A sad but true tale of Irish immigrants from the coal fields of Pennsylvania |
This true story, a poem turned song, I wrote in tribute to the O'Donnell family and their suffering... THE BALLAD OF THE O'DONNELL HOUSE (Refrain) The O'Donnell House sits on a knoll, round the bend In old Wiggans Patch, tired, weary, and worn But if walls could talk, sure, they'd tell us a story Of the days of Coal's glory and the Molly Maguires [1] It was three in the morning, the 10th of December The year, eighteen hundred and seventy five Outside thirty men, masked and armed assassins Their plan to let none, man or woman, alive The Widow O'Donnell, asleep in her bedroom Dreamin' of Ireland and kin in Gweedor She heard a great noise and then one of the boys hollered "Sweet Jesus, our Ellen's shot dead on the floor!" (Chorus) Now who could commit such a horrible crime? Shoot a young mother down before she'd reached her time? The papers blamed vigilantes as the ones But they were bought and paid for by the Pinkertons [2] Not one man but twenty, jumped Charlie O'Donnell Knocked him to the ground and beat him till he bled He cried out "Oh, why would you want us to die?" Fifteen shots...then silence As the snow turned blood red. Raised cane clutched in anger, Nannie O'Donnell Pointed her finger, a curse on her tongue, "You shall pay for your hate, guilt shall seal your fate You have murdered my innocent daughter and son!" (Chorus) Now who could commit such a horrible crime? Shoot a young mother down before she'd reached her time? Brutally rob an old woman of a daughter and son? Twas the long arm belonging to the Pinkertons [3] They pistol whipped Nannie and left her unconscious They roughed up Tom Murphy and gave him a fright Charles McAllister fled, thinking all lost for dead Till he met the two James who'd run off in the night When the blood shed was over, long coats trailing behind them The men strode into blackness and obscurity No justice was sought, for the felons were bought Cold blooded murderers left running free (Chorus) Now who could commit such a horrible crime? Shoot a young mother down before she'd reached her time? Plenty of folks knew who fired the guns But they feared repercussions by the Pinkertons The O'Donnell house sits on a knoll, round the bend Weather beaten and gaping, but still standing tall In memory of the toil, waged here on our soil To support the Labor Movement and answer its Call Forget not the O'Donnell's, keep them close in your memory For bigotry lives where reigns supremacy Civil liberties lost, if we forget the cost Of the price paid for freedom and democracy Back to Chorus 1 then Refrain (softer, slower) The O'Donnell House sits on a knoll, round the bend In old Wiggans Patch, tired, weary, and worn But if walls could talk, sure, they'd tell us a story Of the days of Coal's glory and the Molly Maguires |