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Ann Higginson

@annhigginson

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Living by the sea in wild Connemara. Advocate 4 protection of the Irish Hare, marine wildlife & Dark Sky. Sea swimmer. Veg grower. Gardening 4 nature.

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Day 3: Madge’s Poetry Recitals ❤️

“I’m Living in Drumlister” is a wonderful celebration of Ulster life, full of warmth, humour and the rich rhythms of Ulster speech. It’s the sort of poem that raises a smile, especially if you know the people and places it describes.

Growing up on a farm in Co Tyrone, Mammy was surrounded by poetry, storytelling and conversation. Poems weren’t hidden away in books; they were recited in kitchens, around the fire and at local gatherings. They became part of everyday life and, for many people like Mammy, remained there for decades.

Mammy once again recalls it from memory. She falters here and there, but that only reminds us that this isn’t a performance and she was 99½ when it was recorded.

I hope this poem brings a smile to your face, whether you’re from Ulster or simply enjoy hearing the wonderful richness of its dialect. ❤️
#100YearsYoung
#MadgesPoetryRecitals
#Drumlister
#UlsterScots
#CountyTyrone
@UlsterDialect
@PoetryFromMemory
@LivingHistory
@NorthernIreland
@Poetry by @annhigginson

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3 months ago

Day 2: Madge’s Poetry Recitals ❤️

… and today, something very different.

Yesterday, Mammy shared the humour of ‘Our Son’, by W. F. Marshall.

Today she recites one of the great classics of English literature: The Lady of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Growing up on a farm in County Tyrone, Mammy developed a lifelong love of books and poetry. Long before television and the internet, stories and poems were treasured, read aloud and learned by heart.

The Lady of Shalott is a very different poem from yesterday’s. Written by Tennyson and first published in 1832, it tells the haunting story of a mysterious lady, cursed to live in isolation, able to see the outside world only through a mirror as she weaves at her loom.

The poem runs to over four minutes, so I’ve had to divide it into five short videos.

Mammy falters in a few places, but I think that only makes this recording more precious. At 99½ years of age when this was recorded, to be able to recall such a long and complex poem from memory is extraordinary. It isn’t a polished performance; it’s the sharing of something that has lived in her heart and mind for almost a century.

Watching her recite it feels like being transported back to a generation when poetry wasn’t just something to be read; it was something to be remembered, carried through life and shared with others.

I feel incredibly fortunate that Mammy is still able to pass these treasures on.

I hope you enjoy listening to her as much as I enjoyed recording her. ❤️

Tomorrow, the mood changes once again with Mammy’s recitation of the wonderfully evocative ‘I’m Living in Drumlister’. From Tennyson’s tragic romance, we’ll return to the warmth, wit and rich dialect of Ulster poetry — the sights, sounds and humour of rural Ulster that she knew and loved growing up.

Madge’s Poetry Recitals

#TheLadyOfShalott
#AlfredLordTennyson
#PoetryFromMemory
#100YearsYoung
@CountyTyrone
@NorthernIreland
@Poetry
@Memory
@LivingHistory by @annhigginson

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3 months ago

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3 months ago

100½ years old… and yes, the “half” matters when you’ve earned every one of them. ❤️

One of the many things I admire about Mammy is that she believes every day should have purpose.

She has never been one to sit with idle hands. Today she’s making fire lighters from old newspapers—bundles I’ll use in our own stove and happily give away to friends. Nothing wasted. Everything useful.

As she folds each one, she tells me how, when she was a young girl in rural Northern Ireland, women would often sit in the evenings making these by hand. The newspapers they rolled had already been read from cover to cover, carrying precious news from the war. Along with the wireless, they were their window on the world during WWII.

In an age of instant news and disposable everything, there’s something rather special about watching a 100½-year-old quietly recycling yesterday’s newspaper into tomorrow’s fire.

A gentle reminder that a life isn’t measured only in years, but in curiosity, usefulness, generosity… and making something worthwhile with your hands.

The world has changed beyond recognition during Mammy’s lifetime, but some things never go out of fashion: purpose, thrift, kindness and making yourself useful. ❤️

#irishmammy
#100yearsofage
#livingpurposefully
#recycling
#thrift by @annhigginson

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3 months ago

Sitting outside with a quiet Sunday morning cup of tea… although it wasn’t quite as peaceful as I’d imagined.

I spotted the stoat again. I’d thought he’d moved on. Not a bit!

Within moments, two hares wandered past, one of them the little leveret that lives in the garden. One sat just eight feet from me, with the leveret close by. They seemed completely unfazed by either my presence or, for the moment at least, the stoat.

I’m just hoping they all survive the day with that tiny but formidable killing machine on the prowl. 🙏🤎
#irishhare #nature #connemara #stoat by @annhigginson

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3 months ago

#Redwing #BirdsOfIreland #IrishWildlife #Connemara #NatureIreland by @annhigginson

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6 months ago

This morning, four hares gathered in the courtyard—perched improbably in the pots as if they owned the place.
I’d feared they might abandon the garden after the stoat took a tiny leveret. But when hares come together like this, it often signals something hopeful: they are assessing, lingering… deciding whether it’s safe to leave another little one here.

And then—just after they left—the stoat appeared from the wall.
Keeping low while the adults were around, perhaps knowing it would be outrun… waiting for its moment.

The balance here is so finely drawn.

#IrishWildlife #WildlifeOfIreland #Connemara #NativeSpecies #WildIreland by @annhigginson

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6 months ago

Our house is called ‘Hares Rest’.

Yesterday I shared the quiet wonder of having both hares and a stoat living alongside us here.

It felt exactly that — a place of quiet refuge, shared with hares and a stoat living among the stone walls.

