The Irish and the British will always have issues because the British never remember, and the Irish never forget.

It’s a hot button issue in Ireland.

At the time, and now to an extent, many feel that the over 5,000 Irishmen who left Ireland to fight against Nazi Germany in World War II were  and are criminals, or deserters.

They left the Irish Army, leaving Ireland who was neutral, to fight to stop the Nazi’s in World War II.

Today, there is a possibility they may be pardoned.

The Starvation Orders were the orders to blacklist those 5,000 troops upon their return. They could not get jobs, welfare, pensions or any assistance what so ever, some of them made a go at it. Others left the country yet again. Whats more the orders extended beyond just the individuals, but their families as well. It’s how my own family ended up in America.

Five thousand Irish soldiers who swapped uniforms to fight for the British against Hitler went on to suffer years of persecution. They were formally dismissed from the Irish army, stripped of all pay and pension rights, and prevented from finding work by being banned for seven years from any employment paid for by state or government funds.
One of them, 92-year-old Phil Farrington, took part in the D-Day landings and helped liberate the German death camp at Bergen-Belsen – but he wears his medals in secret. Even to this day, he has nightmares that he will be arrested by the authorities and imprisoned for his wartime service.

“They would come and get me, yes they would,” he said in a frail voice at his home in the docks area of Dublin.
And his 25-year-old grandson, Patrick, confirmed: “I see the fear in him even today, even after 65 years.”

Mr Farrington’s fears are not groundless.

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Army, Family, Ireland, Military, pardon, Starvation Orders, Technorati, World War II

At least when your Irish. You’ll note we just finished our theme transition here at ®Evil. So we’re a day early. Sue us. We look forward to this time of year.

After the spiritual powers, there is no thing in the world more unconquerable than the spirit of nationality. The spirit of nationality in Ireland will persist even though the mightiest of material powers be its neighbor.

George William Russell

It’s been a tradition for us. To change our theme to match certain special times, such as football games.

March is different. For an entire month we salute our family, friends, and fellow Irish Brothers and Sisters. It also marks the beginning of spring, as winter slowly subsides, a change in the year.

St. Patrick’s Day is an enchanted time — a day to begin transforming winter’s dreams into summer’s magic.

Adrienne Cook

But March isn’t all St Patrick’s Day, and green beer, as we have made good effort to demonstrate every year. It’s a salute to the blood of the Irish who fought for Independence, who died for a crown that wasn’t theirs, and who protest even still today. Because no matter the side one chooses they are still Irish, and despite my own feelings, I try to show both groups stories as best I can.

Everything that we inherit, the rain, the skies, the speech, and anybody who works in the English language in Ireland knows that there’s the dead ghost of Gaelic in the language we use and listen to and that those things will reflect our Irish identity.

John McGahern

So whats our plans? Much as we do every year we’ll be posting stories from our previous March years, as well as writing some new ones. We’ll be focusing on Irish music for our TGIF Friday’s, and Irish quotes every day of the week as well as some Irish poetry, as noted in our new header up top.

We’ll also have our traditional yearly blogmeet at Celtic Grill in Bentonville, AR on St Patrick’s Day. Our seal for this year I hope to have made by the end of the week to sponsor that event.

The immigrant’s heart marches to the beat of two quite different drums, one from the old homeland and the other from the new. The immigrant has to bridge these two worlds, living comfortably in the new and bringing the best of his or her ancient identity and heritage to bear on life in an adopted homeland.

Irish President Mary McAleese

So come close as we share stories of Ireland, of its famous people and it’s history. Gather round as we share some of our own stories, and family history. The story of an Irish Immigrant who came to America not in the 1800′s but in the 1940′s, passing on to their children and grandchildren a love of Gaelic, music and loyalty with honor.

But come as friends, for as the saying goes we Irish – Be we kings, or poets, or farmers, are a people of great worth.

We keep company with the angels, And bring a bit of heaven here to earth.

Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter.Lullabies, dreams and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums. A thousand welcomes when anyone comes… That’s the Irish for you!

Irish saying

Tags: Family, Friends, Immigrant, Ireland, March Irish, Technorati

Because she’s never heard Ray Stevens….and it is after all Christmas

One of my favorite Christmas songs

Tags: Christmas, Christmas Spirit, Critter, Family, Holiday, Home, Ray Stevens, Santa Claus is Watching You, Technorati

(I wrote a similar story at Techography a number of years ago. Unfortunately the database back up does not have it so we presume it must have been lost when our then hosts Database crashed back in 2003. I have done my best to recreate the story here. Sadly memories fade over time, even a memory as strong as I feel mine is. I hope I did the original story justice as it was well received at the time.- BS)

Lloyd C. Bain. My Great grandfather. Taken around 1976

My mothers grandfather was a big man, even by todays standards. Standing over 6ft 8 inches tall, the former bulldozer driver was a product of the North Georgia Mountains and the Depression. He once frightened one of my mothers suiters so badly by merely shaking his hand the boy would not speak to her until after they graduated and she had moved out. That was almost 4 years later. I recall his hands being the size of a dinner plate nearly, and though I was very small at the time, compared to even most adults, including my own father he was a mountain of a man.

He lived in Blue Ridge Georgia, until that faithful day in 1988 when he left this world, at the age of 97. It took 8 men to carry his coffin. He was a lean, strong, sturdy rock of a man. I miss him dearly. He was my mothers hero, and mine as well at a young age.

Today when a person speaks of hunting a Christmas tree they go to a farm, where numerous trees are gathered and bound, cut and leaned against a fence.

At home we went walking in the woods, looking for a suitable evergreen, be it pine, cedar or even hemlock.

And so it was on this particular day, the season of the last Christmas I would spend with my great grandfather of whose name I bear as my own middle, he summoned me to his side for us to capture a tree for the family.

More after the jump

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Arvil Stanley, Blue Ridge, Christmas, Christmas past, Clayon Stanley, Ellijay, Family, Fannin County, ghosts, Gilmer County, Glenn Bain, Home, Lloyd Bain, North Georgia, South, Stories of Home, Technorati

The Armorer was kind enough to do a post on my Uncle. Which in turn led me to thinking about stories involving him, which are numerous.

One of the better ones, at my expense, I posted there. Because I’m lacking in creativity currently and still tired quite frankly I figured I’d repost it here.

My Father and uncle spotted a hornets nest on a tree limb that looked abandoned while we were riding on the back of the Stover Mtn.

My Uncle thwapped it solidly with a stick and pronounced it empty. He cut down the hornets nest, and promptly chucked it in to the backseat with me.

I must now deviate and explain a few things. First it’s February, and we are in a 1968 Volkswagen cut down for off-roading. Being the youngest I was assigned to the backseat.

So here I sit, with my feet practically in my pockets, and with a hornets nest in my lap.

Off we go back down the mountain when it starts: The buzzing.

I am convinced the damn thing is full of hornets. The buzzing continues. I casually mention the fact that I have no desire to be eaten alive by a horde of angry hornets. My father tells me he has little doubt in my ability to escape them should their be any inside.

The buzzing continues.

My Uncle Charlie mentions that maybe the heat in the Volkswagen might be stirring them up. I stare at him in what I presume to be horror. He shrugs and nonchalantly says “They hibernate in winter and I may not have thwacked them good enough with the stick. Could be full of them.”

I am near panic.
I stare at the nest on my lap, as the buzzing continues.
Then out of nowhere a single hornet lands on my jacket arm that is outstretched to hold the “oh-shit!” handles in the back.

I screamed like a 12 year old girl and proceeded to climb over my Uncle and practically out the window of the moving car.

If you have ever ridden in the backseat of a 60′s model VW you know what this had to entail

My father screeches it to a halt, by which point I complete my Dukes of Hazard-esque escape and land on the grounding rolling in the late snow and mud while smacking at myself for all I was worth with my hat as if I were on fire when I hear something else.

