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Derry Hiring Fair
The poem Derry Hiring Fair' (as referenced in the Appletree Press title Hiring Fairs and Market Places, by May Blair.Once you have read the poem, you can return to the Irelandseye extract from 'Hiring Fairs and Market Places', which quotes this poem:
DERRY HIRING FAIR
Ah say there young Willie,D’ye think ye’ll stay on?
Of course I will, sorr
Till the first Rabble morn.
It’s then I’ll show you
A clean pair of heels,
For I’m sick to the teeth
Of your stony oul’ fields.
They came in their hundreds
From all arts and parts
Some running, some walking,
Some riding in carts,
Like pilgrims to Mecca,
All banter and babble
But the road was to Derry,
Today was the Rabble.
Six months have they laboured
In cornfield and bog,
They’ve worked like a slave
And lived like a dog.
For a couple of hours,
They intend to be free,
There’s a fair in the Diamond
They’re set for the spree.
With red rosy faces
And navy-blue suits,
Flat caps of all sizes
And great hob-nailed boots
With eyes full of wonder
and mouths full of sweets,
Ignoring the footpaths
They walked on the streets.
The tradesmen are early,
Displaying their wares,
’Twas ‘Yes sor, no sor,’
‘Was it one or two pairs?’
Warm coats for the winter,
Stout boots for the feet,
There were bargains in plenty
Up Waterloo Street.
Oul farmers are looking
For labour to hire,
A man that can plough
Or a girl for the byre;
A healthy young lad
That can do what he’s told,
For twelve hours a day
In the heat or the cold.
An oul’ man looks round him,
He’s been here before,
’Tis years since he left
His beloved Gweedore;
He’s spent his life holding
Another man’s plough,
And there’s acres of furrows
All over his brow.
A young lad all eager
And raring to go,
Far away out of range
Of his father’s big toe;
Away from a mother
Who went without dinner,
That he might grow stronger,
While she would grow thinner.
The day passes quickly
For some far too fast
For once they are hired
The die is then cast;
A shake of the hand
And a trip to the pub
Where the bargain is sealed
In brown porter suds.
At the end of the day
They go off for their tea,
There’s still the bright lights
And the pictures to see;
If they haven’t been hired
They’ve still got their pay
And there’s still two weeks left
Till the last ‘runnaway’.
A mother stands weeping,
Her son waves good-bye.
He’s only a lad
And there’s a tear in his eye;
His worldly belongings
Are tied up with string
And he won’t see his home
Till the following spring.
If those were the ‘Good Days’
Thank God they are gone,
When the people were pledged
Like a coat in the Pawn;
They’ve left us forever,
They’re now history,
Good-bye dear old Rabble,
Good-bye memories.
Return to the County Londonderry extract from the Appletree Press title Hiring Fairs and Market Places, by May Blair.
