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16 October 2014
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Alan Heron
Alan Heron

I am a 50 years old and civil servant with the Department for Regional Development working in Belfast city centre. Originally from Belfast, I now live in Bangor County Down. Since 2000 I have been a serving Samaritan volunteer with the Belfast branch which takes a large chunk of my time as I’m the Branch Publicity Officer in addition to my ordinary duties. I am also an IFA registered football referee. Other interests (when I’ve the time!) include reading, sport and cooking. I also play host to a four-legged animal called Mary Kate who invited herself into my house about a year ago as the resident cat!

The Island by Alan Heron

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The island grew closer, the waves lapping hungrily at its shores. A place of beauty and sheer tranquillity. Three miles from the mainland rocky harbour across a choppy azure sea.

This remote and poignant place sitting alone out to sea. Abandoned, its people long gone, spirits in the wind perhaps, yet tugging at him to remind and recall its glory and beauty, to bind him to it.

He cast his memory back to the first time. The hot sun shone brightly and the breeze blew a sea and salt mix on his face. Such a lovely but lonely place. He, staggered by the beauty of it all, transfixed and mesmerised by its wildness, yet touched by its aching pull. Ghosts of the past in nearby disused homes. Lives of hardship surely and then enough was enough. Beauty has its own reality and its price. But here was he, falling in love with its earth, feeling embraced by its richness. He would come back again, but when…

She scrambled on to the small fishing boat, determined never to go back. A crossing once too many for her, the island a beauty but a memory only, its magic had passed her by. He gazed across the sturdy bow and watched sadly as the inches became yards then miles as this place of love and longing slipped away. Forever?

A place in his heart it remained yet the years turned to ten then fifteen and then into twenties. The long shadows remained with him and yet, someday he would return to cement his love for this beautiful place with his love. Years pass, life changes, homes and lives crumble like those on the island. They grew apart and love died but still he longed to return to his island, its beauty and its promise of wonder and fulfilment.

He longed for the moment yet wanted, needed, to experience the wait. The long drive south and a bed before morning. He drove to the coast, his heart beating-the anticipation growing as they grew closer. The boat was better, no sheep to accompany this trip he thought, and smiled to himself. This was happening. He helped her on board. She smiled as they set off across the heaving sound, her long hair waving around her face in the morning wind. Their thoughts alike yet lost amongst their fellow chattering tourists. He breathed in the intoxicating ozone nectar deeply. Close now to the island.

He helped her off as the boat rocked merrily on the briny water. Her first tentative steps on his island. His place. She too entranced by its beauty and its stillness but knowing the meaning of the moment for him. And for her too.

They stood overlooking the sea, high up on the island's thick coated turf. He held her in his arms and gave himself to her. A love of his life. His love, forever sealed. His heart in tune with the island at last.



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The Island

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