"yellow dan". memories of a famine exile

Irish Jesuit Province

"Yellow Dan". Memories of a Famine ExileAuthor(s): John HannonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 34, No. 394 (Apr., 1906), pp. 181-185Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20500938 .

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THE IRISH MONTHLY

APRIL, Io906

"YELLOW DAN"

MEMORIES OF A FAMINE EXILE

"\/ ELLOW DAN " was a quaint and very holy little handful

J of a man, who had been half fisherman, half crofter,

somewhere Bandon way, till the " bad times " came.

Then the great hunger drove him to England, and he eventually

drifted into an orchard district of the Thames Valley, with many

other famine exiles. Most of this particular batch had en

deavoured to settle in Kent, where they came under the influence

of the saintly Father Young, of Dublin. If I mention that I

possess that truly apostolic priest's signature, with the addition

"Apud Maidstone . . I850," on the marriage certificate of my

parents, enough will have been said to show how intimately

my life was lived among the dear old Irish " neighbours " (they

clung to the word; they were always the " neighbours "), in

the Thames-side village, where they settled towards I85I.

When I first opened eyes on a Saxon world-a small exile of

Erin at one remove-the village was almost an Irish one. The " neighbours " had put the saw through the cottage doors of

their quarter, and made " half-dures " over which to chat the

more conveniently of warm evenings. In colder weather you

fumbled vainly for the latch from without. That is, if you

were not " wan o' the neighbours' childher." If you were, you

VOL. xxxiv-No. 394. N



82: THlE IRISH MONTHLY

sagaciously pulled a thong hanging through the latch-hole. The

door opened as by magic, . and you walked in, saying, "God

save all here." ".God. save you, kindly," was the response, and you sat down,-unbidden, and as of right,: on the best seat,

and nearest. the fire..

Were you "Englified" (i.e. anglicized), and thus un-Irishly self-conscious and Saxonly shy? You were cured. Yerra, 'tis Phi 'Rearden's -little b'y! Come in out o' that, Phileen !

Come an have an air o' the fire." On Sundays you sat to the right or left of the altar according

to. your sex. But this didn't count in, babyhood, of course.

Thus. my first memory of Holy Mass..recalls only a silver-white

head upon gold-robed shoulders, seen fitfully across a swaying

sea, of old plaid shawls. P-erhaps the strength of our Irish atmosphere in the 'seventies

and 'eighties may be gauged from traces left to this day on the

speech of English-and Protestant villagers. One example

must suffice. In speaking of the dead-especially of the dead

"neighbours "-you will be- astonished to -hear them say,

". Gawdrest their souls," and to repeat the prayer whenever the -dead lnames recur.

This,, blending of England and Ireland will explain my first

reminiscence Eof 'Yellow. Dan.

JI.tell you her name is: Pathriarch!" he was saying, ex

citedly.- .":She's Princess. Pathri-a-arch.!"

It was after Mass som e Sunday, in the autu mn of about

-878, Another- breath from the. green hills of holy.Ireland;

the "neighbours would stand "shanachussing" outside the church door for half an hour after divine service.

"Pathriarch," said Yellow Dan, his black teyps. blazing, his

gipsy-like. face, tanned by sun and sea, puckered into a thousand

queer wrinkles. "Bs'- 3ayathriss!" corrected a quiet grey-haired man, wh

was a "scholar." He and one other were alone.among the old

neighours: in ;the power of reading prayer-books'.at Mass.

'"i'Tis lPathriarch she is," .said Dan.

"''T is BIayat:hriss.";;.~ It was erred -to my. ..father, who referred it t6o me if you

p.lease.. ..I fea:r he took -little interest in the Royal House of England.



"YELLOW DAN" i83

" Spell the word," he said. " B-e-a-t-r-i-c-e," said I. " That sett+les it," said my father, looking quizzically at Dan. " Sure it does,"' said the grave, grey-headed " scholar."

''Tis Bayathriss, plain as print."

"Beatrice," I piped out, being " Englified " after eight

years of it.

My father took me by the hand, and led me homeward, for

the neighbours believed it better for gorsoons to be seen than

heard by their elders.

As we moved up the winding street that led out through the

red roofs into the high road, we could hear Yellow Dan, with

fine scorn, declaiming fiercely: " Their Beeathrisses and Baya

thrisses. 'Tis Prr-incess Pathriarch! * * X *

His ferocity was from the lips outward. None feared him;

some teased him; all loved him. There was much deep com

passion for him, too, for there was heavy sorrow in his life,

which I have not heart to set forth in these pages of innocent

recreation. It was wonderful, for one whose Christian patience

was well-nigh heroic, how harmlessly petulant and explosive

his speech and gestures were. Perhaps it was the Spanish

blood in his veins, for his people were from the West coast. " I will be patient ! " he thundered at me one day in after

years. "Yerra, why shouldn't I be patient? I will be patient !"

