Happy St. Patrick's Day. - Democratic Underground

H2O Man

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Sat Mar-17-07 06:27 PM
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Happy St. Patrick's Day.

The Green Field of America

Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock.
Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round.
And may their hearts be as merry as ever they could wish for.
As far away o'er the ocean I'm bound.

Oh, my father is old and my mother quite feeble;
To leave their own country it would grieve their heart sore,
Oh the tears down their cheeks in great floods they are rolling
To think they must die upon some foreign shore.

But what matter to me where my bones they may lie buried
If in peace and contentment I can spend my life
The green fields of Amerikay they daily are calling
It's there I'll find an end to my miseries and strife.

So pack up your seastores now consider it no longer
Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay
With no taxes or tithe to devour up your wages
Across on the green fields of Amerikay.

The lint dams are gone and the looms are lying idle
Gone are the winders of baskets and creels,
And away o'er the ocean, go journeyman cowboy
And fiddlers that play out the old mountain reels

Ah and I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing,
And most of her tradesmen did work for good pay
Ah, but since our manufacturers have crossed the Atlantic
It's now we must follow on to Amerikay.

And now to conclude and to finish my ditty
If e'er a friendless Irishman should happen my way
With the best in the house I will treat him, and welcome him
At home on the green fields of Amerikay.

Last year, we had some fun on DU, discussing some Irish history. I had hoped to post some more information this year, though this turns out to be a day where I have some difficulty getting around. My wife gave me a nice Chieftains 2-CD set, and I'm listening to "The Green Fields of America." It's a powerful song, and I think that most people -- be they part Irish or not -- would appreciate the emotion of this tune.

Days like today, I use my favorite black thorn shelalagh to get around. It was my grandfather's grandfather's walking stick. He survived the Great Starvation, and died at an old age in the 1860s. My great grandfather kept the walking stick, and brought it to this country with his family a few years later. My grandfather was a child when they came over; he gave the shelalagh to my father, who in turn gave it to me.

When I use this walking stick, I know the man who used it first lived through the Great Starvation. What a time! There is a part of George Bernard Shaw's "Man and Superman" that I would like to share with you:

Malone: "My father died of starvation in Ireland in Black '47. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Violet: "The famine?"

Malone: "No, the starvation. When a country is full of food, and exporting it, there can be no famine."

In 1845, the potato crop that most of the Irish Catholics on the southwest of the Old Sod depended upon became diseased. Within the year, the crop was reduced to less than 1/5 its normal normal yield. For thousands of families, this created a crisis.

These families had been reduced from land owners to the status of tenets on tiny plots of a foreign landlord's farm. Thus, although they produced bumper crops of barley, wheat, and oats, the landlords demanded these crops as rent. The Irish depended on the potato for a large part of every meal.

British historian Robert Kee noted that on one day in November of 1848, the following items -- raised by the Irish farmers -- were sent from Cork to England: 147 bales of bacon; 120 casks and 135 barrels of bacon; 5 casks of ham; 300 bags of flour; 300 head of cattle; 239 sheep; and 542 crates of eggs. There was no famine.

But there was starvation: Ireland had over 8 million people in 1845; by 1851, more than 1 million had died of starvation and the diseases that feed upon malnutrition. Two million more Irish had boarded the Irish "Famine Ships" that sailed to North America,bringing the original "huddled masses."

When my great grandfather was faced with leaving Ireland for the green fields of America, he brought this black thorn walking stick to remind him of his late father. My family came through NYC, to Nutley, NJ, and then followed the paths of the railroads. Others were already here, employed largely as stone-cutters, on the canals and early railroads. The worked, boxed, saved money, brought others over, sent their children to school, and lived part of the American dream.

Today, I used this shelalagh to walk out and watch my younger son train for a boxing match in April. He loves to listen to the Chieftains, particularly "O'Sullivan's March." He punches the heavy bag for several rounds, before turning and asking me, "What is that motto again?"

"Lamh foisneach abu!" ("The gentle hand to victory!") It is the motto of the O'Sullivan Mor Clanna, from ancient times, I remind him.

Life presents many contradictions.