We come from hopeless histories to America with hope in pockets. We work like madmen tireless to earn our keep and feed we Irish. I feed coal to iron furnaces and load cargo in ship's hot holds. We won't starve to death here. Maybe I will be remembered. My great grandson scratches my story into his silly poems.
My dad said his grandpa John Donovan always referred to the British as the ******* British. Google the potato famine of Ireland and see why. The ******* British took all the beef and crops poor Irish farmers were providing from their farms and sold it for handsome profit and left the Irish to eat the blighted potato crop to die or escape to America.