DCU Library Creative Writing Competition Awards 2025

Telescreen Cell by Sam

The cell door slams shut like an earthquake
Another day ends
The hardest part is beginning
Shouting on the windows
Banging on the walls
The crash of a ceramic sink smashing

I must not close my eyes
Afraid of what I’ll see
The telescreen illuminates the cell in pale blue
It speaks to me in images
The tears of the world
A rubble city in a desert, a starving child
Lifestyle marketing, talking heads, animated smiles
Overload countermands the normal functions of my mind

I wade through the stations
A two-foot-tall-talking-teddy makes me laugh
It’s safe to sleep
I close my eyes
Vivid images of my enemy’s family life
I wake in nebulous dread
Respite is within reach
It comes at a price
A miniscule bag of sandy-brown powder
Its vapour sets me free
It will cost me my life

Mountjoy Education Centre

The Garden by Liam Johnson

A GARDEN IS A WONDROUS PLACE,

PLANTS HOLD NO ALLEGIANCE TO GENDER OR RACE.

FROM TINY SPECK TO GLORIOUS MATURITY

A FLOWER WON'T CARE WHO LOOKS AT ITS BEAUTY.

CABBAGE EATEN BY CAPTAIN OR KING

RED JUICY APPLE THE JOY IT CAN BRING.

FROM A SIMPLE DAISY THAT RAISES ITS WHITE HEAD

TO A MAGNIFICENTLY TENDED HERBACEOUS BED.

NATURE WILL, WILLINGLY, ITS BOUNTY BESTOW,

SUNSHINE AND RAIN ALL A PLANT NEEDS TO GROW.

TO ESCAPE FROM THIS WORLD OF TROUBLE AND CARE

STEP INTO A GARDEN NATURE RULES THERE.

LAWS OF PEACE, SERENITY AND GRACE

A WEED JUST A FLOWER IN THE WRONG PLACE.

VIEW A GARDEN AS YOU WOULD A CHILD

CATER TO ITS NEEDS, DON'T LET IT RUN WILD.

TEND IT, FEED IT GIVE IT REGARD

A FINE HEALTHY CROP WILL BE YOUR REWARD.

TO THE GARDENER, A SPECIAL PRAYER I WILL OFFER

LIKE YOUR PLANTS AND SEEDS MAY YOU LIVE LONG AND PROSPER

CDETB Adult Education Centre, Creative Writing Group, St. Helena’s, Finglas

The First Time by Mim Greene

I remember the first time I saw you. 
A flicker of recognition inside me 
I knew I knew you. 
I recognised the depth, 
The sadness, 
The unwavering solidity.

From across the busy trafficked Dublin canal, 
I knew you were my father…

And I’m sure you gazed back knowing I was your daughter. 
The living image of each other.

It’s like we had a rugby huddle of grief, loss & celebration. 
It’s rare.

A needle in a haystack type of thing for an adoptee to know the name of their father, 
Let alone meet them.

It’s a difficult one, 
Over decades I am pulling threads in this cloak to know you. 
It wasn’t the whole truth was it? 
How she was left 
What she faced 
How I came into being?

But I’m still hanging on 
To weave a new blanket for us both 
For the little boy 
that was left too.

CDETB Creative Writing Group, Convent View, Cabra

Janus Kisses by Eddie Parsons

A gull wheeled,
Bright as bare-assed Cupid on the blue.
No sand in sandwiches that day,
On that bucket, spade and ice-cream-crazy day.
The lighthouse twinkled,
My toes in the warmth of a night's kisses,
Felt how long a flower of joy might last,
The flower - of course it's natural - 
Dropped perfumed petals one by one.
As hourglass sands threaded behind my back.

Old, dry-lipped, tea-dipped day,
Sweet, sudden ice-cream day,
I catch a memory, a petal,
Dried out as I am myself,
And deep, wrinkled sockets
Moisten to a scented smile
Of fleeting joy. Bucket and spade. Soon
I'll kick the bucket. The spade will dig
A pure, deep, joy-kissed day. 

