Fond Memories Of The Irish Travellers Poem by Francis Duggan

The wanderlust was in them and they moved from place to place
In their horse drawn gipsy caravans but they were a happy race
Of people for they had the gift of music and they had the gift of song
And to the dispossessed of Cromwell their ancestry belong.

I loved their pinto horses in their coats of white and brown
As they trotted down the byways towards another country Town
They parked by a quiet crossroad a few days prior to the horse fair
And around their camp fires they sang their songs and drank their grog in the chilly night air.

Their nickname it was 'Tinker' since they were tinsmiths by trade
And their women travelled from door to door for to sell the tin pots and cans their husbands made
But they did not like the Tinker name when to them it was referred
The tag of travelling people they very much preferred.

The late fifties brought much change in Ireland for those of no fixed abode
And the sharp increase in motor cars and trucks forced their horse drawn vans off of the road
And though nothing last forever it has always been that way
Fond memories of the Irish Travellers till my end with me will stay.