Memories of Branch
Recollections of my childhood
In my mind are apt to stay
May I share some happy memories
Of my Branch, St. Mary's Bay
As a child I still remember
Looking through my bedroom pane
So thankful for my home up in
The winding Rocky Lane
Life was uncomplicated then
One just lived from day to day
Take me back to the Rocky Lane
In Branch, St. Mary's Bay
I often woke at daybreak
On an early summer morn
Not by habit, clock, or rooster
But called by the fog horn
I still can hear the putt-putt
Of the skiffs going out the bay
Up around the Hayjer's Rock
On their way to Golden Bay
And hear them coming back again
With that same familiar putt
Waiting their chance to cross the bar
And go on in the Gut
I have memories of the Gut
Yes, it's left its share
Smells of creosote, twine and cod
And the tang of salt sea air
In my mind, I see the Landwash
And hear the seagulls shout
Where we played around the Boiler
When the tide went out
The June sun was often absent
But there was something better
The gulls would echo through the fog
Come on! It's caplin weather
Those little silver-coloured fish
For which we had been waiting
To throw themselves ashore each year
In their funny way of mating
Knee-deep in sand and caplin spawn
Breathing the fragrant air
It was not so much the catching
It was fun just being there
And Branch River, constant waters
Like the blood in the Branch race
It will never cease to wander
Through the heartland of the place
And the Flats? Are they the same
Around which Branch River flows
Where we lay when weak from swimming
Where women spread their laundered clothes
That same river, when in winter
In its slippery solid state
Turned us all to young Hans Brinkers
When we fastened on our skates
All the landmarks on the river
Named by men we did not know
Otter-Rub and Salmon Hole
Seven Spruce Trees and Darby Bow
Our Irish kin, whose blood we boast
The race that is such a rarity
How they used wit and imagination
When leaving names to posterity
And those lovely hills and pathways
Where we youngsters loved to roam
Like goats upon a mountainside
We explored the Wester' Cove
Up and down the Cock O' Wee Path
'Round every rock and point and bend
Not a worry in the world
Thinking life would never end
Peaceful Gully rushing downward
Babbling out its joyous song
Children, live your happy childhood
For too soon it shall be gone
Now I think I hear the swishing
Of the scythes going to and fro
As they mowed Neil Power's meadow
In the Wester' Cove long ago
A most fulfilling highlight
To a sunny August day
A ride along a bumpy road
Upon a load of golden hay
As the hands of time do quicken
Little things mean much more
Like the delightful taste of candy
In Mrs. Bridget Lucy's store
We could feel our senses tingle
From our heads down to our socks
To partake of apples from the barrel
And sweet biscuits from the box
We couldn't play much baseball
But we had sports sufficient
And in the game of cat-stick
We became quite proficient
Our homes had no electricity
We had no TVs at all
Just a movie shown once a week
By John Dohey, in the hall
To meet our education needs
High standard was the mode
I can't forget and I'll never regret
School days on the Lower Road
When it came time to worship God
Our folks, they left no gap
In rain or snow, you had to go
To the church upon the Knap
With a scant supply of money
We were rich in every sense
Wealth was measured in happiness
And not in dollars and cents
I often think of bygone friends
So full of youth and mirth
We have gone our separate ways
A few have slipped this earth
All have crossed the Bridge of Youth
Over Life's Golden River
Our way of life has surely changed
But Branch goes on forever
Childhood years may fade away
But it helps to remember
God gives us memory to ensure
June roses in December