I’ve heard a whisper of a land that lies beyond the sea Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old isle will part If I had proved a traitor to the wearin’ of the greenīut if at last our colours should be torn from Ireland’s heart Those tears my mother shed for me how bitter they had been While I that would have died for her must never so be blessed My father loved his country and sleeps within its breast You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sodīut ’twill take root and flourish there though underfoot ’tis trod Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget the blood that they have shed Then since the colour we must wear is England’s cruel red She’s the most distressful country that you have ever seenįor they’re hangin’ men and women for the wearin’ of the green” He said: “How’s dear old Ireland and how does she stand? I met with Napper Tandy and he took me by the hand Saint Patrick’s Day no more we’ll keep his colours can’t be seenįor they’re hangin’ men and women for the wearin’ of the green
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground Oh, Paddy dear and did you hear the news that’s goin’ round? Although approximately 10,000 Irishmen were killed in battles or executed, many, like William and Deborah Cooper, departed for America.īy 19th century Irish Actor Dion Boucicault This practice was known as the “wearing of the green”.Īs it happens, this was one of Ireland’s more successful rebellions. They would proceed together to the fields that were in jeopardy and complete the needed work. Whenever word of these arrests reached the Society, members would don green scarves or bandanas. In conversations while in Antrim, I learned that in 1798, in the face of American and French revolutions, the English Lords in Northern Ireland began the practice of arresting tenants just as they were preparing for harvest, leaving the wives and children to bring in the year’s crops or lose the ensuring revenue to the English Lords.Ī group formed, the Society of United Irishmen. Scotland seen on left horizon, 15 miles across the bay. The town of Cushendun, County Antrim, Northern Ireland. And, had there been any laundry on the line, I would have easily seen it. As I drove into County Antrim, and looked to my right, there was Scotland, clear as day. Also, never having been to Ireland, I doubted that I would be able to see Scotland either.īut, my friends, I was so wrong. For example, “wearing of the green” was suspicious to me because in all my family research, I have not identified members of the Catholic religion, but I certainly understood the implications of “wearing the green”, politically, in Ireland. Honestly, I had discounted elements of these stories. She must have impressed him with accounts of his birth, because as an adult, whenever there was a storm, he would go outside and fall on his knees to pray for the sailors at sea.ĭecades later, I was privileged to visit Ireland. Deborah, who was pregnant, gave birth to their son, Alexander, during the storm. They set sail, crossing the Atlantic in a harrowing storm. William had been sought by the English for “the wearing of the green.” In this far away place, they could see clothes drying on the line in another place called Scotland. Perched in front of the warm stove, I listened as Nana told me about our ancestors, William and Deborah Cooper, who came to America as political exiles in 1798, from a place called Antrim, Ireland. This was the epitome of scratch cooking.ĭuring those beautiful days, as she toiled in the kitchen, I stayed with her in rapt attention as she unfurled her delicious tales. The candied fruits, laid away in the summer, had to be readied. Rather, those walnuts for the fruitcake all had to be shelled by hand.
During my years visiting my grandmother, 1953 – 1959, preparing for Christmas feasting did not mean whipping down to the grocery store and buying processed ingredients.
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