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No Room at the Inn

Grotto at Granard where Ann Lovett had her baby son that died after whom she passed away
Grotto at Granard where Ann Lovett had her baby son that died after whom she passed away
She died alone, like a cow in a field, the papers wrote
Nothing new there, comment passed as true as it was wry
No cows to breath on her newborn in a manger
No Joseph to stand by and hold her hand, world wonders how: why…

No shepherds came to this child with myrrh to give
The wise men called the priest
The priest called for the doctor
The babys breathing already had ceased.

They brought her to her parents house
Too late when the ambulance arrived: no fault, no blame
No one knew anything, that Longford phrase
Issued as standard reply when the media came.

No one could tell a child was heavy with child
Who cattle reared, horses and sheep
In a village where everyone knows everyones business more than their own
Know how a secret from outsiders to keep.

A man of the cloth, though not of Christ
Said of the death of she of Marys years who died
It was not Christian charity lacking from the community…
It was not, I think, but more the mortal sin of pride…

The pride that looks down on a girl who gives life
When the union by a clergyman in sacrament is not blessed
She was not the first to feel the wrath of the community of that town
That fled from neighbours bosom at communities behest.

To Dublin, and on to Liverpool they fled
New start, new life for parents for the sin of creating new life that distant day
My fathers people, ostracized for taking in those youths by their own cast out…
“A fool who’d take in any old stray” I heard my own mother say…

I stood at that grotto, I quiet prayer I said for that girl and her kine
Who today to hide the shame and take the childs life to keep their name
Not like they who took the boat to England for a new start for them and their child…
“Going to England” has such a different meaning now to hide the shame…

Neath that grotto, on the streets below
When men faced the Tans so all Irish born would equal be
I met the grandson of those who from frowns of folks fled
I spoke of the tales my father of his grandfather told to me.

Today, we argue over abortion, so pro choice, more like me pro life:
I always listen to the other side though may not agree
The hard cases easy answered by looking theo ther way:
Dogma of bigots like Whelehan caused the X-Case, easy avoided, easy for all to see.

Such like him would talk of “Early Yorks,”, “Saturday night jobs” and “ready got families”
Seeing as cuckodled a man who marry a woman who has a child by another:
Why should any man look down on a womans life and love:
Is she not as Christian and as human as any other mother?

If not more so, her love as loyal to her current man
Who more often than not has slept with more women than she:
He a hero, casanova, a proper chap, respectable:
At least today its a boit more equal that a woman so too can be.

Wild women, dawsies, call them what we will:
My folk called on men to be as honourable as we expected women to be
That time has passed: revolution has come, all now are the same
Lets enjoy life and love and let our hearts be free.

Let us not open clinics so the children of the poor
Can die to hide the families shame without to England going:
Let us end the true mortal sin of pride and condemnation
That leads to such shame for giving life in such a town ignorant and knowing.

Let us encourage lovers to be of their love open to be
So all know who is with who should a child be born:
Lets celebrate, support, not berate in Gods name
No we never again see such a Granard morn.

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