Our grandmothers and grandfathers
Left their hearts back in Ireland,
Leaving behind them, the famine,
The death and starvation.
They crossed the sea on coffin ships
And stepped onto Scotland’s shore,
In their Gaelic tongue, they said a prayer,
For Ireland, they would see no more.
They sought refuge and they settled
Within Glasgow’s Irish community,
Making their home in the Garngad and Calton,
In the Gorbals and the district of Paisley.
Despised and loathed by the native Scots
For their heritage, culture and faith,
How our ancestors resisted the sectarian taunts,
That we still face today.
And since the day Brother Walfrid formed
Glasgow’s Irish team,
Ireland’s immigrants have traveled forth
To watch the Bhoys in green.
Celtic Park became a shrine,
The Holy Ground in song and verse,
Were our ancestors watched Neil McCallum
Score Celtic’s first goal against the ‘Gers.
But how the Irish were never accepted
And faced the verbal abuse and mockery,
As Victorian Scotland classed them Papist’,
Contagious, diseased and dirty.
Detested for their Catholic faith
That they brought to a Presbyterian land;
‘No Irish Need Apply’ was a common warning
For the poor, job seeking Irishman.
The jobs they sought and the jobs they found
Were in the mining pits or digging of canals,
To prevent their families from ‘Taking the Soup’
From the Protestant kitchen tables.
The labor was hard as they toiled the land,
Working for a minimum wage,
But when Saturday arrived, they were rich like Kings
When watching the Celtic play.
Through the years, through our mothers and fathers
We still hold onto our Irish roots,
The anti-Catholic taunts, the bigotry we have encountered
For wearing our green and white hoops.
And we will fly with pride, the flag of Ireland,
No matter what the Scottish media will say,
For our ancestors strength lies within our souls
Each and every day.
Daniel McDonagh 2006