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monde dane

~ My passport is American, my wife is Japanese and my thoughts are undocumented. If you read between the blog lines, who knows what you might learn.

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Tag Archives: St. Patrick’s Day

A Bit of Blarney on the Blarney Stone

15 Monday Mar 2010

Posted by danedegenhardt in HOLIDAYS, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Eire, Ireland, St. Patrick's Day, the Blarney Stone

Lady's face by Irish painter INGHAM (undated)

Once upon a time very long ago, there lived near the city of Cork a most amazing old lady. It was said that there never was a person, stranger or neighbor, who had not felt the kindness of this generous soul. She was a right devout child of Saint Patrick and some even whispered that she had befriended the little people and was treated as a Godmother by the Leprechauns themselves.

Being such a blessed heart, there was no accounting for the sad fate that befell her dear family, bringing her great loss and sorrow.

It was her only son that kept her from going to the dark side after his father’s death on the highway at the hands of bloody English marauders.

Toiling in the fields and taking in laundry, she managed to raise him to become a strapping young lad as handsome as a spring morning and twice as robust. So fine a lad was he that he had all the lasses begging to marry. Well, there began the sweet lady’s tragedy, for it was a spiteful lass from Cork that cast a spell on her boy, luring him into a fate that no mother should wish for her child.

The bride, though a cobbler’s daughter, dreamed of becoming a great lady, the toast of the city, sashaying back and forth to London. Once she had the young man in her lair, she beguiled him into working so hard for her dream of vulgar opulence that he lost the shine of youth.

Whenever his mother made the long journey from Blarney to Cork to look in on her beloved boy and now her two lovely grandchildren, she would be met at the door by the spiteful wife all decked out in High Street silk and lace.

“Your lazy son is out earning bread for the table. You’re not to be seeing him on this occasion, old lady.”

“Perhaps I could visit with your little ones a spell until my son returns,” the old lady offered just as sweet as can be.

“My children are just fine, thank you. They can manage without the likes of you. Now be gone with you before the neighbors think I’m consorting with country vagabonds,” was all the answer she would get.

On what would become her last attempt to visit the child she so dearly loved, she set forth on the long journey home. Nightfall was upon her as she reached the banks of the River Lee. She sat on a stone at the river’s edge contemplating her misfortune. “’Tis a sad thing,” thought she, “that the love of such a sweet son had been devoured by such a sour wench as she.”

Little did she know what terrible events were unfolding in the mist around her. King Cormac was, that very night, returning from an audience with an envoy of the English Queen. Among the king’s entourage was the old lady’s son. He had offered his services to escort the king back to Blarney Castle hoping to please his aspiring wife with his royal service.

The king had tried again to convince the English to keep their ruffians from terrorizing the good people of Cork. And once again he had failed to find the right words that would move the ambassador to action.

The cost of his failed words followed him from Cork. As he and his small party of men rode into the green clover fields beyond the city, they were themselves accosted by a pack of English highwaymen. In the melee that followed, the bandits were routed, but not before one of the king’s guards was knocked dead from his horse. Lo and behold – the slain servant was none other than the old lady’s cherished son!

The rogues, foiled from their assault on the king, fled in the worst of tempers when, by-and-by they came upon the old lady sitting on a rock. Spying the lonely figure in the twilight, they rode right up to her with a vengeance.

The band’s leader shouted out in his vulgar Cockney trill, “Well now, look at ‘er majesty ‘olding court for the lit’l people, I dare say. Iffin’ yer gonna cross that river m’lady, let us help ya on yer way.”

And with that the lot of them steered their horses so close as to send the old lady flying into the cold, rushing waters.

Well now, if you’re thinking that the Good Lord had forsaken the best of his children, you would be quite mistaken.

Sinking down into the black water the old lady saw her life passing before her.

She heard her son calling to her, “Go back Mother! I’ll be waiting for you on another day.”

Then a dozen grand river trout swam up to her, looked her in the eye, and with a wink, formed a buoy raising her head back to the surface. At that very moment the king and his troop came a tearing across the meadow yelling and hollering “Death to the damned and Glory to the righteous!”

The king himself, ever a stout fellow, lighted from his steed, tore off his boots and plunged head first into the River Lee. His powerful strokes brought him aside the drowning figure in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the woman by the head and steered their human craft straight for the stone pilings of Sunday’s Well Bridge. The king reached out for the stone arch and with a mighty tug, pulled the two of them clean out of the black water.

