St. Patrick in Legende und Folklore
St. Patrick - Irlands Schutzheiliger
Patrick stammte vermutlich aus England, kam als Sklave nach Irland und war
der erste in der Geschichte, aus dessen Feder schriftliche Zeugnisse gegen die
Sklaverei überliefert sind.
Über ihn sind viele Legende und Sagen bekannt. Die Legende besagt, dass er
bei seinen Wanderungen durch Irland nach Dublin kam - damals noch ein armseliges
kleines Dorf. Vor dem Dorf erklomm er einen Hügel, ließ seinen Blick über die
Landschaft schweifen und sprach: "Aus diesem kleinen Dorf wird eines Tages eine
große, bedeutende Stadt, mit stets zunehmenden Reichtümern, die schließlich
Hauptsitz des Königreiches wird."
Im Jahre 1776, in der Zeit des amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitskriegs, soll der
Einfluss von St. Patrick sogar den Amerikanern zum Sieg über die Briten
verholfen haben. General George Washington, dessen Armee die von den Briten
verteidigte Stadt belagerte, die später seinen Namen tragen sollte, wählte
einmal als Anerkennung der zahlreichen Iren unter seinen Streitkräften das
Kennwort "St. Patrick". Und genau am 17. März, dem
Namenstag des Heiligen, ergaben sich die Briten - ohne Kampf. Als sie die Stadt
verließen, spielte eine amerikanische Band die fröhliche Weise "St. Patrick's
Day in the Morning". Seitdem erklingt immer am St. Patrick's Day in Washington
diese Melodie.
In "Die Wahrheit über die Iren" (Beck-Verlag) fasst Terry Eagleton die
Geschichte von St. Patrick so zusammen:
"Als Schutzheiliger hat er folgende Nachteile:
- Wir wissen eigentlich nicht, wer er war.
- Wir wissen eigentlich nicht, wo er herkam.
- Er war nicht der erste christliche Missionar in Irland.
- Es hat ihn möglicherweise zweimal gegeben.
- Er hat möglicherweise gar nicht existiert.
Abgesehen davon ist er ein fabelhafter Schutzheiliger."
Womit Prof. Eagleton recht hat. Ein Hoch auf St. Patrick - wie auch immer man
ihn feiern möchte!
St. Patrick And The Snakes
(von Crawford Howard)
You've heard of the snakes in Australia
You've heard of the snakes in Japan,
You've heard of the rattler - that old Texas battler -
Whose bite can mean death to a man.
They've even got snakes in old England –
Nasty adders all yellow and black –
But in Erin's green isle we can say with a smile,
They're away - and they're not coming back!
Now years ago things was quite different –
There was serpents all over the place.
If ye climbed up a ladder ye might meet an adder
Or a cobra might lep at your face,
If ye went for a walk up the Shankill,
Or a dander along Sandy Row,
A flamin' great python would likely come writhin'
And take a lump outa yer toe!
Now there once was a guy called St. Patrick,
A preacher of fame and renown –
An' he hoisted his sails and came over from Wales
To convert all the heathens in Down,
And he hirpled about through the country
With a stick and a big pointy hat,
An' he kept a few sheep that he sold on the cheap,
But sure, there's no money in that!
He was preachin' a sermon in Comber
An' getting quite carried away
And he mentioned that Rome had once been his home
(But that was the wrong thing to say!)
For he felt a sharp pain in his cheek-bone
And he stuck up a hand 'till his bake
And the thing that had lit on his gub (an' had bit)
Was a wee Presbyterian snake!
Now the snake slithererd down from the pulpit
(Expectin' St. Patrick to die),
But yer man was no dozer - he lifted his crozier
An' he belted the snake in the eye,
And he says to the snake, "Listen, legless!
You'd better just take yerself aff!
If you think that that trick will work with St. Patrick
You must be far worser nor daft!"
So the snake slithered home in a temper
An' it gathered its mates all aroun'
An' it says, "Listen, mates! We'll get on wer skates,
I reckon it's time to leave town!
It's no fun when you bite a big fella
An' sit back and expect him to die,
An' he's so flamin' quick with thon big, crooked stick
That he hits ye a dig in the eye!
So a strange sight confronted St. Patrick
When he work up the very next day.
The snakes with long faces were all packin' their cases
And headin' for Donegal Quay.
Some got on cheap flights to Majorca
And some booked apartments in Spain.
They were all headin' out and there wasn't a doubt
That they weren't going to come back again.
So the reason the snakes left old Ireland
(An' this is no word of a lie),
They all went to places to bite people's faces
And be reasonably sure that they'd die.
An' the oul' snakes still caution their grandsons,
"For God's sake beware of St. Pat!
An' take yerselves aff if you see his big staff,
An' his cloak, an' his big pointy hat!"
(printed in "A Bit of Crack from Belfast" by Doreen McBride, Adare Press,
Banbridge, 1994)
Patrick was a Gentleman
Patrick was a gentleman, came from decent people
He built a church in Dublin town, and on it put a steeple
His father was a Gallagher, his mother was a Grady
His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy, his uncle was a Brady
The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the Hill of Howth, sir
But there's a hill much higher still, much higher than them both, sir
On the top of this high hill St. Patrick preached his sermom
Which drove the frogs into the bogs and banished all the vermin
There's not a mile of Eirann's isle where dirty vermin musters
But there he put his dear fore-foot and murdered them in clusters
The frogs went hop and the toads went pop slapdash into the water
And the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter
Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue he charmed with sweet discourses
And dined on them in Killaloe on soups and second courses
Where blind worms crawling in the grass disgusted all the nation
Right down to hell with a holy spell he changed their situation
No wonder that them Irish lads should be so gay and frisky
Sure St. Pat he taught them that as well as making whiskey
No wonder that the saint himself should understand distilling
For his mother kept a shebeen shop in the town of Enniskillen
Was I but so fortunate as to be back in Munster
I'd be bound that from that ground I never more would once stir
There St. Patrick planted turf and cabbages and praties
Pigs galore, mo gra, mo stor, alter boys and ladies.
Air: Maggie in the Woods
Source: Christy Moore Songbook, F. Connolly, Ed. (Brandon, London, 1984)
