A Footbridge Named Fiona.
There used to be a foot bridge where I fished when I was young
Its timber boards and latticed steel across canal banks it was strung
It witnessed history and mystery and feet of many folk
Could solve a tale or two if those old planks of oak e’er spoke
So maybe if we asked it and we had the ears to hear
Just what happened to Fiona who’s been missing all these years
One day she walked across it and we ne’er saw her again
Was there anything she did or said when crossing convent lane
Had she company ? Was she alone ? Did she smile or seem upset?
Did she talk into her belly to the baby not born yet?
Still footbridge you are silent and your secrets are well kept
You felt the weight of grief and anger, of every tear her family wept
Time passes on , our hopes still strong these mysteries will be solved
But footbridge you have been replaced and a new bridge soon installed.
I agreed and felt it fitting that after her you should be named
Petty pollies thought it wasn’t and I hope they feel ashamed.
A footbridge named Fiona , in remembrance and respect
Is the closest to a headstone her family will ever get
They pray each day they’ll have no use for bouquets nor for wreath
Just hope that she would cross you, then stroll past Davitt Street
We have bridges named for warriors, for battles won and lost
For poets , politicians, bishops , popes and holocausts
But few for quiet heroes , and few for fallen friends
And none for those gone missing or those searching without end.
Hopefully a hundred years from now a child will ask the reason why its known as
We walk across a footbridge, in Tullamore we named, Fiona’s.