Video « Thurles Information

Skin

Lyrics: Written by Doug Johnson and Joe Henry.

Vocals: Performed by American country music group ‘Rascal Flatts‘.

“Skin”

Sarah Beth is scared to death,
To hear what the doctor will say.
She hasn’t been well,
Since the day that she fell,
And the bruise, it just won’t go away.
So she sits and she waits, with her mother and dad,
And flips through an old magazine,
‘Til the nurse with a smile,
Stands at the door,
And says, ‘Will you please come with me?’
Sarah Beth is scared to death,
‘Cause the doctor just told her the news.
Between the red cells and white,
Something’s not right,
But we’re gonna take care of you.
Six chances in ten, it won’t come back again,
With the therapy we’re gonna try.
It’s just been approved,
It’s the strongest there is,
And I think we caught it in time.
Sarah Beth closes her eyes.
She dreams she’s dancing,
Around and around, without any care,
And her very first love is holding her close,
And the soft wind is blowing her hair.
Sarah Beth is scared to death,
As she sits, holding her mom.
It would be a mistake,
For someone to take,
A girl with no hair to the prom.
For just this morning, right there on her pillow,
Was the cruelest of any surprise,
And she cried when she gathered it all in her hands,
The proof that she couldn’t deny.
Sarah Beth closes her eyes.
And she dreams she’s dancing,
Around and around, without any care,
And her very first love was holding her close,
And the soft wind is blowing her hair.
It’s quarter on seven, that boy is at the door,
Her Daddy ushers him in.
When he takes off his cap, they all start to cry.
‘Cause this morning where his hair had been,
Softly, she touches just skin.
They go dancing,
Around and around, without any care,
And her very first true love is holding her close,
And for a moment, she isn’t scared.

END

A Song For A Sunday – My wish

My wish

Vocals: By former American country music band “Rascal Flatts”.

Lyrics: Stephen Paul Robson and Jeffrey Allen Steele.

My wish

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you want to go,
And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you,
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walking till you find the window.
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,
But more than anything, more than anything
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to.
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold.
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too.
Yeah, this, is my wish,
I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you left.
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get.
Oh, you find God’s grace, in every mistake,
And always give more than you take.
But more than anything, yeah, more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to.
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small.
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too.
Yeah, this, is my wish.
Yeah
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to.
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there gettin’ where you’re gettin’ to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too.
Yeah, this is my wish.
This is my wish.
Hope you know somebody loves you.
May all your dreams come true.

END.

How Soon Tipperary Forgets – Ní bhíonn cuimhne ar an arán a hitear.

There is an old Irish expression “Ní bhíonn cuimhne ar an arán a hitear”, commonly translated as ‘Eaten bread is soon forgotten”.

Today was such a case, it being the 200th anniversary of the birth of General Thomas Francis Meagher [born 3rd August 1823 – died 1st July 1867], himself the man who gave us our Irish Tricolour.
Yet today passed sadly forgotten, by not just Co. Tipperary, but also sadly by the Irish nation. Read HERE and watch the video contained.

Signatures of Thomas Francis Meagher and Patrick O’Donoghue, arrested at Rathcannon, Holycross, Thurles, Co. Tipperary, following the 1848 Ballingarry (SR) rebellion.
Both signatures are written on the back of a prison library book called “Wreath of Friendship”.
*Picture: G. Willoughby*.

Thomas Francis Meagher was an Irish nationalist and leader of the “Young Irelanders” who led the Ballingarry (SR) Rebellion of 1848, [Battle of the Widow McCormack’s Cabbage Patch], before being convicted of sedition and sentenced to death, but instead received transportation, for life, to Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania) off the Southern coast of Australia.

In 1852, Meagher escaped on a whaling ship and made his way to the United States, where he settled in New York City. He studied law, worked as a journalist, and travelled widely to present lectures on the Irish cause.

At the beginning of the American Civil War, Meagher joined the U.S. Army and rose to the rank of Brigadier General and was most notable for recruiting and leading the Irish Brigade, encouraging support among Irish immigrants for the Union Army side. Here in Ireland he had one surviving son whom he never met.

Following the American Civil War, Thomas F.Meagher was appointed Montana’s Territorial Secretary of State by President Andrew Johnson, and served as acting territorial governor. In 1867, Meagher drowned in the Missouri River after falling from a steamboat at Fort Benton, Montana. His death has been disputed by historians, with varying hypotheses including weakness from dysentery, intoxication, suicide and murder.

