THE DAISY HILL HOTEL. (MAGHERAFELT WORKHOUSE)
Ah! then, Willie dear, and did you hear.
The news that’s goin’ round?
All alien tramps must cease to tread
The Magherafelt Union ground.
Like wise the Old Age Pensioners,
The same fate has befel,
Who, homeless, sought for comfort In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
Then Willie said, “What will we do?
Where find a home so clean?
Sure did’nt Lord Craigavon say It was fit to lodge a queen?
The very air about it
Breathes a kind of magic spell,
That keeps us all sojourning,
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
Then Tim he started praising
The well cooked generous grub,
The only fault, he had to find,
Was the Porter and his tub
How on a cold and frosty night
Before one food could smell
He was obliged to take a bath
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
But Willie said; Where could you find?
In any pauper inn
Such a set of kind officials
Who never rubbed it in?
From Master down to boilerman
They always treat us well
And now ‘ tis said we’ve got to go
From the Daisy Hill Hotel.
Then Tim began reviling
The men that, “Turned them down”
And said that those who cast them forth
would have the good Lord’s frown
To be sent out upon the road
To sleep in wood or dell,
And long for the snug comfort
-Of Daisy Hill Hotel.
But Willie he was thinking,
And he hit upon a plan,
By which he meant to circumvent
The Council’s Vice – Chairman,
He said he’d prove by figures,
And to Mr Cousley tell,
The reason why all tramps should stay
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
He counted it, and counted it,
And by calculation found
The cost of tramp’s maintenance,
But a farthing in the pound –
And no farmer would begrudge that,
But in contentment dwell,
When he knows they’re in safe keeping,
In Daisy Hill Hotel
But Tim the pessimistic, groaned,
We’re aliens all forlorn,
And so we’ll be deported
To the place where we were born
They’ll open wide the ambulance,
And throw us in pell mell,
And once away, its aye away,
From Daisy Hill Hotel.
I’ve read a poem in last weeks “Mid”,
And indeed I got a sell,
for I see the poor will have to go
From the Daisy Hill Hotel.
But let them keep their spirits up,
For in Scripture we have read
That the Son of God had ne’er a spot
Wherein to lay his head.
O God be with the Councillors,
Who ruled in days of yore,
For the sufferings of the medicant
Their hearts were often sore,
For brave O’Neill of Maghera I oft my Aves tell,
Sure he got good measures for the poor
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
Indeed I’m not at all surprised,
Your diet is the best:
When the officials get their Quiotin
Don’t the paupers get the rest?
From the Master to the porter,
They know their duty well,
And life is like a summer’s dream
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
A word to all new Councillors,
From Slievegallion to Glenone:
Don’t call us poor a “nuisance”,
Nor cast at us a stone
But speak of us in kindness
For God alone can tell,
Who of your members yet may board
In the Daisy Hill Hotel.
Then Willie tell the chairman In their ruling, there’s a flaw,
“Occupation makes a title”—-
Sure Larry knows the law,
But when tools get into office,
Both Tim and me can tell,
They’d try to claim the wind that blows
O’er the Daisy Hill Hotel.
So we just hold a meeting
And make our business plain;
That all the alien paupers,
Must at this Inn remain,
And when their days are ended,
Their “Good Will”, they cannot sell,
But they’ll get a pauper’s funeral,
From the Daisy Hill Hotel.’
“Incog Nita”.
1927