Coming to her senses surrounded by the king and his men, the old lady recalled the winking fish and knew that her leprechaun friends were about. She closed her eyes, prayed to the Lord and then in a silent voice called out to the little people. Upon hearing their silent reply, she opened her eyes one last time to behold the grateful king. She softly repeated the words of the little ones;

“For the Samaritan of Blarney,

One good deed brings a thousand words

Kiss the stone and you’ll be heard.”

With the words of the little people ringing in the night, the dear soul ceased her breathing, the gleam in her eyes faded, and the rhythm of her heart drew silent.  The king and his men swore by the Heavens above that at that very moment the night sky over Blarney lit up with a brilliant glow as the old lady’s soul alighted to once and forever rest aside her dearly beloved son.

Returning to Blarney Castle, the king ran straight up to the very top of the tower. As his men held onto his leggings, he dropped off the parapet head first. Stretching his neck forward toward the ancient stone, he envisioned the old lady’s kind face and kissed the cold surface. The following day King Cormac returned to the city where his new found eloquence charmed the ambassador and brought civil rule to the fair people of Cork.

© Dane Degenhardt, Monde Dane, 2010.

RELATED MONDE POST:  IRISH FOR THE JAPANESE

IRISH FOR THE JAPANESE

17 Tuesday Mar 2009

Posted by danedegenhardt in HOLIDAYS, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Eire, Ireland, Michael Collins, St. Patrick's Day, The Gangs of New York

patricks_parade424

Saint Patrick’s Day Parade in Harajuku, Tokyo 2007

Some of my Japanese friends don’t know an awful lot about the Irish. So, every St. Paddy’s Day I do what I can to let them in on the mysteries of the magical Emerald Isle. I claim no real authority on the subject, although my maternal great grandfather was a “Miller” and rumored to have had a bit of the Irish in him.

Here is my 2008 ode to the Irish.

1 Saint Patrick’s Day, March 17th, is a national holiday in Ireland, and a borrowed holiday in many parts of the world.

2 We celebrate the day with parades, wearing green, singing Irish ballads and most of all, by drinking Irish whiskey or Guinness beer.

st_patrick-banising_snakes-large3 The main symbol of the day is, of course, Saint Patrick, who chased the snakes out of Ireland and brought Christianity in.

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4 The shamrock or three-leaf clover is another popular symbol.leprechaun1

5 The real fun comes from the Leprechuans; Little magic people who make lots of trouble.

6 One legend says the Leprechuans can lead you to the end of the rainbow where you will find a pot of gold.

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7 Sometimes people think the Irish are the same as the English – not true.

celts-t29958 The first known people on the island were Celtic tribes from central Europe who arrived around 600 B.C.

9 Black Irish is a term used by Irish-Americans to describe Irishmen with black hair and dark complexions.

10 The stereotypical Irish have reddish brown hair and fair complexions.

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11 The dark strain is probably from the Celts who httpwwwthisislondoncouknewsarticle-23367572-detailsancient20britons20come20mainly20from20spainarticledoexpandtruecame in from Spain and Northern Africa.

12 The Celts always had to fight for their land.

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zpage00613 Danish Vikings began invading in the late 8th century and were finally defeated in 1014.

14 English invasions began in the 12th century and the struggle with England lasted for 700 years.

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15 The Irish were treated as England’s poor cousins and Ireland was kept poor whileejectment the industrial revolution and the rest of the British Empire prospered and expanded.

16 Even though they were poor, a lot of the best literature in the English language was written by Irishmen.

17 Because life was so hard at home, millions of Irishmen ran off to fight in England’s wars around the world.

18 Irishmen first started coming to America with the first English settlements.

childminers19 Many came as indentured servants, who had to work like slaves for at least 7 years to pay for their passage.

20 Then millions of Irish came to America in the mid 19th century because of the Great Potato Famine at home.

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21 They became an underclass in the US.gony-1

22 JFK was the first real Irishman to become president, jfk1and this helped end their low social status.

23 Back in Ireland, the struggle with the English continued, the Easter Rebellion in 1916 failed, but it started a guerrilla war that ended in 1921.

