My English Tongue, My Irish Heart was first performed at Roddy McCorleyâs Social Club in Belfast on 1 May 2015, after which it toured to the following venues: Spectrum Centre, Belfast; Waterfront Hall Studio, Belfast; Balor Arts Centre, Ballybofey, Co. Donegal; The Dock, Carrick-on-Shannon, Co. Leitrim; Linenhall Arts Centre, Castlebar, Co. Mayo; St Johnâs Theatre, Listowel, Co. Kerry; Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester; London Irish Centre, Camden Town, London. The play was produced by Green Shoot Productions, Belfast. The production and tour were funded by a grant award from the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AH/L014904/1). Additional funding was provided by the University of Manchester, the Arts Council of Northern Ireland and Belfast City Council. All of the tour performances featured the following cast and crew:
Gary OâDonnell | Cillian OâDee |
Susan Hetherington | Kerri Quinn |
Ellen OâNeill and Others | Margaret McAuliffe |
Michael Fagg and Others | Ross Anderson-Doherty |
James Dawson Burn and Others | Keith Singleton |
Director Martin Lynch
Set Designers Martin Lynch and Niall Rea
Lighting and Costume Designer Niall Rea
Musical Director Garth McConaghie
Choreographer Sarah Johnston
Production Manager James Kennedy
Stage Manager Elaine Barnes
Technical Stage Manager Russell Alderdice
Project Manager Ruth Gonsalves Moore
The play is set in various locations in Ireland and Britain. The action continually shifts back and forth between different historical eras, from the fourth century to the twenty-first.
The play is based on The Literature of the Irish in Britain: Autobiography and Memoir, 1725â2001 (Palgrave Macmillan, 2009) by Liam Harte.
Life on the Stockport Road
I too am a tortured survivor of Irish emigration to England. Every day I feel the terrible mental and emotional scars deep inside me. A young boy of eighteen forced out of Belfast in 1969 by dire economic circumstances. I hope you are all crying by now.
As you might imagine, Iâm only joking. Yes, I did spend four months in early 1969 in Manchester with two mates from York Street in Belfast, but it wasnât emigration as we know it. It was a big adventure. A bit of craic. We left good jobs in Belfast â Jennings as a heating engineer, Kelly as a plumber and myself as a cloth cutter. All young apprentice tradesmen â or boys, to be more accurate. But we did experience some of the standard experiences that all immigrants go through on arriving in a strange, foreign country.
Firstly, we were shocked to quickly realize that our speech wasnât being recognized by the people in this strange city. Within a week we found ourselves trying to pronounce words differently in order to do the most basic of things like buying a newspaper and a sausage roll at lunchtime or telling the bus conductor where you were going. And worst of all, when you asked a nice Mancunian girl if you could leave her home she answered by telling you that she worked in a hospital, having completely misunderstood what you had said. Grrrr.
Then you find yourself living in a very large city and not knowing one single street from another, so straight away youâre back to the accent problem again because you had to constantly ask people where such-and-such was and they looked at you as though you were speaking Swahili.
Another significant problem soon emerged. Our local bar on the Stockport Road was inhabited almost entirely by people from the Republic of Ireland and they completely ignored us. No welcome whatsoever. We found our names mysteriously wiped off the blackboard listing those who wanted to play a game of darts. We didnât know whether it was because we were strangers or because we were from Belfast. On top of that, next door to us lived a large West Indian family â our first time ever seeing, hearing and talking to black people.
When Liam Harte from the University of Manchester first rang me to tell me the gist of his idea, I lay in bed that night going over the detail of those four months in Manchester all those years ago. As it turns out, those months in 1969 were my first days of research for the writing of a play about Irish emigration forty-six years later.
I hope you enjoy.
Martin Lynch
Prelude
The actors enter as traditional Irish navvies, marching in formation with long-tailed shovels and picks over their shoulders and singing a medley of songs, starting with McAlpineâs Fusiliers. With choreographed movements throughout, they march and stride around the room, with, at times, individual actors singing individual lines from the songs.
All Cast As down the glen came McAlpineâs men
With their shovels slung behind them
âTwas in the pub they drank the sub
And up in the spike youâll find them.
Actor 1 They sweated blood.
Actor 2 And they washed down mud.
Actor 3 With pints and quarts of beer.
All Cast And now weâre on the road again
With McAlpineâs Fusiliers.
Immediately, a cast member jumps up on a platform and with cap in hand starts to sing The Mountains of Mourne, the verses of which alternate with McAlpineâs Fusiliers, sung by the other actors.
Actor 1 Oh Mary, this Londonâs a wonderful sight
With people here working by day and by night
They donât sow potatoes, nor barley, nor wheat
But thereâs gangs of them digging for gold in the street.
I stripped to the skin with Darky Flynn
Way down upon the Isle of Grain
With Horseface Toole then I knew the rule
No money if you stop for rain.
McAlpineâs God was a well-filled hod
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared
If you pride your life donât join by Christ
With McAlpineâs Fusiliers.
At least when I asked them thatâs what I was told
So I just took a hand at this digging for gold
But for all that I found there I might as well be
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.
Immediately after this, the full cast breaks into a choreographed movement around the room as they sing Nothing But the Same Old Story.
All Cast I was just about nineteen
When I landed on their shore
With my eyes big as...