At the Edge of Ireland by David Yeadon Read Free Book Online Page B

called it Gorta Mór , the great hunger, when almost our whole potato crop failed every year for six horrible years, and well over two million people out of a population of eight million starved to death, or were evicted by Protestant landlords and sent off on emigrant ships to Canada and America. An unbelievable disaster, and all the while our food—grain, cattle, sheep—was being shipped off in the thousands of tons to England to—as they said—‘maintain the economy of Ireland.’ Maintain my bloody…you know what…if you’ll forgive the expression, sir. There was a popular saying at that time—‘God gave us the potato blight but it was the English who gave us the famine.’ While they were glorifying in their world empire, gentrified affluence, and pedigreed aristrocracy, we were trying to stay alive by eatin’ grass and leaves.
    â€œIt’s amazing we ever recovered from all this horror, this pernicious scythe of death and human decimation that swept across our poor little nation—but by God we did! Irish emigrants abroad sent money back here to support nationalistic groups like the Fenians, the Manchester Martyrs, and the Land League, all demanding independence and home rule. Except up in Ulster, of course—Northern Ireland—they didn’t want to be split off from Britain, and so they had to battle on and on with Sinn Fein and the IRA.
    â€œAnd then came the glorious Easter Rising of April 24, 1916, in Dublin, which was actually a bloody fiasco, except that the stupid British executed sixteen ringleaders and made them into instant martyrs. So this was followed by the start of the ‘Troubles.’ First, a two-year war of independence led by Michael Collins—y’ remember him? Very famous. Very popular. Then a peace treaty with Lloyd George, the British prime minister in 1920. But that wasn’t much use. Ulster was still left as a British colony, y’ might say, but a lot of southerners wanted a united Ireland. So what happens? We have another damned war—the Civil War—us fightin’ ourselves, can y’believe, until Eamon de Valera—our taoiseach (prime minister)—says, the heck with it, accept the bloody treaty, we’ll become the Irish Free State and we’ll deal with Ulster later on. And well, y’know that story. Decades of Catholic-versus-Protestant slaughter and bombings up there around Belfast and Derry until today, when we’re a republic and—God willing—the power-sharing peace treaty in Ulster might actually work now. But you’ll notice—I’ve got m’fingers crossed. And that last bit—from Civil War ’til t’day, especially that time they call ‘The Troubles’—has filled a thousand books describin’ the unbelievably tangled shenanigans of politicians and freedom groups and just plain terrorists. I couldn’t even start to give it to you straight. And anyway, you asked fer a fast version an’ that’s what I’ve given you.”
    â€œSo that was the fast version then?”
    â€œFast as I could do it.”
    â€œWell—thank you, and thank God I didn’t ask for the slow one.”
    â€œAye, well—y’d’ve been here fer another few hours, tha’s fer sure…”
    â€œYou must be very thirsty by now.”
    â€œWell—b’jeez at last! I thought I’d never ever hear the offer of liquid sustenance, which I am more than ready to accept, kind sir!”
    Â 
    I FOLLOWED UP ON this brief introduction to Irish history from my diminutive friend in Waterford with far more extensive readings and now wholeheartedly agree with his description of his poor country’s fortunes as “our terrible convoluted turmoil.” One of my favorite must-reads, of course, is the long—very long (in dealing with Ireland how could it be anything else?)—epic Trinity , by Leon Uris.