Céad Mile Fáilte, Marioara

Moving to another country can be a daunting experience for most, for the young folk it’s an adventure.  A new culture, new experiences, new sights, new people, and then the anxiety of leaving familiar ground, it’s a decision that’s not taken lightly.  Ireland has a reputation that welcomes visitors, céad mile fáilte! And rightly so, the Euros are an example of the lengths we go to to demonstrate the good nature of the Irish. Céad mile fáilte, that’s a hundred thousand welcomes, to the select few.  Refugees, asylum seekers, disadvantaged groups and minorities unfortunately don’t often get the same open-armed response.

Ireland is a wonderful country, with amazing people and beautiful traditions.  A nation of storytellers, poets, we have the most inspiring scenery, and for the most part we are all round good craic. But like everything, there is a darker side.

The story of Marioara Rostas, a pretty 18 year old Romanian girl, who moved here with her family in 2008, has stayed with me and reveals a brutal and unfair reality that lurks in our fair Dublin. It is probably one that hides in the shadows of most cities across the world.

Marioara lived with her family in Donabate she lived in Ireland three weeks and lay in a shallow grave in the Wicklow Mountains for 1,500 days.  When I think of Marioara, I think of a young girl and how she must have felt coming to Ireland, and how she trusted those Irish lads when she got into their car.  I try not to think of what happened after that.  It’s a nightmare that every girl shudders from, and every parent trembles at.  I suppose Marioara affects me because I see a girl, not a refugee, not a beggar, not a Romanian, but a person.

Céad Míle Fáilte Mariora

Come to Dublin, soak up the city!
Grey and brown streets ever so gritty.
Stroll through our town, begging for change,
But beware the hospitality of men so strange.

Céad Míle Fáilte, pretty Mariora
Young girl of Roma diaspora
You stayed forever, but never grew old
Crying. Alive Alive oh, Alive  Alive Oh!

One hundred thousand welcomes!
Visit our streets, visit our homes,
Surrounded by people, but all so alone.
You paid the price with flesh and bone.

Come meet the locals in Dublin’s fair city,
Dirty old town, isn’t it so pretty?
Grit and grime and friend and foe,
Sweet Marioara, Alive  Alive Oh…

Suzanne Meehan



Photos of our daughter, Kerry.  Every person is someone’s child.


Dublin Mountains.  The contrast of barbed wire and beautiful scenery.





Northumberland Road

This captures a sleepy night in Dublin, Clanwiliam Place. What lurks in the shadows?

Photos by David Meehan





Céad Mile Fáilte


Stolen Child

The Stolen Child

It was a changeable day, the air lingered with the scent of early morning rain.  The sun had come out and along with it came a swarm of children into the playground.  The monkey bars displayed acrobatic feats, screams of ‘higher, higher’ chorused from the swings and the shrill screams of fear and joy surrounded the sea saw and slides, where children tried to outdo gravity.  The bushes surrounding the playground became a terrain for exploration, young boys and girls disappeared into them in pairs or groups, and panicked parents went hunting after a time, for fear the children had taken off to the river beyond.

One young boy queued patiently for the slide, he preferred this to all the playground equipment, it had a sense of inclusion but didn’t need a friend to be enjoyed.  His father sat on the outskirt of the playground chatting about the upcoming football match, with another father who had been instructed to spend quality time with his son.  The boy didn’t really want to be there, and would have enjoyed spending time with his dad, or his mam, but she hadn’t felt well again this morning, she had a ‘headache’ and needed a bit of ‘peace and quiet’.  What was peace and quiet anyway he wondered?  When is anything really quiet, like now he could hear the cacophony of little voices, and beyond that the river’s waters bubbling over rocks, rushing to its destination – ‘hurry up, will ye’ came an impatient voice breaking the boy from his musings.

He climbed the metal steps one by one, until he reached the top.  He stood tall and looked beyond the playground to the thick high grass that had become wild and further still the racing water, alive with energy.  The sun glinted on the surface of the river, the light catching his eye giving the illusion of movement. He would have like to stay there, but the shoving and moaning from the line of little folk hurried him on.  With a fierce push he propelled himself toward gravity, closing his eyes and feeling the wind catch on his face.  He reached the end with a thud and quickly moved out of the way of the oncoming boy.  The boy grew weary of the slide and looked to see if maybe his dad might join him, but he was now engrossed in conversation with another man.  He made his way to the sandpit at the edge of the playground.