I look up to see both my father and my Uncle laughing absolutely hysterically.

An expert game caller, Charlie had been making the buzzing sound. And he had picked up the hornet, along with several others, off the ground when he cut down the nest. He threw the batch at me and the one had landed on my arm while I was staring at the nest in rapt attention thinking I was going to be eaten alive.

He’d sprayed the nest with Raid 2 days earlier, which is how they knew where it was and felt certain it was empty.

I had been, most effectively, had.

Tags: BloodSpite, Family, Funny, Hornets, Nest, Ouch!, Stories from Home, Technorati, Volkswagen

When I was 12 he walked in to our cabin with an Ovation guitar, and a gallon of Canadian Mist whiskey. He took the bottle cap off and flung it in to the night and with a trademark smile said “Lets play some music, fella’s!”

I have never forgotten that.

He was my Aunt Betty’s husband. A joyful, fun loving man who had a love for life and music I have never seen in another person in my years. Always quick to smile, shake hands, offer help, advice a comfort.

He would play, my Aunt Betty would sing in one of the most haunting voice I can recall.

He almost collapsed when at my Aunt Betty’s funeral. I cried, as much because I had never seen him cry before in my life, as for her loss.

He pulled me aside one day after a playing and told me “Son you have a gift, that none of us have. you can do anything with your hands your music. Keep at it, I have no doubts we’ll see you at the Opry.”

The way I ended up there is not the way he thought, or I thought. My ability was not as good as i or he thought, but I never had the courage to tell him that because I believe it might have broke his heart if I told him I had given up that dream. He always knew, we just never spoke of it.

He had a stroke a few years ago. He was losing himself in his body. He was not the man I or anyone else.

His service will be held at the church my grandfather was honored at, interred in the same graveyard as the others of my family, in a building my family built.

The ties that bond in Northern Georgia are strong, and deep.

He was one of the few people I visited every time I went home, without fail. I loved him.  My fathers compatriot, my inspiration, a man who would give you the shirt off his back and then play you a tune.

Today my world is a little less bright, as one of the brightest souls in my world has went out.

And once again the damn Road keeps me from going home, and my heart cracks a little more.

Mr. Charles B. Marshall age 74 of Stover Mtn View, Ellijay died Tuesday November 30, 2010.

Mr. Marshall was born on October 7, 1936 in Middlesboro, KY. He is the son of the late Charles Berwin Marshall & Mamie Lucas Marshall. He is preceded in death by his wife Betty Stanley Marshall. He was a warehouse manager and a veteran of the United States Air Force.

Survivors include: Sons and daughters-in-law: Kenny and Joyice Marshall, Waleska, Danny and Beckie Marshall, Ellijay, Ronnie and Anne Marshall, Ellijay; Sister: Jean Ann Cantwell, Johnson City, TX; Brother: Bill Marshall, Wichita Falls, TX; Grandchildren: Lance and Levi Marshall, Tiffany Reichert, Bethany Marrott.

Funeral services will be held Saturday December 4, 2010 at 2pm from the Pisgah Church of Christ. Interment will be held in the Pisgah Church of Christ Cemetery with military rites by the North Georgia Honor Guard. The family will meet with friends Friday Dec.3 from 3 until 8pm at the funeral home.

Flowers are accepted or donations may be made to the Pisgah Church of Christ cemetery fund in memory of Mr. Marshall.

Bernhardt Funeral Home in charge of arrangements.

Well, I know there’s a lotta big preachers that know a lot more than I do
But it could be that the good Lord likes a little pickin’ too

Tags: Charles Marshall, Ellijay, Family, Funeral, Georgia, Home, In Memoriam, North Georgia, Personal, Stories of Home, Stover Mountain, Technorati

My Family has served this country for over three generations.

Today is our day.

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Family, generations, History, Technorati, Veterans Day

My Dad and I hold this song between us.

I got a lot of E-mails and Facebook comments with my rendition of Glory to Georgia. Couple of folks didn’t know I played.

