The
Fields of Athenry, Part II
A Newfoundlander’s bicycle
journey across Ireland
By Dennis Flynn
Special to The Charter
Author’s
Note:
This
article appeared in “The Charter” on
March 17, 2003.
This
article also ran in “The Compass” on Page A10 on March 18, 2003.
Just as a brief aside, one should be aware
that nursing a pint (or more) of beer at “the Local” (as your favourite pub is
called) in the evening is almost a national pastime in many parts of the
Emerald Isle.
The residents of most towns I visited readily explained to me that definitely
not everyone is a drinker but even among teetotallers there is a strong
cultural tradition to go to the pub simply for the social aspect of it all.
To bypass the pubs in Ireland as one elderly patron put it, “Would be akin to
making a pilgrimage to Rome and not going to see the Vatican,” as somewhere
along the line you would miss out on an important element of what Irish
hospitality is all about.
The people I encountered in these little venues (especially away from the
larger cities) were generally gregarious, fun loving, and made you feel as if
you had been there all your life.
The welcome was such that you were treated not as a stranger visiting, but as
an old friend coming home after a spell abroad. This seemed especially
pronounced when people discovered I was a Canadian, for some reason not
elaborated to me.
When they further learned I was actually a Newfoundlander (with distant Irish
roots) cycling across their country alone they just about adopted me.
Several times I had to kindly turn down offers to stay longer and invitations
to “real Irish parties.”
My schedule had some slack periods but not enough, unfortunately, to allow me
to recover from the after-effects of whatever bacchanalian frenzy of music,
victuals, and booze must surely constitute a “real Irish party.”
Maybe next trip I’ll partake, if I have more time, more funds, and a stronger
constitution.
The Craic
Another key point for anyone planning on spending some time in the pubs is a
concept called “the craic” (pronounced “crack”).
While the craic is hard to define, it is as essential to pub life as air is to
the human body or water and sunlight are to plants.
When I first heard people discussing, “the craic was grand tonight”, or “the
craic was huge down at the pub,” I was sure I’d walked in on an illegal drug
deal or was catching a reference to some gapping split in the side of a wall
that would spread further and bring the roof down. Neither of my definitions
was even close.
“The craic” is everything and nothing all at once.
It is the news of the day; it is the football matches on TV; it is the latest
word on horse races and hurling; the wild stories of fairy rings, banshees, and
spectres of long dead travellers lurking the bogs; the jokes that make your
sides hurt from laughing; the sad songs that tug at the chords of the heart as
if they were the strings of a mournful fiddle; and it is the mixture of music,
talk, and general ambiance that makes a place lively or not.
In short, “the craic” is the atmosphere of a pub, for want of a better way of
putting it.
In Athenry, “the craic was ninety” (meaning as good as it gets).
Case in point, a gentleman named Thomas (who was out with his wife Bernadette
celebrating her birthday) saw me writing in my journal and filled me in on the
history of the town, the sites to see, and an amazing assortment of all things
Irish.
None of that
This couple and their daughter sat in the little pub and chatted with me for
hours and I learned more about the place than if I’d read books on it for a
year continuously.
Besides Newfoundland, where the hospitality is legendary, the folks I met in
Athenry were some of the friendliest I have ever encountered. For instance,
your man Thomas, would accept no payment for any rounds of Guinness or other
beverages insisting quietly that “we’ll have none of that, you are the guest here
and in Athenry we make you feel at home.”
They certainly did that in grand style and after a final flourish of thank yous
and exchanging of addresses, I wound my way back to the snug hotel and slept as
soundly as if I were back on the Rock once again. My night in Athenry was done.
The song
Of course, no discussion of Athenry is complete without mentioning the song The
Fields of Athenry written by Pete St. John in 1979. The original words that
inspired him, however, go back even further to a broadsheet ballad that was
published in the 1880’s by Devlin of Dublin.
The Glasgow Herald for 10 April, 1996, noted the version recorded by Paddy
Reilly in 1979 was a best seller (with an album of the same name).
In the subsequent years, there have been over 400 cover versions made with
conservative estimates on single sales put at five million. Set in 1846, the
haunting song was allegedly based on a true story of the fate of one young
couple during the Irish famine.
To paraphrase, The Fields of Athenry tells the story of Lord Trevelyan who
obtained a supply of corn back from America in an attempt to combat starvation
caused by the potato famine. Unfortunately, the shipments turned out to be
Indian corn (which is too hard to be milled) and effectively rendered them useless.
The Irish people, not realizing this, thought the corn would save them and so
broke into the stores, were arrested, and subsequently deported to Australia
for their crimes.
For those interested in the actual lyrics I present both the 1979 version by
Pete St. John side by side with the original from an 1888 broadsheet. It is up
to the audience to decide which they prefer, but either way it is a beautiful
song.
|
1979
version by Pete St. John "Michael,
they have taken you away, For you stole
Trevelyan's corn, So the young
might see the morn. Now a prison ship
lies waiting in the bay." Low lie the
fields of Athenry Where once we
watched the small free birds fly Our love was on the wing We had dreams and songs to sing It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry. "Nothing matters, Mary, when you're
free Against the famine and the crown, I rebelled, they cut me down. Now you must raise our child with dignity." As the prison ship sailed out against the
sky For she lived to hope and pray for her love in
Botany Bay It's so lonely round the fields of Athenry. |
“The
Fields of Athenry” 1888 Broadsheet version
I heard a sweet
voice calling, 'Oh Danny, they
have taken you away. for you stole
Travelian's corn, that your babes
might see the dawn, now a prison ship
lies waiting in the bay.' Fair lie the
fields of Athenry where we stood to
watch the small freebirds fly. Our love grew
with the spring, as we wandered
through the fields of Athenry. 'nothing matters,
Jenny, when your'e free 'gainst the
famine and the crown, I rebelled, they
ran me down, now you must
raise our children without me.' she watched the
last star rising as the prison
ship sailed out across the sky But she will
watch and hope and pray, for her love in
Botany bay whilst she is
lonely in the fields of Athenry |
Something special
One final note about Athenry. At breakfast the next morning I met a pleasant
elderly gentleman named John cradling a pint at about 10:30 in the morning (he
being a retired farmer and used to the early rise, this was just about supper
time for him I’d reckon).
Anyway, John (of the ancient yet exceedingly bright eyes) talked to me about
places we’d both been and other topics of general interest.
Eventually the verbal dance came to how pretty Athenry was and how friendly the
people were.
John liked this tack of the dialogue and added something that I carried away
with me.
He said, “People who come here to visit, for some reason that I don’t really
know, say there is something special about the place and that no matter where
they go they’ll never forget Athenry.”
On my way out of town, pushing my bike hard west towards Galway and the Aran
Islands, I took a moment to stop and pick up a few small rocks from a grassy
meadow so I’d have a souvenir of my journey to this musical landmark in the
heart of Ireland.
Maybe I’ll select one of the stones to be polished and made into a necklace
when I get back home. But in the final analysis it’s not really necessary, for
like John, and so many before him over the years, I’ll never forget the warmth
of the people and the beauty of the Fields of Athenry.
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