Recollections of my childhood In my mind are apt to stay May I share some happy memories Of my Branch, St. Mary's Bay
As a child I still remember Looking through my bedroom pane So thankful for my home up in The winding Rocky Lane
Life was uncomplicated then One just lived from day to day Take me back to the Rocky Lane In Branch, St. Mary's Bay
I often woke at daybreak On an early summer morn Not by habit, clock, or rooster But called by the fog horn
I still can hear the putt-putt Of the skiffs going out the bay Up around the Hayjer's Rock On their way to Golden Bay
And hear them coming back again With that same familiar putt Waiting their chance to cross the bar And go on in the Gut
I have memories of the Gut Yes, it's left its share Smells of creosote, twine and cod And the tang of salt sea air
In my mind, I see the Landwash And hear the seagulls shout Where we played around the Boiler When the tide went out
The June sun was often absent But there was something better The gulls would echo through the fog Come on! It's caplin weather
Those little silver-coloured fish For which we had been waiting To throw themselves ashore each year In their funny way of mating
Knee-deep in sand and caplin spawn Breathing the fragrant air It was not so much the catching It was fun just being there
And Branch River, constant waters Like the blood in the Branch race It will never cease to wander Through the heartland of the place
And the Flats? Are they the same Around which Branch River flows Where we lay when weak from swimming Where women spread their laundered clothes
That same river, when in winter In its slippery solid state Turned us all to young Hans Brinkers When we fastened on our skates
All the landmarks on the river Named by men we did not know Otter-Rub and Salmon Hole Seven Spruce Trees and Darby Bow
Our Irish kin, whose blood we boast The race that is such a rarity How they used wit and imagination When leaving names to posterity
And those lovely hills and pathways Where we youngsters loved to roam Like goats upon a mountainside We explored the Wester' Cove
Up and down the Cock O' Wee Path 'Round every rock and point and bend Not a worry in the world Thinking life would never end
Peaceful Gully rushing downward Babbling out its joyous song Children, live your happy childhood For too soon it shall be gone
Now I think I hear the swishing Of the scythes going to and fro As they mowed Neil Power's meadow In the Wester' Cove long ago
A most fulfilling highlight To a sunny August day A ride along a bumpy road Upon a load of golden hay
As the hands of time do quicken Little things mean much more Like the delightful taste of candy In Mrs. Bridget Lucy's store
We could feel our senses tingle From our heads down to our socks To partake of apples from the barrel And sweet biscuits from the box
We couldn't play much baseball But we had sports sufficient And in the game of cat-stick We became quite proficient
Our homes had no electricity We had no TVs at all Just a movie shown once a week By John Dohey, in the hall
To meet our education needs High standard was the mode I can't forget and I'll never regret School days on the Lower Road
When it came time to worship God Our folks, they left no gap In rain or snow, you had to go To the church upon the Knap
With a scant supply of money We were rich in every sense Wealth was measured in happiness And not in dollars and cents
I often think of bygone friends So full of youth and mirth We have gone our separate ways A few have slipped this earth
All have crossed the Bridge of Youth Over Life's Golden River Our way of life has surely changed But Branch goes on forever
Childhood years may fade away But it helps to remember God gives us memory to ensure June roses in December
Marina is the daughter of the late Mrs. Aggie (Mooney) and Mr. John |
Branch Come Home Year August 9-19, 2007 |
MEMORIES OF BRANCH Marina (Power) Gambin |