I don’t…play well that is. I have a bad habit of repeating rifts over and over especially if I am singing.

My Dad, the man who taught me? He plays and does so semi professionally. If you like bluegrass you can see him on youtube as well.

But music has always been our bond.

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Big Creek, BloodSpite, Bluegrass, Dad, Dirt Road Rascals, Ellijay, Family, Georgia, Grandpa, Guitar, Music, SEBA, Technorati

The season starts today for my fellow Vols fans. It started yesterday for others, and today for some but today is specifically for people like me, and V00d3w and my close friend OfficerT, a rabid Arkansas fan.

Today is the first day our traditions have seen the light of day since last year. It is a special day. Rivalries are revived. Old arguments are renewed. Old friendships rekindled. As the days grow shorter, the weather cooler, and the wind holds a bit of a scent of winter in the air, these are the days when it all changes not just our programming, or our weather, but our lifestyle; at least one day per week.

Morning Breaks by the Spite Family Wilderness Retreat here in Southwest Missouri

Here at The Spite Family Wilderness Retreat we have many Game Day traditions.

I, and others, were recently asked if we were superstitious. Foolish I admitted I am to a point.

But those superstitions are based in my traditions. Those superstitions can be fun, especially if you have your friends involved.

It becomes fun for friends to ask about Volunteer Sunrise, your personal blend of coffee on Game Day morning while preparations are underway. It becomes fun when your friends want to get involved in creating a tradition, or if they want to perhaps modify your own such as an ingredient suggestion.

It becomes fun, as each Saturday becomes a rhythm with your family, friends, times they arrive, things that are done. Kids anticipate your wife or girlfriends brownies. Guys gather around the beer cooler as open flame is lit. The ladies laugh at their husbands as they set paper plates, and call out scores to each inquiry from the grill.

Its not just about superstition, it’s about traditions. Those traditions that lend a kind of stability to your life when it seems all else is going out of control. A day to look forward too each week, when at least 5 of them you feel you could do without. A small point of happiness, family, friendship, and a kind of explosive peace as the whistle blows and shouts are made at referee’s. Those traditions that can last a lifetime as your kids pass them on, or who ask you when the next football game is.

My day was made when my daughter spotted an orange at the grocery store at age 3 and asked “Daddy, are those from Tennessee?”. Because of the color.

These are the days that make life special, and those traditions, those superstitions only add flavor to its length.

Were everyday like this.

Go Vols

Tags: College, Family, Football, NCAA, Technorati, Tradition

This is for my wife.

Lori, I had a great weekend with you, Gavin was such a good boy.  In case I haven’t told you lately, I appreciate everything you do for our family.  Sometimes I sit in wonder of the things that I have had to sacrifice for our for the good of our little family, and I forget to notice that you, too, have sacrificed a lot.  I’m sorry if I don’t say it enough, but you are the light of my life, and I can’t imagine going on this journey with anyone else.

Thank you for all you do, and I look forward to many, many more years together with you.

-voodew

Tags: Family, Love, Registered Evil, Technorati

“We can’t hold back the hands of time, its just something we got to do.”

Yup.

Critters first day was Monday. The morning was….interesting. She was all excited until she realized her mother and I would not be staying with her the entire day. Then we piled in to the gym. Here too, a problem arose. Critter is much like me, in not enjoying being amongst crowds. So there she sat in the middle of the gym with her hands over her ears, and head burrowed to block the noise. So of course you can guess what happened when the the Principal fired up the PA system.

Read the rest of this entry »

Tags: Critter, Family, First Day, History, Home, Love, Mark on the Wall, Parkinsons, School, Technorati

A Little music from my great Uncle, for those who recall.

Yes I can play, but I have never been able to play as well as he. Lord knows I’ve tried.

Ya’ll have a good weekend, and I’ll try to drop in but I have a lot planned.

Tags: Bluegrass, Family, Home, Music, Ralph Stanley, Technorati