The poignant smell of whin blossom br mixed with turf smoke and Atlantic ozone. br We picked our way down a bouldered lane br onto a crunching Mayo beach br glittering and gull-loud. br I gripped their small hands br for fear they'd hurt themselves. br br 'What bird is that? ' they asked. br Some seabird lay dead among the stones. br I made up a name. Then a story, br of endless ocean flight; br of storms no man ever saw, br not even brave sailorboys br breasting to America br away, away from the blighted island. br br 'What else? ' they asked. br Fiction drained like sand br and I had to tell of Mayo men and Galway men br whose last-of-Ireland sighs br breezed ashore so long ago, br over these fatal Western rocks. br br We chose a pebble to remind us br but there was never any need.