Leaving Cabey's Lane, Ennis in 1873

[Polycarp]

Here's an interesting piece of verse (using the term loosely) with some social history and echoes of "King Lear" in it. Cabey's Lane gave on to Vinegar Lane and Market Square in the markets area of Ennis. The emigrant-composer of this piece left in 1873. The piece of verse entitled "The newspaper seller" dates from 1913 or so, according to the verse.

"The Newspaper Seller"
Times Square, New York.
2.00 a.m.
A winter's morning, temperature below zero degrees.



And how is Cabey's Lane?
I'm forty years left, Sir, and never like to see the place again.

'Twas out of there I married her, the first one - Matt Twomey's daughter.
'The bit o' paint,' they called her, she was young, tall as a birch tree
Pale with blushes in her cheeks and eyes as brown
As Burren water.

Faith and there was lavish drinking at the wedding,
Now as I'm thinking,
Four half barrels of ale, old whiskey
Cordial and wine, and eating fine.

Ten by her, ten topping children, Sir,
Like apples red and sweet.
In fair meadow or in street
You wouldn't see the likes of them.

And then she died.

You can't live by the dead,
Leastaways when you have hungry mouths to feed,
That's what the people said
So, inside a year I wed again,
This time to Mary Quill
A Limerick girl who was lodging in the lane
West of Cabey's.

The first was quiet and wise;
The second had laughing eyes.
I put a charm on them and we wed.

Says she on the wedding night
'You're in a sorry plight
With me and the little ones.
Let's go away.'

'Where to?' says I.

'To Americay.'

Says she this country is too poor and small
And over there there's work and bread for all.
She was a different kind, you see
Far different to Sibby.

Well, by dint of saving night and day
We made the passage out
And Boston Quay saw me and her in 1873,
The blizzard year.

That's four decades ago
But even now I feel the bitter snow
I feel it in my marrow, Sir, the snow
and the high driving wind.

We left our clan behind
In Cabey's Lane with neighbours
Till such time as I could find
The cash to fetch 'em after us.

And God was kind,
Kinder than I thought he'd be in a strange land
For work came rolling in to my hand.

I wrought for constant pay
In a bake house.
He was German, Sir, the boss
And Germans mostly mixed the dough and watched the fires.
That's how I came to know the Deutsch.
I speak it better
Than I used to do the Gaelic at home.

I'd twelve by Mary, Sir,
Ten living; two dead.

I'd ten by Sibby - twenty children, Sir.

Twelve daughters and eight sons
And better for myself if I never had one.

My curse on Matt and Ned
That let old age come down on my grey head
And left me selling "Worlds."

My curse on Shaun.

My curse on Micheál Bán
The fair-haired one, the gentleman
That wouldn't look the road I doddered on.

My seven curses on him
And the flaming curse of God.

My curse on Peter.

My blessings on poor Joe
Who is now in Quod
For housebreaking.
The white lamb of the flock
He helped me when my right hand was a crock
With blood and poison.
He paid the rent for me.

My curse on all my daughters.

On Sibby Ann who is married west
And has her automobile
While I creep on limbs
All crooked by the pains.

My curse on Peg and Ann,
My curse on Angeline
My curse on Cilly and the rest
I don't know half their names.

The devil's brood but no brood of mine.

And Cabey's Lane,
I was happy there
In Ennis town in Clare,
When I was young, ah, young not old.

God help us, Sir
Isn't it bitter cold?

[Paddy Casey]

What a delightfully unusual and poignant work, Polycarp. Thank you very much for sharing it. Is the author identifiable ? Is it an "autobiography" or more likely fiction which could just as well be true ? May I ask what led you to it (I'm wondering whether there is more where this came from) ?

Paddy