Happy Memories of my dad

My father was born and brought up in Ireland, and he loved poetry all his life. When I was a child growing up in the UK during the 1950s and 60s, he, myself, and my brothers would wash and dry the dishes in the kitchen after the evening meal. Dad used to recite many Irish poems to us in order to help the time pass more quickly and pleasantly. and this was one of my favourites. This poem is so typical of Irish ballads of the time, and is very beautifully and powerfully written, with that unique Irish blend of humour and pathos. I am so glad to have found it online, and I hope that other poetry lovers will enjoy it. It isn't "great poetry", but it is part of the wonderful story of Irish people and their contribution to world events.

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" READ OUT the names! " and Burke sat back,
And Kelly drooped his head,
While Shea — they called him Scholar Jack —
Went down the list of the dead.
Officers, seamen, gunners, marines,
The crews of the gig and yawl,
The bearded man and the lad in his teens,
Carpenters, coal passers — all.
Then, knocking the ashes from out his pipe,
Said Burke in an offhand way:
" We're all in that dead man's list, by cripe!
Kelly and Burke and Shea. "
" Well, here's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain, "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

" Wherever there's Kellys there's trouble, " said Burke.
" Wherever fighting's the game,
Or a spice of danger in grown man's work, "
Said Kelly, " you'll find my name. "
" And do we fall short, " said Burke, getting mad,
" When it's touch and go for life? "
Said Shea, " It's thirty-odd years, bedad,
Since I charged to drum and fife
Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen
Stopped a rebel ball on its way;
There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green —
Kelly and Burke and Shea —
And the dead didn't brag. " " Well, here's to the flag! "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

" I wish 'twas in Ireland, for there's the place, "
Said Burke, " that we'd die by right,
In the cradle of our soldier race,
After one good stand-up fight.
My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill,
And fighting was not his trade;
But his rusty pike's in the cabin still,
With Hessian blood on the blade. "
" Aye, aye, " said Kelly, " the pikes were great
When the word was " clear the way!"
We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight —
Kelly and Burke and Shea. "
" Well, here's to the pike and the sword and the like! "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy,
Said, " We were at Ramillies;
We left our bones at Fontenoy
And up in the Pyrenees;
Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain,
Cremona, Lille, and Ghent;
We're all over Austria, France and Spain,
Wherever they pitched a tent.
We've died for England from Waterloo
To Egypt and Dargai;
And still there's enough for a corps or crew,
Kelly and Burke and Shea. "
" Well, here's to good honest fighting blood! "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.

" Oh, the fighting races don't die out,
If they seldom die in bed,
For love is first in their hearts, no doubt, "
Said Burke; then Kelly said:
" When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands,
The Angel with the sword,
And the battle dead from a hundred lands
Are ranged in one big horde,
Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits,
Will stretch three deep that day,
From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates —
Kelly and Burke and Shea. "
" Well, here's thank God for the race and the sod! "
Said Kelly and Burke and Shea.