SAINT PATRICK AND ALL

Well, 'tis the 17 of March -- St. Patrick's Day.

I'm not sure where it comes from, but a poem emerges from my addled mind:

Up a long ladder
and down a short rope
to Hell with King Billie
and God bless the Pope
And if that's not enough
we'll cut him in two
and send him to Hell
in his red, white, and blue.

I take no responsibility for the accuracy of the quotation; as I've said, my mind is addled.

I do need to be careful, though. My wife's family dates back to the Irish Potato Famine of the 1840s -- when one of her ancestors came to the New World. So we mark the occasion. Did I mention that wife, daughter and granddaughter all have red(ish) hair?

Plus, Patrick was originally from Wales, part of my ancestral homeland. The problem, in that regard, is that St. David's Day -- March First -- is virtually forgotten, except amongst the most fanatic of the Welsh (at least in the New World). «Quelle Domage» as French Fancy and a Woman of No Importance might say. (For those of you not aware, David is the Patron Saint of Wales.)

What is particularly unhappy now, is that a splinter goup from the Irish Republican Army is starting to kill people again, and de-stabilize the hard-won peace in Ulster. That brings great sadness to our house. Would to God that March 17 could be a date that all Irish could celebrate in freedom and joy, and peace.