Once we were children

Terry TrainorStarred Page By Terry Trainor, 20th Apr 2013 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

Once upon a time there were fields where children laughed and cried and played their games. As time rolled on the industrial revolution took away the the fields and woods near. then small towns and villages. As children grew old and were replaced by other children a new culture emerged. Maybe some people remember the the older culture.

Looking back from my noon and evening

Looking back from my noon and evening, back to the morning of my life,
Grey heads become brown again, wrinkles go, furrowed faces turn smooth,
Dull eyes clear and the cloudiness disappears, colorful images return,
Voices acquire power with a musical tone, echoes of childhood sweetness.
How many spirits of loved and lost, rise from their graves, young and fit,
A sister in heaven, a playmate, our childish hands plucked flowers together,
The memory of old summer days in dear old lanes, with fragrant hedge-rows,
I fancy I can hear her happy voice, and see her pretty face, hair in tresses.

I can see her shaking her ribbons

I can see her shaking her ribbons, her flushed heated brow, wanting to play,
To race across a meadow or to play hide and seek in the bushes of dense woods,
She throws petals into a stream and wets her nosegay with clear bright water,
I feel once more my arm around her neck, simple ribbons fluttering in breezes.
When I was a child my grand mother, now with the angels in the sky, watches all,
She tended me and loved me and taught me how to fold my hands and pray, to care,
Her smile was my sun when any clouds passed over my sky, her knee was my alter,
My head on her chest, my refuge, in times of childish need, bad things went away.

No tear ever started in my eye

No tear ever started in my eye but her dear hand would wipe away that tear forever,
Thinking as a child a cluster of loved faces, now cold and lifeless come to mind,
Friendly voices, echo the chamber of my recollection as I call deep down memories,
How many cherished scenes come to mind for times long ago, never to return again.
Scenes now gone, altered like the visions of a dream, a tear rolls down my red cheeks,
Remembering fields and lanes where beautiful flowers flung their fragrance in the air,
Places now changed to streets and squares where mansions rise, and many families live,
Green Valley’s where the sheep bell used to sound, now roaring with the crash of the forge.

Now I cannot pluck the daisy from the bank

Now I cannot pluck the daisy from the bank, today there is a blackened heap of ashes,
The butterfly has gone as the charred fire trail has blighted where she used to settle,
Ladybirds, departed as the thick black smoke has choked the air where it loved to live,
What a difference from the days of happiness where simple things were taken for granted. No sorrow came over me in those sweet days, no sigh would dwell in my heart or soul. The tear I shed upon my sisters grave, fell onto dirty green turf covering her dust,
The joys we had were long lived and grief faded like a summer cloud as the day warmed,
As I grow older;

I wipe a tear drop from my eye, It happens every time I look behind.


At a young age remember very clearly walking with my Mum to a house where the owners had a thing called a television. I have to say that I recall absolutely no scenes about the house, the people, the TV or the event we had gone to see the Coronation (so no reference library info here from me about Westminster Abbey, Richard Dimbleby, or even what a telly looked like in 1953:). But the funny thing is. I can picture, very clearly, parts of the route my Mum and I took that day, holding her hand as usual, and looking down at the sandals that must have been worn by most children of that time.

Pictures from google copyright free and my own collection.


Brown, Brown Eyes, Brown Hair, Factories, Factory Law, Ribbon, Ribbons, Sister, Sister Bliss, Sisterhood, Sisterly, Sisterly Love, Sisterly Rivalry, Sisters Care, Sisters Words, Terry Trainor

Meet the author

author avatar Terry Trainor
I am a Poet.
My passion is to write about nature and the history of nature.

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author avatar Songbird B
20th Apr 2013 (#)

Powerful and very atmospheric Terry.. Although there will only ever be an uneasy peace in Northern Ireland, it reminds us of how it used to be not so long ago..\0/x

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author avatar Terry Trainor
21st Apr 2013 (#)

Thanks Songbird

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author avatar cnwriter..carolina
21st Apr 2013 (#)

another of your fascinating pages Terry...thank you...

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author avatar Terry Trainor
21st Apr 2013 (#)

Thanks cn.

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author avatar Mariah
21st Apr 2013 (#)

Really interesting article Terry
reflects the situation perfectly
Frightening times

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author avatar Terry Trainor
22nd Apr 2013 (#)

And we must read Harry's game and listen to Clannard and sit down and think.

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author avatar C.D. Moore
22nd Apr 2013 (#)

Very interesting well wrtten story .

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author avatar Terry Trainor
22nd Apr 2013 (#)

A story from times past. When we were young men who faught a cause. But from which side?

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author avatar Sivaramakrishnan A
27th Apr 2013 (#)

Reads like a real story, Terry, quite gripping. I remember umpteen bombs hidden and exploding causing mayhem. Happily the issue seems to be behind us now as it should be - siva

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author avatar Terry Trainor
27th Apr 2013 (#)

Thanks Siva. I posted it then wished I had not but it was too late. But your are right my wise friend those times seem to be gone. Thanks for reading.

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