Jer McCarthy
He transported cattle for farmers to and from the marts in Kanturk, Macroom and Millstreet
A well liked fellow and known far and wide
And up and down the narrow roads of Muskerry and Duhallow
He often journeyed through that scenic countryside.
He worked so hard for to earn his honest living
For trucking cattle never is an easy job
On dark and wet and slippery roads in depths of Winter
There are far easier ways for to earn one's living bob.
Still Jer McCarthy seemed to like the job he worked at
As he was a people person you might say
He gave good service to the local farmers
And I hope he is alive and well today.
I wonder is he still transporting cattle?
For he's well past retirement age by now
And life as we grow older doesn't get easier
And all of us to father time must bow.
I know that I am looked on as old fashioned
For I am one still rooted in the past
I still recall the years when I was younger
But on looking back the time just went so fast.
At times I feel that I feel over nostalgic
When my eyes mist over with nostalgic tears
As I recall kind souls like Jer McCarthy
And the role models of my younger years
Many people feel that the future only matter
And their younger years they often don't recall
But when I recall my boyhood in Duhallow
I'm remembering my happiest days of all.
And when I remember one like Jer McCarthy
Who worked so hard for to earn his living pay
I feel somehow that the past is worth recalling
And I hope he's still alive and well today
poem by Francis Duggan
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Millstreet's Ageing Heroes
I never was a Millstreet sporting icon or in any field of sport knew of renown
But I'm the one who is left to sing the praises of the sporting greats of Millstreet my Hometown
Many of Duhallow's finest sports people are from Millstreet they did the green and gold of their Club proud
In every Public Bar around Duhallow the poets and singers sung their praises loud
Nowadays not many sporting greats in Millstreet in Athletics or Gaelic Football
Of late so very few sporting successes for future generations to recall
Of sporting greats Millstreet had it's golden era but nothing lasts forever as they say
The youth in sports perhaps not interested and the former heroes have grown old and gray
In Gaelic Football as well as in Athletics Millstreet has produced many a famous name
The ageing heroes have grown stiffer and slower they had their time and they enjoyed their fame
We can only remember them with fondness lets hear it for the heroes of the past
But life goes on and only Nature is forever and nothing else does ever seem to last
Back there by the old mountains of Duhallow the people like the Seasons come and go
The heroes of past decades getting older the years have left them feeling stiff and slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Johnny McCarthy
He lived in a small house near the Town of Millstreet
At Inchaleigh close to the greyhound track
Some knew him as Johnny the old house painter
Whilst others simply called him Johnny Mac.
He was unmarried never fathered children
Which seems a pity as he'd have made a good dad
In his twilight years he walked his terrier Brandy
And Johnny said the best dog I have had.
He was a house painter and decorator
And he worked hard to earn his every bob
And those he worked for gave him more employment
For Johnny always did a tasty job.
Some people thought him to be a bit grumpy
But is there a perfect person anyway?
When hung over after a night out drinking
One can hardly feel too cheerful the next day.
He was an honest man Johnny McCarthy
A character of sorts in his own way
Since he last walked to Millstreet Town with his dog Brandy
On looking back it seems like yesterday.
Some knew him as Johnny the old house painter
Whilst others simply called him Johnny Mac
He lived at Inchaleigh close to the Town of Millstreet
In his small house close to the greyhound track
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Was Made To Feel Different In My Younger Years
I remember sitting in the corners of shadows.
Wishing to be invisible,
After making attempts to disappear.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
My voice was deep at the age of twelve.
And my knees knocked.
I was aware I walked pigeon toed.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
People were quick to critique me then.
When they would laugh at me.
I laughed right back at them to hide and cry alone.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I grew wiser before I aged.
And years it would take for me to learn to forgive.
But I did with a doing successfully.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Perceptive, empathetic and sometimes distant.
Removed from anguish I knew others felt.
Yet today I might sit with periodic embitterness.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I've learned to use my talents and gifts,
To lift me beyond any loneliness that visited.
And with slow and painful steps I grew to improve.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
And when I self examine to reflect...
So happy I am to have held on to my patience,
With a giving to others a respect regardless...
If little of it was shown to me,
When I was growing to bloom.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then to be accepted.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then not to be neglected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Eddie O Mahony
He never more will walk in the Town of Millstreet in St Mary's cemetery at peace he lay
Perhaps in his mid forties to his early fifties he did die young and it would be fair to say
Of him that he was really a nice person he made so many friends along life's way
And one day his lot it will be our lot as for each of us there is a final day.
In his younger years Eddie O Mahony played Soccer and Gaelic Football in Brian Sullivan's Mal Paso pub he was well known
His family and his many friends will mourn him and Murphy's Terrace and Millstreet Town has lost one of it's own
He seemed so young for to go to the reaper but suppose he was not meant for to grow old
But in the Mal Paso pub his old mates will recall him when stories of the good days will be told.
