A Fair and Dear Colleen

It wouldn't be St. Patrick's Day without a tribute to my sweet mother, the singingest nonsinger in all the world. To hear her tell it, there was no place like Ireland which, unfortunately, I never got to see except in the imagination of her stories. She and her best friend, Cassie Main, would walk the prams to the park when my brother was a baby and I believe there was never as peaceful a time as those days for my mother. "It was so good for my complexion!" painted an odd picture: my mother without freckles? I don't know if it was because her mother was a Leahy or because of natural gravitation but John McCormack would bring forth 5 star commentaries. My mother didn't sing around other people but since I made no judgments on her tunelessness, she sang constantly to Moi. I would try to figure out what the tune might be. She often sang, "Lulla, lulla, lulla,lulla bye bye. Does you want the moon to play with or the stars to run away with? Hush now don't you cry." I managed to piece together the tune by trying different notes. She would shake her head until I hit a correct one. She could hear a tune, just not sing it. My family was full of Irishisms as a consequence of the six years in Belfast before I was born. For instance, my father was never referred to by name or Pop, Daddy, Papa, or Father. He was, "The Daddy." If one wanted something in particular at a meal, one would ask, for instance,"Would you like a biscuit?" The other person was supposed to answer, "No, thank you but could I offer you a biscuit?" and then would come the real agenda, "Don't mind if I do." It was considered impolite to come out with a request directly. I hope I can embed The Wearing of the Green which is sung lightheartedly in taverns round the world on this day but my mother knew the history and she was proud of John McCormack. It was a highly charged political song that lost him many fans but he stuck by it and if I embed it correctly, you will see with what passion he rendered it. It is a reminder of what Patrick himself said, "What is more, let anyone laugh and taunt if he so wishes,
I am not keeping silent, nor am I hiding the signs and wonders
that were shown to me." Patrick of Armagh
........
A poem by The Daddy
.......
COUNTY DONEGAL
There's a wind that blows with an eerie trill
As it follows the road up a rocky hill,
And passes along by the small thatched hut,
Where the wintry blast finds the stout door shut.

For the wind is loud and the wind is cold,
And it brings weird tales that were best not told.
So the place to stay when the fiends conspire
Is close by the warmth of the old turf fire.


But at night when the work of a hard day's done,
When the pig is fed, when the sheep are tun,
Then the menfolk meet in a sheltered lane
To play a jig with a lilting strain.

For the night is cold but the night is clear
And the wind stops still so it too can hear,
And the harsh, hard life of a Donegal day
Turns as soft as dusk in warmth of May.

Then the whole night long while the village sleeps
The silence hangs on the barren sweeps,
Till the sun comes up through the chilly dawn,
And the mist that clings to the hill drifts on.


For the wind has come and the wind comes fast,
And it scatters the mist while the clouds whip past,
And it gathers force for a new bleak day,
Where the fields are green but the skies are gray.
.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3X0mHDs6DcY&feature=channel_page

....may the Irish blessing of the road, the one rising to meet ye, be with you and the green you wear be full o' the meaning of doing the bold & right thing....