Here’s to Mullan Village thus recognised in rhyme,
For she’s the great survivor of the ravages of time.
Her tortures oft have seesawed, in tandem, it does seem
With the vagaries of polities and whatever they would deem.
World wars One and Two condemned her to recession.
Prosperity and thrift would follow in succession.
Partition drew a line across Mullan’s hinterland
and lovely Ballagh Bridge, a border then it spanned.
Now Mullan’s had her glory days - busy and affluent,
With employment at the mill and pride of place confluent.
Two neat rows of houses, the lodgings and the ‘felt’
- homes to many families and where weekday workers dwelt.
One up, One down, one Door
Any woe betide the one to snore!
Her mill with its bell tower, once propelled by water power.
Linen fibre it produced and serge in bundles by the hour.
That gave way to factory floor, manufacturing boots and shoes,
All shapes and styles and shades and hues.
Secure employment for residents.
But sadly, now, that’s all past tense.
Proud she was of her own dance hall,
Post office, shop, street lights and all,
and boasted latrines where one could go
when others made do with a po.
A football team she fielded with workers from the mill
And stalwart of that was Jimmy from the hill
The awful border “troubles” - a time of living hell,
cast on Mullan Village a desolation spell.
Abandoned by her people when Ballagh Bridge was blown
-save for Seamus Mulligan, who remained there on his own
Now, risen from her ashes as the phoenix rose before,
Reenergised is Mullan, with old glories to restore.
There’s noise down round the mull- it is Mullan Lighting,
and the sounds of playing children bode a future that’s exciting.
So change is never ending, with polities at play.
An E.U. border crossing is Ballagh bridge today
Yet - some things do not change - Mulligan still reigns!
He has minded her with diligence - a part of her residence.
Brian Treanor of Dundian