A youngish man he had so much to live for he did not live for to die as an old man
The reaper takes the young and old and ageing though short in time is the longest life span
One can only hope for Eddie that his end was peaceful that at his end he did not suffer pain
He was well known and well liked around Millstreet and with those who knew him good memories of him will remain.
Pre-deceased by his beloved father Dan O, Eddie is one his friends always will recall
In his younger years as i can well remember he played Sports, Soccer and Gaelic Football
He died as a young enough man that seems so sad of years he did not even reach three score
And he will be sadly missed from the Mal Paso and may he rest in peace forever more.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Those That I Went To School With
Some of them with the departed and the others growing old and gray
Those that I went to school with in the long gone yesterday
From the boys and girls I went to school with many years before I reached my prime
I am separated by distance and by long years of time.
Some of them live far distant from Hibernia's windswept shore
And from the Town in View of Clara hill overlooking Claramore
And some of them remained in Duhallow married and there raised their family
And some of them remained unattached single and fancy free.
Most of those I went to school with I have not seen for years
And for the past and for what has been I've shed nostalgic tears
Like every other migrant for the past forever gone
But the present is what matters and we keep on keeping on.
Of those I went to school with good memories I retain
Though most of them I realize I will never meet again
We've gone our separate ways in life but memories of them I do recall
And happy memories of what was the best memories of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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William Leary
William Leary is one of the famed Learys of Millstreet a Cork and Duhallow legend of the Gaelic Football game
He played football for Cork and his Club Millstreet and is now in the Duhallow sporting Hall of Fame
He once scored two goals in a Munster Final in Killarney a feat that is still talked of today
In his Gaelic Football career a remembered highlight though many great games the great one did play.
William Leary in his prime a dashing forward one of the great footballers of Millstreet
He proved a headache for opposing defenders with his ball skills he was so quick on his feet
And off of the field of play a successful business person beyond Millstreet known and liked far and wide
To his family and his many friends around Duhallow his many achievements are a sense of pride.
William Leary is now in his early seventies it has been some time since he has played football
One of the great Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet as those who watched him play can well recall
It has been four decades and a few years and that is looking back in time
When he cheered Millstreet hearts with his marvellous ball skills he was a speedy fellow in his prime.
Good to see him with his wife and family on the Millstreet web site on his induction into Duhallow's Hall of Fame
With honour he wore the Cork and Millstreet Jerseys and with honour he carries the famous Leary name
I watched him play when i was a young fellow and that is going back many years ago
He was a dashing forward in his prime years the one who left speedy defenders looking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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We Live In An Ageist Society
We live in an ageist society where ageing people are treated as second class
Where the ageing man and ageing woman are seen as inferior to the young man and the young lass
And the older you get life gets harder the future belong to the young
And so many on retirement pensions are lonely, forgotten and unsung.
They worked hard for to raise their children but they will end their days in a retirement home
And their children don't visit them often 'twould seem that their usefulness they have outgrown,
One might say they've had a good innings though nothing easy came their way
And I do not find it consoling to think their lot will be my lot one day.
I fear growing old more than I fear death their last few years so few enjoy
But I suppose that there is consolation to know that the wealthy too grow old and die
And life too will go on without them their money will not keep them alive
The Reaper one day he will claim them though to an old age they survive.
We live in an ageist society and ageism is on the increase
One can feel happy for the dear departed at least they can now rest in peace
Rejected in their old age and lonely with only their good memories left to recall
And only the Reaper awaits them the Reaper who waits for us all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Perhaps I'll Never Again See Old Clara Mountain
I'm getting on in years and looking older even than my age of two years with three score
And perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain and climb the high fields up through Claramore
In Claraghtalea I started my life's journey but I'm not to know where and when that journey will end
In sixty two years I've known a lot of people but not everyone I've known I'd call a friend
I often think about the Town of Millstreet where mine once was a fairly well known face
Though there today I well might be a stranger a stranger even in my old Homeplace
I am one of many migrants from Duhallow for to try my luck in the big World out there
Duhallow people are known to be travellers and one from there one could meet anywhere
I often think of those I went to school with many of them the grandparents of today
Perhaps the years have left them looking older even some of them with the departed lay
It has been many years since I've last seen them the years eventually do tell on all
On looking back our young years went so quickly and for everyone of us a final Fall
Perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain or walk in the fields where the rank rushes grow
In Claraghatlea I began my life's journey but where and when that journey will end I'm not to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beyond My Years
I cannot think beyond my years
but every day that goes
I look back on the younger years
and am encouraged by those.
For the past becomes the bridges
that brought me to today.
I don't burn the bridges behind me
for they've shown me the way.
I keep my focus on present moments
and never on the past.
