An Gorta Mór - The Great Famine

My Irish family has been frequenting my thoughts of late. Correspondingly, Luka Bloom’s songs play in a continuous loop in my head. That man is something else! I have 3 of his CD’s and love each one. Much to my one son’s chagrin, his mother has to learn the songs as well. The melodies move into my son just like osmosis. Without effort or thought he can easily quote Black is the Color (well, it’s actually a Scottish song) and City of Chicago. I am completely in love with the sound and lyrics and can’t quite get enough.

I have written much about my love for the small branch of my Mother’s family from the Hebrides. They are special in a way my words fail to describe. The rest of her people are from beautiful and awe inspiring Ireland. For more centuries than I can comprehend, their feet were on Irish soil. They had a strong and ancient culture - chiefs of note and clan leaders. Ireland was home - it was everything.

Ancient Ireland was divided into four Provinces: Ulster in the north, Leinster in the east, Connaugth in the west, and Munster in the south. My family came from both north and south. The Heaneys (O’hEighnighs) were from the old kingdom of Oriel which merged with Ulster in the 12th century. The Callaghans (O’Ceallachains) were from Munster. The Reilleys and Gallaghers were most likely from the northern Ulster region. Nowadays my family surnames are everywhere.

I cannot blog about them without first mentioning the events that changed everything. My family and their countrymen were the Disposable People. We have all heard of the Irish Potato Famine (1845-1852). For the millions of us of Irish descent, the Great Famine/An Gorta Mór is not just some period of time to be studied in a world history course and then forgotten. It is the very real history and tragedy of our family. In a nutshell, the blight invaded and spread and destroyed the crops, the main source of food. Things just compounded and worsened. Unable to pay the rents they were evicted from their homes and had to live out in the elements. There were outbreaks of cholera and typhus. One could stay and die of starvation, disease, freezing cold... or board the ships and immigrate to America. (Yes, America held out her arms to those who desperately needed her.) It was not much of a choice.

Their skin was literally hanging on their bones. Death was all around. Life was bleak. With just the clothes on their backs, they boarded the coffin-ships not knowing what the future held. Perhaps their children would survive the voyage, perhaps not. Hope was all they had.

Much has been written about the response from the government to this crisis. Although the potatoes were completely ruined, other sources of food existed but were not made readily available. Food aid was eventually sent, but one had to purchase the grain. And how exactly were these poor souls supposed to come up with money to do so? In the end, a million lie dead and a million immigrated. Ireland’s population was decreased by an unbelievable 1/3.

Time does help us heal. But for many, the genocide of Ireland’s people continues to be a sore and open wound. I for one, have no room in my heart for hate. Forgive yes, for those who failed to feed are long dead. But forget, no.

They may have been disposable, but they survived and thrived and built a new home in America. In the history of my family, it has been but a drop in the bucket of time since they arrived. For me, I am happy to focus on the truly inspiring strength of the human spirit of the Irish immigrants - my family of whom I am so proud. We will continue to sing and teach our children the songs from Ireland. Their legacy is alive and well.



Luka Bloom - City of Chicago/Cathair Mhór Chicago
Sung in Irish Gaeilge. The piece at the beginning is from "The field" with Richard Harris and Sean Bean. (written by John B Keane)
http://www.youtube.com/96cambridge

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.

An tráth sin, lár na haoise,
Le linn an Ghorta Mhóir,
Pianta gránna ocrais --
D'imigh milliún lán le deor'.

Gan saibhreas ar a n-intinn,
Gan ghlóir ar bith taobh thiar,
Ag streacailt 'is ag caoineadh,
Báid Bhána ar an mhuir.

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.

Ar roinnt acu bhí saibhreas,
Roinnt eile, clú is cáil,
Bhí anró ann gan ghearán,
Is cailleadh ar an máigh.

Ag siúl ar fud na tíre,
'S ar bhóithre iarainn leo,
Ag scaipeadh cheol a gcroíthe,
'Tabhairt sochair dá gcuid bróin.

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.