Patrick O’Donoghue whose signature is shown avove, in his diary record, refers here to the Irish flag, Quote: “We entered Mullinahone for the first time, and unfurled the green banner.”

Irish tricolours were mentioned in 1830 and 1844, but widespread recognition is not accorded the flag until 1848. From March of that year Irish tricolours appeared side by side with French flags, at meetings held all over the country to celebrate the revolution that had just taken place in France.
In April, Thomas Francis Meagher, this Young Ireland leader, brought a tricolour of orange, white and green from Paris and presented it to a Dublin meeting.

John Mitchel (1815-1875) referring to it, said: “I hope to see that flag one day waving, as our national banner”.

Although the tricolour was not forgotten as a symbol of hoped-for union and a banner associated with the Young Irelanders’ and revolution, it was little used between 1848 and 1916. Even up to the eve of the Rising in 1916, the green flag held an undisputed right to flutter in the then ever changing winds that was truly the now politically forgotten, County of Tipperary which was deciding the paths which were to guide Irish history.

Remember the statement by Thomas Davis, also earlier editor of ‘The Nation Newspaper’ in the 1840’s, “Where Tipperary Leads, Ireland Follows.”
But maybe, and sadly, not any more.

Why Your Phone Battery Gets Worse Over Time.

Do you ever get the sense that your phone battery doesn’t last as long as it used to? Have you ever had a laptop refuse to turn on, only to find out that it still works when plugged into the mains? Why batteries behave the way they do over time in our appliances and what you can do once they’re spent is explained in another great video from Ted Ed Daily. Watch hereunder.
Why do batteries die in the first place? And what should you do with them once they’re spent?

Almost all batteries, even single-use batteries, are theoretically rechargeable. That’s because the metals and other chemicals are still there in the battery. So chemically speaking, a dead battery is actually not that different from a fresh one.

Hot Asphalt

Hot Asphalt

Vocals: The late Irish singer, folk musician and actor Luke Kelly (1940–1984) & Irish folk band The Dubliners.
Lyrics: The late folk singer, songwriter, folk song collector, labour activist and actor, James Henry Miller (Stage name Ewan Maccoll, 1915–1989).

Hot Asphalt

Ah good evening, all my jolly lads, I’m glad to find you well.
If you’ll gather all around me, now, the story I will tell,
For I’ve got a situation and begorrah and begob,
I can whisper I’ve the weekly wage of nineteen bob.
‘Tis twelve months come October since I left me native home,
After helping them Killarney boys to bring the harvest down,
But now I wear the gansey and around me waist a belt,
I’m the gaffer of the squad that makes the hot asphalt.

Chorus
Well, we laid it in the hollows and we laid it in the flat,
And if it doesn’t last forever, sure I swear, I’ll eat me hat.
Well, I’ve wandered up and down the world but sure I never felt,
Any surface that was equal to the hot asphalt.

The other night a copper comes and he says to me, “McGuire,
Would you kindly let me light me pipe down at your boiler fire?”
And he planks himself right down in front, with hobnails up, till late,
And says I, me decent man, you’d better go and find your bait.
He ups and yells, “I’m down on you, I’m up to all yer pranks,
Don’t I know you for a traitor from the Tipperary ranks?”
Boys, I hit straight from the shoulder and I gave him such a belt,
That I knocked him into the boiler full of hot asphalt.

Repeat Chorus

We quickly dragged him out again and we threw him in the tub,
And with soap and warm water we began to rub and scrub,
But devil the thing, it hardened and it turned him hard as stone,
And with every other rub, sure you could hear the copper groan.
“I’m thinking”, says O’Reilly, “that he’s lookin’ like old Nick,
And burn me if I am not inclined to claim him with me pick”.
“Now”, says I, “it would be easier to boil him till he melts,
And to stir him nice and easy in the hot asphalt“.

Repeat Chorus

You may talk about yer sailor lads, ballad singers and the rest,
Your shoemakers and your tailors, but we please the ladies best.
The only ones who know the way their flinty hearts to melt,
Are the lads around the boiler making hot asphalt.
With rubbing and with scrubbing, sure I caught me death of cold.
For scientific purposes, me body it was sold.
In the Kelvin grove museum, me boys, I’m hangin’ in me pelt,
As a monument to the Irish, making hot asphalt.

Repeat Chorus

END