HAPPY ST PATRICK’S DAY
Byan-okht-ee nah Fay-leh Pawd-rig ur-iv
Happy St Patrick’s Day/St Patrick’s Day Blessings Upon You.
I hope the Irish Gaelic spelling is correct as I got it from the internet. Freetranslator as I used to call it (now use translate.reference.com) let me down, as it interpreted Happy St Patrick’s Day into Irish as Happy St Patrick’s Day! It’s like translating Happy St David’s Day into Welsh in North Wales as Happy St David’s Day! Blummin cheek! Anyway I digress.
I thought I’d do a blog today on this monumental day for Ireland and those of Irish decent, or even for lovers of Ireland.
Now you’ll have to forgive me, as an English woman with ‘rose-tinted’ spectacles who doesn’t do politics (as I believe in a good policy and good people, not a party, though also I’ve been lucky enough not to have to live in a town of politics, all I can say is sorry Ireland for the past L) or one religion per sé (as I’m an eclectic and believe most religions possess elements in their holy books that have merit) who has travelled to many unique places in the world (e.g. China, India, Russia, Scandinavia, Europe) but not to Ireland. I know, shame on me, it’s only across the water from Wales, but it is on my ‘bucket list’ of things to do before I die (which I hope the death knoll, for me, won’t chime for a very long time!).
So you may think ‘what does she know about Ireland’. I may not have researched it yet like I did ‘The Portas Review’ (for a neighbouring city to bid for funding) or ‘The History of the Hutterites’ (for a pack I sent to Bertha and Claudia Hofer and their community), but I will. Though I do know enough to be able to write a couple of pages for this blog, which I hope you like.
What links have I got with Ireland? Not sure, after my parents, my family tree goes a bit skewy. My maternal grandmother was a harsh, arrogant, black haired English woman brought up by her Victorian mother. Yet my maternal grandfather was purported to be an American soldier during the 2nd World War, possibly with Irish decent. The reason being that my mother was completely different to her mother and blood family… a red head of fire, passionate about life and kind. We always had an open house, where tea and cake were plentiful, and you always left with more cake (though if it was your unlucky day you’d have a piece of flat bland Victoria sponge cake, but if a lucky day you’d have Eccles cakes, or mince pies which my mum made throughout the year J). There was music in the house, only records, except for me with the piano, French horn, and recorder (though I am somewhat limited as I have a different reflex in each hand, and so am never going to be a concert pianist, much that Taff thinks otherwiseJ).
My husband (better half), Taff, as you can tell is Welsh, and had/has Irish family. Coming from North Wales, he worked on the boats from Holyhead to Dublin in the 60s as a teenager, and enjoyed the company of the Irish, a few pints of Liffey Water (Guinness) all settling on the bar at varying stages, or a drop of the finest (whiskey) during later years in life of course! The stories he tells of the music, the laughter, and the Fathers, are amazing, as Taff role plays the scenes in a Southern Irish ccent. He even describes a true Christmas scene, buying an enormous turkey from the Dublin market as a teenager, carrying it on his back to the boat home. Presenting it to his mum, as a surprise. The surprise being, not only did they have a full belly for a change, and enough turkey to feed Holyhead, it wouldn’t fit in the oven, and they had to borrow a more substantial/commercial oven in the town to cook the beast for Christmas day!
Taff, as a Celt is also musical, a self-taught acoustic guitarist (common in the 60s) and singer, he plays a wide range of music including ‘Danny Boy’, and the ‘Wild Rover’ (as well as all the non PC Naval songs, which if you’ve an open mind and just consider are funny!). We listened to a ‘Best of the Bachelors’ regularly on a crackly tape that we bought from the car booty for 10p a couple of years ago, until our car died (replacement car alas has a CD player), singing along to songs like ‘In the Chapel in the Moonlight’ doing the harmony (well I attempt, Taff is a pro).
Links of Ireland out the way, I shall continue, as you don’t want to hear about us, you want to hear about Ireland.
For me, when I think of Ireland I think of Guinness, Whiskey, the Emerald Isle, musical talent, humour, kindness, marching, old fashioned pubs where drinking isn’t a sin/crime it’s just part of life, and the Giant’s causeway.
As I said, I’m longing to go to Ireland. Whenever I’ve come across an Irish person they’ve always been charming, friendly, polite, talkative, with a sense of humour, and have a twinkle in their eye. In my first office job in Birmingham, England, I was privileged enough to work with a lady called Teresa who was from Northern Ireland. I was 18, she was around 40. We got on really well, as friends, even though she was old enough to be my mother. Her and her husband (Max) invited me for drinks, a couple of times, driving me home afterwards to make sure I was back safe and sound. We talked about life in Ireland, where everybody knew everybody else’s business. You never locked your doors, people would just come in unannounced, in a nice way. Max and Teresa discussed the culture shock when moving over to England and a big city, and the fact that people locked their doors, and didn’t know their neighbours. Luckily for me where I lived, our home and our next door neighbours’ homes could literally have been in Ireland, so I could relate to their homeland. Sadly we lost touch.
Although I don’t live in Ireland, we have a strip of Emerald grass, with lavender and buddleia (I have brown thumbs rather than green fingers). We live in a community, out of the rat-race. Our door is always open (though we do have to lock it when we’re out); there is always tea, cake and savouries (usually curry) for anyone who wants it; and they always leave with something similar; everybody knows everybody else’s business; it’s like being in the 70s; oh and the majority of people are between 20 to 40 years older than me. It’s fantastic, for the first time since a child, I feel at home, and safe. When it’s sunny we sit on our step outside and play music (me with the kazoo which I play like a trumpet, and a maraca) and sing (though I’m afraid I don’t have much vibrato, yet sing in tune most of the time). We get the plastic garden chairs out, and neighbour-friends stop for some entertainment, a drink and a bite to eat. I have yet to learn the tin whistle, frustrated that it is only in one key, and doesn’t have a million notes, but then it would be as long as my arm and unplayable.
Today (17th March), I’m halfway through making some cakes today for St Patrick’s Day - Chocolate (to represent the rich, soil of Ireland), in green paper cases (to represent the Emerald grass), with hopefully a green shamrock on the top made out of icing (I have yet to make a cutter as I couldn’t find one in the shops yesterday). We’ll keep a couple and then I’ll a trundle down to the local Irish and give the cakes to them as a gift, as I hope they’ll appreciate them. I’ll run quick just in case there’s any red tape involved (like there was on Red Nose day, see previous blog).
Yesterday I went to the local charity shop and bought a couple of leprechaun-type green St Patrick’s Day hats (with the words Carrolls on which I’ll have to cover with black felt!), for us to wear. I’ll retrieve some of my green Riddler costume (ie green T-shirt and tights), and we’ll drive down to an Irish pub in the city later (I’ll be on the non-alcoholic ginger beer or lemonade whilst Taff has a few pints of Guinness and a shot of Tollamore Dew whiskey). Hopefully there’ll be some live music, or singing or something.
So, ramblings complete, my final words for now at least…
Whether you believe in Ireland being separate from the UK, or not, I am pleased Ireland is my neighbour-friend. It will always be my neighbour-friend. And I hope to visit it soon.
Taff and I wish everyone who wants to celebrate Ireland, and its’ people, a wonderful St Patrick’s Day.
Sláinte
LOL
Pam
J
Twitter @pamandtaff
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