Mary O’Rourke

I think of my car as my Chariot Of Liberty as I traverse the streets of Athlone

It’s good to be writing down my thoughts again in the particularly as we have had this very slow step out of lockdown, but more about that anon. I want to tell the readers about the huge invader which I’ve had at the bottom of my garden. No, not a human invader, but the advent of a giant seagull recently in my garden. Now as you can imagine, a seagull in an urban environment is a very odd scene. In the whole country you couldn’t find a place as far from the sea as Athlone, and yet one day last week, this giant seagull flapped into the garden and dived straight into the middle of a huge apple tree we have at the end of the garden. He went in with a huge swoop and the immediate result was squawking all round from the birds who had also laid claim to some of the many branches in said apple tree. They all flew out, squawking indignantly and gathering in groups. I fully imagined them saying, “What are we going to do about this invasion of our property?”

Well anyway, I fancifully thought, if the seagull could prove he was from Portmagee in County Kerry (my favourite holiday place), I would forgive him his bold incursion into urban Athlone.

I was telling a friend of mine about what had happened, and he told me that yes, the beaches are empty all over the country and the seagulls have taken to invading urban areas, looking for food, I suppose. I watched all afternoon and after quite a while the giant seagull emerged again from the apple tree with great pomp and flurry, and off he flew. He was really enormous and it seemed to me that the birds fell silent in the garden as they watched

him leave. He has been back several times since, again straight into the apple tree, loudly announcing his arrival and causing mayhem to all of the other birds. It’s been quite an adventure to view and to reflect upon.

It hasn’t stopped me, in the middle of this beautiful weather, from sitting outdoors and saying my poetry out loud.

I am really emboldened by a lovely programme I watched on BBC Two last week, which featured Mary Beard who often talks about ancient Egypt and other such historical areas. She was involved in a Zoom conversation with three other people and they all discussed the power of poetry in a time of a pandemic. It was a fascinating discussion, the upshot of which was saying that yes, saying poetry out loud gives you courage and resilience in times of stress such as a pandemic, and should be encouraged.

So how has the step up from lockdown been for me? It’s been very good. I take off in the car every day to do my little trips around the town. I fancifully regard my eight-year-old Audi as my Chariot of Liberty, as I traverse the streets of Athlone, down by the River Shannon and later back out to the Hodson Bay. I smile and look at everyone

One day last week, this giant seagull flapped into the garden and dived straight into the middle of a huge apple tree

and wave, and particularly enjoy being able to park the car, take out my newspaper and read as the Shannon and the swans roll by.

I am reading a wonderful book at the moment, The Arms Crisis of

1970: The Plot That Never Was .It is by Dr Michael Heney and, as a matter of interest, both my son in Dublin and my son in Athlone got it for me through Eason online. The books arrived in separate packages on the one day, and I laughed at the coincidence of it all. How well they knew what would excite me, as when I got them I was deep in lockdown. Dr Michael Heney is an ex-RTÉ Prime Time investigative reporter, who has devoted six years to the whole story, particularly in the light of the revelations which emerged when the State papers were released in 2001. He has come up with terrific observations and conclusions. In a way, I’m sorry to see the book finished, because it engrossed me so deeply as I was beginning to feel so fed up with the lockdown.

I came across a beautiful poem recently by Emily Dickinson, If I Can Stop One Heart from

Breaking. It’s a short poem, but so heartfelt. Emily Dickinson should really be the patron saint of those who are locked down. Her life was lived in her bedroom where she was socially a recluse, and a perusal of her life and her poetry is fascinating.

I hope the readers are all enjoying their slow emergence into real life again.