General Chat

The Travelling People (Ewan MacColl)

I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and bye ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered.

Well we knew the woods and all the resting places
The small birds sang when winter time was over
Then we'd pack our load and be on the road
They were good old times for the rover.

In the open ground where a man could linger
Stay a week or two for time was not your master
Then away you'd jog with your horse and dog
Nice and easy no need to go faster.

And sometimes you'd meet up with other travellers
Hear the news or else swop family information
At the country fairs we'd be meeting there
All the people of the travelling nation.

I've made willow creels and the heather besoms
And I've even done some begging and some hawkin'
And I've lain there spent rapped up in my tent
And I've listened to the old folks talking.

All you freeborn men of the travelling people
Every tinker rolling stone and gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing old ways are going
Your travelling days will soon be over.

I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and bye ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered.

I haven't been on the site for quite a while as we have been moving house and all the trauma that entails!! However, we have now settled (well sort of) and I shall be getting out my poetry books and posting again very soon. Liz

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death (W B Yeats 1865-1939)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeats wrote the poem in honor of Major Gregory, who fought and died in the air war against Germany in World War One.

Major Gregory was the son of Lady Gregory, an Irish aristocrat who was a strong supporter of the arts (especially Irish arts) and a very close friend of Yeats.

Kiltartan, mentioned in the poem refers to the region that Lady Gregory lived in.

Dermot, you have done it again!
I recall this one from school, I found it evocative and did again this morning.

I am hoping that as the autumn begins we may have more people join us


Bridget :-)

I see His Blood Upon the Rose. (Joseph Plunkett 1887 - 1916)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice—and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.

All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another new page

Here lies the body of our Anna
Done to death by a Banana
It wasn't the fruit that made her low
But the skin of the thing that laid her go.
Anna Hopkins
Vermont

Here lies the body
Of Jonathon Blake
Stepped on the gas
Instead of the brake

Pensylvania.



Here lies Ezeckial Aikle
Aged 102
The good die young!

All three on real tombstones!

Bridget

Where is everyone?? I feel all alone... I shall be adding more poems in the next weeks, am asking friends and visitors what is their favourite poem or saying and why,

Still rather hot here, keep waiting for temps to drop to give some respite but not happened yet. I would not be surprised if the winter is very cold.

Bridget

I read this last posting several times. I thought that it is well written and evocative of the time,

Once more Dermot
You have made my poem of the day!

Thank you


Bridget

NOREEN BAWN.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

There's a spot in old Tirconnell
With a wee house in the glen
Where dwelt an Irish colleen
Who'd woo the hearts of men.

She was winsome, fair and hearty
Shined graceful as a fawn
It was love that widow's daughter
Happy laughing Noreen Bawn.

One day there came a letter
With a passage paid to go
To lands where the Missouri
And the Mississippi flow.

So she bade farewell to Erin
And next morning at the dawn
Said a brokenhearted mother
Bid farewell to Noreen Bawn.

Many years that mother waited
Till a morning at the door
Sat a gorgeous looking lady
All grand the clothes she wore.

Said, Mother don't you worry
Said, I've only got a cold
But the purple spots upon her cheek
The tragic story told.

There's a graveyard in Tirconnell
Where the blossoms sadly sway
Her brokenhearted mother
Living o'er a lonely grave.

Saying, Noreen you were calling
Many years since you have gone
Was the curse of emigration
Laid you low my Noreen Bawn .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Noreen Bawn' was composed in 1910 by Neil McBride Feymore, Creeslough, Co Donegal. He used a fictional name to highlight the "curse of emigration" which resulted in young people catching scarlet fever (TB) in America and returning to Ireland to die like Noreen Bawn.

Mmmmm,Dermot what was Queen Juliana referring to?

“I can't understand it. I can't even understand the people who can understand it.” (Queen Juliana of the Netherlands. 1909-2004).

Some people are never too busy to tell you all that they have to do.

Groucho Marx said apparently

I was married by a judge I should have asked for a jury

I chased a girl for two years only to discover that her tastes were exactlly like min...were both crazy about girls

The husband who wants a happy marriage should learn to keep his mouth shut and his cheque book open

Age is not a particularly interesting subject. anyone can get old all you have to do is live long enough

Here is a poem by Ann Rutherford. Don';t know the title. Not the worlds best writing but it struck a chord with me. Just a lesson for us all perhaps.

Although I'm in a wheel-chair,
I can hear and see;
So, when you have something to say,
Say it to me.

Don't ask the wheel-chair pusher,
If I'd like a cup of tea;
I'm in charge of such affairs -
Talk to me.

Don't speak words above my head,
Bend down by my side;
I have so few things left to me -
Leave me my pride.

I prefer to have eye contact,
Than staring at your knee;
So if you have a smile to spare -
Give it to me.

--------------------------------
Happy days

Sorry everyone, I have not had time to get back on here, thank you for keeping it going, I will start adding again soon.


Bridget in Spain
:-)

Haven't been onfor a while here are a few Mark Twain quotes

A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining but wants it back the minute it starts to rain.

Be careful about reading health books, You may die of a misprint.

Clothes maketh the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society

I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting.

Get your facts first, then you can distort them as much as you please

Fictionis obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth doesn't

Dermot,
I had no idea that this song was so long. I recall verse one but that ia all. Thanks for posting it

Bridget

22.28 hrs Spain :-)

The Spanish Lady.

As I went out through Dublin City
At the hour of twelve o'clock at night
Who should I see but a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candle light
First she washed them and then she dried them
Over a fire of ambry coals
In all my life I never did see
A maid so sweet about the soles.

Chorus:
-----------
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.

I stopped to look but the watchman passed
Says he, "Young fellow, the night is late
Along with you home or I will wrestle you
Straight away through the Bridewell gate"
I threw a look to the Spanish lady
Hot as the fire of ambry coals
In all my life I never did see
A maid so sweet about the soles.

Chorus:
-----------
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.

As I walked back through Dublin City
As the dawn of day was o'er
Who should I see but the Spanish lady
When I was weary and footsore
She had a heart so filled with loving
And her love she longed to share
In all my life I never did see
A maid who had so much to spare
Now she's no mot for a puddle swaddy
With her ivory comb and her mantle so fine
But she'd make a wife for the Provost Marshall
Drunk on brandy and claret wine
I got a look from the Spanish lady
Hot as a fire of ambry coals
In all my life I never did meet
A maid so sweet about the soles.

Chorus:
-----------
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.

I've wandered north and I've wandered south
By Stoney Batter and Patrick's Close
Up and around by the Gloucester Diamond
And back by Napper Tandy's house
Old age has laid her hands upon me
Cold as a fire of ashy coals
But where is the lonely Spanish lady
Neat and sweet about the soles?

Chorus:
-----------
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.

As I was leaving Dublin City
On that morning sad of heart
Lonely was I for the Spanish lady
Now that forever we must part
But still I always will remember
All the hours we did enjoy
But then she left me sad at parting
Gone forever was my joy.

Chorus:
-----------
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Uncertain composer.)

Thats fine with me Bridget, glad you like it!



When my friend sent it to me i thought it was lovely



Best wishes Sally :-D

Sally, I really like this, I think I may print it and frame it and display in the house. Would that be OK with you? I haven' anything to add at the moment, I hsve been very busy and am not thinking straight.
Bridget

15.36 hrs Spain :-)