ST.PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.

Or so it says in the song.   I almost forgot the day that was in it until I saw the small pot of shamrock that my beloved had bought, sitting on the table.

Curiously , the rest of the world believes that the Irish have, always and ever, had a great hooley for Paddy’s Day involving lashings of Guinness, shamrocks both real and ersatz, shillelaghs, fist fights, carousing,  singing rebel songs and river dancing.   If only…

My memories of Paddy’s day are all of cold weather, a sharp east wind, a flurry of hailstones/snow/sleet.  Going to Mass in my Sunday clothes and later going for a walk the miserable weather.   The only good things were that my mother cooked a Sunday dinner and we could break the Lenten fast by eating sweets.

The best Patrick’s Day I ever had was in Manchester when I was studying there.   As the feast approached  my classmates gathered round with shiny eyes wanting to know how I was going to celebrate the Saint’s day.   Well, when you’re abroad you just have to rise to the occasion.   With the help of friends I organised  a St. Patrick’s Day party .   We had  green white and yellow decorations, shamrocks a go-go, green outfits and general paddywhackery.   My English friends were jumping out of their skin with the excitement of participating in a genuine Irish hooley!

Nowadays in Ireland we do celebration rather better than we used to but the weather’s still miserable and, as I watch the parade on my tele, I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor American girls  in their skimpy cheerleader costumes who’ve come all this way to celebrate St Patrick and are turning faintly blue.