Mixed Heritage

Teddy O'Hara is the grandson of our community library volunteer Pat Hampshire. A long time ago, he got lost with Granny Pat in the Memorial Park, which is why we call it the Lost Park.  As Teddy was only three at the time, we consider Pat to be mainly responsible for this incident.

At the age of twelve, Teddy has written this brilliant poem about his mixed English and Irish Heritage.

MIXED HERITAGE

 In a land of rolling hills and green,
I'm a lad of twelve, as you've seen.
With roots that reach from near and far,
I'm English and Irish, that's who we are.

In my heart two flags unfurl,
St. George's cross and the Irish swirl.
From London's streets to Dublin's shore,
I cherish the cultures that I adore.

Love the sound of bagpipes' call,
And football matches, we give our all.
From Premier League to Gaelic games,
Both lands have left their lasting claims.

In my veins, the stories run deep,
Of kings and queens and legends to keep.
The history's rich, the tales so bold,
From knights in armour to leprechauns' gold.

My English tea and Irish stew,
They warm me up when the skies are blue.
And when the rain comes pouring down,
I'll smile and chase away the frown.

The Beatles' tunes and Irish jigs,
Both melodies make my heart do flips.
From Shakespeare's words to Moore's poetic grace,
I find my inspiration in every place.

So here I stand, a boy of twelve,
With my English and Irish selves to delve.
Through history, music, and stories untold,
I'll embrace my identity, strong and bold.

Teddy O'Hara

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List of Poems

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Lost Park

This is Teddy O'Hara's description of his experience with "Nana" which resulted in the Chingford Memorial park receiving the nickname "The Lost Park" from the volunteers in South Chingford Community Library.  LOST PARK In the Lost Park , where chaos prevails, Nana and I, navigating funny trails. Nearly ten years on, still lost in our jest, In the Lost Park, where confusion's the best. In the Lost Park, Nana and I strayed, A one-time misstep, where laughter was laid. A tale we share, a chuckle on our lips, In the Lost Park, where our sense of direction slips. All around, Lost Park's the phrase on tongues, Nana's tale, where laughter sprung. A quirky name, a shared remark. In Lost Park, where echoes embark. Teddy O'Hara    January 2024 RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS
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