Journey from Tipperary

Copyright © 28 September 2011 by Bob Hurt. All rights reserved.

We set off in dark of night from Tipperary,

Three of the girls I could, but two I couldn’t, carry.

The wee ones I nestled warmly in a potato sack.

Faith, I heaved those bulky treasures o’er my back,

While the bigger girls took bundles under arm.

We skittered from our loft at Widow’s Inn farm.

I had tried to save my wife Oh Lord I tried,

But she worsened in that terrible winter and died.

I couldn’t pay the fees for inn or car,

So we snuck out in the wee hours to go afar.

We skittered over rooftop – it covered us in soot-

And betook our torturous journey on foot.

The wind howled at our departure from the town.

We trekked the hills and woods; rain poured down.

We warmed us beside fires of sticks and peat,

And sucked cows’ milk freshly from the teat.

I made the girls smile with tales of elf and fairy,

To forget their mum, dead and cold in Tipperary.

Now and then we’d stop; I’d dry their tears;

Give hope for better lives; calm their fears.

In a week and more our travel finally ended;

The girls’ aching, broken hearts eventually mended.

I found farm work near Cleggan, by the sea

And a small cottage for my girls and me.

Though they all grew up, and fine men did marry,

Sure, we deeply miss her who stayed in Tipperary.



Author: bobhurt


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