Capital Times
March 17, 1942

In Madison, St. Patrick’s Day was observed with the traditional wearing of the green, including green earmuffs, begorrah! Following his annual custom, J. Edward O’Connell in charge of the savings department of the First National Bank, made sure today that all officers and employees of the bank paid due homage to St. Patrick. O’Connell providing a large, green carnation for each member of the bank staff.

Many others who trace their ancestry back to the Old Sod commemorated the saint’s day fittingly by attending early mass. Those with March 17 birthdays celebrated with shamrock and clay pipe trimmings. Because Madison’s old time Irish societies have become inactive, there were no special group observances scheduled for the day.

In Ireland today, St. Patrick’s Day is likely to be observed as quietly as in Madison, according to Prof. Myles Dillon, of the University Department of Gaelic and Irish History and Literature.

In past year’s Professor and Mrs. Dillon have received a shipment of shamrock from their native land, but this verdant emblem of the Emerald Isle has failed to arrive as yet this year.

Dillon says that it sometimes takes three months for a letter to reach him from Ireland, and he may receive the shamrock in May, when Norwegians celebrate their Syttende Mai. He hopes it will be forthcoming, however. The University Irish scholar disclosed today that he has received a letter from Thomas Higgins, 92, former mayor of Neenah, enclosing a poem and requesting information about the old country... Higgins received the poem in 1900, together with a bit of shamrock direct from Ireland. Those whose hearts remain true to the land of St. Patrick will like the sentiment and mete of this bit of verse:

Only a bit of shamrock
From out in Irish sod,
Where your father bravely struggled,
Where your baby feet have trod;

Only a bit of shamrock
From the dear old home,
Where your parents’ prayers have mingled
Close to its native stone.

And prayed to starry heaven
As your mother prayed to God
While counting her beads with fingers
Well-chastened by duty’s road.

Only a bit of shamrock
Counted by grateful hands;
Oh, may it bear a blessing
To send off, departed lands,

To guard your heart’s best treasure
To bless your ripening years
For a noble life and sainted death
When quitting this vale of tears.