Match Maker, Match Maker......

Cav, now I know where the name for Chateau Brion originates.(entree) What a delicious dish.

drom, if I remember correctly, the epitome of Irish beauty is a woman who has fair skin, blue eyes, and dark hair with a widow's peak.


Hey, John Webb. Fill in your profile. Minnie was probably tall and skinny, anyway. My goodness. I just recalled what my sister told me. When I was a tiny thing, my brother used to look at me and say, "Minnie, she was TAAAALLLLLL and SKINNNNNNEY. He would change his expression by making his mouth move into an oval shape, then into a sardonic grin. According to my sister, my facial expressions mimicked him to the T.

Well, I'm more blanched-white than fair, but that's rather like me... apart from the widow's peak, too, as you know what I think about life .

(Thanks for bringing us into that memory, Letty . I can imagine you both [inaccurately, probably] right now.)

Here I was thinkin' that the epitome of Irish beauty was whoever was left scrubbin' the pub floor after closin' with her arse in the air. I stand corrected. Maybe it was just the towns I stayed in on my honeymoon.

Heh heh heh, where on earth in Ireland did you go, Cav?

We landed in Dublin, spent two days there, then drove around the south coast, booked an extra couple of days in West Cork, just a kilometre or two away from Castletownsend, about five kilos from Skibereen, which we visited and hated. I do exagerrate, I'll get back to the journey later. Castletownsend is a very interesting place. Two pubs, one proper restaurant with amazing seafood, and when we were there, a few Canadians at the stoves, and a giant hill that cuts through the whole town like a knife. It's a harbour town, with sailing races and what not going on. Rumour is that Jeremy Irons owns property there. The Brit presence discourages any conversation with the public. Of the two pubs, we had our favourite. Once, while enjoying a pint (Murphy's, please, we have Guinness, but that's for the tourists) a bunch of 'we once ruled India' Brits walked in and started talking politics, and the air got as thick as mud. They owned property in the area, of course, and felt free to comment on the 'Irish problem' while downing pints of the 'other' stout, heh heh. The entire staff at the pub would not say a word. Once the ponces left, she said, "Those are relatives of the parliament. We daren't say a thing about politics, it's just too delicate."

As for the joke I made, there were several that were offered up by the local punters in the pubs, that's where it came from, regardin' the arse barin' lass scrubbin' the floors.

Anyone in particular.
drom_et_neve, I would like to see all my friends when I visit Ireland again. Of course they will have all aged about 15 years by that time which may or may not be too good depending on which "friend" it is. Basically things will be OK though because me, myself? I'm ageless!

Heck by the time one graduates from 8th grade he knows all the basics of life that matter. From that point on he simply reviews, modifies, fine tunes the rest of life's experiences. He suavely handles everything thrown at him. Right?

Heh, heh!



Lyrics
When I was at home I was merry and frisky,
My dad kept a pig and my mother sold whisky,
My uncle was rich, but never would by aisey
Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey.
Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey,
My dear little Shelah, I thought would run crazy,
When I trudged away with tough Corporal Casey.

I marched from Kilkenny, and, as I was thinking
On Shelah, my heart in my bosom was sinking,
But soon I was forced to look fresh as a daisy,
For fear of a drubbing from Corporal Casey.
Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!
The devil go with him, I ne'er could be lazy,
He struck my shirts so, ould Corporal Casey.

We went into battle, I took the blows fairly
That fell on my pate, but they bothered me rarely,
And who should the first be that dropped, why, and please ye,
It was my good friend, honest Corporal Casey.
Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!
Thinks I you are quiet, and I shall be aisey,
So eight years I fought without (whatever's next)

Damn. Wish Smokingunne would come back and verify these lyrics.

Ooh, no. English people in Ireland remind me of the Land Captain guy in 'Things Fall Apart,' sneering at the 'natives' while thinking that they know their methods, knowing nothing at all.

I'm guessing that the publicanette's ageing might not be one of the things that you're nonchalant about, Jack ;D? You don't know, though; all that fresh air and music keeps people young, if-- most of the time-- only at heart.

Ah, Letty. The Carlow-Kilkenny border was where my ancestors settled. Some, (but not many,) are still there to-day. My great-grandfather was a man known by everyone from miles around as Daddy Frank, and he was a wonderful philanthrophist. There's something in Borris up in his memory, a plaque that says 'A little bit of knowledge goes a long way' and his name on it.

Incidentally, Letty, I think that that is all correct; the last line was 'so eight years I fought without Corporal Casey.'

Good morning, all. It is soooooo strange, drom. I looked up the Irish Washer Woman and got that song. Damned if I see what it has to do with a woman or a washer. <smile> It's sorta like the cafe at The University of Virginia called Carol's Tearoom. No Carol; no tea, and no room.

