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Posted by JM on January 27, 2012 from Dallas TX, USA
I wrote the story below some years back, remembering my mother’s mother, Agnes Harrop. It retells the the tale of my last visit with her in Fall River MA and it provides the backdrop for my love of Celtic music; my family history. I learned to love the songs my parents and their parents loved. I learned to sing the songs that crossed the ocean with them, from Ireland on my father’s side and from England and Scotland on my mother’s side . ( Here’s a link to a Youtube Video - One of Agnes Harrop’s Favorites )
I still sing today some of those songs I learned as a child, and I still remember the stories my family told. I close my eyes and I can place myself back in time to that ethnic community in which they lived, the old New England mill town with the Irish Catholics on these streets and British Protestants on those streets.
My parent’s union broke that tradition, and it raised quite a stir among their families. Dad’s family had been marrying Irish Catholic girls, right off the boat since the Marums landed in the US in 1861, from Kilkenny. Mom’s family were Protestant and almost all born in England or Scotland. I can tell you that the mix of cultures did make for an interesting childhood! And it planted a deep respect for the traditions of both. This story is one of the reasons why.
Many Counted Blessings
(c) Jed Marum 2009
We sat in the sun-drenched front porch of the home, you and I. It was a
circular room with a high ceiling and tall windows all around – even so, the
space was just big enough for our table and a few comfortable chairs. A
pretty nurse brought us wonderful plates of food that day. Fish I think it
was, yes Cod, certainly … with boiled potatoes, stewed tomatoes, green
beans and warm soft rolls with butter. It was a typical Yankee dinner!
We laughed and told stories all through lunch, while outside the New England
Spring brought us an early glimpse of summer. And so joyous it was! The sun
poured in through the windows, spilling across the floor and warming your
back. Brilliant the daffodils bloomed in the garden just below the window,
showing off their shiny new yellow faces and perfect green stems.
You had tea, and I drank milk. You laughed and laughed and conjured
memories, with a little prodding from me. You told me your father’s story
about leaving England behind along with his gambling debts. He started a new
life among the English and Scottish immigrants working the textile mills of
Fall River Massachusetts.
You told me stories about your husband’s family from Scotland. They also
worked the cotton mills, settling into American life of the late 19th
Century and bringing their culture with them. You told me stories about the
houses these family members had in different parts of the city – houses now
long gone as the city has grown into modern times. And you told me stories
about the quirks of personality you remember of those just a generation
before you. There were the songs you remembered your mother-in-law sang in
her old age, sitting in her rocker, needle work in her lap and a cup of tea
at hand. You remembered your mother’s uncle and his tales from the days of
fighting in the Civil War, and his long whiskers, smelling strongly of pipe
tobacco and often just a hint of whiskey.
“What’s this?” you asked me, pushing a bit of potato onto your fork with a
butter knife. Still smiling from our last story, you turned to face me.
“That’s potato, Nana,” I told you.
“Well I can’t tell if it’s fish or potato ’til I get it into my mouth!” and
you laughed again. “Isn’t it awful to go blind?” Still chuckling and leaning
in closer as if it was our secret, you said, “Well I guess I’m lucky it
isn’t all over my lap!” There were a few crumbs there, but I didn’t tell
you.
Glaucoma had completely taken your eyesight, at this point of your life –
and your 95 years had you bent over and hard of hearing, still your heart
was untroubled and your spirit unbowed.
You popped the forkful of potato into your mouth and spoke your final word
on the matter “Oh well, it all goes down to the same place anyway!” You
laughed again. We both laughed again!
We laughed because you had long since, gracefully accepted the conditions
life had placed on your poor tired body. We laughed because these stories
we’d been sharing, on a lovely New England afternoon had relit the joys of
life in our hearts. We laughed because you could relive those joys again and
again in these moments, through the telling of the tales – as they were many
counted blessings.
———
Jed Marum’s album, now out of print is still available for download on Amazon, iTunes, CDBaby and just about all of the MP3 Services. It is called, STREETS OF FALL RIVER.
