It was common at that time to give those going away a little present.
Maybe a crown piece or a half sovereign.
Happy indeed it'd be the one that'd get a golden guinea.
As well as that, the girls might get wearables, a pair of gloves or the like.
And it was usual to give the men a silk handkerchief.
You'd see them squeezing it and then opening their hand if it bounced up it was pure silk.
Or they'd throw it at the wall, and if it clung to the mortar it was the genuine article.
And you'd see those handkerchiefs the following morning,
waving from the train as it went out of sight under the Countess's bridge.
In the morning the horses had been tackled,
and anyone who could afford it had go to the station.
A long line of cars like a wedding drag.
How was this the Limerick men remembered it?
The terminus was crowded with folks from everywhere.
There were there from Castle Connell and from the County Clare.
There were girls there from Limerick, from Croom and Sweet Maroo,
and they all seemed very lonesome.
Lonesome as they'd be their friends adieu.
Lonesome was no name for it.
Often I was there as a child.
At that time it would take the young man going to America eight to ten days to get there in rickety old ships.
You could feel the motion of the waves under your feet.
And then, when he landed over in New York,
he'd have to work very hard to put the passage money together to bring out his brother.
That's how it was done.
John brought out Tim and Tim brought out Mary.
Maybe then he'd get married and have responsibilities.
So when again would that young man standing there,
when again would he come back over the great hump of the ocean, if ever?
He'd be surrounded on the platform by his friends.
And when the time came for him to board the train,
he'd start saying goodbye to those on the outside of the circle,
to his far-out relations and neighbours,
plenty of gab for everyone.
But as he came in in the circle to his cousins, to his aunts and his uncles,
the wit and the words would be deserting him.
Then he'd come to his own family.
And in only what was a whispering of names,
he'd say goodbye to his brothers and his sisters.
Then he'd say goodbye to his father.
And last of all, he'd say goodbye to his mother.
And she'd throw her two arms around him,
a thing she hadn't done since he was a small child going to school.
And she'd give vent to a cry,
and this cry would be taken up by all the women along the platform.
Oh, it was a terrifying thing for a small child like me to hear.
It used even to have an effect on older people.
Nora Cassan told me she saw a man running down the platform after the train,
so demented he was beckoning his fist at the engine and shouting,
May bad look to you out, old smoky hole,
taking away my fine daughter from me.
And there was a widow that worked her fingers to the bone
to get the passage money together to send her son to America,
a rowdy she wasn't going to be sorry after,
a useless yoke,
nothing for him but his belly full of whisky and porter when he could get it,
singing in the streets until all hours of the morning,
a blackguard that put many a white rib of hair on his mother's head,
took three young girls off their road,
the devil softened him, they were worse to let him.
The woman wasn't going to go to the station at all to see him off,
but when she saw how lonely the parents were parting with their children,
she thought, oh, they'll think me very hard-hearted now
if I don't show some concern.
And of course, when her heart wasn't in it,
she overdid it.
She went over to the window of the train,
he was standing inside in the carriage,
and throwing her hands to heaven, she said,
oh, John, John, John, don't go away from your mother,
don't go away, John,
oh, you sweet other divine and lovely little god
sitting above in your golden cloud,
why don't you dry up the Atlantic Ocean
so the ship couldn't sail and take my fine son away from me,
John, John, don't go away from your mother, John.
He opened the door and walked out saying,
I won't go at all, mother.
He went down the town and into the first public house
and drank his passage.
You heard singing in the street that night.