A strange window into the Irish soul

By Deborah Taylor-Hollis

Our dear friend Keith's parents recently passed away, and among their important papers his sister found a letter that had been saved for 59 years.

When I first read it, I could not contain my glee at the writers straightforward accounts, desires and blatant request. I could see why Keith's family kept it. Keith has a wonderful sense of whimsy and humor, and now I know where it came from.

Keith's family on his mother's side came from Ireland during an impoverished, bloody time when America was a golden opportunity and the Irish back home were realists about their fate.

If anyone else but Keith and Teri had brought this to me, I would have dismissed it as a fake, written under the influence of too many Mickey Rooney movies. Keith has no idea to whom it was written, but the reason I share it with you all should speak for itself.

The historical and political events related by the author started over 200 years ago, and are still at the heart of "The Irish" question to this day. The author's particular viewpoint should not, however, detract from the overall enjoyment of this letter out of the past.

All typos are the author's. It reads best if read out loud, using a thick Irish brogue and tongue firmly in cheek.

County Cork, Ireland. April 22, 1941

Dear Cousin:

Your welcome letter received and me and your Aunt Bridget thank you kindly for the money you sent. We had several masses said for your Grandfather and Grandmother. God rest their souls.

You have gone place in America, God Bless you. I hope you'll not be putting on airs and forgetting your native land.

Your cousin, Hugh O'Roole was hung in Londonderry last week for killing a policeman, may God rest his soul and may God's curse be on Jimmy Rogers, the informer, and may he burn in hell, God forgive me. Times are not as bad as they might be. The herring is back and nearly everyone has a heart in making ends meet and the price of fish is good, thank God.

We had a grand time at Pat Muldoon's wake; he was an old betherskite and it looked good to see him stretched out with his big mouth closed. He is better off dead and he'll burn till the damned place freezes over; he had too many friends among the Orangemen. God's curse on the lot of them.

Bless your heart. I almost forgot to tell you about Uncle Dinny. He took a pot shot at a turncoat from the back of the hedge, but he had too much in him and missed. God's curse on the dirty drink; I hope this Letter finds you in good health and may God keep reminding you to send money.

The Brennans are 100 percent strong around here since they stopped going to America, they have kids running all over the country. Father O'Flaherty who baptized you is now feeble-minded and sends you his blessing.

Nellie O'Brien, the brat you used to go to school with, has married an Englishman. Shell have no luck, and may the devil run a race with him. May God take care of you and keep you from sudden death.

Your devoted cousin, Timothy

P.S. Things look bright again. Every police barracks and every Protestant Church as been burned to the ground in County Cork. Thanks be to God.

P.P.S. Keep sending the money.

The Irish turmoil continues today, and their religious rifts are no less deep or less binding than those still plaguing the American deep South. Nonetheless, there are times when, reading viewpoints and reasons from across the years, the humor cannot only be seen, but becomes the overriding message.

As we go through our own political crisis this election year, I hope everyone remembers that history has a way of self-correcting, of changing the viewpoints and softening the most harsh realities.

Sometimes, we all need to look to our spiritual saviors for help, sometimes, we feel the need to justify our actions, and, sometimes, we just have to remind those we lean on to send money.

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Deborah Taylor Hollis can be reached at dthollis@metronews.com.

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