CDETB Creative Writing Group, Convent View, Cabra

Enjoying Life by Ester Aradottir

Who is growling so loudly and now they are making rumbling sounds repeatedly? I open my eyes trying to figure out where this noise is coming from. Lying on the bed, the first thing I see is the sun dancing brightly on the ceiling, as the blinds are moving from the cold autumn breeze, through the open window. I love this time of the year, autumn but almost winter, you can just smell it. It is crispy, fresh and a bit cold when you take a deep breath in. I take a full breath in, there is that sound again even louder, where is it coming from? Oh I’m such a fool, it’s my stomach. I’m so hungry, I jump out of bed and stretch every muscle of my body, adding some crackling sounds in the mix with my stomach. I hear that someone is in the kitchen, so I run downstairs to find my brother eating his breakfast, and I see that my breakfast is already on the table. When I’m eating my breakfast, I look out the window to see all the leaves in all their autumn colours; mustard yellow, olive green, different shades of brown and red moving slowly in the gentle wind.

 

After breakfast I clean myself and decide to go out for a walk. This weather is just my cup of tea with a light, cold gust, no white clouds to be seen in the bright blue sky, and when you find shelter from the gust you can feel the warmth from the sun. I walk one of my favourite trails, by the river, through the forest, over the old wooden bridge that is so mouldy that it will break any day now. I always see four magpies together, if it is always the same ones. I do not know, but they are never happy to see me, always screaming at me and flying very close to me trying to bite me. I sprint as fast as I can up the green hill and down again, the magpies are following me. I run down to the river to get some fresh, crystal clear and ice-cold water to drink and sit down for some rest. The magpies are finally quiet so I can enjoy the sounds and smells that the forest has to offer. The sun is starting to set and it is getting darker by the minute, time to head home.

On my way I meet my brother and we race home. Sadly, he wins by a couple of steps, we play outside until it gets pitch black. We walk together into our house and the whole family is already there. Something smells delicious and there is the rumbling and growling sound again and I feel peckish. My dinner plate is waiting patiently on the kitchen table with my favourite food, chicken. Chicken is the best, so white, tender, tasty and smells heavenly. When I have gulped down my food, I walk up to my favourite person, climb up their blue jeans and then their soft grey wool jumper. Head-butting their chin up the cheek and all the way up to their ear, putting my front paws over their shoulder. I’m purring like a well-tuned machine. I hear them giggle and then they start petting me. I’m the luckiest cat in the whole world. 

Ballymun Adult Literacy Service

The Eleventh Hour by Carol Mullen

Marie is already there when I get to the station. She is wearing her pale blue sundress and holding her straw hat and is waiting at the gate. The platform is crammed with mothers and fathers pushing buggies with babies reined in tightly; their other children are skipping behind them wearing tiny bulging backpacks.

I slip into Costa to grab breakfast. The queue is short, and I join Marie with minutes to spare. ‘Happy anniversary!’ she smiles. ‘I can’t believe it’s four years.’ We pile into the second carriage, and I lay our bounty on the table. I know Marie really loves a Danish pastry and usually I can’t resist the smell of a warm almond croissant. But today I don’t have an appetite.

‘You must be reading my mind. I really fancy something sweet to eat but I don’t want to spoil my appetite. Not that you can really spoil my appetite! I know that I’ll devour my takeaway fish and chips later on.’

In no time we’re off. We sit in silence and are drawn into the changing scenes of sea and land that the train offers us whilst sipping on our hot coffees. Marie savours every single bite of her Danish, but my hot drink doesn’t give me any comfort. The train quickly gains speed and is leaving the busy streets of Dublin and on to the winding coast. I start a mental countdown of the fourteen stations en route to Bray. Each station is announced in both the English and Irish. After each announcement I mentally repeat the Irish version in my head, bringing back my happy junior school days of repeating after the teacher new Irish vocabulary. Distraction tactics.

At Seapoint, the sea is littered with tiny heads bobbing up and down. Then on to Dun Laoghaire where the multi-coloured boats are moored at the marina. They vary in size and splendour. The noise level in the compartment goes up and down every time we pull into and out of a station, the doors opening and closing with a whooshing sound.

It’s funny. Sometimes, you can sit alongside someone for a long time and not feel the need to talk. But today, my silence is different. I’m choosing not to talk just in case I spoil the moment. Marie looks so happy looking through the window as the sea rushes by. Much quicker than I anticipate, our journey is nearly over, and the train is approaching Bray station. We veer away from the coastline and wind our way behind suburban housing. Marie and me leave the train and make our way onto the platform. We walk smartly out of the station and cross over the railway tracks making our way to the prom. This is where our acceptable silence ends. 

