British Heritage: June/July 1998 Letters

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Thanks to BRITISH HERITAGE, I have discovered some wonderful former ‘Brits’ now living in the United States. We are even talking about getting together once a year to reminisce about those days, so long ago but not forgotten.

If any other readers who would like to share their memories of England from before or during the Second World War, please get in touch.

R. Naidia Mosher (née Woolf),
San Francisco, CA

TRANSPORTATION DISCREPANCIES

I thoroughly enjoyed reading the special issue of ‘The Age of Arthur’ (March 1998). It was of particular interest to me, as I have visited all of the places mentioned.

I would like to point out two transportation discrepancies. Holy Island is reached by car, not by foot, when low tide permits. The Tourist Information Centres and places to stay all have tide tables, as does the newspaper. In addition, current tides are posted at the beginning of the crossing to the island. If you don’t want to drive back before the tide change, you simply stay until the next low tide (which could be overnight).

The second correction regards access to Iona. Ferries do indeed run from Oban, but only to Mull. You may take your car on the ferry or go on foot. At the ferry landing on Mull, buses will take foot passengers across the island of Mull. There is a foot passenger ferry from Fionnphort, Mull to Iona–about a five-minute trip. Persons driving their own cars across Mull must park them at the foot passenger ferry terminal at Fionnphort and take this ferry to Iona. Cars are not allowed on Iona, except those owned by residents, used for deliveries, or under special circumstances.

Barbara Ballard
Victoria, British Columbia

WREN BOYS

Margaret M. Johnson’s article, ‘The Irish Celebrate St. Stephen’s Day’ (December/January 1997/1998, page 14), was delightful and brought back memories. She reported the first four lines of a song sung by the ‘Wren Boys’ when going through a village begging money on St. Stephen’s Day–26th December.

My maternal grandmother, who was born in Ireland, and who later lived with us until her death in 1943 at age 86, often sang that very song to me. The song goes back to her childhood in the 1860s and undoubtedly was ancient even then. Her song, however, had an additional eight lines. The complete song is as follows:

The wren, the wren,
the king of all birds,
St. Stephen’s Day
it was caught in the furze.
Although he is little,
his family is great,
Come landlady, give us a treat.

And if you fill it of the best,
We hope in heaven your soul may rest.
But if you fill it of the small,
It won’t agree with the boys at all.

My box it would speak,
if it had but a tongue,
Had but a tongue, had but a tongue.
My box it would speak,
if it had but a tongue,
And two or three shillings
would do it no wrong.

I have always thought this was the origin of the Irish and English term ‘Boxing Day’.

George J. McCormack
Brooklyn, New York

A WONDERFUL SUMMER

My first issue of BRITISH HERITAGE (February 1998) proved to be a special treat for me. In addition to enjoying the photographs and articles, there was one story in particular, ‘Wensleydale Cheese’ by Claire Hopley (page 66), that stirred my interest and memory.

I was born in Bury St. Edmunds in 1945, the child of an American 8th Air Force gunner and a Watford girl. I was brought to the United States in 1946, and it wasn’t until 1963 that I was sent back to Britain for a summer to meet my English family and do a bit of travelling. Due to circumstances that I could not control, it was not until last summer, 1997, that I was able to return again to the country that has always been a spiritual part of my life. But because I have always been a letter-writer, the family I went to see weren’t strangers to me, nor was the landscape or the history of Britain, because I teach English in an upstate New York high school.

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