For breakfast this morning I had very little. Luncheon was nae up to much either. Tonight I return to the land of the Godless. A land where proud men still repel those of the unjust, a land where the blackest of gold still shines bright in a mans hand. Our land of Glasgow Celtic pride.
Death again rears its ugly head for those who stood with bloodied hands upon the very lips of truth. For Cullen, Sweeney, Hayes, O'Hanlon and now our dear sister Mary. To the green of Dalnottar you will return with us by your side to take you home. To the earth you will rejoin the grand wan himself, of Tam, Sean, and your blessed nephew Cormac, my son. Give my love to the mammy and to my lost boy, for it will not be long afore we meet again, I fear.
Your voice forever singing Carrickfergus, I hear it in my mind as we all begin to mourn.
For you Mary-doll, may your god go with you.
My crime was being Irish
When I stepped onto Scotland’s
My accent was mocked and ridiculed,
My culture and faith,
I was an outcast on foreign soil,
pulpits condemned me to hell,
Jobs were few and I was victimised
could not read, write or spell.
Scotland was not the New World
took me by the hand,
But offered poverty and starvation
That I had left
back home in Ireland.
The grace of God shone in a man
Who enriched us
with his dream,
As Brother Walfrid brought hope to the Irish,
Glasgow’s Irish team.