‘Will we do our walk and then go on to Bray Head?’ asks Marie.
‘Yep, that sounds like a good plan. Stretch our legs and maybe even paddle. The tide’s in.’
‘I’ve brought some stale bread to feed the swans and birds in the harbour.’
‘You’d need a vanload of Johnston Mooney and O’Brien’s bread to satisfy those hungry hoards,’ I reply, a little too sharply. 
Marie turns her head and looks at me with a puzzled expression. She hesitates and quietly asks ‘Are you ok?’
‘Yep, fine thanks.’

We meander our way up towards the harbour. Marie turns to me and smiles and blurts out ‘I can’t wait, it can’t come quick enough for me.’ I feel distracted by all that surrounds me on this beautiful day. Marie is beside me and yet could be on the other side of the ocean. The prom is bustling with holiday makers, eating ice cream cones with and without the coveted flake. Small children lick their cones as the ice-cream runs between their fingers and trails down their arms. Mothers use baby wipes to clean up their offspring. Busy children continue to take a lick when the opportunity arises as their mothers complete their mission. A battalion made up of children of varying ages carry buckets and spades en route to the stony beach. Meanwhile the sun is playing hide and seek with the clouds. 

‘It’s hard to believe that we’ve been so lucky,’ she beams. Lucky, yes. Lady luck. Whoever invented that phrase? I don’t feel lucky. I can’t stay in the present when I can’t see a future. How has this all happened? I’m brought back down to earth with a bang. No more denial. 

My thoughts are racing. I feel so confused and yet so clear in my decision. My future, yes, my future. There’s no we in it! I can’t look at Marie. My throat is on fire. I blink to stop the tears falling. Forever grateful for the peak of my cap that shields me from that ball of fire in the sky and from Marie’s penetrating eyes that don’t miss a trick. My tears are my shame for not being the man I should be. Honest and trustworthy.

‘Will we sit and get a cold drink now?’ she says, rooting in her wallet for spare change. I nod in agreement and relish the thought of that cold drink slipping down my throat and soothing me. I feel hot and yet feel cold. My arms are covered in goose pimples. I glance at Marie. She oozes contentment as she queues for the drinks. She catches my eye, smiles and nods. I feign a smile. ‘You want Fanta?’ she asks.

After a short interval, she arrives back, juggling two large takeaway cups. I take one. I gulp my drink and it stings as it passes down my gullet. I cough and splutter. It quenches my thirst but not my fear. I search for a tissue, buying time. I am slow to speak. Afraid of what I have to say. Marie is blissfully unaware of me. She is totally transported to a different place. I imagine she is seeing the wide-open spaces of Western Canada on a snowy day. Anticipating days of being on the slopes, skiing and snowboarding. Sitting close to an open log fire in the evenings and drinking hot chocolate. Tucked up snugly together.

‘I wonder when the contract will arrive. It should have been here by now.’ It’s becoming more real by the moment. The penny is dropping. I thought it would never materialise. Until now, it was like a pipedream, not real. An aspiration for Marie but not ever for me. Time to grow up and speak up. ‘Marie,’ my voice barely audible. ‘Marie, I have something to tell you.’
She puts her drink down on the wall, looks up at me with her trusting blue eyes. 
‘I can’t go,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to emigrate.’

City of Dublin FET College Central Campus Adult Education Services

The Surprise Cruise by Kathleen Reid

An unwelcome pile of envelopes was the first thing to greet me on my arrival home. The usual bills in their white rectangular envelopes mingling with brightly coloured junk mail. Buried on the bottom was a large blue envelope with the name of a travel agent printed on it in bright yellow lettering. Assuming it was another advertisement or junk mail, the letter was placed on the hall table along with the rest of the pile.

In the sitting room Mam was sat in her usual chair by the window watching the world go by while she remained trapped in her own little world known only to herself. After making tea and heating up the casserole made the night before we sat down to our meal, chatting companionably but the conversation not making much sense or meaning to anybody except Mam. Still, she seemed to enjoy these chats and she soon settled down to watch her beloved Coronation St. The mysterious letter came back to mind and I went to retrieve it from the hall table.

