Coming to America
Immigration, as everybody should know but many seem to forget, is at the heart of America. Unless we are Native Americans or African Americans, we are the products of immigrants from many points of origin.
I came upon a song by accident while looking for something else. It was written by an American man, Peter Jones, and it was based on a packet of letters that he found in his parents' attic. The letters were ones that his mother's family in Ireland had written to their son and brother, John Hunt, who had emigrated to America in the 1850's.
The story line of the song called Kilkelly Ireland starts out in 1860 and goes on into the early 1890's. It is told mainly in the person of Hunt's father, Bryan Hunt, who is faithfully sending his son news of family and friends back in Ireland.
It is a beautifully touching song, and the story that it tells is one that I am sure was told by all of our ancestors to their immigrant family members.
The video above is a recording of the song done by a group called the Irish Roses. It is my favorite rendition of the song, by far, but there are many others and all of them are good.
In my poking around trying to find information about the song, I came across a website called Sherlock's Home that has a video of the song's composer, Peter Jones, performing it at a church in Kilkelly. Also on this website are transcripts of the letters that the song is based on. I found my pot-o-gold for today, for sure!
The address of this web page is:
I hope you enjoy this as much as I am enjoying it. This is definitely a song that I will be singing myself as soon as I can memorize the words.
Kilkelly Ireland Peter Jones
Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 60, my dear and loving son John Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara's So good as to write these words down. Your brothers have all gone to find work in England, The house is so empty and sad The crop of potatoes is sorely infected, A third to a half of them bad. And your sister Brigid and Patrick O'Donnell Are going to be married in June. Your mother says not to work on the railroad And be sure to come on home soon.
Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 70, dear and loving son John Hello to your Mrs and to your 4 children, May they grow healthy and strong. Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble, I guess that he never will learn. Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of And now we have nothing to burn. And Brigid is happy, you named a child for her And now she's got six of her own. You say you found work, but you don't say what kind Or when you will be coming home.
Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 80, dear Michael and John, my sons I'm sorry to give you the very sad news That your dear old mother has gone. We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly, Your brothers and Brigid were there. You don't have to worry, she died very quickly, Remember her in your prayers. And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning, With money he's sure to buy land For the crop has been poor and the people are selling At any price that they can.
Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 90, my dear and loving son John I guess that I must be close on to eighty, It's thirty years since you're gone. Because of all of the money you send me, I'm still living out on my own. Michael has built himself a fine house And Brigid's daughters have grown. Thank you for sending your family picture, They're lovely young women and men. You say that you might even come for a visit, What joy to see you again.
Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 92, my dear brother John I'm sorry that I didn't write sooner
To tell you that father passed on. He was living with Brigid, she says he was cheerful And healthy right down to the end. Ah, you should have seen him play with the grandchildren Of Pat McNamara, your friend. And we buried him alongside of mother, Down at the Kilkelly churchyard. He was a strong and a feisty old man, Considering his life was so hard. And it's funny the way he kept talking about you, He called for you in the end. Oh, why don't you think about coming to visit, We'd all love to see you again.
