It’s not wide, the Ha’penny Bridge. Barely two arm-spans of arching asphalt crossing the Liffey from Temple Bar to Bachelor Walk. Too narrow to avoid the crumpled heap of humanity, cross-legged and deathly still against the white iron railings.
He shivers. With a chilling breeze whipping above the water, this must be the coldest spot in Dublin. I tense, still flushed from the joy of wine and music and lilting voices. One gloved hand tightens around the wallet in my coat pocket. Don’t look at me. He raises his head, sensing my approach. For a moment we connect and I stare into his unguarded, hopeless soul. What does he see? Fear? Pity? Whatever it is, he finds no comfort and I burn with shame.
Light from either side of the river, spilling out of bars and eateries, doesn’t throw far enough for me to read his cardboard plea. To be honest I don’t try. Where I come from, people don’t end up like this. We have policy, agencies, a safety net. We care – don’t we? How is it that here, amidst open-hearted neighbours, young men beg for change from the pockets of strangers?
Did I imagine him shivering? I glance back for confirmation. Silly bastard, move out of the wind. There are stoops and stairways on the other side of the river, sheltered doorways. I’m indignant, convinced I’m being played. Try helping yourself, fella.
Along the river, cafés and chip shops ply their trade. A cup of tea, hot food would be better than cash. What you do for the least of these you do for me. And even while I debate with my conscience, my feet keep moving - left, right, left, right, wrong, right, wrong, right – carrying me further away, until it’s too far to reasonably go back.
It’s not wide, the Ha’penny Bridge. Barely two arm-spans of arching asphalt crossing the Liffey from Temple Bar to Bachelor Walk. It’s narrow, as narrow as Heaven’s gate for the indifferent and the hard of heart.
Rosemary McBryde
He shivers. With a chilling breeze whipping above the water, this must be the coldest spot in Dublin. I tense, still flushed from the joy of wine and music and lilting voices. One gloved hand tightens around the wallet in my coat pocket. Don’t look at me. He raises his head, sensing my approach. For a moment we connect and I stare into his unguarded, hopeless soul. What does he see? Fear? Pity? Whatever it is, he finds no comfort and I burn with shame.
Light from either side of the river, spilling out of bars and eateries, doesn’t throw far enough for me to read his cardboard plea. To be honest I don’t try. Where I come from, people don’t end up like this. We have policy, agencies, a safety net. We care – don’t we? How is it that here, amidst open-hearted neighbours, young men beg for change from the pockets of strangers?
Did I imagine him shivering? I glance back for confirmation. Silly bastard, move out of the wind. There are stoops and stairways on the other side of the river, sheltered doorways. I’m indignant, convinced I’m being played. Try helping yourself, fella.
Along the river, cafés and chip shops ply their trade. A cup of tea, hot food would be better than cash. What you do for the least of these you do for me. And even while I debate with my conscience, my feet keep moving - left, right, left, right, wrong, right, wrong, right – carrying me further away, until it’s too far to reasonably go back.
It’s not wide, the Ha’penny Bridge. Barely two arm-spans of arching asphalt crossing the Liffey from Temple Bar to Bachelor Walk. It’s narrow, as narrow as Heaven’s gate for the indifferent and the hard of heart.
Rosemary McBryde
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