Even the moments that I'm living now
are ones that will not last.
The future is always the unknown.
It's a time beyond my years.
Unfamiliararity with what will come to me
are my adventures with new frontiers.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Just Old Memories
On Clara's slopes in mid July i ate the whortleberry
And the splendid views i do recall towards the hills of East Kerry
The whortleberry small blue fruits that ripened on the heather
From late June until late July in changeable Summer weather.
With Pudsy our brown cattle dog where i went she did follow
The canine friend of my young years back there in old Duhallow
The family pets though decades dead we always do remember
Memories of them live on in us to our life's last December.
Just memories of what used to be though the past has gone forever
Though nostalgic links for many seem impossible to sever
In flights of fancy in the high wood at Claramore i hear the song birds singing
And the carolling lark above the hill up to the clouds is winging.
To climb Clara hill in June and July there was a special reason
The whortleberries ripe to eat their's is not a long Season
Just memories of what used to be when i was a young fellow
A wild one with the flush of youth but the years have left me mellow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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We Can’t Go Back
I wonder whatever became of such and such
It’s too many years since we’ve all been in touch
In our youthful naivety we were innocently un-clever
Assuming our ‘then’ would be our ‘now’ and ‘then’ forever
Our roads of life we traveled turned in all directions
Those traveled stops are now has-been recollections
We sometime recall fondly much of the past
The unfortunate facts are, ‘ the past just doesn’t last’
Yesterdays are history stored in our memory bins
Recalling good and bad times, all through thick and thins
A memory is engraved in our brain like a computer data track
‘But the past just doesn’t last’ and ‘We can’t go back’
poem by Stanley Cooper
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A Preference For Distance
It is not that I am controlling.
I am self assured.
It is not that I 'think' I know everything.
I've been made aware of watching my own back.
And being accountable for my own actions.
I was extremely young,
When I was introduced to independence.
Even younger than that...
When I discovered I was emotionally alone.
You see...
I was raised not to be babied.
I don't recall being hugged or cuddled.
And the young women that I married...
Were younger still in their minds.
I guess during those days,
We all were trying hard to find roles to play.
Somewhere to feel comfortable enough to stay.
It is not that I am controlling.
I am self assured.
It is not that I 'think' I know everything.
I've been made aware of watching my own back.
And being accountable for my own actions.
My tolerance level sometimes is nonexistent.
And most times I realize I have a preference for distance.
I was not always this way.
It developed with a consciousness,
That became increasingly disgusted...
With the acceptance of deception.
Some may call this 'standoffish' behavior anti-social.
I call it surviving a dysfunctional past I care not to revisit.
And today...
That's all people want to do.
Discuss a past as if those times were the best times lived.
And I already know those are lies!
Why should I live to outdo those who choose to lie?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dan And Nora Sullivan
They lived in the cottage by the gate to Tubrid Well the Sullivans Nora and Dan
For at least three score and ten years in time a lengthy span
Till failing health and the wear of age on them both did take toll
And the turning back of the hands of time is beyond human control.
The brother and sister Dan and Nora Sullivan I never more will see
They were claimed by the reaper the one who will claim me
But memories of them till my end with me I will retain
And each time I look back on my past they come to life again
I do recall at Christmas time Nora always remembered me
A greeting card from a dear old friend beyond the northern sea
She outlived Dan by six or seven years and news of her death reduced me to tears
For a mentor and role model of my long gone childhod years.
I knew them in my younger years from the same Townland as I
Two people I looked up to when I was a school going boy,
Dan and Nora Sullivan they could not live with a lie
And it truly could be said of them that they would not harm a fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is Payment Price This Poet Pays
My friend is a salary man luckily gainfully employed
five days a week for eight hours a day he earns his pay.
I also for decades worked my days for weekly monthly pay.
I studied hard put in extra time to fully earn my worker pay,
years sped by I worked and worked to earn hard earned pay,
now for a time a time and a half I do not work this way.
I write I write each day by day or through long night.
I work far harder than I did employed in salary fight.
I live on savings hard earned to earn a right to write.
I charge not chance reader read or read not just as you like.
I work I sacrifice to give gift of love as free as stars above.
I give in time in thought in words in wisdom I give in love.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Recall The Sin
Many years ago
My heart and soul was full of fire
Breaking heads - hit and run
And the sun was brighter
So wild and reckless
Cared about no law and order
We used to ram - the black and whites
They called a six-one-niner
Those were my glory days
Just bad-boys-crazy-ways
My wild-man-holy-times
I always shot on sight
And I recall the sin
And I recall the sin
In many sleepless nights
I found the dream Im missing
Kicking ass - living fast
Been living in a prison
Time to change the colours
Sweep away the madness
Here I come - back for good
Say good-bye to sadness
Bridge
Chorus
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Receiving A Letter From Marie
I wrote to the Sullivan family on the death of family member Catherine it seemed for me the proper thing to do
They were my friends and neighbours when I lived in Millstreet and to our old friends we must remain true
I was not expecting a letter in return and it came as a big surprise to me
When I received a letter from Catherine's elder sister Marie she now is Mrs Cregan from Tralee.
