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My Confession

I dubiously give thanks to the Postal Strike of 1979 in Ireland that crippled Businesses and Banks in the country while leaving the Irish people cut off from the rest of the world. Why, you might well ask, am I grateful to such an awful time in Irish History.

Well, I miserably failed my driving test that year, when the tester asked me to take a right turn onto Maudlin Street off John’s Street in Kilkenny and I over-shot the turn by at least a meter on a busy Mart-day. I sat in the car with a totally perplexed tester beside me while cars honked all around me. The traffic coming towards me could not turn left or right and I could see in my rear-view mirror that a pile of honking cars and tractors were stuck behind us. I cannot remember how we ended up back at the Test Centre, but needless to say, I came away from the experience without that all-important piece of paper and my nerves in shatters.

The Government, in their wisdom, saw fit to give amnesty to people, like me, who sat and failed their Driving Test in 1979.

One busy Saturday at 6pm, a wet evening, I decided to leave Kilkenny City by driving up William Street and down the lane beside the old Cinema onto Friary Street. I soon realised that there was heavy traffic coming up Friary Street from High Street and, unless I took measures into my own hands, I would be there for a long time and traffic was piling up behind me. There was a big red van to my right on Friary Street and I couldn’t see enough room to turn right without hitting the van. So, I got the bright idea to drive straight across the road, into the Capuchin Friary Yard. It looked wide enough to turn and come back onto the street without any restrictions. But, I hadn’t noticed that there were steps into the Church Yard…Bump…Bump…Bump. Now I had to figure out how to drive back up the steps. There was not enough room to get speed to mount the steps. I had another bright idea; I opened the doors of the Church wide and reversed into the Church and I managed to get enough speed to climb the steps.

Now I had to contend with a Telegraph Pole on my left. I remember a man giving me hand directions…a bit to the right…stop…left…etc, while by the corner of my eye I could see a poor woman who was blessing herself. Well after some tears and a lot of sweat I managed to make my way home with no casualties.

Three weeks later I returned to Friary Street with the new love of my life. The paint from my white Corolla was still on the Telegraph pole. Unsurprisingly he never let me drive his car. I am now retired from driving, much to the relief of everyone who has endured my driving.

Margaret Harington

The Group

We build a lattice work of care

Around ourselves and in a sense

Kin to those who sat within

The cave’s entrance aeons ago

And lit by flickering fires

Forged tales and meaning to their

Being there. We too

Make meanings, as we share

The shards of our realities.

We give and we receive

More than we know and indeed

Are blessed, often unknowingly.

We grow

Our place of sanctuary

Of others’ caring, kind, ensuring

We are never on our own and share

In building this fine lattice work of care.

Peter Hennessy

Rush Hour

My thoughts furiously bombarding every corner of my head,

as I close my eyes tonight.

Like rush hour traffic trying to exit the city

on a busy bank holiday weekend.

Or like shoppers, when the shutters go down,

pouring out onto the already busy street.

My mind is brimming over with heavy baggage,

some more overloaded than others, bags within bags

and I yearn to get to that place where I can eventually rest

the never-ending pounding in my head,

like the thump of resounding footsteps on the unforgiving pavement.

Then, I reach over, and you there beside me.

You are my compass, my strength, the one who guides me through.

Like the traffic and busy shoppers, clearing as they inevitably will,

my head clears now, and I can close my eyes this time and sleep.

Carmel Hogan