My Favourite Boyhood
Haunt....
There are occasions in life that remain solid
in one’s memory over the years. This
little memory has stayed fresh in my mind for well over 50 years.
I was born and lived in Ireland until
at the age of 25 I did what most young Irishmen of my era did – I left and
immigrated to London where I took up the truncheon and became
a London Bobby – a member of the Constabulary.
I regularly visit my home town just south of
the capital Dublin and all of my childhood memories are
associated with the town and surroundings. One of my
favourite haunts is/was The Dargle Valley. It
is situated about four miles out the Wicklow Road 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 mountains and flows slowly and surely through the
county where it meets 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 legend.............
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
‘home’ 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 there, 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 by the riverside on a
large rock in the flowing river 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 strong 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 fully 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 the
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 wrapped in the same grease-proof paper that she always used.
Surely they couldn’t have been the same? Or
could they?................
------------Mike--------------
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