Marie from Claraghatlea one I remember her shiny wavy hair was chestnut brown
A cheerful and a very friendly person one of the nicest west of Millstreet Town
A warm hearted and a charming lady she always greeted with a big smile and hello
And hearing from her in her time of sorrow brought back the memories of long ago.
When she and Catherine and their younger brother James were going to school in Millstreet all three I recall were younger than I
Those were the happiest days that I remember but on looking back the years just seemed to fly
And our youthful Seasons for us went too quickly and the lust for wander carried us away
From Duhallow and the meadows west of Millstreet where in Summer weather we made cocks of hay.
She told me in her letter how she grieves for her sister Catherine they always were a close knit family
Our crosses to bear can sometimes prove quite heavy and how sad so very sad this life can be?
But time as we know is the greatest healer and though the pain of loss to heal may seem quite slow
As time goes by from her grief she will recover and her ache of loss from her eventually will go.
A surprise letter from Marie for to thank me for sympathy in writing I'd expressed at a family loss
The passing of Catherine at a young age tragic and on the family such a heavy cross
For Catherine her suffering is over though she did not live on to grow old and gray
And for Marie grieving for her beloved sister the ache of loss in time will fade away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Borrowed Time
When I was younger
Living confusion and deep dispair
When I was younger ah hah
Living illusion of freedom and power
When I was younger
Full of ideas and broken dreams (my friend)
When I was younger ah hah
Everything simple but not so clear
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
Now I am older
The more that I see the less that I know for sure
Now I am older ah hah
The future is brighter and now is the hour
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
Good to be older
Would not exchange a single day or a year
Good to be older ah hah
Less complications everything clear
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
Living on borrowed time
Without a thought for tomorrow
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remember The Time
I remember the time when the Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet
In the Cork County Senior Championship for the best were a hard team to beat
But time does bring change as some like to say so
And that is going back a few decades ago.
Nowadays with Duhallow's best junior footballers Millstreet cannot compete
The downturn for them one can say is complete
But in sport as in life few things stay the same
And Gaelic Football after all is only a game.
The glory days for Millstreet Gaelic Football may be gone
But in the Town in view of Clara life as usual goes on
Though Millstreet glory days in sport Millstreet people like to recall
There is far more to life than Gaelic Football.
Of the North Cork Gaelic Football Clubs Millstreet were to the fore
And against the County's best they often kicked a winning score
And though no Gaelic Senior Football team in Millstreet today
Life as usual goes on in the Town far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Is More To Life Than Hard Work
I can't say my life's been a great life that I've been there and I've done that
But I worked in pipe laying crew for Michael Kelleher in Buninyong near Ballarat
And I worked in the late eighties for a firm called C.D.L.
Jack hammering in the heat of Summer when the days were hot as hell.
101 Collins Street Melbourne I remember that address
Not that I enjoyed the work there I remember none the less
Up each morning at five thirty then to work on tram I'd go
And left that building site each evening covered in dust head to toe.
Another four years as tree clearer up by powerlines clearing trees
Operating a cherry picker for such you don't need degrees
For a Travel tower company a growing concern managed by a greedy lot
They still owe me two weeks wages something I have not forgot.
Up working mornings at five thirty between work and travel a twelve hour day
Whilst my so called bosses made their millions I took home bare living pay
Now I take it nice and easy and I'm well off now as I was then
If your bosses make their millions for you there can't be a win
I worked as tree feller in Ireland far away and long ago
In the high woods by the mountains where the peaks wear hats of snow
Most Winter days were wet and chilly up to April not much sunshine
Only sound the cold wind soughing in the larch and spruce and pine.
'Hard work never did anybody harm' to coin that phrase it took a fool
Hard work your life's bound to shorten you can overwork a mule
Hard working Joe is dead at fifty, Pete on welfare living on
Pete five years older and quite healthy he's still here and Joe is gone.
Maybe I've drudged for a few years but I'm not proud of that at all
And if my life has got one highlight such as now I can't recall
And if one tell me how hard he work I tell him my watch is slow
And I'm late for an appointment 'see you later got to go'.
'Ned the basher' at his local like to sing his praises loud
And boast of the hard work he's done to an uninterested crowd,
He's proud to show his work callouses he must have an empty life
But he never once did mention how he often beats his wife
There is more to life than hard work, work to live but not to die
And if you labour hard poor fellow life you never can enjoy
If your boss is making millions and you take home bare living pay
Maybe you should have a re-think and perhaps give the job away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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