‘We are pleased to inform you that you have won first prize in our recent magazine competition’ it announced, a two week cruise for two people in the Mediterranean! Wistfully I pondered through the brochure and a huge surge of excitement enveloped me. Soon reality dropped me back to earth and I knew I could not go. Mam calling signalled it was time to help her prepare for bed and the letter was abandoned. Later I picked up the colourful brochure again, looking at the exotic ports of call. I would so love to go, it said it was for two but I would adore some time on my own, just me and my books, nobody to answer to and the freedom to eat what and when I liked. Maybe if I asked that sister of mine she would take Mam for the week. Mam would love the company of her grandchildren, not that she knew they were her grandchildren anymore but as a retired teacher she still loved kids. 

A glimmer of hope sparked inside me, I will ring Anna and ask her. “I’m too busy with the children, and anyway she would not settle with me in a strange house, she does not know who I am half the time.” That was partly true. Mam may not settle in a strange house and as for not knowing who she was, sure half the time she does not know who I am.

As I was jolted back to reality I realised it was a silly harebrained notion thinking I could go on a cruise on my own and leave Mam. Besides there was the office, no way could I leave that gaggle of giggling and chattering girls to run it, especially with that new young accountant around the place causing a distraction among his admiring fans. Sure the place would be in turbulence. I must admit he was very handsome with his blue eyes and curly blonde hair. I would probably swoon over him myself if I was 30 years younger. With the letter forgotten and put away I headed for bed myself. 

Life I knew was passing me by. I was really not that old. At 50 my whole world revolved around Mam and my job as office manager. Before Dad died suddenly I had a large circle of friends and a good social life. He was Mam’s carer and her world. Now I had to take over her care as Anna said she has her own family to look after and we seldom saw her. Was Mam not her family as well though? Sleeping badly that night I awoke to the alarm shrilling, my head pounding and the sensation of a black cloud hanging over me. 

After showering and dressing in my usual dark grey work suit and pinning my long black hair up and tending to Mam I left for work. I would check in an hour that Mam’s carer had arrived to help her dress and give her breakfast. The early morning traffic and gloomy rain did nothing to lift my spirits and I arrived late to whispers of “quick girls here comes Frosty.” 

With a heavy heart I made my way past the various work stations to my glass fronted office at the end. Everybody in the office got the wrath and lashing of my tongue that morning and the handsome Rob was not spared. With my head and nose stuck in my work I was startled to hear a gentle knock on my glass door. Rob was standing there holding a steaming cup of strong coffee. “Hi Sarah, I thought you could do with this, it might perk you up a bit” he said. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you” I replied. 

I was taken by surprise and the coffee did make me feel more human. I could not remember when anybody did anything as kind as that for me and I certainly did not deserve it. I well-earned the name Frosty and was probably too hard on the girls and especially Rob. I notice he sits on his own at lunch time, I will thank him properly then. 

The morning went in a flurry of phone calls, people looking for accounts, files and information. As lunch time approached I went over and sat by Rob, apologising for my bad humour earlier. I found myself telling him the whole saga of the cruise and how I was my mam’s carer and could not go. 

Surprisingly, Rob said he knew how I felt as he was his dad’s carer. He could empathise with me as he was an only child and felt very alone. “I know a lovely little nursing home that takes my dad for a week's respite once a month. Maybe they would be able to take your mam for a week so you can go on your cruise? I’ll give you the number now, give them a ring.” “Rob” I asked, “why do you sit on your own every day for lunch, why do you not go out with the girls?” “I just prefer my own company Sarah, but I enjoyed your company today. Will you sit with me again tomorrow?” 

Slowly but surely our lunch dates became a daily event. Rob opened up about how his girlfriend was killed in an accident the previous year and he was not ready for another relationship and found the attention of the girls overwhelming at times. However, he did enjoy the banter and fun with them.

The following weekend Rob asked if I would like to visit the care home with him. I agreed and was quite surprised how lovely and caring everybody was. There were lots of activities going on like bingo, arts and crafts and music. It turned out they could fit Mam in for a week the following month. Afterwards Rob and I went for a walk and chatted for hours. “You know the girls in the office are getting very suspicious about us and the rumour mill has it we are having an affair,” Rob announced. “Oh, is that so now and is there any truth in the rumour?” I said with a coy smile. “I would really like that” he said, but let’s just take things slowly.

Telling Mam about my cruise was a lot easier than I thought and she seemed so interested, although at the same time not sure what I was talking about. The respite might just be a bit more difficult than I thought and should I bother mentioning Rob to her. “Why do you not bring her at the weekend for an hour or so and see how things go? I will be there with my dad and you can introduce me to her, just as a friend though.”