This at the top of what sounded the angriest of voices. And

patient he was; beautifully and silently so; for he spoke never,

save to God, of his sorrows.

" Please God, I'll never be rich," was another of Yellow

Dan's sayings. Some of the " neighbours" smiled; but these

were not the older ones, who had been purified, ennobled, re

fined, by the crucible of the Famine. They understood. They

knew that St. Francis of Assisi could have peered into Dan's

white soul as he prayed thus beneath the swaying apple-boughs,

during his day's long toil, and beheld him enamoured of the

Lady Poverty. " Sure, 'tis a prayer that's like to be granted ye, Dan," said

teasing friends, but very gently. " Please God it will," Dan would grunt. "I don't ever want



8 THlE kIRISH MONTHLY

;to be' rich.. I want to die.poor. Oh, the rich, t-he. rich! God

pit'y them. I want to die poor, please God." , *

' * X ,.','', -* * f

His prayer was heard. He was past' his labour when, my

own dear father lay dying, and w:as unable'to come to his bed

side. I am glad that it befell so. The.love' that bound the survivors-, of the. ".'neighbours;" was. a love surpassing the love

of women. The grief of parting would have been too heavy a cross for the two aged exiles -almost the very last of that band of brothers.

But he struggled to the house some days afterwards, when

his, friend lay dead. .He was il and shaken, a.nd._the weather beaten face was wan and white save where the suns of man y

summers had burnt it.

He looked down upon his fellow-exile's face, and prayed. T,hen he lifted beseeching hands, and I .was thankful, for I knew

what would follow. Lifting his voice, he raised the caoine the traditional wailing of Ireland for her dead-raised it again

and again. Then he spoke to my father by name, while I. wept

grateful tears, for my grief had been as yet dry-eyed-feverish

and benumbing.

"Many's the hard day's work I've done with ye-and

many's the pleasant hour I've spent with ye. And now you've

-gone on before me-and I'll follow soon after." 'He would take neither bite nor sup, but went weeping.from

the house, and moved feebly down the lane, that once wiry and erect little figure bowed now with years and a crowning sorrow. But he was not to "follow after yet a while.

** * . :

I had to earn bread for the household after my father's death,

and Yellow Dan's prayer of poverty seemed granted for:/ his'' friend's widow and children as well as for himself.

At length' the blacker clouds lifted', and It returned to the

village-' one 'daywith a fuller pocket than-for years. Who"- m should I meet, a mile out from home, and near the

relieving officer's house, alas, but Dan. It was mid-winter. Someone had given him a huge. sou-'wester. oilskin hat. In

congruously, he wore a pair of li'ght canvas boating shoes

some other one's cast-off summer gift. The blazing eyes were



" YELLOW bAN" I85

now pathetically soft, and very gentle. Our greeting was

affectionate, and we spoke much of old times, and more of

my father. Then he told me casually, as who should say. " I shall go to Italy next week," that he was soon about to die,

He showed me, with the fine pity of the Irish peasant for the

red-tapeism of the Poor-law, a blue slip of paper, entitling him

to so much milk and so much meat. " 'Tis little time I'll be

needing it," he added, with a big sigh of relief, and a touch of

his olden triumph. The sou'-wester seemed St. Francis's cowl

to me; the canvas shoes were as sandals.

A little more talk of the old neighbours with their sole sur

vivor, and I pressed the biggest coin I could afford into his

brown small hand, and hurried on my way with many mis

givings. They seemed justified at first, for as I stole a glance towards

him at a bend in the road, he had turned in my direction with

the old furious face and flashing eyes. I could see without being

seen, and watched, and was sorry. At length he lifted clenched

hands and imprecated-no other word may serve-imprecated

blessings on me and mine-a volley of prayers hurled up to the

lowering sky, beseeching the sweetest mercies for here and

hereafter, in the savage tones of Semei reviling David.

* * * *

Very fearfully, very holily, he rejoined the old neighbours

some days afterwards, in that land where there is no more

parting, nor sadness of farewell.

* * $ *

Will those who have read these lines generously remember,

once in a way, to say a prayer for Yellow Dan and all the

"neighbours " ?

JOHN HANNON.



"yellow dan". memories of a famine exile

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