We write, to warn all our readers in advance, that Sunday next, March 30th 2025, is Mothers Day.
Lyrics and Vocals: American singer, songwriter and musician Vince Gill(Vincent Grant Gill).
A Letter To My Mama.
Oh, I need to write a letter, Put it down in black and white, No a phone call just won’t cut it, Not the way I feel tonight. A letter to my mama, From the bottom of my heart, “I’m sorry”, is a real good place to start. I’m sorry I was selfish, Just chalk it up to youth. I got too old to need you, That’s just running from the truth. I’m sorry things didn’t work out, For you and my old man. Sometimes life don’t turn out like you plan. Looking back I wonder how, You ever pulled us through, I can’t imagine walking in your shoes. If I could stop this pen from shaking, I’d write these words down too, There’s no one in this world I love like you. Oh, I’ve written down the memories, Of these sixty-some-odd years, Trying hard to just say “Thank you”, As I wipe away the tears. I hear my grandson calling, So I guess I’d better go. I can never pay you back the love I owe. Oh, I finished up the letter, Put it down in black and white, No, a phone call wouldn’t cut it, Not the way I feel tonight. A letter to my mama, From the bottom of my heart, The very bottom of my heart.
Saddened to observe recently, that a plaque which commerated the battle of Thurles, has been damaged beyond repair, during efforts to prise same from its walled position, at the entrance to ‘Ard Carraig’ housing estate, situated east of the town, on the Dublin Road out of Thurles town.
“The Battle of Thurles” by the late Michael Hogan (31st October 1828 – 19th April 1899) known as the ‘Bard of Thomond’.
The war-fires light gleamed red all night, along the mountain gloom. King Dónal’s men are up again, from Limerick to Slieve Bloom. From glen and wood, the bone and blood of his fierce and fearless clan, In wild array, at dawn of day, o’er Ormond’s plains swept on.
From Waterford the Norman hoarde to the plains of Ikerrin came, In vengeful haste the land to waste with sword and destroying flame. Left and right with sweeping might, the headlong hosts engaged, And life ne’er bled, in a strife so red, while that combat of bloodhounds raged.
But, as the heave of the mad sea wave is barred by the crag filled shore, So that iron tide, on Durlas’s* side, was stopped by King Donald Mór. There’s revelry high and boisterous joy from Cashel to Shannon’s shore, And Luimneach waits to open the gates, for her conquering Donald Mór.
END
*Durlas – Irish for Thurles.
The above named Irish poet Michael Hogan was born in Thomondgate, Co. Limerick. His father was a wheelwright and musician, who crafted the flutes and fiddles that he played. In his early years he worked at Russell’s Mill, Lock Quay, located at the entrance of the canal flowing into the Abbey River and later in life with Limerick Corporation. In the year 1858, he married Ms Ann Lynch. They parented no known children. A life-size statue of Michael Hogan today stands, erected to his memory at King John’s Castle Plaza, in Limerick city, since 2005.
Soon, between elected local Councillors, County Council officials and ‘idle hands’, nothing will be left of our local history.
Lyrics: Irish songwriter and novelist Brendan Graham. Vocals: Secret Garden.
My Land
How green are your valleys, how blue your great skies, Your mountains stand tall in their glory. Your rivers run free – the bright stars are your eyes, Your beauty is endless before me. For you are the song ever singing in me, And you are the heart ever true. For you are my land and you always will be, The voice ever calling me home to you. When to your green valleys some day I return, When you lay your mantle around me. At rest I will be where the heart will not yearn, That my land will ever surround me. For you are the song ever singing in me, And you are the heart ever true. For you are my land and you always will be, The voice ever calling me home to you. For you are the song ever singing in me, And you are the heart ever true. For you are my land and you always will be, The voice ever calling me home to you. The voice ever calling me home to you. END.
The “Sweet White Violets”(Latin Name: Viola odorata alba), which is expected to appear in late winter or early Spring, arrived exactly on time this year, exhibiting a massive crop of blossoms.
Sweet White Violets pictured here with emerging wild Primroses. Pic: G. Willoughby.
This small hardy herbaceous perennial is also commonly known as ‘Wood Violet‘; ‘English Violet‘; ‘Common Violet‘; ‘Florist’s Violet‘ and ‘Garden Violet’.
Sweet White Violets: The flowers which are either dark violet or white in colour, are scented, with the species most often found near the edges of forests or in shaded clearings; it is also a common “uninvited guest” found on shaded lawns or elsewhere with in Irish gardens.
Both the leaves and flowers are edible and in the late Victorian period, were used in the production of cosmetic fragrances and perfumes and in the production of medicine. Interesting to note: The scent somehow has suggested sex, so the violet served as a symbol of a favoured flower of Aphrodite, (latter ancient Greek goddess of sexual love and beauty); and her son, Priapus, (latter a minor fertility god in Greek mythology), who was also the protector of livestock, fruit plants and, yes male readers should note, male genitals. Both the former named Greek goddess and minor god were the deity of gardens.
A Bunch Of Violets Blue.
Lyrics: Attributed to composer, writer John McCormick. Vocals: Irish country, traditional and easy listening singer, guitarist and saxophone player, the late Tom McBride, (Big Tom 1936–2018).
A Bunch Of Violets Blue.
It was out in a moonlit garden, Not far from the ballroom grand, A soldier and his sweetheart, Went strolling hand in hand. Tomorrow the war would call him, And he vowed he would be true, And from her breast she gave to him, A bunch of violets blue. They were only a bunch of violets, A bunch of violets blue, Fresh and fair and dainty, All sparkle like the dew. Fresh and fair and dainty, As he pressed them to his heart, He smiled and said where’er he’d roam, From them he’d n’er would part. A soldier boy lay dying, Upon the cold, cold ground. A bunch of withered violets, Upon his breast was found. Turning to his comrades, In a feeble voice he sighed. Take them back and tell her that, I wore them till I died. They took the withered violets back, It been on her wedding day. An old man’s gold had won her, From her soldier far away. An old man’s gold had won her, From her soldier young and tall, And this is what he said to her, One evening at the ball. They were only a bunch of violets, A bunch of violets blue, Fresh and fair and dainty, All sparkle like the dew. Fresh and fair and dainty, As he pressed them to his heart, He smiled and said where’er he’d roam, From them he’d n’er would part.
Lyrics and Vocals: American singer, songwriter, actor and country musician Vince Gill (Vincent Gill).
When I Call Your Name.
I rushed home from work like I always do. I spent my whole day just thinking of you. When I walked through the front door, my whole life was changed, ‘Cause nobody answered when I called your name. A note on the table that told me goodbye. It said you’d grown weary of living a lie. Oh, your love has ended, but mine still remains, But nobody answers when I call your name. Oh, the lonely sound of my voice calling, Is driving me insane, And just like rain, the tears keep falling, But nobody answers when I call your name. Oh, the lonely sound of my voice calling, Is driving me insane, And just like rain, the tears keep falling, But nobody answers when I call your name. Oh, nobody answers when I call your name.
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