Mam arrived at the care home and seemed so excited by all the comings and goings and never even noticed me slipping away for a while. She sat herself down beside Rob's dad and was enthralled in the game of cards being played, although unable to play herself. “Oh, do I have to go home Sarah, I was having fun?” “Yes Mam, but you will be back next week for your week's respite, and I will be on my cruise.”

Life at the office was much better now since Head Office had given me a secretary at last. “I am going on a holiday next week” I told the girls, “a cruise no less.” Then to everybody’s surprise Rob's voice piped up “and so am I.”

CDETB Adult Literacy Service Coolock Darndale 

Before the Snow Comes by Judy Kelly

Bieszczady, Poland, November 2018

We reach the wide-open space at the edge of the forest.

Morning sun welcomes us to our early morning hike

and silence, broken only 

by the whirring of lumber machines, beckons.

Just-cut trees entice with their rich spicy scent

as we walk past long golden logs, 

deep into the forest.

Midday, and powerful beech and fir trees guide us.

Tangled ivy covers the skeleton branches

and emerald moss velvets the rough stones

like heavy jackets embracing winter —

protection from the imminent winter snow.

Our guide Marta smiles and suggests we stop for lunch.

At the bend, we turn and gaze 

at a lake of surprise, shadowed by pines.

Time to rest in this movie-like scene, 

relish the glittering sun’s reflections and relax, 

eat a lunch of rye bread, beetroot, cheese and pickle.

Refreshed, we join the springy path 

and the sun plays hide and seek between tall trees,

the orchestra of birds in harmony

with the rustling leaves as we pass.

We follow the cawing crows on their homeward flight,

hear unfamiliar sounds —

wolves, bears, or some other predator.

Maybe just squirrels scurrying up trees, we say,

curling their s-shaped tails and having fun.

Or slender deer seeking woody delights

competing for acorns and the like.

Glimpses of evening sun begin to fade

and then, the revelation of the forest’s final treat:

Scarlet toadstools at the base of an immense beech, 

—giant ladybirds as art installations— 

tempting but forbidden, don’t touch! 

We linger to admire, walk on

and trudge the twiggy paths.

Creeping plants choke the branches

and ferns wave goodbye as we walk the final path

through a long, dark, leafy tunnel.

The air is cool and we wrap up in layers, 

glad to arrive back at the wide-open clearing.

The timber has been collected

and the loggers are gone, but

the spicy night scent is still there,

and we are homeward bound.

We relax on the bus, safe and warm.

Outside, the moon and trees cast shadows, 

the eerie night sounds continue.

We look back as we drive away.

As night falls, the forest may be for the brave.

City of Dublin FET College Central Campus Adult Education Services

The Phantom Horseman by Deirdre de Brún

Darkness came quickly now.

Dusk evaporating easily into the deep, velvet blackness.

Made for joyful midnight trysts.

Then, later, slow, rhythmic breathing.

But now, harsh, gasping, struggling breaths.

Startled, silenced briefly, by the sudden, cruel cry of a Banshee.

That white haired old woman of the night.

A secret foretold.

Death then.

Or, perhaps no banshee, but an ulchabhán.

Bright yellow eyed, white bearded, and of rich, tawny, plumage.

Wise, mysterious.

The Devine Messenger.

The people of the Mount, made kind by milk, wrought spells, easing that 

terrible, tortured breathing.

Na Aes Sidhe brought adventurous, fantastical creatures to her.

Their fairy fort, her passage to the next world.

She saw Dagda, the greatest of the Gods, and of Dagda, Donn.

She would go to Teach Duinn.

She would go there to die.

A phantom horseman, riding a white horse would take her there, presently.

And afterwards, a soft, gentle journey.

Westwards, through mist, and overseas.

She would journey to Tír na nÓg, and remain there, in youthful ease.

CDETB Creative Writing Course Cabra Library

Mando - My Gladiator by James

From the start we were as thick as thieves. Only 18 months apart; she was every bar of me, only in a prettier wrapper!

My earliest memory is of us getting up to no good together, when we were only 5 or 6, we used to sneak into the kitchen and ram-raid the cookie jar. I would let her stand on my back and she would rob the cookies and biscuits from it. Then we would go hide somewhere and gobble down the lot, laughing and planning our next heist!

