The Flag
Written by Bishop A. Orr, Reformed Episcople Church of
Canada, now living in Ontario and an internet associate
of mine. This arose when a John Kelly objected to the
Ulster flag being in the opening page of our Norn Iron
exiles site.
Submitted by Thomas Gibb
by Aaron R. Orr
I am sitting here this evening while a sportive Autumn
breeze
Tugs the few last flowers of summer and tosses changing
leaves,
But my heart is very heavy, and indeed, I'm "thinkin'
long"
Of the place we all were born in, the place that made us
strong.
More
especially, this evening as I cast my memory back
To the golden days of childhood, to the laughter and the
craic,
They appear, those scenes of childhood and some faces
that are gone
Are still smiling on in memory and so I feel less alone.
There is one
scene from my childhood that's prominent tonight
And the more I think about it the more it shines with
light,
It seems like only yesterday, for memory does not lag
To recall the golden moment when I first saw "our" flag.
It was on
the Coronation Day in Nineteen-Fifty-Three
When I was but a twelve-year-old whose youthful soul was
free.
There it was in all its glory on a flagpole tall and
high At Sea Park,
outside Holywood as the bands went marching by.
I remember
lookin' at it and my youthful mind went wild
As I sought to know its meaning for a growing Ulster
child.
I saw the cross upon it and I thought of God's great
love
And the Red Hand in the middle spoke of history's
treasure trove.
There were
others lookin' at it, at least all the boys I knew
Jimmy Walker, Arthur Prescott, Billy King and Liam
McHugh
And a wheen of other fellows, all mixed, Catholic and
Prod
Each felt it was a wonder and we were just overawed.
Then Liam
asked, "Isn't this great now that we have our flag?"
And we others all agreed it was, and no one lost the rag
For we felt that in this emblem we could all at last be
one
That we all could walk together underneath the Irish
sun.
Och! But
time and tide have swept the world since yon long summer
day.
I don't know where those boys are now along life's
winding way
But I'm sure that every one of them wherever they may be
Still minds that Second Day of June in
Nineteen-Fifty-Three.
The Brits
say we can't fly it now as we did long ago,
They say that it's political, offensive, don't you know!
They're not averse to other flags regardless of their
caste
They just don't want us Ulsterfolk to think about the
past.
God! What a
past that was! The story fairly stuns
When we think of how the British fed the Irish to the
Huns.
At Somme, Ypres and other scenes men threw their lives
away
For King and Country; they believed these never would
betray.
But Och!
Things have turned different in the world we face today,
To the English we're all "Paddy" and they do not know
the way
That our long-headed loyalties have bound us to their
side
Or of Protestants and Catholics who for British freedom
died.
To them our
flag's a flag no more but just an inflamed rag
And Paddy's cross and the Red Hand are emblems fit to
slag
What matter if their crown's above these ancient emblems
seen?
God knows they have their own who say they do not want
the Queen.
Fellow exiles in all countries wherever you're dispersed
It's the emblem of your heritage that unthinking men
have cursed.
We will roam like homeless orphans with no synergist to
bind
If they take away our emblem and leave us cold and
blind.
Thank God
that on the Internet our brave banner flutters forth
In cyber-space collections now where no one doubts its
worth.
Sure when exiles look upon it they feel linked again
with home
And it's still their flag, and will be, wherever they
may roam.
So let us
upon our pages fly the colour tried and true
Our gathering point, nigh fifty years it's flown for me
and you.
Let's take our chosen freedom; show that we will not be
crammed
Hoist up the grand oul' banner then, and fly it, and be
damned!
