If Christmas is hard,
If you’ve lost someone dear.
Just look in your heart,
And you’ll know they’re still here.
If this is a time,
When you’re struggling through.
Just do what you can,
For what matters, is you.
There’s no need to be merry.
There’s no need to bright.
Just do what you can,
It will all be alright!
the drive to my parents’ house …my mum flinging open the front door, her Christmas pinny stained with the evidence of her baking delights. Their house festooned from top to bottom with twinkling lights and decorations from my childhood. There is nowhere in the world I would rather be at Christmas and I thank my parents for that”, writes an Irish woman abroad.
AN EXILES CHRISTMAS
It was Christmas eve in London,
And an Irishman, called Joe.
Stood by an upstairs window
That looked on the street below.
Their voices filled with cheer.
As they shouted happy Christmas,
And a prosperous new year.
As he looked around the little room,
That for years had been his home.
He was fifty years in London,
Since he crossed the ocean foam.
His youthful days behind him now,
And his working days Long gone.
In retirement, his days were spent
On his own, to carry on.
He could hear a church bell ringing,
On the street across the way.
Where mass was celebrated, on
The eve of Christmas day.
Then a choir started singing, and
The strains of silent night,
Came drifting through the window.
Into Joe's old flat that night.
As he listened to the singing,
He began to shed a tear.
For he always felt emotional,
On Christmas eve each year.
When old memories came flooding back,
And his thoughts began to stray.
To his childhood days in Ireland,
Long ago and far away
He could see again the old thatched house,
At the corner of the lane.
Oh what he'd give to be a lad, and be
back there once again.
The candle in the window,
To light a Welcome way.
For the virgin and the Christ child,
On the eve of Christmas day.
The Holly and the ivy and the cards
Around the fire.
And his mother's Christmas cooking,
That would fill you with desire.
The boxes left for Santa Claus,
In the hopes that he would call.
With the toys to play on Christmas day,
The happiest times of all.
As his memories began to fade, reality
Set in.
He was back once more in London,
In his little flat again.
And he drew his coat around him, as he
Sat back in his chair.
And for all those in his memories, he
began to say a prayer.
And he asked the Lord to grant them rest,
In the land beyond the sky.
All the folks he once shared Christmas with,
In the happy years gone by.
Tomorrow at the centre, he will meet his
Old friend jack, an Irishman just like himself.
That never made it back.
They will have their Christmas Dinner,
and a glass or two of beer,
As they join their old acquaintances,
And the friends they love so dear.
Everybody has their party piece,
To raise a bit of cheer.
At their Christmas get-together.
In the centre every year.
So to all our Irish exiles, in lands
far off and near.
The blessing of this Christmas time we
wish you all this year.
And although we are divided by land
and sky, and foam,
A very merry Christmas from the Irish
Folks at home.
Martin O'Hara © 29/11/2021
At Christmas let us not forget
In a powerful display of solidarity, organisers and residents place 8,000 pairs of shoes at a Rotterdam square, each pair representing a Palestinian child killed by Israel in besieged Gaza
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