We spent a lot of time together. To her, I was the crazy older bro, fearless and afraid of nothing. Her protector. Our bond was so strong. We stuck together like Lego blocks. Later when things were going haywire in my life, she was always the one I turned to. She told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear. Over the years she has stopped me from doing things that could possibly have ruined my life, or ended someone else’s.

As kids we were forever getting into trouble. Times were hard and we were always the ones on the road with second-hand stuff; and you know how cruel kids can be. If anyone went near Mando I flipped, nobody and I mean nobody talked about my baby sister, so over the years I’ve been in some scraps and straighteners!

Now the thing is, Mando though, learnt quickly being reared in a house full of boys. She was a proper Tomboy! I once watched her knock not one, but two, lads out cold. They fell like trees that had just been chopped down, slapped off the ground. She was such a strong girl. My own little gladiator!

A whole treasure trove of memories unlocked, but even after 12 years there is a tidal wave of pain and it still hurts. The day we lost you my world fell apart. I’ll never stop missing you, but by blocking it out I will lose all the precious memories of my beautiful baby sister. My Gladiator!

Mountjoy Education Centre

International Women's Day by Pauline Byrne

The restless, relentless, upheaval

Converging on continents, such evil

Proliferating, percolating, mass destruction

Manmade, pointless introduction

People populating, waste ground

With no nourishment, to be found

Clothing ragging, on their backs

Blood bubbling, into the cracks

Children crushed, under the rubble

Parents praying, in a huddle

Flesh and faith, stripped away

How to deal, with the day to day

Death and destruction, on the path

Bearing the brunt, of war’s wrath

Innocents intrinsic, to escalating fear

Hostages held, to notch up a gear

Hastened humanitarian, support

Being blocked, at every port

Populus perishing, in a line

Power procrastinating, no end divine

CDETB Creative Writing Group, Convent View, Cabra

Cruiser by Clare Brophy

A small advertisement about renting a cruiser on the Shannon for the cheapest price, for the last week of August caught hubby's eye. He and the kids were excited. I sat silent, feeling alone and frightened. They could all swim, surely a necessity for cruising? I had a history! My hard-working parents, hassled running their business, did not know what to do with their seven kids in the long summer holidays. They wanted us away from the Dublin-Galway main road, more dangerous in those pre-motorway days. 

They'd drive us out to Lough Ree at Hudson Bay with all the gear and a large picnic, promising they'd return to collect us around 5pm. We, the eldest two, were given the strictest instructions. We were never to go into the water further than knee-deep, we were to constantly check and mind the younger ones. None of us could swim, there was no pool in our town. The parents warned us that the lake had no bottom, that there were holes and these holes would suck you down! We had heard enough local news stories about fellows driving their horse and cart home, drunk, late at night and were found in the river in the morning, or bodies that didn't surface for days after a lad jumped off the bridge. We believed them about the lake, and heeded the warnings. 

Now, my family wanted to cruise on this very lake! I was horrified, all those childhood fears returning. I didn't sleep, as the day approached.

We were to collect the boat at 12 noon, and have an introductory short trip and lesson, then we would head up the lake to Lanesboro 20 miles away. Nothing went to plan. We should have taken that as an omen. The boat wasn't ready until 5.30 pm, the recce trip did not happen, just a quick lesson to stay right side of the red markers. Foolishly, they trusted us, and we set off. It was getting late so we decided on Lecarrow Canal, about 6 or 7 miles north of Athlone, but the boat's owners yelled at us from the shore, "Oh no! Don't go to Lecarrow Canal! The weeds will destroy the engine and you will be stuck." In our innocence, we said, “OK to Lanesboro!”

Driving this cruiser was like sitting on top of your chimney and driving your full-size house down the river. It was slow and ponderous. We could travel no more than what felt like 5 miles per hour, walking pace! It began to get foggy on the long lake and we could hardly see. Worse, it was getting dark! Twenty miles is nothing in a car, but now, at snail's pace, with no mooring in between, it felt scarily distant. We saw no other boats at all on the lake. There were no mobile phones in those days, I might add. Finally, in the dark, after two hours, we spot the lights of Lanesboro. To our dismay, all the mooring sites were gone. We didn't yet know that you simply double parked! We noticed a very small space between two cruisers. Hubby, the so-called expert, decided he'd get our boat into that space. By now, all the other cruisers had their lights on. We could see people at table, eating their dinner. As we manoeuvred into the space, our boat hit the next cruiser, hard! To our utter mortification, we watched 6 people jump up, as their full wine glasses crashed over and spilt red wine all over them.