Digging deep into the sand, letting the grains fall through is hands, he hadn’t noticed that a young woman was standing at the edge of the bushes watching him.  He looked up and caught her eye and she smiled and waved at him, he hesitantly waved back. He had been told not to talk to strangers.  Her  white hair  was halo like and pale skin luminance, she had a comforting smile that made him insouciant. He couldn’t quite stop looking at her now, and he smiled back.  He surprised himself with his friendliness, he generally tried to avoid people when he could.  The lady moved to join him, and sat in the sandpit beside him ‘ Hi, how are you today?’ she said softly.  He began to look around, slightly unnerved by her familiarity.  His dad had now switched his attention to his mobile phone, probably lost in football reviews.  ‘Em, I’m ok’ he said not looking up.  ‘It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?, ‘It’s ok I suppose’ ‘Where are your friends?’ she asked, her voice soothing and encouraging, the boy looked up and surprised himself by answering ‘I don’t have any friends here, I like to be by myself, my Dad’s over there’ he said pointing in the general direction, he gaze remaining on the boy.   ‘Well a real friend is hard to come by. Do you like the playground’ she asked. ‘Sometimes, I suppose it’s ok, do you?’ he asked  ‘I like the wild!’ she giggled. ‘You look sad, are you sad?’ her eyes not leaving his, ‘Sometimes I am’ he replied.  ‘The world is full of weeping’ she sighed, ‘Little boy would you like to come play in the wild with me?’ she asked.  It sounded exciting but he knew he shouldn’t, and glanced over to where his dad was ‘Oh we won’t be long, your dad won’t even notice!’ she coaxed, ‘Take my hand, and come away with me‘ she smiled encouragingly ‘We are the Good People‘.  The boy cautiously took her hand, her skin felt icy cold but soft as cotton.  She stood and pulled the boy to his feet, and they walked through the bushes.  The boy gave a last look over his shoulder to see his dad look around the playground for him, but it was too late the world of weeping was left behind and the boy and the lady made their way to the wild.




The Sale of Work

The sun of my youth is complimented by my nostalgia; it has blurred edges and exaggerated warmth. That was the sun that woke me from my dreamless sleep one Sunday morning.   I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and listened to the silence of the house. “Nobody is up yet” I thought “it must still be early”.  The sunshine lit up my room and I was excited by it, the day before it had rained heavily.   I had a lot to do that day and was anxious for it to begin.  I looked across to the other bed in my room and seen my older sister flat on her belly, face squished into the edge of her pillow and watched as the clear liquid slowly rolled from the corner of her open mouth and down her chin.  Jenny always dribbled in her sleep, her pillow had drool stains all over it and I liked to jeer her about it when she annoyed me.   She was eight and a half, two years older than me and she never let me forget it.

I swung my legs out of bed onto the bare floor where it had been warmed by the heat of the sun that had sneaked through the pink curtains.  I bent down and as quietly as I could, I pulled the pillow case that I had packed with toys from under my bed, careful not to wake Jenny.  I watched as the dust fairies rose and danced in the sunlight; I tried to catch them in my hands, but they were always too quick for me.  Bundling the pillow case into my arms I quietly tip toed from the room and crept past my little brothers, Patrick and John’s room.  If I woke them it meant making their breakfast, and I just didn’t have the time for that this morning.

I was filled with anticipation and excitement for the  sale of work Cara, my best friend, and I had planned.  We had spent the previous day in her bedroom making a list of things we could sell.  Admittedly, my contribution was less likely to produce much profit, being third or possibly fourth hand. Cara’s second-hand toys were better than some of my newer possessions.  I decided that I was going to buy her Rainbow Bright; I had always wanted one of them.

