Gerry
12-17-2007, 07:28 PM
I went for a walk up a different hill. As a kid this hill had been my quickest route home from school. The hill was just as steep and the road twisted as I climbed higher and higher.
On the lower slopes the road was lined on both sides by the resting place of very wealthy who slept in their sandstone hotels with their heavy iron ornate doors depicting angelic scenes. Their moss covered doors showed no sign of getting any love for many years.
Half way up the slope the sandstone hotels were replaced by more modern apartments made of marble. All black marble, bar the weathered writing that had been inscribed on the glossy surfaces.
Then like a regiment of soldiers on parade the large black blocks are sliced by line upon line of concrete stones. No colour or gold decorated these homes, the homes of valiant men and women. A row of small roses stood to attention in their honour.
Now I was near the crest of the hill and turned to look back over the city below. It was like being in the sky looking back at the earth far below. The sweep of the river as it cut the city in two. The two cathedral spires reaching for the heights as if in competition with each other. Well it is Ireland after all.
The stones on the brow take on more ornate shapes. The regimented squares and rectangles from below are replaced by curves and pillars. Between the black shine splashes of grey, blue and brown marble engraved with lazar accuracy and full of sparkling gold leaf make a more colourful scene.
Then I reach my destination I silently thought, "Hiya our kid. What's the craic like here? Your neighbours are a bit on the quiet side?"
He never was a great one for formal prayers. He didn't fancy flowers either but these flowers were delivered by order of the Queen so nobody was going to complain. Even him.
Boy climbing that hill was tough and it had nothing to do with the steepness of incline.
By Gerry Temple
On the lower slopes the road was lined on both sides by the resting place of very wealthy who slept in their sandstone hotels with their heavy iron ornate doors depicting angelic scenes. Their moss covered doors showed no sign of getting any love for many years.
Half way up the slope the sandstone hotels were replaced by more modern apartments made of marble. All black marble, bar the weathered writing that had been inscribed on the glossy surfaces.
Then like a regiment of soldiers on parade the large black blocks are sliced by line upon line of concrete stones. No colour or gold decorated these homes, the homes of valiant men and women. A row of small roses stood to attention in their honour.
Now I was near the crest of the hill and turned to look back over the city below. It was like being in the sky looking back at the earth far below. The sweep of the river as it cut the city in two. The two cathedral spires reaching for the heights as if in competition with each other. Well it is Ireland after all.
The stones on the brow take on more ornate shapes. The regimented squares and rectangles from below are replaced by curves and pillars. Between the black shine splashes of grey, blue and brown marble engraved with lazar accuracy and full of sparkling gold leaf make a more colourful scene.
Then I reach my destination I silently thought, "Hiya our kid. What's the craic like here? Your neighbours are a bit on the quiet side?"
He never was a great one for formal prayers. He didn't fancy flowers either but these flowers were delivered by order of the Queen so nobody was going to complain. Even him.
Boy climbing that hill was tough and it had nothing to do with the steepness of incline.
By Gerry Temple