Brother Mick On June 2, 2010, in Sigerson Clifford, by Editor The mountain frowned upon the school, The school stared at the street, And rich men’s sons came there in shoes While I ran in bare feet. The rich had meat and cakes to eat, And butter like the Danes, While I had only spuds and fish, And fish, they say, makes brains. But still the rich boys passed exams While I kept thin, and thick, And thanked the stars that he had come Among us… Brother Mick. We had the world’s slowest clock That drowsed upon the wall, While I cursed the Roman scoundrels That let Caesar loose in Gaul. There, too, was Euclid with his cuts, And trigonometry. That Peachy,Ring and Chas could do But they were Greek to me. And there were sums on trains and tubs Of water running quick: ‘Twas Chinese torture till he came To save me… Brother Mick. For Brother Tom no patience had With duffers such as I Who never could be taught to solve The mystery of pi. And Brother Jim had even less For those who didn’t prize The hairy men of hither Gaul As seen through Caesar’s eyes. Then Brother Tom whacked like a bomb, While Jim could wield the stick. But that was all before we knew The smile of Brother Mick. Still the great Power that will not let The sparrow fall to earth Took pity on bewildered brains No Latin could alert. For Brother Jim was sent to Trim To march with Caesar there, While we sprawled in our desks and heard The new man on the stair. We saw him smile as he came in, His footsteps short and quick; His name was Brother Michael So, of course, we called him Mick. And as the weeks meandered on We watched with puzzled eye And wondered if some archangel Had strayed down from sky He did not shout, he did not clout But went his gentle way To bring the light to souls that stood Full ankle-deep in clay. He locked the leather in the press And burned the hazel stick; ‘Twas then we all threw doubts upon The mind of Brother Mick. How short is time with one you love, A year is like a while. The things you will not do for stick You learn for a smile. We passed exams andscholarships Our mothers thought us fine, Though greater than the loaves and fish The miracle of mine. The gods be praised I even got Marks in arithmetic; ‘You’ll be a second Einstein yet,’ Said surprised Brother Mick. The big lads reaped their excise jobs, We all marched to the train And shook their lordly hands and praised The old school once again. The engine panted up the rails, We flung our cheers out loud And watched it sprinting past the bridge, Its whistle long and proud. And as we laughed we little knew The card Fate chose to pick, How soon he’d be an exile too, Our splendid Brother Mick… The world has wheeled a lot since then, Quiet are the hobs of home And far from me these things are now As is the moon from Rome. But I can see the old school still Stand tall above the street, I smell the heather from the hill And hear the running feet. And in the door he walks again, His footsteps short and quick, And back across the years I wave Goodbye to Brother Mick.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 21:21:15 +0000