In the town of Enniskillen,
Dwelt a tribe we call the Joneses
And this tribe they had a mission.
Once upon Lough Erne they’d ventured
Northwards to the Lower Water.
(For the lake it runneth that way
Causing not a small confusion.)
But the wind it had been blowing
And the water had been choppy
And the rain had fallen heavy
And the distance had been weary.
Yet the journey had been merry
And much wine had floweth freely
And much chocolate had been munchen
And the memories were winsome.
Big Chief Martin took the map out,
Said unto his squaw (who writeth)
“Let us once more venture outwards,
Let us paddle to the southwards.”
“For upon the Upper Water
Winds are soft as gentle zephyrs
Sunlight dapples on the lilies.
Nothing there will come to fright thee.”
“Curled upon the little islands,
Mermaids comb their hair with rushes,
Talking fishes leap around us,
All is like a film by Disney.”
Then the tribe they had a pow-wow,
And the braves were in agreement,
All except the tribe’s dog Robbie,
He alone still shunned the water.
So canoes once more were hired
From the isle of Enniskillen,
Brought by Stephen in the morning,
Tied together to the rib boat.
And the braves and squaw were ready,
For the sleeping-bags were founden
And the picnic was assembled
And the dog was very grumpy.
Big Chief Martin took the first boat
With the eldest brave-son Gawain
And the youngest brave-son Aidan.
(Plus the not-so-brave dog Robbie).
In the second went the squaw (me)
With the middle brave-son Rory
And the many bags and barrels
Fastened down in case of tempest.
And behold! the Chief spoke truly
For the clouds they swift were parted
And the sun shone bright and golden
On the gently rippling waters.
Though there were no mermaids singing
And no fish that spoke in English,
Yet of bullocks there were plenty
Though they were not joyed to greet them.
All the braves they paddled bravely
Save when speaking on the walkie-
-Talkie to their distant brothers;
Otherwise they strove as Trojans.
So they passed the theatre jetty,
Passed the Killyhevlin Hotel,
To a place called Mullanaclug
Where a picnic bench was waiting,
Tied canoes up to the jetty,
Ate a bit of bread and butter,
Scotch eggs (free range), pies and sausage,
Cheese for Rory who’d gone veggie.
Once more to the boats they wended,
Once more up the lough they paddled
Past The Moorings at Bellana-
-Leck and to the public jetty.
There canoes were tied securely
There a camp was made of wigwams
There the village shop was fathomed
There at last it started raining.
So to wigwams swift they scurried
Ror and Ga to one that popped-up,
Aidan to his own, not lone, for
Robbie there had laid his blanket.
Martin, boldest of all chieftains,
Solo launched upon the water,
Paddled further to the southwards
Seeking out the Isle of Cleenish.
But the sky was not so friendly,
Grey it darkened low around him,
Deep the thunder started roaring,
Warned the chief to cease his paddling.
Soon the braves’ unerring instinct
Led them to the local chippie,
There they bartered for their burgers,
Cod and chips, and beans for Rory.
In their tents once more they sheltered,
Doing quizzes from the paper,
Reading books of sea disasters,
Playing Tetris on the Gameboy,
Till unto the noble tribesmen,
Spake again their stomachs, saying,
“Many leagues from Enniskillen,
We have paddled, we need dinner.”
‘Cross the fields to The Moorings,
Trudged the Joneses, even Robbie.
Lackaday! No table vacant
For it was a private party.
Yet the braves were not downhearted,
For the village shop was open,
And they still had chocolate muffins,
And the squaw her favourite bottle.
And her eyes were sometimes open
As they feasted in the mizzle,
For they were an English kindred
Wont to picnic in the drizzle.
In the night the rain fell heavy
Fell upon the Joneses’ wigwams
Soaked the mother’s bag of sleeping,
Set the dog to cheerless shivering.
Yet they were not woebegotten
(Well, perhaps the dog was almost)
For canoes were waiting for them
For the joyous homeward journey.
Swift they flowed then with the current,
Gliding through the crystal water,
Paddles moved with easy motion,
Like the pictures in the brochures.
Once more reached the place of picnic,
Once more breached the bag of coolness,
While the dog investigated,
Hoping for a hidden motor.
Swift he trotted down the jetty
To a cruiser gently chugging,
Wagged his tail at the owners,
Begged them for a lift back homewards.
Thwarted still and more disheartened,
For his dearest friend and comrade,
To the squaw’s boat had defected
Mournfully he gazed towards them.
But the second boat was drifting
As the squaw she tried to guide it
Steering never was her strong point,
More inclined to turn in circles.
As they neared the Killyhevlin,
Closer now to Enniskillen,
On their left a quiet lagoon lay
Tempting in its peaceful stillness
Aidan wondered ’twas a short-cut?
So they vowed to try the venture.
Could they reach the hotel faster?
Could they save their arms from aching?
But alas the dream was empty,
No way through to reach the water,
Older, wiser, back they paddled,
Met their kinsfolk by the cygnets.
Soon the end of their adventure,
One boat landed on the island,
While the chief took Ga and Robbie
Safely to the homeward jetty.
‘Neath the ramparts of the castle
Then came Martin paddling solo
Paddling swiftly, paddling blithely
With the merry ducks beside him
Then at last canoes were lifted
To the stacks from whence they’d travelled,
Stout canoes, of Old Town making,
Sturdy comrades on the water.
Forth upon the Ribeye lastly,
Launched the Joneses steered by Stephen,
Round the island to the jetty
Where the dog and Gawain waited.
Thus departed all the paddlers,
Thus they ended well their journey,
Slightly damp and slightly aching,
Yet their hearts were bright and joyful.
For they’d reached the Lower Water
And the Erne had smiled upon them.
For they’d safely made their voyage.
And they’d felt a little sunshine.