Cara was very lucky she only had an older brother so she didn’t have to share her room.  She had lots of cool stuff like the glitter and glue we had used to create a poster on the inside of a Cornflakes box.  My Ma never let us have glitter or glue she said it cost too much money and that we would “wreck the place with it” and “she had enough to do without cleaning up shaggin’ glitter”.

Passing my Ma and Da’s room I heard my Da snore, it caught in his throat and he coughed and farted.  I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh and hurried down the stairs.  The carpet was old and worn from my Ma’s obsessive hovering and the constant traffic.  I gently pushed open the sitting room door; it never closed properly the lock had broken after my little brother had shoved a stone into it. It felt strange to enter the sitting room so early, there was little light and only the faint sound of a ticking clock, like a rhythmic heartbeat pulsating in the sleeping room.  Cara said that my house smelled like biscuits, I never noticed before but today I could smell the sweet and musty scent, it was both comforting and unsettling. I couldn’t decide if it was a nice smell or not.

I quickly dressed myself and just as I reached the front door, I heard one of the boys running into my Ma’s room.  I pulled open the heavy wooden door, my Ma shouted down “Laura what are you doing!”, “I have to go up to Cara for a minute Ma, I won’t be long”, I called back while trying to close the door behind me. “Laura get back in here NOW”, my heart leapt, “will I pretend I didn’t hear her and just go” I thought to myself, but I knew I would be in big trouble. “Ah Mammy please, I told Cara I would be up” I could feel my lip begin to tremble and my throat tighten, she was going to ruin everything.  “Laura, it’s too early Cara won’t be up” she called back down.  I heard her feet land on the floor just as Patrick jumped from his top bunk.  “Mammy she will, she knows I’m coming” I pleaded, as John charged in to her room.  Patrick and John began their morning battle of wrestling and kung-fu “Jesus!”  gasped my Ma trying to separate them “Two minutes Laura, you better only be two minutes”, “Thanks Ma” I roared, skipping out the door wiping the snot and tears across the back of my hand.


I ran out of my garden jumping over puddles from the rain the night before, darted across the road. In my haste I realised I had forgotten to look up and down for traffic.  My mother’s mantra rang in my head like an alarm “I’ll kill you if you get knocked down Laura Byrne!” and resolved to do it on the way back.  I stretched to pound the knocker shaped like a lion’s head and silently made roaring sounds and ferocious faces at the lion, while I waited for an answer.  The door opened and Mrs O’Grady peeped out “Hey ye Mrs O’Grady, can Cara come out?” I asked, “Laura love, it’s very early, she’s not dressed yet” behind her Cara came thundering down stairs, with a bag of toys in her hand.  “I am Mammy, I am” she cried trying to squeeze by her Ma.  “Cara, you can’t go out yet” she snapped grasping fresh air. “Mrs O’Grady she can have breakfast in my house, I already told me Ma she was coming. ” I called over my shoulder as we ran back down the street and across the road.

Cara stopped suddenly at Mrs Maguire’s garden and ran her hand across the rainwater that had gathered on the gate; she leaned in and sucked the water from it.  This made me laugh and fired my excitement. I raced to the next garden and did the same.  All the way back to my house we drank the rainwater from each of the garden gates, with the exception of Mr. Quinn whom we both didn’t like but were unsure why.  Pretending to be fountains we pursed our lips and sprayed the water into the air, screeching as the spray landed back in our face and on our hair.


As we reached my garden we could hear a symphony of sounds and smells coming from my house.  John and Patrick were watching cartoons, they were wrestling each other for the TV remote as Cara and I came in.  “Gimme it Patrick, I want to lower it up”  “Ye sap, you can’t “lower” it up, you higher it up” Patrick taunted John.  Jenny came in from the kitchen and slapped the two of them across the head and took the remote from them. “Maaaaa” the boys roared, “come on out to the kitchen Cara” I said trying to ignore the commotion.  My Ma stood in her dressing gown with her back to us.  On the table there was a plate of sausages and bread and butter.  “Get stuck in there, girls before it’s gone” she said without turning around.  We made a quick sandwich and headed straight out to the front garden armed with a blanket, Cornflakes box poster, and two bags of toys.

