‘A day in the bog’ – an update, sixty years on!

Our man Frank lets the busy world do its own thing as he enjoys downtime on the bog; Muses on the ‘arm the police’ debate; And writes in celebration of ‘golden girl’ Aoife O’Rourke’s latest success…

It’s the start of July, and on this Monday morning I can be found in the bog turning my turf. As I do so, I think back to my national school days, and the number of times we wrote compositions on ‘A day in the bog’.

Nearly all the compositions took the same path: talking about the lovely fresh air, the sound of the lark sing- ing in the clear blue sky, the purple heather swaying in the breeze, the lovely bottles of tea that our mothers brought us to have with the equally lovely sandwiches they had made for our midday break, and no matter what happened, we always went home tired but happy at the end of a long day.

And so, on this Monday morning, I wondered what had happened to me! As I struggled to turn my big wet sods without breaking them too badly – which of course would make them that bit harder to foot – and as the rain fell gently on my aching back, I couldn’t hear any lark singing anywhere, the purple heather was nowhere to be seen, and my mother is long gone from this world, so there would be no bottles of tea or sandwiches. Really, the only thing that hasn’t changed is the lovely fresh air, which I have to admit is still very therapeutic.

But despite all the changes – especially the fact that I am to all intents and purposes an old man, which