The Ballad Of Mary O'Hara - Poem by George Howard
She was a Lancashire lass born and bred,
Pleasing to the eye, destined to the mills, it is said.
A Rogue of a lad from the island of green,
Came across the water, stole her heart, it did seem.
He promised her nothing but his love and strong arms,
She promised back nothing but love and her charms.
They moved to the fields where black gold it did lay.
He lived underground, and barely seeing day,
Hewed with his might at the huge black face.
Till one day with the sirens, gone without trace.
Her heart it was broken, her dreams lay shattered
His body lay hidden, broken and battered.
Four young ‘ens he left her, all proud and strong.
They now took up the gauntlet to battle this wrong.
Rallying together, fighting looking out for each other.
No one would touch them, or their poor heartbroken mother.
With this she got stronger and fought off the hurt.
Some say she got hard, some say she was curt.
But she just looked to her family, watching them grow,
Into fine strapping people, and of her pride she did show.
Mary O’Hara was just one of hundreds, maybe thousands more.
Who took up the challenge, and had blood spilt on this shore.
That tough breed of people who made Britain so Great.
Who hewed out the black stuff, the Tin and the Slate.
And many more workers, who died in the Service and Mills.
Just so the Industrialists, could rattle their tills.
But the Mary O’Hara’s will not be forgotten, without care.
For they left behind a Legacy, so Rich Men beware.
They bore fighters and triers, not followers and wimps.
Strong people who’ll resist and will not be your pimps.
They will stand up for justice, and fight for the right.
With every breath they can muster, with all of their might.
And at the head will stand their queen, no Crown, no Tiara.
Just a name for their battle cry, “God bless Mary O’Hara! ”
Dedicated to my Grandmother Mary O’Hara, sadly gone, but yet still here.
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