WORKING HOLIDAY
-By the late Eileen Breen
March 16, 1916 – May 5, 2006
Poem number 12.
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WORKING HOLIDAY
When summer’s gone
And with it all the faces
Of folk who came to stay at Crag-y-don
I shall return to my homeland’s familiar places
But in my heart this memory lingers on
Of early sunrise o’er the sea at Benlloch
The mountains shrouded in a pearly mist
While enshrouded in my white cap and apron
Gazed on the scene with duster in my fist
I’ll smell once more the aroma of fried bacon
And hear the clang of the brass breakfast bell
I’ll see again the laden trays
I have taken to each one of you
Early on those blissful summer days
The memories make my heart swell with deep emotion
But can you blame this girl from Erin’s Isle
For sending yearning thoughts across the ocean
To see again your early morning smile
I’ll taste once more in my imagination
Each flan, each pudding, each potato pie
And here again my tummy will groan in anguish
While tears of frustration blind my eye
For never have I known such ‘sweet’ fulfillment
As I have known in Benllock-By-The-Sea
I’ll think of you, though land and sea divide us
And crave this boon that you’ll remember me.
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Note: Eileen Breen worked as a waitress in a Bed & Breakfast in Benllock, a holiday resort in Wales during the summer of 1950.