely no idea the fate that was awaiting me…
After enjoying ourselves in the beautiful gardens of Powerscourt, we headed further up the Wicklow mountains until we spied a fantastic waterfall cascading down from a high place. I have always known it as the Waterfall at Sally Gap though I am sure it has another, more correct title than that. The winding road led us to the top of the waterfall and the river feeding it.
Pulling into a small, car-parking area, we got out of the car and strolled across to the river, so we could enjoy the wonderful views, there. As I walked along the side of the river, lower and lower, to where it cascaded into the waterfall, (I can still remember the sound that the murky brown waters made
as they gurgled along), I had no idea of the tremendous, hidden power within it. As I followed the increasingly rocky banks towards the waterfall proper, my brother shouted to me, warning me of the large and very smooth rock I was standing upon. And in those days, when everyone, including men, wore platform-soled shoes, it was a warning to heed. Unfortunately, to my eternal regret, I had no time to heed his warning. You see, at that instant my shoes lost their grip, and I slipped helplessly into the rushing waters of the river feeding the huge and powerful waterfall. At this point the gradient of the falling waters must have been about 40%, with the shape of the rushing stream‘s bed a deep V.
As the cold, cruel waters pushed me down the increasingly steep incline, they seemed to me that they had taken on a life of their own, a life whose only purpose was to kill me. They say that in such times your life flashes past your eyes, well, in my case it most certainly did not, my only thoughts were that I was a goner, nothing more and nothing less.
All of a sudden, I had a piece of extraordinary luck, when my right foot became jammed between some of the rocks beneath me. The ferocious waters continued to pound, to pour over my aching body, but I had stopped moving, which had to be good! Shouting to my brother, I asked him to return to the road, and try to stop anyone driving along it, so they could help me. He didn't, he simply stood there laughing at me, totally oblivious to the danger I was in. He was of no use or help to me whatsoever. I soon realised that my only hope of salvation rested with myself.
My jammed foot had saved me – at least for the moment. I had to think quickly, very quickly to have any chance