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Memories of St. Joseph's
by Michael McCormick

I was driving back from Gortin
And taking in the view quite grantedly
When, said the young lad next to me
Do you see that road that leaves the Plum
And rises high o'eer yon mountain top

I do I said though I didn't really
And do you see that sandy patch
That lies along that road
That large bit of wasteland
I looked and saw I looked and saw

I saw long forty years of history
And I was transported back
In time, to when that wasteland
Hummed and hived with bright activity

But I did know that place and how it looked
Before the builders came to town
But come they did and built a school
A secondary school to teach and serve
To inspire and to motivate

They built a school four stories high
Red brick it was and somewhat ugly
But there it stood for forty years
And proudly served its own community

Hundreds, no thousands of eager students
Passed through those doors
And now it would be quite impossible
To evaluate its unique importance

And two special years I stood there silently
And tried to hide the tears of pride
When two bright young lads our sons
Took first prize for fifth year students

It served the older people too
School plays and concerts were common fare
And people flocked from far and near
And dances too, I danced there myself
Jigs and reels and sets and others

But time does not stand still
And our school was doomed by other pressures
Big men from Belfast with pin stripe suits
Told us we were too small, you're not economic

Last year I stood and watched
With bated breath, two giant monsters
Grab and smash and chew
And roar and belch and scream
Three days it took before surrender
And after that, it's as you see it now
            A wasteland