THE STROLL

THE STROLL

Let your memory wander and come for a dander,
My journey is only miles three,
It’ll take you on the road past my abode,
Between the “Wood of the Birch” and the “Field of the Yew.”

We’ll start at the bridge through which the Maine flows,
Up by the garage to the white wall,
Where summers ago in the shade of the sun
We played there together with the bat and the ball.

Up over the hill, we’ll pass the scutch mill
Where workers displayed their strength and their skill,
Some they did scutch, others did tate,
Hard work indeed for the few bob they did make.

Down to the Loopagh – the stile’s now away,
The race track and golf course have had their day,
The trees in the distance diminish the view,
Out of Finaghy House Galgorm Manor has grew.

Just around Orr’s bend Lynn’s corner’s in sight
Where football, cricket and skittles were the games of long summer nights
When fully exhausted there was the wee shap
A tanner – it bought you lemonade and a bap.

Looking down the Mount Davy’s there Henry’s Demesne
Where pigeon and woodcock had a free range,
At dusk when they flighted local lads showed their skill,
With careful aim the guns did the kill.

Up by Thomson’s plantation to the Stran Brae,
A few more steps and we’ll soon be half-way,
A stop at Pat’s Cross – look over Meekstown,
Slemish in view – Antrim Hills all around.

Further on is Moyassett alias Kernohan’s town,
That name of Kernohan still there abounds,
We’ll go past the Yukie, right thro’ Killane,
Some names have changed, but the place looks the same.

The new cemetery we’ll pass
So please take your ease
We’re entering Ahoghill
The Field of the Yews.

R. D. Lynn

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