A SECOND generation Loughill man living in New York has penned a song about his ancestral homeland in response to the "poor incomplete picture" he claims Frank McCourt painted in Angela's Ashes.
Brian De Vale 38, the principal of a New York City public school in Brooklyn, decided to write a song about his beloved Limerick litzer prize-winning novel Angela's Ashes.
Brian's inspiration for the song, simply titled Limerick, was the "warm spirit" of Irish family living he experienced during his childhood summers at his grandmother, Betty Courtney's, house in Loughill.
"The common roots that those of us who come from poverty like the McCourts and my own Limerick grandmother, bind us and make us more in sink with people from different backgrounds.
"It is a compliment to the Irish character that they identify with oppressed people and that they always seek to look toward improving their lot and that of their fellow human beings, while always being able to laugh at their own faults," said Mr De Vale.
"I believe that Mr McCourt accurately portrays his own life in Angela's Ashes. But he does not blame his father who was alive and well, and instead chose to drink away his life at the expense of his family.
"Frank McCourt can't be called a bigot, but the blame for his misery and poverty should rest with his father not the people, Government and Church of a poor colonial country.
"I hope his writing was therapeutic and maybe, unconsciously, he was telling the world what a heel his father was. He is a talented writer and I wish him health and happiness," he said.
Limerick
Limerick stands for freedom and proudly claims her own,
She gave us Patrick Sarsfield and Sean South of Garryowen
And as you wander down her country roads
You can taste the fresh salt air,
And gaze across the Shannon at the rolling hills of Clare
So let's raise a glass to Limerick boys
And her Shannon waters swell
As we sit and watch the sun go down from a Shanagolden hill
One misguided writer cut her down to make his name
And we wish him health and happiness
With his stories wealth and fame
And though i'm sure he suffered mightily
Back when he was a boy
Twas many the man from Limerick
Who was forced to leave his home
And go off to a foreign land to help England win its war
But every Friday after work sent his paycheck home
So let's raise a glass to Limerick boys
And proudly drink your fill
As we sit and watch the sun go down from a Shanagolden hill
New York city winters have their own peculiar chill
My heart drifts back to Limerick and the folks I love so well
Back where there's music warmth and laughter
In a pub my cousins fill
And you can sit and watch the sun go down
From a Shanagolden hill
Back where there's music warmth and laughter
As Paidin Beag's my cousins fill
And you'll sit and watch the sun go down
From a Shanagolden hill, oh my Shanagolden hill.
