Green beer and clothing, shamrock
decorations and drunken parties were my only expectations of a grand Saint
Paddy’s day for many-a year. I was at college, far from the green land of
Lancaster. Even the Irish Catholic students drank until the div’il took them up
by the ankles and dropped them on their heads. Then the road rose up to greet
me.
The road of life was a tricky one for me. There were
paths not taken, paths stumbled by, paths fallen off. You get the picture. But
the road I took when I moved home to complete my B.A. at Millersville (State
College in those days) was a major change of direction. I chose some interesting
electives to finish my degree; one of those was a course in International Folk
Music. Of course we had a research paper and project to complete. As I cast
about for subjects, I remembered my Irish grandfather’s love of music.
My precious few memories of him included
evenings at the Marley family home on Mary Street, singing along with Mitch
Miller. I would be in my footed pajamas and Grandpa would be in the worn
recliner behind me. Grandpa would be singing while I danced in front of the TV screen
, smearing the glass as my finger followed the ball that bounced along over the
words to the song. All the singers were men on that program, and it would be
many years before I encountered another all-male choir. This love of music,
sung for personal enjoyment, was a common experience in those days. It is a
background I treasure today. An Irishman’s love of song was my inspiration. Irish
Folk Music would be my topic for the elective credits.
Research
took me to O’ Carolan’s harp, the bodhran drum, fiddle tunes, and the melodies
that had followed the Wild Geese, or Irish mercenaries, to America. These were
melodies still played by traditional folk singers in Appalachia and New York
City. I purchased vinyl records of The Chieftains, Derek Bell as a solo
harpist, and Van Morrison (all in the Irish music section at Stan’s Record Bar
- can you believe it?). Soon I would go to a Lancaster Irish society’s
step-dancing event. And there I would begin to hear about the Troubles and the
Church – political conflict that still blows up in Dublin from time to time. A
book titled Saints, Scholars and Kings:
The Golden Age of Ireland cemented my sympathy for all things Irish. The British
brutally dismantled a highly developed culture when they colonized the island.
I have
two Irish passions today. One is the mythic history of ancient Ireland. Ever
since I watched the Walt Disney movie Darby
O’Gill and the Little People , I have been fascinated by fairies,
leprechauns, and elves. When Darby entered
the hall of the King of the leprechauns, wee people danced about his feet and then
rode tiny horses out onto the mountain. It was a special effects miracle for that
time. I discovered a love of reading fantasy novels next, which came of age with Tolkein. Wizards and witches followed close on The Hobbit’s heels. Today I
am struggling to write an ancient Irish novel like Julliet Marillier’s Sevenwaters
series. The plots of the oldest Irish folktales are told in a world of Kings, Druids,
healers, witches, and the mysterious creatures of the first world. Escaping
into a misty world of magical beings and forest spirituality cannot be
overrated.
My second
interest is my own Irish history. Grandpa died when I was only seven. I have
always believed that we would have become great friends, had he lived. I have a
picture of my Dad, my Grandpa, his father, and my great-great-grandfather taken around 1930. They
seem poised to speak to me, and sometimes I wait to see if they will. I look into
their eyes with so much longing. I have gotten as far back as the oldest man - Adam
Marley’s birth in 1852. Did his parents come from Ireland? Or were his many-times- great-grandparents among the Scots-Irish who guarded Columbia from Indian tribes
across the Susquehanna in the 1700’s? Did some of them play the fiddle, or tell
stories about an Irish home?
And here
we are on Saint Patrick’s Day, 2015. I haven’t been to a
party with shamrocks or green beer for a long time. I enjoy hearing the music I
love on the TV and radio for a day or two. I am glad that there is a day to
celebrate the Irish in America. Other immigrant groups don’t have the
distinction. But other groups aren’t associated with drunkenness as the Irish
are. I had an Irish friend who never drank on St. Paddy’s day. He said it was a
day to honor a Saint. We used to laugh at his sensitivity, but I wouldn’t laugh
today. I think of the people who brought creativity, faith, and magic to light
while suffering incredible hardships. They are what I celebrate.
