Memories of Courtmacsherry Joanne Lyons 6th Year A place that holds great meaning for me is a little secluded village on the west coast of Cork – it is named Courtmacsherry and it is a place that I spent many of my holidays as a child. I have abundant memories of this wonderful seaside village - the reason why? This is where my grandmother lived and where my mother grew up. It was, and still is, a meeting place for all of the extended family, somewhere to escape the worries of the world and revel in the natural beauty of West Cork. As a child I and my four siblings crammed into the back of my Daddy’s white Audi - car we regarded as a luxurious limo-like vehicle. Before we ever left the outskirts of my local home town we all were impatiently asking the infamous question “Are we nearly there yet?” The answer always came back : “just a hundred more electricity poles!” After numerous pit stops (for what reasons I won’t mention) we eventually reached the village. I could still tell you how many shops pubs and trees were on the way to my grandmother’s house along the harbour front. After driving down the one and only street, we would round the corner, drive through the woods, with tension building all the time. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, we pulled up outside my grandmother’s house. We all leapt at her at once and proceeded into the house to greet the various relations inside. I remember the house even had its own unique smell – something I guess you only notice when young, a final reminder that you are secure, loved and at home. Once ‘fed and watered’ I remember going exploring within those four walls. I used to root in the enormous bookshelves, gazing mistfully at the book covers, fingering the shiny gold and silver titles. I frequently tested out the electric blanket which was a huge novelty. That house was a second home to me. We spent hours outside on various outings. The beach was five minutes walk down the road. We went ‘swimming’ at least twice a day – it was quite a ritual. We always had a particular spot on the stony beach where we stripped ourselves of our unnecessary accoutrements and made a race for the water. The only barrier was this beach was always littered with jellyfish so, u unless we felt unnaturally brave, we began collecting every jellyfish in sight and dropped them at the collection point. One particular time I remember my cousins, brothers and sisters and I collected sixty-seven various jellyfish. After an unrecorded number of hours (probably when the numbness set in) we set off for home. I vividly remember one occasion, while picking pretty flowers. I was informed of a fictitious but shocking ‘fact’. These beautiful vivid orange flowers which we called fireflies actually burnt your fingers. As an innocent six year old, I swallowed the tale and never again picked these flowers again. Another of numerous memories is that of Kincragie House. This was a dilapidated manor house that we explored at any given chance. The grounds were extensive with complete courtyards, stables, orchards and woods. The house was a mansion, rundown by nonetheless it still held much of its former glory. In the centre of the house was what seemed like an enormous ballroom. From these led many doorways, hallways and what I once thought were secret passages. We tiptoed throughout the house astounded by huge rooms pantries servants’ quarters and even the incomplete cornices. After we were finally wheedled outside we galloped to the orchard where we deviously stole apples for the horses across the laneway – our escape route. These are only a select few of my memories : that of the beach, “granny in Cork”, Kincragie House and the beach. I will always remember theses simplistic images with a smile on my face. Looking back, we almost could have written adventure books or even starred in them ourselves for all the mischief we got up to. “ So getting these photographs and still-frames in my mind. I’ll put them on the shelf of good faith and good time, tattoos of memories and whispers of old times – for what it’s worth, it was worth all the while”. A well put phrase that sums up my appreciation of memories of Courtmacsherry.