We laid our blanked on the damp grass and positioned our poster on the garden gate and the toys were lined up against the railings that divided my garden from our neighbours. The sounds from the house slowly quietened, meaning my Da was up.  Sunday morning was always the same, breakfast and then off to the pub, by the time he was home we would be in bed.  Jenny peered through the curtains, her curiosity piqued she had decided to join us.

“What are you two up to?”

“None of your business, Jenny” I said defensively

“I’m only asking! Eh, that’s mine” she said grabbing the Mandy annual.

“Gimme it back, ye don’t even read it” I argued.  Through the small open window I could hear my Ma and Da talking; their voices were steadily growing louder.  Just as I was about to lunge at Jenny, Mrs O’Grady strolled up.

“Hi girls, how are you getting on” she asked, leaning her arms across the top of the pillar, I quickly sat back down avoiding Jenny’s dirty look. The voices in the house built and I recognised the familiar tones.  Not wanting Cara or her Ma to hear I chattered nervously trying to distract them.  I noticed her eye flicker to the window and I jumped up to show her my ‘Bunty Annual’ “Em, Mrs O’Grady did you ever read this, it’s great, I eh, love this story…” One of the boys had started to cry inside, I glanced at Jenny.  Her eyes wide she stood frozen afraid to go in.  My chest began to feel like there was a rabbit trapped there and my voice became louder in an effort to mask the noise filtering through the open window.  “Cara do you want this, you can have it, I don’t think anyone is going to buy this today, will we leave it till tomorrow”, I gushed feeling ashamed and desperate for them to move on.

Mrs O’Grady interrupted just then walking into the garden “I have a great idea, why don’t you three come down to our garden with your sale; sure more people pass by our house. I’ll even make you some fairy cakes and you can sell them too” she said taking Jenny by the hand.  “Ye that’s a great idea” I said grabbing the toys and shoving them into the pillow case.  I felt a sense of relief believing that they hadn’t heard the fight that was brewing. I pushed Cara from the garden “you go on Cara, I’ll be there in a minute” I rambled and she looked at me nervously then ran after her Ma. I followed pulling the pillow case behind me, feeling guilty for leaving John and Patrick.  I could hear crying, the sound of doors banging and my Da shouting “Stop fucking nagging me”. At least Mrs O’Grady didn’t hear that, I thought.

Mrs O’Grady, as promised made us fairy cakes,  and in between cleaning she came out  every so often. I caught her looking at Jenny and me, she would smile and rub my hair.  I smiled back even though it had made me sad when she did it.  As the day crept away and it started  to get cold, the dark clouds that hid the sun felt a weight in my heart.  “Laura I think we should go home now, it’s going to rain” Jenny said reluctantly.


The house was quiet except for the sound of John and Patrick playing upstairs, Jenny ran up to them.  I walked through the empty sitting room for the second time that day, cartoons were on the TV but nobody was watching them.  In the kitchen my Ma was standing at the sink, I walked over and looked up to her puffy red eyes “Were you crying Ma?” I asked fidgeting nervously at my dress, “No Love, I was just cutting onions, I’m grand” she replied smiling down at me “she cuts onions a lot” I thought, hugging her leg.





First breath, a piercing cry and so it begins

The beginning of time, ticking by.

Carried in time’s invisible whirlwinds,

Through carefully thought out plans,

Carving an unpredictable path of life demands.


Let go, and be carried through the ebb and flow of life.

Sit and gaze at the stars in the quiet stillness,

Watch in bliss the world spin by, rife with change.

Feel the warmth of the sunrise, bear witness.


Be caught in the hectic buzz of day,

The irreversible race toward decay.

Catch the chaos in motion and recall

In the final hours, we are the stuff of stars.


Pause in the moment and watch yourself disintegrate

In the sunlight, particles of you float by.

And see it all in reverse, then sigh..

What could we change, is it too late?



Continue reading

Love Comes in Many Guises

A gentle sigh carried my name, and yet it no longer meant my name.  It said, and meant all the things there were no words for, it said love.  From this love, came a connection, a bond that could only be ours, and would never be felt or experienced with any other soul. It was our love.


Best Friends at Sunset


Mother’s love at Sunset