Welcomes writers at all levels in their skills development, from beginners to published writers
We share our writing among friends enjoying mutual support and encouragement




Our father’s Hillman takes up our whole garage so we can’t put on a play, or have a Beano and Bunty comic sale anymore. Our mother covered the car with the two picnic rugs, so we can’t have sandwiches in the back garden either. Anyway, since Daddy went to hospital, Mammy prefers chewing her nails to sandwiches. The car is black with silver wheels.



Sometimes I sneak into the garage, pick up the rugs by the fringes and duck under. I have to be careful I don’t pull down the atlas and encyclopedia our mother has placed on the roof to keep the rugs from sliding off. I squash my stomach against the driver’s door. The handle hurts. I see my father’s shape on the red, leather seat and marks of his hand on the steering wheel. I stick my tongue on the window and fog it all up.



I can see the hospital from my bedroom window. Sometimes I stand on my bed and wave to the coughman. He’s a man in the hospital who coughs so loud we can hear him – kuh-kuh, kuh-kuh, – ‘morning, noon and night.’ There’s a fly stuck in his throat.



My father’s cough is ‘more chesty and his hospital is not in this town. ‘Children are not let visit’, so when our mother gets a lift there, my brother and I stay home and play skipping in the green.




“Coughman, Coughman,


One, two, three.


Open wide, let the doctor see.


Tea-Bee, Tea-Bee, Tea-Bee.”

More Posts


MUSIC AND MEMORY   The first song that entered my consciousness as a young child was an American spiritual called: “Will the Angels Play their

Read More »


BRETON CALVARIES   When our children were young, we used to get the car ferry from Cork to the French port of Roscoff, for our

Read More »


THE STUFF OF LIFE   There was great excitement in the town when a fit up company arrived during the 1950’s. These were groups of

Read More »
error: Content is protected !!