Hubby-expert decided to beat a retreat; the space was too small. So, we moved past the end of the line and were delighted to see a railing to tie up to, a 100 metres further on. It seemed frail, but we had no option. We tied up and tucked into our pre-cooked dinner. After a few games of cards, and slightly tipsy, we got into the bunks and slept soundly.

Voices woke us up around 8 am next morning! A man was standing above our boat, beside him, his wife. Both looked down at us with the crossest of faces. We had moored the boat to a flimsy rail in their garden. Their kids all came to gawk at the sinners. Their house was a mere 20 metres away. We hadn't even noticed it last night in the dark. Our kids disappeared and covered their faces under their sleeping bags. With red-faced apologies, and still in our pyjamas, we started up the engine and headed further up the Shannon. Six more days of this? I groaned.

As we meandered further northwards, our 12-year-old became the second expert at manning the engine. I was banished to the back of the boat to sit, do my knitting, and leave them to it. I was no sooner seated when I heard an awful crunch. These two 'experts' had run us aground! Had steered on the wrong side of the red markers. I screamed at them, “REVERSE! REVERSE!” Luckily we managed to get out of it. But I was now back in front, facing forward, hyper alert.

Looking around at all the other cruisers the next day, it seemed ours looked past its prime, with an old metal rail around its deck that no other boats had. Vintage. The others were huge, modern and sleek. They moved fast and gracefully. We began to be envious. But that afternoon, while tying up, I tripped and fell between the boat and the harbour wall! I managed to grab the rail and haul myself back up onto the deck. Grateful our antique boat with its old rail had saved my life. But I was beginning to mutter, NEVER again, and to invoke the Guardian Angels! 

Next day, we decided to stop at Jamestown Canal. We had been told to always park the cruiser facing the current. Obedient hubby, being a car driver, did a U-turn…except he didn't! The current immediately caught the side of our boat and flung us up against the old stone bridge. We could hear, and see, the mighty panicked when the engine, no matter how hard we tried, would not move our boat. I, a mountain leader and rock climber, seriously considered climbing up this high stone bridge, above the swirling current of the river, to escape with our lives, off the boat! We were all shouting at each other at once, reverse, turn left, stop; younger daughter lay down on the deck, and curled up in the foetal position, thinking we were all going to die. I was frantic, my husband, in a falsely quiet voice, his face whiter than a dying man, repeated, over and over, “Keep calm! Keep calm!”

Our 12-year-old took charge! She shouted over at the other cruising Germans, who, already moored, had been quietly watching this entertaining spectacle, laughing at our ignorant antics. Her call-out got three of them to their feet. They tied their ropes to ours and, together with our engine on full throttle, they pulled our boat sideways to a mooring. Hubby needed a stiff whiskey on 'terra firma', the green, green, grassy river bank. The Germans taught us that you drive into your space, and let the current turn the boat round! Next morning we made a shocking discovery: there was a weir wall and an eight foot drop on the river, through the arches of that bridge, making us even more thankful we were alive!

Secretly my mind was made up! Two bicycles were supplied by the hire company, one a lady's. I cheerily said goodbye to my family. “See y'all in Roosky,” as I cycled off. On high ground all the way, I could look down at the river, and at the cruiser with my family on it. Twelve miles later, I was waiting for them. Truthfully, they also needed a break from my landlubber's nerves!

The lock gates were frightening at first. How could our old banger of a boat compete with the sleekies? To queue up, to steer between the narrow walls and go through? By the end of our week, we just about managed and there were several of them. The few bangs both sides of our boat from the lock walls caused us to worry about getting our huge deposit back. You could hardly call us experienced, but we got home, chastened and humbled, especially as we weren't charged for the damage.

On our last night my family, still living in this town, joined us for a short trip, their first ever on a cruiser in the town. It was an unforgettable week, but give me a good sturdy bike any time, on a country road, with hedgerows and birdsong! I'm happy to leave the cruisers to the water babies. People book from year to year, but not us! We would never rent another cruiser again! That lake still has holes.

CDETB Creative Writing Course Cabra Library