To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

My Favourite Boyhood Haunt....

Since leaving Ireland in 1966 and joining the London Police, I have made frequent visits to my hometown.   I was extremely homesick for the first four or five years but now consider London my home.   That is strange really as whenever I was going over there I used to say ‘Going Home’.   After my mother died (God Rest her) without thinking I would say ‘Going to Ireland’ and when returning to London say that I was ‘Going Home’.

As I say, I regularly visited my hometown just south of the capital Dublin.   All my childhood memories are associated with the town and surroundings.    

One of my favourite haunts was The Dargle Valley.    It is situated about four miles outside town where you take the turn-off to Enniskerry.   About a quarter of a mile along you turn left and come to the entrance to the wild and wonderful valley.

As a Cub Scout, every Sunday we would take a ‘hike’ there with our sandwiches and bits and pieces where we would spend the day with our friends at the Scout campsite.   In the evenings, we would stroll home in some semblance of order, singing all the songs of the day.   They were wonderful times for a nine year old boy and the memories I have of that period of my life are as fresh in my mind as the day they were put there.

The river Dargle rises in the Wicklow Hills and flows slowly and surely through the countyside where it enters the Dargle Valley.   In places, the sides of the valley are about half a mile wide and I suppose about 500 feet deep.    The adventures we had there are legendary.............

As can be seen from the above photographs, it has changed very little in the one hundred odd years between them.    There is a very high rock known as ‘Lovers Leap’ and I remember when I first saw it wondering how anyone could be so silly as to jump off it ‘just for a girl’.

A couple of years ago, I took a flying visit to Ireland and stayed at my sister’s home.   Having played golf for a couple of days, I made up my mind that I would take a walk through the valley as I had not been there, other than to fish for the small trout  for many years.

The first thing I noticed was that the old lodge at the entrance was derelict.   It was there that we used to pay the old lady one penny to enter.    This time, I went through the overgrown entrance to find that the tracks I had known had changed very little.   I was once again ten years old and remembered every inch of the many paths.

I reached the area that is shown in the first photograph and after the long walk; I sat down on one of the large rocks midstream and took in the still warm October sunshine that was streaming through the encroaching sides of the valley.

There was not a sound to be heard other than the rippling of the water through the rocks on its way to the seaside at Bray Harbour.

I lay back on the rock as we used to do years ago, smoked my pipe for a few minutes then closed my eyes.   It must have been merely minutes until I opened my eyes again and immediately noticed the smell of burning wood.

Remembering that only senior Scouts were allowed to light fires on the estate I sat up and looked around me.     Over to my right I saw that there were now a group of about twenty boys.   They were all aged about ten years with the exception of two who were I suppose close to twenty.   They had a large fire burning and the smoke was now covering the enclosed area.    I sat and watched.................

To my utmost surprise they were singing the same songs of my childhood that we used to sing – in the same spot.    Some were gathering firewood whilst others were climbing and swinging from the branches of trees.   I stayed perfectly still and they did not appear to notice me.   I was mesmerized and everything seemed strange and far away.

One young boy came across the rocks by the riverside and appeared to notice me.   He stood still and stared at me.   I looked but did not say anything.   You see, it was as if I was looking at an old photograph of myself……….

I could not understand it and merely said to him “Hello there, what’s your name?”    He did not answer but ran over the rocks back to the campfire and spoke to the two older young men.   They looked towards me and shouted something or other which I did not quite hear.

The words rang out clearer the second time.   They were shouting “Are you alright old man?”    I sat up and my pipe fell out of my hand into the flowing eddy between two rocks.   I reached down and managed to grab it before it flowed away.   I then looked again to answer the boys that I was safe and in no danger.    

They were gone as had the smoke from the campfire.    All was once again as quiet as the grave.......

I sat for a few minutes with sweat forming on my brow.   I knew that I must have been dreaming of my boyhood.    I almost laughed out loud thinking that I had seen myself as a boy – how stupid can one get?

I got up and gingerly made my way back across the rocks to the river bank.   I could still smell wood burning and made my way to where the fire had been during my ‘dream’.    Of course there was no fire, nor ashes nor anything else to suggest that there had in fact been a fire there in many, many years.

However, there was a small leather schoolbag which I picked up.   You can believe it or not, but it was identical to one that my father had made for me when I was eight years old – same colour, same stitching and same buckle.    It looked clean and quite new and had inside it some wrapped up sandwiches which were fresh.   They were exactly the way my mother used to make them and were wrapped in the same grease-proof paper that she always used.

Surely they couldn’t have been the same?     

Or could they?................

I mentioned the large rocky ledge high up in the Valley called Lovers Leap…This is a little poem about it…………………

Lovers Leap.

In the Valley of the Dargle, I stood alone on Lovers Leap,

From high above, the hills stared at me, below the river, dark and deep.

I thought of days, long gone before me, I thought of what life held for me,

While in my mind, I had a yearning, a longing just to be set free.

A lifetime spent in far-off  London, as a ‘ Peeler’ dressed in blue,

Wishing to be home in Wicklow, wishing to be back with you.

Dreaming of my youth and boyhood, roaming o’er your hills at play,

Growing up into my manhood, fearing moving far away.

Finding love and all its passion, getting wed and settling down,

Building home for all the family, working hard in that foul town.

Children born, their peaceful dreaming, waking crying through the night,

Onward too, until their weddings, what a wondrous happy sight.

But fifty years is just an instant, in God’s good but devious plan,

Now that I am home in Wicklow, not a youth, but an old man.

I ask myself ‘Well, was it worth it?’  My answer surely must be ‘Yes’,

Would I do it, a new chance to? My answer is ‘Just have one guess’.

What would have happened, had I not wandered?   Left you Wicklow, gone away.

What would have happened? Again I ask you, had I decided, yes to stay.

All things precious to my memory, would come to nothing, had I not gone,

Love, a dream that’s fast forgotten, out of mind like an ancient song.

So as I stand here, sad and lonely, I think of things as great as these,

Standing here, in my sad madness, I should be down on bended knees.

For life’s been good with many blessings, thank you Lord, I give thee praise,

I turn my back onto the darkness, stepping back to brighter days.

------------Mike---------------------