Tan Remembered Toes

Gold cherry
Poem of the week

By Turlough

Thu, 29 May 2025
  • 817 reads
18 comments
 

 

Tan Remembered Toes

 

Wasn’t it just grand

When our wee feet turned tanned

Seeing them dipped in

Glen Dun’s cool waters

That gurgled peat down the mountain

With the hue of Aunt Mary’s tea

That bubbled and stewed

In her old black kettle

On her old black range

To welcome those come in for a drop

On any old day of the year

Toes we had then of

The colour you’d find the toes

Of wains playing by the river

In distant Timbuktu

 

Wasn’t it just grand

When I returned to the townland

My feet again cooled in

Those same tan waters

That rippled by the house at Kinune

With the hue of old Dan’s whiskey

That cured and cheered

Kept in Uncle James’ jar

In the press by the delph

To welcome those come in for a drop

On any old night of the year

Toes I had then of

The colour you’d find the toes

We dipped in the river

In distant childhood

 

Image:

My own photograph of my own old feet dipped in the peaty waters of the River Dun in Ireland’s County Antrim.

Certificate U
Poem
Poetry in Commotion
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Full of imagery, and evocative of moutain streams. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Turlough on

It was the rain we've had here in the last week that brought back the memories and prompted me to write this. We're wall-to-wall waterfalls at the moment.

Many thanks to you for reading it Rhiannon.

Turlough

Submitted by Turlough on

To the cherry pickers... thank you for the cherries.

Turlough

Submitted by seashore on

A lovely poem full of nostalgia and emotion, though clearly the feet have seen better days despite their owner's expertise! X

Submitted by Turlough on

The image of the feet was distorted by the peaty waters of the Glens of Antrim which are used in the making of Bushmills whiskey which in turn distorts the images within the head.

Lovely comment though. Thank you very much. x

Turlough

Submitted by celticman on

money for old toes, as the saying goes, your poem throws a veil over the mystery of tan tea and what it means to defeat the feet. 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Which would be quite a feat.

Turlough

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Never having heard of Glen Dun's water, just had to look it up. Discovered the water comes from peat bog on the slopes of Slievenanee on the Antrim Plateau in Northern Ireland.

Loved the description of tan waters that rippled by the house at Kinune with hue of Dan's whiskey. Those lines summed up your photo perfectly.

I was certainly immersed in your poem Turlough.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

When we lived in Ireland we would travel over that plateau (though our bit was Slieveanorra, that we called Orra for short) from our house in Ballymoney to get to the relatives in Glen Dun and Cushendall on the coast. Ballymoney is the anglicisation of the Irish name Baile Monaidh which means 'town on the peatland'.

Sometimes we'd go up to Orra to help the adults stack the turf to dry as they cut it from the bog. Peat cutting is mostly illegal now because the boglands were disappearing. So I'm pleased to have caught the back end of this tradition.

Many many thanks to you Jenny for reading and your interest and so on. 

Turlough

Submitted by Di_Hard on

i love how always you weave time into your poems about Ireland. Seeing your photo made me think of those poor bodies found buried since the Bronze age, the brown water you describe must be much the same do you think, as it was then? All the thousands of years of rain soaking through, but still, you not the same and the water you stand in not the same as it was when you wee little

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Thanks Di, it's reassuring to know that my feet resemble those of thousands of years old peat bog men. Perhaps I should change my socks more often.

I'd imagine that the water in the rivers and streams where you live is peaty and brown too. 

Turlough

Submitted by Di_Hard on

it is orangey brown, yes :0) Lots of iron

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

The wonderful lilting dream-like rhythm of this. It reminds me of my yet to be realised ambition of having a stream in my garden. Nothing like dipping your toes in cold water on a hot day - thank you turlough!

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Aha, we've got streams in our garden at the moment that we weren't really expecting. But based on the assumption that it will eventually stop raining they won't be around for very long.

Thank you too IPFN.

Turlough

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

This is our Poem of the Week - Congratulations!

It's also our social media Pick of the Day - please share if you enjoyed it too

 

Submitted by Turlough on

That's brilliant news IPFN. In fact, double brilliant news and enough to warm my soggy socks.

Thank you very much indeed.

Turlough

Submitted by Jessiibear on

This is beautiful—so full of warmth and memory. The rhythm carries the voice like a stream, and I could feel the water, smell the peat, even hear the quiet hum of that old black kettle.

“Toes we had then…”—what a tender, evocative way to tie time together. Truly lovely writing and congratulations on all the accolades, well deserved!

Jess

Submitted by Turlough on

Thank you very much Jessiibear. They're the same toes now but sixty years older. They seem much different, but toes have memories. 

Turlough