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Posted by Butch on February 14, 2002 at 10:19:12:
The radio was on a round dark mahogany table besides the fireplace. At arms reach from Daddy’s armchair where he would sit every evening after dinner, to light his pipe and relax, with the newspaper. The mantelpiece had a black marble clock that was wound every day, and porcelain figurines stood time there too. A silver framed photograph of Grandad and Grandmother stared silently, said serious and proud. A coat stand stood in the hallway and banisters ran up the stairs. My older sisters ran around and ran my brothers did too. My Mother shooed for silence and my Father cautioned reprisal. A rug from Donegal warmed the linoleum floor. A silver candelabra stood in the center of the table. Resting on linen that was Irish, with diamond shaped frills. Four tulip shaped lamps hung from the walls, the flame from the gas hissing softly alive. The velvet flowered wallpaper, ran red, up the wall, and panels of walnut ran down to the floor. The green draperies hung heavy from the ceiling, enclosing us all. In a world of peace. Daddy reached over to stoke his pipe and the flames said two, and the coals turned hot with hues of blue. I was just born. Just after the war. Knew nothing of pain but only of bliss as my mother fed me milk and the breath of a kiss. Silence NOW my Father said loud, as the static grew louder for the radio was ON. Turning the knobs, the valves warmed glow. The radio is on. Bye Bye B.B.C. “The Black Heron sleepeth on the rocky shore”. We were barely born then, what did we know ? till later ….. A ballroom, the Abbey, The Gaiety, Starland, a shimmering ball of light reflected crystals, flickering speckles of hope, revolving slowly as your Father held your Mother, while spinning around the globe.
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