@John O’Driscoll: “the men who could never unpack but never went back”
I’m curious, did you write that line yourself or read it somewhere? Either way it’s a brilliant way to put it. It really captures the Irish abroad in london, New York etc.

Oh indeed Rodan I remember it too from the Eighties working over there. The C0ck in Kilburn was another one. Often saw lines of men waiting outside on a Sunday and tongues on them dry as a camel’s whatever in a sandstorm. Weekdays they’d be in the same place waiting for the ganger to turn up in a van or pickup to bring them to work or to tell them no work today maybe. Ragged trousered philanthropists all they had was each other the pub the pint and aching longings rarely met with travel “home”.

Wrote it myself. Old aunt of mine in Maida Vale put me in mind of it saying something similar as she did. Writ it in a poem or two over the years. I like it also. Thanks for the good word.

@John O’Driscoll: well written John. A lot of Irish lived very lonely lives in England having left here to find work. Never to return ending up homeless in some cases. Some never married like this man and only found comfort in the pub for a bit of company. A horrible existence for a lot of them. RIP.

Here’s one I wrote in their honour. Wrote it on the counter of a bar in London called Somerstown Coffee House forget where maybe Kilburn or Euston or Islington. Wandered in one rainy night had a pint and wrote this about it. Remember as if yesterday near thirty years on. Pardon it’s too long for one post. This is for all those men (and women) whose wild grey wings never returned back o’er the tide.

I know a pub in London where the losers band together
The ugly and the saddened and the so so so alone.
They stand silent in clumps of noise
Far distant from each other
And they writhe in indignation at imagined insults thrown.

Shoulders box the compass,
Heads like metronomes
B@st@rdise body language
As the souls go out on loan.

The manager site in his manager’s seat, and chats to his criminal clerk
And they laugh at the oul’ blonde down on the seat
That’s closest the door and the dark.

Condensation clots the windows as the funk of dozens mingles
Blue light sometimes flashes thru and thee siren causes tingles

In the sluggish blood of those who find no interest in themselves

(Contd)

And the men who spent their money count the bottles on the shelves
And regret that tho the money’s gone the bottles are no fewer
And they curse their empty pockets and they curse the demon brewer
Who steals their self respect from them and fills it full of holes
And makes them boil their lives away
In the still room of the souls..

Hope he liked it. God love this poor man and them all.

I see he has died. RIP Mr Joseph Kelly.

Edit: “where the loners band together” not “losers” sorry

@John O’Driscoll: The Somerstown Coffee house was a rough pub at the back of Kings Cross red light area, just south of Camden Town. Very few Irish pubs left in CT, where property values have spiralled because it’s 1 mile from the Marylebone Road and 2 from Oxford Circus; it’s also where the 2 Northern Line branches merge. Irish ghettos are now rare, as – in the UK, at least – we’re more cosmopolitan, and come back here when we want on Ryanair.

@John O’Driscoll:

And totally forgotten about by the Irish governments p and much of the Irish population. In 1961 Irish emigrants in the UK sent £31m back to Ireland, almost as much as the entire education budget. And money was sent year after year when times were hard, to help out or educate the youngest sibling, leaving themselves short.

We see the feting of immigrants in Ireland, in the Irish Times and elsewhere, sending money home to Africa and Eastern Europe and little mention of the heroic generations who brought many families through hard times In Ireland, a home many of them never saw again.

I knew of two poor unfortunates who lived in poor accommodation in Longsight, Manchester, after working hard for years, died at their dinner table on Christmas day, eating a meagre meal, poisoned by carbon monoxide.

RIP Joseph Kelly and the many emigrant men and women of generations gone by.

@John O’Driscoll: My father always talks about his time there, in the 60′s and 70′s. He’s a hard working man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He always felt for these men, who were very hard working but were abused by employers in many cases. Pay cheque cashed in the pub, but only after you’d drank most of it. My grandfather was an alcoholic and spent most of what they had on drink. This always kept my father away from heavy drinking and made him determined to make money from his hard graft!..Education was also a big issue, many men couldn’t read or write. Dont forget many Irish from that generation also done very well, many still do today!

Rest in peace Joseph Kelly.

@John O’Driscoll: hes dead lad

@John O’Driscoll: John The Poet O’ Driscoll. Fast becoming one of my favourite commenters.

@John O’Driscoll: Well written!! You had me in tears!! Poor guy!! I hope he has family somewhere. R.I.P.

@John O’Driscoll: Are you a writer?? If not, you should be!!

@John O’Driscoll: You are a writer!!

@June Rose-Sommer: “Their monuments are everywhere, uninscribed with their names only the marks of their chisels, shovels, picks, rivet guns, saws, hammers, brushes. Few pause at a cut stone embrasure on bridge or canal and wonder whose long dead hand did cut it.” My favourite bit. Wonderfully evocative bit of writing there John. Makes me despair even more at the quality of some of these articles on here.

@John O’Driscoll: you have a might talent with words John, that’s a very eloquent portrayal, a poet in our midst, who knew?!…..

Thank ye all lovely comments from everybody. Really. Agree with those who said this is the most respectful comments section. Mr Kelly and all his ilk deserve no less.

@Rodan: the Crown is now 4* hotel called the Crown Clayton the likes of the men who drank there time in London away won’t be seen there now not in working mans clothes anyhow. I often wonder how much they had to give the fella with the fruit stall out the front to move him on very tidy sum I’d imagine. All gone now the Galtymore the National Biddy Mulligans although I believe the Red Rose Cafe still survives on the Broadway a reminder of time gone by for me happy times young and free in London Town with the world at our feet or so we thought

@John O’Driscoll: Wow!! Beautiful!!

@Paul Foot: I use to live in 102 stockwell road. Many a good night in the Swan. I was in my early 20s . What an experience London was for me. I was a printer over there. Even though I left a job here to go over to London. I’d recommend young people to go there for the experience. But as I did promise yourself you will go home. Good memories but I’m happy to be back and rare my family.

@Denis Riordan: Agree totally Denis – but often wonder why so many journal posters seem to hate the place. Under so many headings – it’s so much better than here – transport, healthcare, education and sport, for example. And the typical English bloke will ignore you; here gossip and information is still highly interesting and sought after. Who’s yer man!?

@Paul Foot: ha ha I agree. I remember getting on a bus in peckham with a friend. And the bus was full. My expression to my friend a the top of the stairs was it’s black up here too. Lol

@Paul Foot: ha ha I agree. I remember getting on a bus in peckham with a friend. And the bus was full. My expression to my friend a the top of the stairs was it’s black up here too. Lol