Today, I witnessed the other side of that story.

Today, I watched the stoat kill a days-old leveret and carry it back to its den. In the first video the Stoat has hauled the leveret up from the field and is checking that the coast is clear to haul it through the courtyard to its den in the wall of our guest bedrooms!

I know this is the law of nature. I know this is how it has always been.

It was difficult to watch. Heartbreaking, if I’m honest.

And yet, this too is nature — ancient, instinctive, and unchanged. These two species have lived side by side on this island for thousands of years, predator and prey, shaping one another’s existence.

The same walls that shelter life also shelter death.

I suppose that is what it really means to share a place with the wild — not just the beauty, but the reality of it too.

But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to see.

There is something deeply moving — and deeply uncomfortable — about witnessing the wild so closely.

This landscape holds both life and loss, often in the very same moment.

#IrishWildlife #WildlifeOfIreland #Connemara #NativeSpecies #WildIreland by @annhigginson

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6 months ago

This little killing machine — an Irish stoat — has taken up residence in our dry stone wall.

And our hares are still here too…

I’m hoping that counts for something. After all, according to research, these two native Irish species have been sharing this island for somewhere between 14,000 and 30,000 years — making them among Ireland’s oldest surviving mammals.

I have read that they likely arrived across an ancient land bridge before the last Ice Age ended, and somehow both survived the brutal cold of the Last Glacial Maximum (around 20,000 years ago), sheltering beneath the snow.

When Ireland finally separated from Britain about 15,000 years ago, they were effectively “trapped” here — evolving into the unique forms we see today.

The relationship? Not exactly friendly.
The stoat has always been a natural predator of the hare.

But over thousands of years, they’ve adapted side by side to Ireland’s milder Atlantic climate — which is why, unlike their European cousins, neither turns white in winter.

The Irish stoat (Mustela erminea hibernica) is a remarkable little creature — found only here and on the Isle of Man. Chestnut brown, creamy underneath, with that telltale black-tipped tail… and a fearless hunter, capable of taking prey larger than itself.

In Connemara folklore, it’s called Beanín uasal — “the noble little woman.”

Fierce. Ancient. Completely at home in this landscape.

And now, apparently, in our wall.

#IrishWildlife #WildlifeOfIreland #Connemara #NativeSpecies #WildIreland IrelandNature Biodiversity WildlifeLovers Nature WildlifePhotography by @annhigginson

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6 months ago

Back home. Starting a new phase of life without my beloved Andy by my side, but he will always in my heart. A huge adjustment; there are days when humour doesn’t come so easily, but the bright blue sky today, the soft breeze and the promise of spring’s new beginnings compels one to share this humorous sign I picked up at Barnes Fair!

#loss
#sad
#healingpowerofhumour
#grateful
#spring by @annhigginson

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7 months ago

On Monday 16 February 2026 we held the funeral for my beloved husband Andy at St Mary’s Church in Barnes, SW London where we lived for many years.

I would not normally post photographs or videos of a funeral service but sadly, the live-streaming was not set up properly in the church so it didn’t work; it was disappointing for those who could not make it to the funeral and wanted to attend online.

A dear friend @sineadfoyled who had travelled over with a group of our friends from Connemara saved the day; I had asked Sinead to discreetly take a few photographs during the service and she managed to capture these precious photos and videos – I am sharing them here to convey a small bit of what was a beautiful service.

Another dear friend @barbaraloft , who also came over from Connemara, so thoughtfully, brought some Heather from our garden which we placed on Andy’s coffin next to his medals.
Andy chose all of the music which was beautifully performed by the Millbank Quartet and St Mary’s Voices Choir, with St Mary’s Music Director Ben Markovic on the Organ; the hymns were sung with great gusto and feeling.

Funerals are of course sad occasions but this one felt more a celebration of a huge life lived well.

Andy will be missed terribly by many, none more so than me, but he will never be forgotten.

#love
#family
#duty
#royalmarines
#community by @annhigginson

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8 months ago

It is with profound sadness that I write a note about my beloved Andy who died on January 5th. He is the finest man I have ever known and it was my privilege and joy to be his wife.

Andy had already lived a big life by the time I met him; others will no doubt recount those stories in the days and weeks ahead. I am deeply grateful that he chose to share the next phase of his life—the past almost 30 years—with me.

Andy was one of a dying breed. He was driven by service: to family, community, and country. A modest man who never blew his own trumpet, he was always genuinely interested in what was going on in people’s lives—young and old—and in helping wherever he could. He was not one to idle or waste that most precious commodity, time, and he held himself, and all of us, to high standards.

We were an unlikely couple from very different backgrounds, but we soon discovered how much we had in common—not least that Andy had played rugby for Ireland, while my family raced bicycles for Ireland. His family was from Northern Ireland, as is mine.

In the many letters I have received this week, Andy’s quiet but real leadership is mentioned again and again. In everything he did, he led by example, and he constantly encouraged me to push beyond what I thought were my limits.

Andy had already left the Royal Marines when we met. With complementary skills, we built a small consultancy business together and worked hard at it for 13 years. Alongside work and family, time was always carved out for our annual spring and autumn “Higginson exercises”—arduous adventures hiking and cycling the high trails of France, Italy, Spain, the UK, and Ireland. Highlights included cycling up and down Mont Ventoux every year, and tackling Alpe d’Huez one year too……. The story continues, written in ‘four’ captions below. Sorry if they’re difficult to follow - scroll down as the paragraph flow has got a bit mixed up with comments posted in between ……. Bunowen, near Ballyconneely, looking over to the Twelve Bens, aka The Pins by @annhigginson

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9 months ago