The Old Bog Road

Every June as children we walked down the old bog road.Roads that in years gone by echoed to the soft clippety clop of horses hooves,and the trundle of cart wheels,or the soft whirr of bicycles as the turf cutters came and went all Summer long.This work is older than the nation older than any of us know.The Celts made sacrifices to the bogs,to the gods, and bodies have been found preserved like leather in the peat.Men and women mummified in the black thick mass. We searched the hedges on our way for wild duck eggs much to the annoyance of the adult ducks. We had a connection with this place, for it was where our Father and our neighbour cut the sods. They were expert in the use of the slean, and heaped the sods up on the bank for us children to foot. It was hard work but on a sunny day we enjoyed the fresh air, and calling across the bog to our childhood friends who were given the same task. To foot the turf about a dozen sods were stacked up to form a peak, and the wind dried it out in no time.In August we were back in the bog again with the tractor and trailer to bring the turf home. There was a hugh sense of achievement to have the turf safely in the shed for the long Winter ahead. On Winter nights we were glad to have spent the Summer holidays working in the bog.You can see my paintings on Facebook.com/Aine Art,Killashee.