M
Markets Bring in the unidentified and the lost, the fallen, the two hundred and fifty-five, we shall not abandon them in this hour. In here, we’re used to asking ‘at what cost?’ but none should pay this much to stay alive, all of us were caught in that fierce shower. Relatives arrive to inspect the dead: they hunt for their missing, last seen awake, discard strange faces like unwanted goods. You see the eyes scan, the shake of the head, a purchase no one is ready to make, then all of a sudden, their search concludes: they’re freshly laid out, all bloodied and bold, a couple of young souls, recently sold. Following heavy German bombing of Belfast on Easter Tuesday 1941, St George’s Market was used as an emergency mortuary. Some 700 people were killed during the raids with 255 bodies brought to the market for identification. Not all of the dead were identified and a public funeral of the unclaimed dead took place on 21 April 1941. After separate Catholic and Protestant services were held at the market, thousands lined the streets as the cortege passed by on its way to both Milltown and the City cemeteries. |
Meteorology Two pairs of socks, I tell you, and I still felt the frozen pavement spit up inside of me. God help any poor bugger that slips in that, but you’re be sure to get right back up again: you wouldn’t want to be lying down in that for too long. I’ll tell you, it was snow and ice as domineering as spiteful Poseidon was to the waves; and you’ll believe me for surely you felt the minus twenty air smack against your barren face too. I needed a hood for my white cheeks in minus twenty weather. The weatherman said it’s going to last till May, I tell you, no kidding. Thermometers don’t exaggerate. |
Minnowburn …and there was you and there was me, by sapling brooks and flooded trees, asking why do they bend toward the river's heart. I did not know; still do not horde any witted answer in my apple cart. Just speculate. And there was you by a farm gate, looking for cows I sensed were there, with slow footsteps as our eye browsed the hill with care, across the crest; some evidence in the wire fence of cattle there. We thought it best to turn back, lest they grew disturbed. And there was you in the suburbs, and me with map across my lap, with memory losing compass, our direction somewhat unsure; knew it was south or maybe north. Now lost, alas, but adventure secure. Walked on until bearings gave correction. Then turning back. And there was you with my rucksack, a simple snack but sufficient for us ramblers. Riverbank pause, then on we went over the dales, through the briars back to the old tumbledown house, knowing we were now heading south. Knowing that dark was half-a-day away, but where was the car parked? We did not care. |
|