Finding the sun in an Irish summer
is somewhat akin to Russian roulette... anyway
We would spend August in Arklow and Courtown
and I would be clutching my cricket set. Gotta play!
Jump over walls, flatten the hay.
A quick evening session before we could even
have time to reflect on our holiday commencing.
Will we play football or go pitch and putting? We know we have
swingball but we'd always plump for the gentlemen's game.
Yellow the grass, flatten the hay. All day...
The farmer would come before the bad weather.
Our pavillion would seem like a blur in the ether.
The night would creep in on our Indian summer.
But tomorrow would bring a new crease to discover.
D.i and I.t, Gatting and Willey,
may sound so silly to the uninitiated.
For me and my brother they conjured up visions
of heroes who stood against all of the things that we hated.
Let's jump over walls and flatten the hay.
All day... all summer long.
When we were young.