A Place That Means a Lot to Me by Siobhan o Dowd 6 Attracta It was the centre of my life, the place responsible for all my childhood adventures, the place that fed my addiction for the outdoor life, the place on hearing its name ignited an ecstasy in my heart. It was no tropical island or extravagant water park, but simply a white-washed farm house surrounded by lush green fields and meadows. ‘Glen Allen’ was christened by my grandparents when they came to live there fifty years ago. Oh but it was my heaven! Having spent every holiday from school there et was a place I knew more than anyone else. It was a place that knew me. It was my place. The adventure used to begin as the large old cast iron gates opened leading onto a narrow stony driveway which in turn led to the doorstep of this old dwelling. Hens, geese, chickens, dogs, cats and every other farm animal possible always greeted me on arrival. Once stepping out of the car, my lungs would fill with the freshest of country air that was every day crisp clean, with the exception of the days Grandad would hire the workmen to spread the slurry. Adjoining the ivy covered dwelling was the farmyard where the sun stood like a griddle cooling against the wall of each long afternoon. Here were the stables and milking parlour and directly behind these the haggard (as my Grandad used to call it) which contained my Grandmother’s ever well looked after vegetable garden with its neat row of nutritious heads of cabbage and peas in the pod, also here was the turf and hay barn which held the secrets of many fun-filled days. Behind the haggard was the biggest green field I had ever known, which too in its height of summer meadows unfolded days of ‘hide and seek’. Finally, adding to this country picturesque setting, was the rippling stream that ran close by, also responsible for irreplaceable childhood memories in this special place. ‘Glen Allen’ was my first love (and you know what they say about first loves, that they will always remain with you). Well, that’s for sure. I was a different person when I was here – happy, carefree, lucky. I loved everything about the place, the smells, the freedom, the animals, the ‘muck’ and not forgetting of course the farmyard’s pump and the slung bucket with which I had an utter obsession in my younger childhood years. There was always something to be done in this place and I was curious and eager for work back then (my mother says she’ll never know what changed me!, never happy unless I was out in the middle of the goings-on with my wellies which were my Christmas present every year from my grandparents, knowing of course they were probably the most used gift I would ever receive. It was such a happy and homely environment. I can still feel the excitement that filled my heart when time came to milk the cows when inform me Sally (the other member of the family) was ready to pup. Although I adored life in ‘Glen Allen’ all year round, spring highlighted as there was so much to be done – nothing brought more joy to m heart than watching the new arrival of the baby calves and lambs and I remember the tears of joy I’d shed watching their feeble legs accustom to solid ground for the first time. Also the joy the days in the bog brought or the days the hay was being cut, the days spent fishing for tadpoles and dipping in the stream in a sweltering summer’s sun, bottle feeding baby lambs, the mornings travelling to the creamery, the evenings spent pretending to drive Grandad’s old red tractor, splashing around in the rain and then my Grandmother pulling me into a warm turf fire and filling me with her homemade Irish Stew. I loved every minute of my time in this special place. I felt so safe here, so loved by every living thing that surrounded me. It was a place that meant more to me than anywhere else I could ever imagine and my memories of there will remain in my heart forever. ‘Glen Allen’ – a place never to be forgotten. A place where I dream to grow old.