I was wondering what the connection was, Letty, but I just guessed that it was a random Irish song that you had included! Maybe Shelah was the Irish washer woman? Still, it has very little to do with her. I notice often that people just name things just to sound good, rather than having any meaning...

Whenever I think of Irish Washer woman, I think of this song:



I've a nice little patch and a small bit of land,
And a place by the side of the sea,
And I care about no-one, because I believe,
There's nobody cares about me.
My peace is destroyed and I'm fairly annoyed,
By a lassie who works in the town,
She sighs every day as she passes the way,
Do you want your old lobby washed down?


Do you want your old lobby washed down con shine?
Do you want your old lobby washed down?
She sighs every day as she passes the way,
Do you want your old lobby washed down?


The other day the old landlord came by for his rent,
I told him no money I had,
Besides twasn't fair for to ask me to pay,
The times being so terribly bad.
He felt discontent at not getting his rent,
And he shook his big head in a frown,
Says he, I'll take half but says I with a laugh,
Do you want your old lobby washed down?


Now the boys look so bashful when they go a courtin',
They seem to look awfully shy,
As to kiss a young maid, sure they seem half afraid,
But they would if they could on the sly.
But me I do things in a different way,
I don't give a nod or a frown,
When I goes to court I says 'Here goes for sport',
Do you want your old lobby washed down?

What became of Shelah I wonder?
Letty, did you write that poem? I am wondering whatever became of Shelah.

drom_et_neve, I don't believe the Brits are bad at all. Oh, like everyone else their groups have their ups and downs in history. Just don't go espousing this cavalier attitude in pubs in places like Monaghan Town, Derry or Dublin. Unlikely you will find the type of Brits in such places as cavfancier found in Castletownsend.

Regardless of "the troubles" Britain is responsible for some very fine things in Ireland. Trinity College, which many believe is a Catholic university was founded by the English. It is a great place to visit. Our school, small as it was, always fielded a first class, annual debating team in the Bank of Ireland contest each year. The contest is held in the exam room at Trinity. A school from County Antrim (The North) won the last one I attended. Don't know if you ever saw the movie "Educating Rita" but it was filmed at Trinity.

One of my distant "cousins" Liam is a dairy farmer and is more British than the Brits and he lets new acquaintances know it straight off. He is Catholic too. That doesn't stop him at all from making crude jokes about the Irish people in general. He as well as a handful of others I met there are very class conscious.

I enjoyed the cattle and horse auctions. It was interesting to see the difference, in general, between the cattle owners and the horsey people. Mind you the owners were both from the Republic as well as The North. Cattle owners were gregarious, outgoing, laughing. Horsey people stood down at one end of the pub in tight little groups talking amongst themselves. It was as if they might speak with you . . . . .but they'd really rather not. Tight guys the horsey men.

Quite likely, actually, regarding Brits with attitude taking cheap vacations in the slums of a failed empire.

Jack, England is renowned for its class consciousness. How does Ireland compare in that regard?

Hey, all. I see this thread is still alive and kicking.

er, Jack. Which poem was that?

In a way, America is class conscious. If one has big bucks, they get to sit at the head of a fund raising table.

drom, I read that song a couple of times. There are parallels everywhere for the woman who works and gets nothing. I must find a match for it, a la American.

Are we still matching people? I think McGentrix, Karzak and Swolf are a custom fit.....and as far as me and Panzade go, we may play different styles....but we're both cunningly talented and cool guys......

Bi, you are amazing. How did you come to realize about McGentrix, Karzak and swolf?

It would not matter one bit which band would beat,
Cause you and the panz, are just toooo sweet.

KISS? Hmmm. have to think about that one. I just got used to listening to Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" and the one they sang behind the Highlander.

off to find a match for drom's Irish song.

The Washer-Woman
By Otto Leland Bohanan




A great swart cheek and the gleam of tears,

The flutter of hopes and the shadow of fears,

And all day long the rub and scrub

With only a breath betwixt tub and tub.

Fool! Thou hast toiled for fifty years

And what hast thou now but thy dusty tears?

In silence she rubbed ... But her face I had seen,

Where the light of her soul fell shining and clean.

WOW!

Bi has a knack for sourcing local 'talent' that work well together.

"Here we are, born to be Kings, the princes of the universe..."

Well, well, Cav. Think I'm gonna match you with "Born to be Wild".

Who is that wild thing that can write
And cite and cook haute cuisine?
It's a Canadian clown
Who looks after his wife
And remains oh so knightly,
In spite of all strife.

With a quip and a quote
And a brandishing spoon,
And a helium soul
Filling one red balloon,
That colors the sky in juxtaposition,
With whiteness of white in the sigh of
Decision.