William H.A. Willbond MSM, CD

SOME CELTS WORE THE KILTS (IN OUR FAMILY TREE)

My grandma McCaffery was a nee McCambley
Born into an auld Gatineau Scottish Family
Related to MacDonalds – not the sesame seed bun(s)
But, Sir John A. the drunk, of course, he was one

And the skirl of the pipes were heard at the farm
Aunt Ethell she reeled on the floor of the barn
She taught us wee bairns the auld Irish jigs
To the moos of the cows and the grunts of the pigs

The McCafferys were Catholics the MacDonalds were not
So, their side of the family… we promptly forgot
Our Coffin ship Irish left home to be free
And we elected our leaders like D’arcy McGee

Deep in my soul I hear pipes a-screeching the reels
A sentimental Celt in me, tightened chest is how it feels
I wander back to childhood time, so far across the years
Ethel Hogan on the fiddle – that memory brings the tears

The McCaffery clan danced all night at the New Year’s jamboree
Gertie O’Rourke and my Mother sang the long road to Trawlee
That was sixty years ago way back when my Mother was young
The skirl of the pipes and the fiddle bow heralded the rising of the sun

With only two, or perhaps three fights ‘twas not a real donnybrook
The lads they fought o’er pretty colleens or because of a sneer or a look
And many’s the lad had too much to drink, of our own homemade poteen
Some of the lads passed out drunk and some got sick and turned green

Canadian History was made by my folks, some who wore the kilt
And because of the Scot and Irish in me – I am a Canadian Celt
But my Father who came from Ireland, so far across the sea
Got mixed up with a McCaffrey girl, and that’s why I am me!

Author’s Note: Poteen is a homemade Irish whiskey – and the fad travelled to the new world – you have heard about the moon shiners who make white lightening in the Ozark Hills of America – this is similar except Irish Canadians further distil home made apple cider to make apple jack liquor which should be mixed with plain apple juice or water. When I was a young lad at weddings etc., mixed the apple jack and apple juice punch in milk pails which were clearly marked -the pails contained the same mixture and many of my teetotal aunts step danced the night away after one or two glasses of cider and the parish priest (after a couple of mugs of poteen) would tell Paddy Dane, who made poteen in 45 gallon wooden barrels, some of the very best sins he heard in the confessional – Paddy sworn to secrecy only told his friends and he had no enemies. My dad learned how to make applejack from Paddy Dane and from time to time throughout the rest of his life, he would run off 50 or a 100 gallons – strictly for medicinal purposes.