24 Ireland got independence from the UK for the 26 southern counties but six northern counties remained part of the UK.

25 The Irish then had a one-year civil war.197976michael-collins-posters

26 Fighting in Northern Ireland continued off-and-on till the end of the 20th century.

27 In 1949, Ireland left the British Commonwealth; and it joined EU in 1973.

28 In the 1990s the Republic of Ireland became one of the fastest growing high-tech economies of the European Union — and Irish bands like U2 took the world pop culture by storm.

And let us not forget the incredible Irish Riverdance.

RELATED MONDE DANE POST:

A BLARNEY TALE ON THE BLARNEY STONE

BARACK O’BAMA

13 Friday Mar 2009

Posted by danedegenhardt in HOLIDAYS, POEMS, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Eire, Ireland, MUSIC, Obama, St. Patrick's Day, There's No One As Irish As Barack Obama

barack_obama_caricature_irish_ireland

There was a young gent from Honolulu,
With the hue of a milky faced Zulu
He’s black, he’s white, they’d niggle
Till old logs solved the riddle
Provin’ he’s Irish, toora-loora-loo

America loves the Irish.  America hates the Irish. The sons of Saint Patrick are America’s naughty but lovable second sons.  The laugable, lovable, unflappable Irish — God bless their Catholic souls!  Always good for a drink, a joke, or most often a drunken joke.  And if it weren’t for their literary genius our libraries would be pretty dull indeed. But an Irishman in the White House?  Now that was nothing to drink to.

With today’s civil rights focus on blacks and gays, and all other variations of the species, we forget that  John Fitzgerald Kennedy had to break the green barrier before he could support black freedom. Kennedy was the first American of obvious Irish descent to become president of the United States – or so they say. In fact, fourteen presidents before JFK had hidden but traceable Irish roots; and so has everyone of his successors, except for Gerald Ford. So, it should come as no surprise that Barack Obama is another son Son of Saint Paddy.

Researchers found that his maternal great-great-great-great grandfather Joseph Kearney was a shoemaker from Moneygall, County Offaly – giving new meaning to the term Black-Irish.

The downside is that the good Mr. Kearney was of British tainted Protestant persuasion, thus denying President Obama the kind of kindred Catholic- Irish spirit that JFK enjoyed on the Emerald Isle. Nevertheless, there are those in the old country who applaud Obama’s kinship, appropriately in rhyme and song.

© Dane Degenhardt, Monde Dane *** アメリカンスクールオブ ラングエジーズ***

THERE’S NO ONE AS IRISH AS BARACK OBAMA by SHAY BLACK

“Well, you all know that Barack Obama’s great, great grandfather came from County Offaly, and this song has been written; the chorus goes:”

O’Leary, O’Riley , O’Hare and O’Hara.
There’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama.
From the old Blarney Stone
To the green hills of Tara,
There’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama.

And you don’t believe me when I hear you say.
But Barack’s as Irish as our own JFK,
His grandaddy’s grandaddy came from Moneygall
A village in County Offaly well known to you all.

[CHORUS]

His mam’s daddy’s granddaddy was one Falmouth Kearney
He’s as Irish as Annie from the lakes of Killarney,
His mom’s from a long line of great Irish mamma’s
There’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama.

[CHORUS]

He looks after his own,
A true son of Saint Patrick,
He chose as his mate
Joe Biden, a Catholic
Proddies, Jews even the Dalai Lama
Know, there’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama

[CHORUS]

Our Barack’s a hero, I’ve heard them say
Fenian to Kenyan, it’s the American Way,
He’s Cuchulainn, Liongo, not Vishnu or Brahma
But there’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama

[CHORUS]

A name is a name and there’s no doubt about it
Barack O’Bama’s name, we can shout it
Whether apostrophe or inverted comma
There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama.

[CHORUS]

Now you Hillary supporters don’t you vote for McCain
And the VP needs brains, so forget about Palin
With Cheney and Bush, they are all ignorama
There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama

From Kerry and Cork to old Donegal
Let’s hear it for Barack, from old Moneygall
From the Lakes of Killarney to old Connemara
There’s no one as Irish as Barack O’Bama

[CHORUS]

Toora l’U, Toora l’S, Toora l’A, Toora lama
There’s no one as Irish as Barack Obama.

[CHORUS]

The Original by the CORRIGAN BROTHERS

corrigan-brosCARTOON VERSION WITH SUBTITLES

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This year’s St. Patrick’s Day

Whatever the wretched Republicans say

May the Lord bless Obama’s USA

With good luck the Irish way


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