| Wetpaint Words |
The Ballad of Brother Walfrid
My name is Andrew Kerins, born and bred in Ballymote
I left my home at an early age and travelled to Scotland in a trawler boat
Would I ever again see Ireland, as the famine had stolen her strength?
Would Scotland welcome the Diaspora, of Irish men & women?
My calling of becoming a Marist Brother led me to the Glasgow parish of Saint Mary's
Where the immigrant Irish, poor and starved, made home in the east end of the city
My heart cried out when I saw theses lost souls, living in poverty and in squalor
As Protestant Scotland would not accept their accent, dress or culture.
I prayed day and night to Our Lord, for the welfare of Saint Patrick's flock,
As jobs were few and far between as they were ridiculed, harassed and mocked,
From all over Ireland, they came to Glasgow, to escape the potatoe blight
Some wished they had went to America, to live in the comfort of the Stars and Stripes
I saw the hunger on the faces of children when they sat for Sunday Mass,
My dream was to feed them once a day, that became my spiritual task.
Along with the St Vincent de Paul Society, we would reach out to these starving souls,
The Children's "Penny Dinner" Table was formed, for the undernourished children of Glasgow.
The Donegal dialect and the Kerry brogue, was heard within the confessional,
As Ireland’s lonely sons and daughters spoke of broken hearts and promises,
I sought to feed their hunger and bring hope to their shattered dreams
I fought to bring them comfort, to silence their children’s screams.
At Saint Mary’s hall in the Calton, in February of 1887
I joined the victory celebrations for a football team called Hibernian,
They were the pride of every Irishman from Scotland’s east and west coast,
Were we sang songs of dear old Ireland, to Hibernian, some gave a toast.
Like a vision of God before me, inspiration came to me in a dream
Were the old east end of Glasgow, would like Edinburgh, have an Irish team,
No more would Irish families live in poverty or see their children sick,
For a football team would play for charity and that team I would call Celtic.
For months, we toiled the barren land that sat upon Janefield Street
And built a stadium for football were the Irish would gather and meet,
I saw smiles appear on the faces of children, who carried Ireland in their heart,
For they could not wait to welcome the Bhoys, who would one day grace Celtic Park.
The Bhoy Who Loved the Green and White
Our Lord, he waits at heaven’s gate
With Brother Walfrid by his side,
For Tommy Burns, a legend travels
From the Gallowgate to Paradise.
The memories will last forever,
His passion will never stray,
For Tommy Burns will be remembered
For his football and his faith.
How he loved the Celtic
Shone forth from his heart,
For when he wore that famous jersey,
His dreams came true at Celtic Park.
Jimmy Johnstone and Johnny Doyle
Both stand on heaven’s pitch.
As they await the arrival of Tommy Burns,
Who will enter heaven in a Celtic strip.
There, the angels will praise his name
For they will remember him of the days,
For when Tommy Burns wore a Celtic jersey
He played football, the Celtic Way.
Now God has welcomed Tommy Burns
Who will shine in heaven's light,
As we say goodbye, we will never forget
The Bhoy who loved the green and white.
In The Old East End of Glasgow
In the old east end of Glasgow
Where we watch the Bhoys in green,
How we stood proud with our father
Who raised us on his Celtic team
We would walk along the Gallowgate
Were he would find a local pub,
As the hymns that the faithful chanted
Were of the Celtic football club.
We would make our way to Parkhead
Were we would celebrate the goals,
Around our necks, we wore a scarf
Of the bold green, white & gold.
Underneath the sky at Paradise
Onto a hallowed football pitch,
The heroes that we dreamt to be
Wore with pride, a Celtic strip.
On the terraced steps of Parkhead
On a Saturday afternoon
I would stand within the Jungle
Singing familiar Celtic tunes.
And when the Rangers came to play,
A victory was oh so sweet,
Our Celtic flags were raised so high,
We danced up and down the street
We would travel across Europe
Sampling different types of beer,
And the locals they would relish
Celtic songs and Celtic cheers
We returned home to the Holy Ground,
The sanctuary of Celtic Park,
And watched the likes of Doyle & Burns,
Play for Celtic from their heart.
Garngad's Irish Bhoy
There was great excitement,
Filled with pleasure and joy,
Songs were sung in harmony
Of Garngad’s Irish Bhoy.
Children ran through the street
Relating the news, expanding the story.
How Celtic won again at Parkhead,
From goal after goal from James McGrory.
A football pitch would be outlined
On a cobblestone street,
Were the sons of Irish immigrants
Played with the poorest of shoes on their feet.
They played until darkness fell,
Or when the rain tore at their souls.
But they told their mothers, told their fathers,
How they scored a James McGrory goal
40 Years Ago In Lisbon
It is the day of days, that our fathers remember fondly,
When a team from dear old Glasgow challenged Inter Milan of Italy,
And for the fans who witnessed that miraculous, historic night,
Saw history being made by the Bhoys in green and white.
Jock Stein’s Celtic men left Glasgow’s old east end
And traveled to the Azores, to the city of Lisbon,
Were the Portuguese locals took to the young Scots,
As their local team also sported the blessed, green and white hoops.
On the feast of Corpus Christi, the Celtic fans traveled by car, sea and air,
With their rent money spent on the traveling fare,
And when they were greeted by the warmth of the Lisbon sun,
They knew that the European Cup was there to be won.
On the day of the match, nerves were frantic and buzzing,
As Jock Stein’s men listened to his fatherly instructions.
Then when Billy McNeill led the players out for the game,
Songs of the Glasgow Celtic echoed out from the Estoril End
Nerves were increased as Inter Milan came out and went on the attack,
As they were awarded a very tame penalty in the seventh minute of the first half.
But the Celts, they played with pride; their heads never went down,
As they fought to win and secure, Europe’s footballing crown.
When Tschescher blew his whistle to end the first half,
Milan thought they could add to the goal scored by Sandro Mazzola.
Thinking the second half would provide them with no pressure or no danger,
The Nerazzurri had not yet been introduced to Tommy Gemmell and Stevie Chalmers.
At the resume of the second half, Inter Milan played deep and retreated
To their own 18 yard box where Sarti could be defended.
Then raced Celtic’s Jim Craig, overlapping down the right wing,
Who rolled the ball to Tommy Gemmell, how Lisbon heard all the angels in heaven sing.
The roar of the traveling Celtic supporters soared through the Lisbon air
As God and the Saints had answered their novenas and their prayers.
With five minutes remaining, and with the guidance of Brother Walfrid’s spirit,
Stevie Chalmers scored the winner that brought victory for the Celtic.
The fans sang of victory, while other wept and cried,
As Billy McNeill held the European cup, high up to the sky
For those who remained in Glasgow, they wore their green, white and gold
As children ran through the streets, singing Celtic's name out loud
It is the day, May 25th, that our fathers will never forget
As they reminisce when the European cup was paraded around Parkhead
We were raised on the Jock Stein's Celtic, were the story of Lisbon will never grow old,
When Celtic were crowned European Cup champions, Forty years ago.