A Sad, Sad Farewell......

The Tears of an Emigrant…

"So here I stand broken-hearted. Not only am I leaving my parents behind but also the only true love of my life. And yet, sure I’m betwixt and between whether I will miss them as much as the place where I was born. Ah, Bunclody, sure if it pleases the good Lord above, maybe one day I will return and see you for one more time".

Sean O’Loughlin stood on the deck of the steamship as it eased its way out of the harbour at Rosslair bound for the English port of Liverpool. As he looked back for the final time, Sean burst out in tears for in his heart he truly felt that he would never see Ireland again.

Liverpool would only be a stopover whilst he awaited the ship to take him across the Atlantic to his new home, America. He cried like a newborn baby and he showed no shame in front of the many others who were doing likewise.

He was aged 18 years and had been born in the village of Bunclody in County Wexford on a cold winter’s night on Friday 13th January 1908. He had four brothers and two sisters who had begged him not to leave. His mother was broken hearted whilst his father was resigned to the fact that as there was little or no work for young men in Ireland at the time, he was right to emigrate and seek his fortune in a distant land. After all, hadn’t he seen it all before and hadn’t his second son left two years previously. He could not understand why Sean wanted to leave as the eldest son, Brian, had offered to keep him to help work the small farm.

Sean had little or no education other than a few days here and there at the village school. Most of his time was spent working the farm and any spare time he had was taken up with his wanderings through the hills and fishing the local rivers.

"Sure never again might I see the Clody as it flows down into the Slaney and I doubt if I will ever again take a salmon or sea-trout during the June run" he spoke aloud but none of the other passengers took any notice of his ramblings.

He was proud to call himself a ‘Wexford Man’ for although the county border with Carlow passed through the town, he was indeed proud to be connected with the Wexford rebels of the 1798 rebellion.

Only once had he been more than ten miles from the village and that was when he was fourteen years old and his father had taken him to Dublin for the All-Ireland Hurling Final which Wexford had won with flying colours. He knew that was a memory he would never forget no matter how far away from the village he travelled.

He remembered that day well but it was nothing compared with the day when he had first set eyes on her. She of the long black hair and rosy cheeks. In her white summer frock and red bonnet she had stood out on the riverbank like an angel from heaven. His mind had been miles away and he almost fainted with shock on seeing her. He had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful in his life. He was seventeen at the time.

They had spoken briefly merely to talk about the beautiful June day. It was she who had pointed out the sound of the cuckoo from close nearby. Sean had told her all about the cuckoo’s habits and she was pleased to hear it. On leaving, she told him that she regularly visited the spot.

For the next week, he had visited the riverbank at every opportunity but she was not there. He had in fact located the nest where the cuckoo had laid its solitary egg. In the weeks that followed he saw the egg hatch and the reed warblers in whose nest the egg had been laid, make frantic and almost impossible attempts to provide food for the rapidly growing chick. Within days, it was six times bigger than the warblers.

It was on a Saturday afternoon in late June that he next met the young lady at the same spot. She it was who had called to him. He was delighted with the fact and through nerves was unable to speak for some minutes. She began to tease him and stroke his long blonde hair. He showed her the nest with the cuckoo in it and she screamed in both horror and excitement.

Without warning, she put her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. It was the first time in his life that he had been kissed by anyone other than his mother. He thought he was going to faint. They lay on the grassy riverbank with their arms around each other. As quickly as she arrived, she had to leave. She said something about a large gathering ‘at the big house’. As she ran along the riverbank, Sean followed silently and in the shadows.

About a mile further on, he saw her cross in the shallows and run up a path towards what he knew was the Manor House. He thought for a moment that she could be one of the maids but as he watched from some trees, he saw her being welcomed at the front door by a beautifully dressed lady and a gentleman in fine clothes. He was heart-broken.

He did not walk the riverbank for over a week and when he finally did, he saw her again dressed in white. He cried at the sight of her. He cried at the thought that she could never have anything to do with him. He cried because he was poor and that she was wealthy. He knew he loved her but knew only too well, that his love could never be fulfilled. He did not approach her but quietly made his way back home.

Over the coming months, his heart ached and he longed to see ‘his beautiful queen’ once more but knew only too well what would happen to him if he were seen with her. For her sake he kept well away from where they used to meet. His love for her was breaking his heart in two. He had read a letter from his brother in New York to his father and decided that if his love could not be cured, it would have to be endured – but in a distant place. It was then that he decided he would leave everything behind.

He had confided in his mother, who although broken hearted at the prospect, promised him that she would help him in any way that she could. It was she who had managed to make up the fare for the journey together with some ‘spending money’. She had wished him well with only one request. That he keep the faith and attend church every Sunday.

And so it was, Sean stood on the deck of the ship as Ireland faded away in the distance.

Again he cried – the tears of the emigrant……………….

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The Streams of Bunclody…

Oh were I at the moss house, where the birds do increase,

At the foot of Mount Leinster or some silent place,

By the streams of Bunclody where all pleasures do meet,

And all I would ask is one kiss from you, sweet.

Oh the streams of Bunclody they flow down so free,

By the streams of Bunclody I'm longing to be,

A-drinking strong liquor in the height of my cheer,

Here's a health to Bunclody and the lass I love dear.

The cuckoo is a pretty good bird, it sings as it flies

It brings us good tidings, and tells us no lies,

It sucks the young birds' eggs to make its voice clear

And the more it cries cuckoo the summer draws near.

If I were a clerk and could write a good hand,

I would write to my true-love that she might understand,

For I am a young fellow who is wounded in love

Once I lived in Bunclody, but now must remove.

If I was a lark and had wings I could fly

I would go to yon arbour where my love she does lie,

I'd proceed to yon arbour where my true love does lie

And on her fond bosom contented I would die.

'Tis why my love slights me, as you may understand,

That she has a freehold and I have no land,

She has great store of riches, and a large sum of gold

,And everything fitting a house to uphold.

So fare you well father and my mother, adieu

My sister and brother farewell unto you,

I am bound for America my fortune to try

,When I think on Bunclody, I'm ready to die.

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There is a beautiful shortened version by Luke Kelly of the Dubliners on:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=3RPaE0VMtWo&feature=related

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