Hi all, From 'The Clare Anthology' is this Percy French poem. It is an odd read, but if read aloud it has a sound and energy of its own, as well as a very comforting feeling. Hard to explain. I got this book from the CLASP site: http://www.clarelibrary.ie/eolas/library/local-studies/locstudi1.htm at the Co Clare Library site, and am enjoying this book immensely. It is a collection of Clare stories by Clare people and people who visited Clare. I can hardly put it down. Anyway, enjoy: Jim McNamara 'Are Ye Right There, Michael?' A Lay of the Wild West Clare You may talk of Columbus's sailing Across the Atlantical sea But he never tried to go railing From Ennis as far as Kilkee. You run for the train in the mornin', The excursion train starting at eight, You're there when the clock gives the warnin', And there for an hour you'll wait. (Spoken): And as you're waiting in the train, You'll hear the guard sing this refrain: -- 'Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right? Do you think that we'll be there before the night? Ye've been so long in startin' - That ye couldn't say for sartin' - Still ye might now, Michael, so ye might!' They find out where the engine's been hiding, And it drags you to sweet Corofin Says the guard, 'Back her down on the siding, There's the goods from Kilrush comin' in.' Perhaps it comes in in two hours, Perhaps it breaks down on the way; 'If it does,' says the guard, 'be the powers, We're here for the rest of the day!' (Spoken): And while you sit and curse your luck, The train backs down into a truck! 'Are ye right there, Michael, are ye right? Have ye got the parcel there for Mrs. White? Ye haven't! Oh, begorra! Say it's comin' down to-morra - And it might now, Michael, so it might!' At Lahinch the sea shines like a jewel, With joy you are ready to shout, When the stoker cries out, 'There's no fuel, And the fire's taytotally out. But hand up that bit of a log there - I'll soon have ye out of the fix; There's a fine clamp of turf in the bog there;' And the rest go a-gatherin' sticks. (Spoken): And while you're breakin' bits of trees, You hear some wise remarks like these: -- 'Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right? Do you think that ye can get the fire to light? 'Oh, an hour you'll require, For the turf it might be drier - 'Well, it might now, Michael, so it might!' Kilkee! Oh, you never get near it! You're in luck if the train brings you back, For the permanent way is so queer, it Spends most of its time off the track, Uphill the ould engin' is climbin', While the passengers push with a will; You're in luck when you reach Ennistymon For all the way home is down-hill. (Spoken): And as you're wobbling throught the dark, You hear the guard make his remark: -- 'Are ye right there, Michael? Are ye right? Do you think that ye'll be home before it's light?' 'Tis all dependin' whether The ould engine' howlds together -' 'And it might now, Michael, so it migth!' Percy French