Poems of Elizabeth McCormick of Drumbane, Co Donegal, c1920
These poems were submitted by Bill and form part of the Donegal Genealogy Resources website
You may link to this page but not copy it
Notes:
The poems were composed by Bill's Aunt, Elizabeth McCormick, in the 1920s
Please note that these poems have been copied a lot of times and some of the rhyming words may not be just right
My ideal man has got no fad
(for all who have are well nigh mad)
He does not gather fossils rare
And say "how interesting they are"
He does not poke through rocks to prove
That they once used to live and move
No! No! if he has time to spare
He makes a stool or mends a chair
You see I have in my plan
He's what you call "a handy man"
He can't keep house without a wife
Never made a pancake in his life.
I like a man who tells you plain
That woman's work he'd try in vain
The man who tells you he can cook
Deserves a most severe rebuke
How would he like his wife to say
" I think I'll go and plow today"
I haven't mentioned flirting yet
( I'll do so now lest I forget )
They tell me its only a few
And then perhaps no harm is done
But even then I think its low
To trifle with affection so
Its' bad when found in girls. but then
Its' even worse when found in men
So one thing certain in my plan
He's not a fickle flirting man
My ideal man is liberal too
He helps each cause you bring to view
He keeps no purse with strings tight tied
The contents grudgingly to hide
In both his pockets loose coins mingle
And make a very pleasant jingle
There's just one thing that vexes me
( its a pity you'll agree)
I've no idea where to find
The man I have before my mind
Alas! I fear if he is human
He dwells with the ideal woman
So one thing more I will suggest
I've left it to the very last
Don't let us sigh for the ideal
But make the best of what is real
Indeed to make my meaning plain
I'll just repeat it o'er again
If what you like, you cannot get
Like what you have, and do not fret
And now at last my task is ended
I hope there is nobody offended.
Elizabeth Mc Cormick.
Drumbane.
Perhaps you'll think what I have to say
Its not worth ink or pen
Its only just a simple lay
About the common hen
Now it has always been my want
To have about the door
A few good hardy common hens
Perhaps about a score
And they were just allowed to live
More for convenience sake
The eggs were very useful when
You had a cake to bake.
And we had got on well enough
And years and years were spent
And none ever dreamt that hens
Could help to pay the rent
And then one day (oh woeful time)
T'was in the month of May
A lady came to lecture us
On "poultry made to pay"
Of course we women went to hear
And it is strange but true
You will scarcely believe
But lots of men went too
"Dear women friends I put a case
To you and reason thus
We leave the crops to men and they
Should leave the hens to us"
"Indeed I further yet will go
And say this simple rhyme
A man should never mention eggs
Except at breakfast time"
I tell you we were sore amazed
By what we heard that night
She told us we had spoilt our hens
We hadn't fed them right
But worse than that, the hens themselves
Where scarcely worth the feeding
For they were mongrels nothing more
Deficient in the breeding
She talked of Orpingtons and game
Rhodeye and Cochius too
Antonas, Bluff and Plymouth Rocks
And Audaluians blue
She praised Hondaus and Favourellas
Came in not far behind
Moncreas black and Leghorns white
I tried to keep in mind
Well just to make my story short
We followed her advice
We brought home Orpingtons and Rocks
At quite a fancy price
We purchased pollard and some grain
And gave so much a head
That was the proper food for hens
Or so the lady said
Our poultry house we modernized
We didn't mind the pay
The Orpingtons would cover that
When they commenced to lay
In winter time these things were done
No eggs were in the pens
But we would see when spring arrived
The difference in our hens
One day in early springtime
When the ground with frost was hard
A cackling loud and very shrill
Was heard throughout the yard
We ran to see which hen had layed
(And now the plot does thicken)
It was no Orpington----- but just
A wee mongrel chicken.
Elizabeth Mc Cormick.
Drumbane.