A Bit o' Complainin' - A Bit o' History

Prisoners from the front - Winslow Homer

Those three Confederate soldiers in the foreground describe my week very well.

Left: I can do this. Sure I didn't get squat for sleep Sunday night but dang it, I got this whipped.

Middle: Holy crap, I can't make it to the weekend. Hell, I can't even make it to retirement!

Right: Heck, today's Friday, eight hours and then I have the weekend. Oh yeah before I forget - Yank, that's gotta be the stupidest looking hat I ever did see.

Yes, it was a rough week. I kept waking up close to midnight (either side of that witching hour) and thinking, "Whoa, I feel so rested, what a great night's sleep..."

Only to check the time and realize I've only been in bed for a couple of hours. The rest of the night goes well, but by 0530 I wake up and groan that I could have slept thirty more minutes. But nature calls and at my age one must listen.

So you get short rations today. I'm tired and just a wee bit cranky. Sorry Joe, but it's a common condition amongst fellows our age, having to get up to attend to (ahem) "business" and then being cranky about it. You know what I mean.

About the painting, I really like Winslow Homer and that painting is one of my favorites. I found the title intriguing, Prisoners from the front, I don't ordinarily think of the Civil War (yup, that's what I call it) as having a "front" per se. Now World War I and World War II had clearly delineated fronts. But the Civil War I always thought of as being closer to the Napoleonic Wars, the so-called front was the area between the two armies, usually fairly concentrated and not stretching for miles.

In reality though, there were multiple fronts in that war. Though most of us tend to think of the one in Virginia and the one along the Mississippi River. There were others though, usually smaller. So I guess the concept of "the front" does apply. I just never thought of it that way. Please feel free to enlighten me in the comments. (Like y'all need permission...)

I've always been a fan of military art, but one thing to bear in mind - war is never as picturesque as the artists see it. Photographers are better at catching the real grit and pain of war.

Civil War Battle Scene - William B. T. Trego

For some reason, I can't think of that war without thinking of the Irish. On both sides...

Tears me up it does.

The Irish Volunteer

Me name is Tim McDonnell, I’m a native of the Isle,

I was born in Ireland’s bogs and left when but a child.

Me father fought in’98, for liberty so dear;

He fell upon old Vinegar Hill, like an Irish volunteer.

Then raise the harp of Erin, boys, the flag we all revere,

We’ll fight and fall beneath the folds like Irish volunteers!

Then raise the harp of Erin, boys, the flag we all revere,

We’ll fight and fall beneath the folds like Irish volunteers!

When I was driven from me home by an oppressor’s hand,

I cut me sticks and greased me brogues, came over to this land.

I found a home and many friends, and some that I love dear;

I’ll stick to them like bricks and glue says the Irish Volunteer.

Then raise the harp of Erin, boys, the flag we all revere,

We’ll fight and fall beneath the folds like Irish Volunteers!

Then raise the harp of Erin, boys, the flag we all revere,

We’ll fight and fall beneath the folds like Irish Volunteers!

Now when the traitors of the south commence their warlike raid,

I quickly laid down my hod, to the devil went me spade!

To a recruiting office I went, that happened to be near,

And joined the good old sixty-ninth like an Irish Volunteer.

Then fill the ranks, and march away! No traitor’s do we fear;

We’ll drive them all to blazes, says the Irish Volunteer.

Then fill the ranks, and march away! No traitor’s do we fear;

We’ll drive them all to blazes, says the Irish Volunteer.

When the Prince of Wales came o’er, and made a hullabaloo,

Oh, everybody was turned-out in gold and tinsel too;

But then the good old sixty-ninth they didn’t like lords or peers,

They wouldn’t give a damn for Kings, the Irish volunteers!

We love the land of liberty, it’s laws we will revere,

“But the devil take the nobility!” says the Irish volunteer.

We love the land of liberty, it’s laws we will revere,

“But the devil take the nobility!” says the Irish volunteer.

Now if the traitors in the south should ever cross our roads,

We’ll drive them all to blazes, as Saint Patrick did the toads,

Well give them all short nooses that come just below the ears

Made strong and good from Irish hemp, by Irish volunteers.

Then here’s to brave McClellan, whom the army now reveres,

He’ll lead us on to victory, say the Irish volunteers.

Then here’s to brave McClellan, whom the army now reveres,

He’ll lead us on to victory, say the Irish volunteers.

Now fill your glasses up, me boys, a toast come drink with me,

May Erin’s harp and Starry Flag united ever be;

May traitors quake, and rebels shake, and tremble in their fears,

When next we meet the Yankee boys, the Irish volunteers.

God bless the name of Washington, that name this land reveres,

Success to Meagher and Nugent and the Irish volunteers.

God bless the name of Washington, that name this land reveres,

Success to Meagher and Nugent and the Irish volunteers.