La belleza de su música, el dolor que destila su letra, el hecho de que todo lo que ésta cuenta ocurriera de verdad... No sé si es cada una de estas cosas o el conjunto de todas ellas: me sigue commoviendo de verdad.
La letra está hecha a partir de una serie de cartas fechadas desde 1860 a 1892 y encontradas en Kilkelly, un pueblecito de Irlanda. Las escribió Pat MacNamara, el maestro, a quien se las iba dictando un vecino analfabeto (como era habitual en la época). Iban dirigidas a John, el hijo de este vecino, que había emigrado a Estados Unidos. John era el tatarabuelo de Peter Jones, el autor de la canción. Aquí tenéis explicada con mucho detalle la historia de esta canción (en inglés).La correspondencia se mantuvo en una época especialmente dura para Irlanda: una tremenda hambruna asolaba estas tierras, debido en parte a una epidemia en las plantas de las patatas, base de su alimentación. Esto provocó un terrible desastre económico y social que mató de hambre, literalmente, a millones de personas y que hizo emigrar a gran parte de los irlandeses, como a John.
Puedes escucharlo mientras lees lo que dice la letra:
En este vídeo podéis ir leyendo la letra en español:
Kilkelly Ireland, eighteen and sixty, my dear and lovin' son John
Your good friend the Schoolmaster Pat McNamara, so good as to write these words down.
Your brothers have all gone to find work in England, the house is so empty and sad,
The crop of potatoes is sorely affected, a third to a half of them bad.
And your sister Bridget and Patrick O'Donnell, are going' to be married in June,
Your mother says not to work on the railroad, and be sure to come on home soon.
Kilkelly Ireland, eighteen and seventy, my dear and lovin' son John
Hello to your misses and to your four children, that they may grow healthy and strong
Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble, I suppose he never will learn
Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of and now we have nothing to burn.
And Bridget is happy you named the child for her, although she got six of her own
You say you've found work, but you don't say what kind, or when you'll be comin' home.
Kilkelly Ireland, eighteen and eighty, dear Michael and John and sons
I'm sorry to give you the very sad news that your dear old mother has gone.
We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly, your brothers and Bridget were there,
You don't have to worry, she died very quickly, remember her in your prayers.
And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning with money he's sure to buy land
For the crop has been poor and the people are selling, for any price that they can.
Kilkelly Ireland, eighteen and ninety,my dear and lovin' son John
I suppose that I must be close to eighty, its thirty years since you've gone
Because of all of the money you sent me, Im still living' out of my own
Michael has built himself a fine house, and Bridget's daughters have grown
And thank you for sending' your family picture, they're lovely young women and men
You say you might even come for a visit, what a joy to see you again.
Kilkelly Ireland, eighteen and ninety two, my dear brother John,
I'm sorry I didn't write sooner, to tell you that father has gone.
He was living with Brigid, she said he was cheerful and healthy right down to the end
And you should have seen him play with the grandchildren, of Pat McNamara your friend.
And we buried him alongside of mother, down at Kilkelly churchyard
He was a stone and a feisty old man, considering that life is so hard.
And it's funny the way he kept talkin' about you, he called for you at the end
And why don't you think about comin' to visit, we'd all love to see you again.
Ésta es otra versión de la canción, subtitulada con la letra original en inglés:
Y, para finalizar, el vídeo con la primera versión, ésta vez sin subtítulos:
