Review
There are perhaps hundreds of thousands of books inspired by the emerald isle and I've certainly read my share. Stories from 'the old country' that warm the heart, spark the imagination and reaffirm the human spirit. And although fantastic reads, many have left me feeling as if I'd just read a grand and glorious obituary. Not with Four Green Fields. It's less a ticket back to a world long gone by than a reminder that such magic is still very much alive right here and now. Four Green Fields is not an epitaph but an invitation to seed your own patch and to watch it grow."
Colin Cunningham
American Television and Film Actor, Writer, Director
Falling Skies, Stargate SG-1
"The read is an exhilarating seesaw of emotions that straddles both sides of the Atlantic covering immigration, family survival in a war zone and a playful indulgence in Irish culture lessons on perseverance. The 'voices' induce a knack for storytelling to a cooperative experience. The universal theme of cultural nourishment is central to the remembered stories and circumstances of growing up with the otherness of one's inherited bloodline.
There is a sagacity of self-analysis that becomes apparent with a reflective nod to the fourth voice as a muse. Apparently, all three voices echo individual tales, but the reflection morphs into a conventional attitude and universal sameness that becomes an important gift of friendship.
My experience in reading this was the acknowledgement of what was learned and what should never be forgotten. The collaboration brewed up a special blend of memoir that resonates in my mind and will continue to give me laughter and some tears, even as I write here."
Barbara H. O'Daly
Entertainment Properties Holding, Ltd.; Trustee
The Television Distribution Company;
C.E.O. and co-creator of "An Evening At The Improv"
Creative Writer M.F.A. Florida Atlantic University.
"Greg McVicker, J.P. Sexton and Mark Rickerby have created bridges between the old world and the new. The use of lyrical language in phrases and stylistic devices helps direct their readers through the adventures of the heroes and heroines, blending together in seamless tales of humor and sadness - the cornerstones of Irish storytelling. The reflective poetic anthems and prose hold deeper messages about love, loss, war and self-acceptance."
Stacie Y. Guerin
Chairperson of Children's and Culture
Maryland Irish Charities
"The stories and poems in Four Green Fields are told with a rare honesty tinged by wit and melancholy. Those who leave Ireland carry bits of the country with them wherever they go. The authors of Four Green Fields have more bits than most."
Frank Vizard. Journalist and Author of "Why a Curveball Curves" and "The 21ST Century Soldier" (co-author).
"There is a saying that there are only two types of people in the world, the Irish and those who wish they were. "Four Green Fields' does indeed welcome the reader home to the Emerald Isle with vivid memories of the times known as The Troubles.
With prose and poetry, the authors lead us on a nostalgic and irreverent journey through their lives and those of their families.
"Four Green Fields" is an amazing collection of memories both touching and humorous, giving the reader a rare and fascinating glimpse into the lives and times of these Irish authors and their families."
Frances Powell, "A Ballysea Mystery" series.
"Lady of the Wye" and "The Bodyguard."
--This text refers to the
paperback edition.
From the Author
"There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't yet met." ~ William Butler Yeats.
Céad Míle Fáilte! What about ye? And what's the craic?
First, and without further ado, we would like to take just a wee moment here and extend One Hundred Thousand Welcomes to every one of you who have chanced upon this book. But before we get too far into the banter, stories, shenanigans, and poetry as told by the three of us wee lads who hail from County Antrim, County Donegal, and sure, why not, County California by way of Belfast, Northern Ireland, let us introduce ourselves.
Before we do, though, we would like to point out the word 'craic' is often mispronounced in several parts of our wee blue and green planet. We have heard people say "cray-ick". To the ears of three wee Irish lads, this may as well be the sound of nails being slowly dragged down a chalkboard, or teeth being rubbed on sandpaper and then a block of cement. If you are cringing from what you just read, let us fix this for you. It is pronounced "crack".
Now that we have that sorted, sit tight, as we all have the 'Gift of the Gab' and could end up talking the leg off a stool, so we could! Which is exactly what we do between the pages of this week book! But sure, isn't that what being Irish is all about? Stories and a bit of craic, all nicely wrapped up in shenanigans while enjoying a pint or a cup of tea and sitting amongst others, including our dearly departed, all the while having a wake in honour and celebration of their lives! Anything for a bit of a céilí! That might sound a wee bit morbid, so it might, but sure, if it didn't, it wouldn't be Irish, so it wouldn't!
This is the first of two or perhaps even three books which we are currently considering (Author's note: I guess I should have maybe asked my two fellow authors about that before putting those words down on paper). Sorry, lads. It's out in the open now! The idea behind this project actually came about by way of a suggestion from one of our other authors, J.P., who you will get to know in just a wee minute - well, I guess that actually depends on how fast or slow you choose to read.
During a conversation after one of our joint book launches at the Dublin, Ohio Irish Festival, J.P. mentioned that we should give this a wee go. The more I thought about it, (well actually, that was only on the day when I sat down to start typing up this introduction), it made sense we should do a book on Ireland by itself, and a second one that looks at cultural experiences and engagements with people from all demographics in other parts of the world as has been experienced by each one of us, rather than lump them into one book. The third book, well, that will be the B side of all the material that didn't make it into this book. I am sure it will include more crazy adventures of three Irish authors (remember,one by way of County California via Belfast) as we go forth in promoting this book and the shenanigans which will accompany it.
Believe me, and unless we suddenly become famous overnight and have a wee New York Times Bestseller on our hands or win the Man Booker International Prize since we are all international because we live in different parts of the world, we will pay a hell of a lot more money in making two or three different books than we will make from them. But, to have a sequel behind this makes us seem much more important (kind of like Star Wars,Harry Potter, or perhaps even Lord of the Rings, so it does. Well, it could also be very much said that occurrence is only within our own wee collective heads, so it is).
As you will see here, these opening introductions are written like how we Irish speak: very much from the heart and soul. We are known as storytellers for a reason, in that how we write is how we speak. Engaging the audiences that afford us the chance of doing so, even if the recipient is giving us such an opportunity since they are more interested in the sounds of our accents rather than what we actually have to say!
If you wish to learn a wee bit about each of us all, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and grab a copy of our wee book! You may require a bit of bog roll (toilet paper) to dry your eyes though as we will leave you 'gurning your lamps out' in some places!
Thanks for giving us this chance the opportunity! Cheers!
From the Inside Flap
Chuckie Our Da
"It's not that the Irish are cynical. It's rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everyone and everybody." ~ Brendan Behan.
My older sister, Karen, coined the phrase Chuckie Our Da shortly after our father (who aren't in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name) was home on one of his leaves from sea. This term of endearment came long after she learned he was not a telephone as she had thought. Since he was away for such long periods at a time, he could only call home while his ship was docked in port. Our ma, Catherine, would hand Karen the receiver and say, "Here. Talk to your daddy."
Sons such as Mark, J.P., and myself were and are often left to recoil into our bodies like turtles seeking shelter when our da's opened their gubs at what we would consider to be the most inappropriate and inopportune of times. Quite often, this involves perfect strangers.
I was out with my da picking up a couple of buns and four tins of soup. For a man who spent his life at sea, one would not expect a Chief Petty Officer Chef to be now choosing to eat like a bird and the kind of somber-looking meals that were fed to prisoners back in his day. Since he is apparently happy with his meal choices now, I really have nothing to complain about. The complaint I do have, however, is when he decided to approach a lady who was standing a short distance from us, minding her own business.
My father left my side and felt it was a time to launch into one of his moments. As usual, I was left wondering, "Jesus Christ. What is he up too now?" It is always an unpredictable and cringe-worthy event. With his thick Belfast accent, he walked up to his unsuspecting victim. As if in slow motion, I reeled in horror as the words freely flowed out of his gub and onto the ears of the lady and everyone else within hearing distance.
"My mummy always told me to be nice to old ladies."
The woman who had been pre-selected as the recipient of his unrelenting lack of flattery looked at him but said nothing. It took a split second, which felt more like an eternity, to see if she truly understood what it was he said.
I did not know whether to make a hard exit stage right, turn on my heels and walk straight back out of the doors that I had only seconds before walked through, or make a run for it. It was clearly and painfully obvious to my forty-something year-old eyes that the lady was more than twenty years my father's junior. Who's calling who old here? And why is that appropriate? I was surprised she did not take her handbag and beat him about the head with it for in this moment, it was wholly warranted and very much well-deserved.
"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself." ~ George Bernard Shaw.
At that awkward age, I rejected many things he cherished, including Irish music, opting instead for The Beach Boys or Jan and Dean, which he was equally indifferent to. I also groused when he dragged my brother Paul and I to the Scottish Highland Games every year.
One of dad's friends, who shall go nameless to prevent embarrassment, found a bunch of telephone poles lying on the ground next to the parking lot in preparation for the event and decided to give the pole toss a try. The problem was he was a wee man, completely untrained in such an event. My brother, friends and I watched in rapt wonder as he pulled one out of the pile, walked it up hand over hand, nestled it into the crook of his neck, wedged his fingers under it, and actually got it off the ground.
"See, boys! This isn't so heavy! This is easy, so it is!" he yelled.
Then the pole started to lean. He walked in that direction but overcompensated, causing it to lean the other way. He then ran that way, setting off a study in Sir Isaac Newton's Third Law - for every action, there is an equal and positive reaction. Soon he was running to the left for twenty feet or so, then to the right, then back to the left,growing dangerously close to the parked vehicles. Our gasps rose and fell with his efforts until his grip finally weakened and he dropped the pole.
We watched in horror as it fell across and shattered four windshields, then rolled down the car hoods, leaving deep gouges in the paint. We all stood silently, mouths agape, wondering what to do -including him. After a few horrible moments, he yelled "Run!"
Because he was the adult, of course, we did so, the lesson for all us impressionable children being, "If you damage the property of others,runaway and avoid all responsibility."
Danny Houton, Malin Head, Co. Donegal
"The Irish are very fair people; they never speak well of one another." ~ Samuel Johnson.
It was on one of these cold January nights when my grandfather informed me that we were going out with a boat crew the next morning to haul in lobster pots. We had the usual drinks until the wee hours of the morning and it was decided that I was to collect him at nine a.m. We were meeting the crew in Dock's Pub (The pub was a landmark, overlooking the Malin Head pier. It was too far off the beaten track for the police so most of the time the owners closed whenever they wanted despite the law governing opening and closing times.)
I decided to have the same as he was having, and after two rounds (which was really four drinks each), I figured that the fishing trip must have been cancelled as it was only after 10 a.m. and we appeared to be settling in for a fairly serious drinking session. I looked out to sea when I parked the car and remarked how the waves were especially rough. I could only imagine being tossed and thrown about in a small boat.
I lost count of how many rounds we had consumed, but it must have amounted to at least sixteen drinks apiece. You can imagine my surprise when, four and a half hours later, the skipper finished his drink and told us that it was time to get the boat. Apparently, we had been waiting for the 2 p.m.tide to come in.
With the churning winter waters of the Atlantic tossing us about, I had no concern about how many lobsters we would catch. I wasn't even concerned about being swept overboard. I was too busy fighting off the feeling of sea-sickness. Normally, the water would have no effect on me, but normally I wouldn't be in a small boat,having just finished a hardcore, four-hour drinking session just minutes previously. The fact that I hadn't eaten since the day before definitely didn't help.
All the boat crew were busy hauling in lobsters' pots and setting new bait for the next catch. My grandfather stood upright in the boat, both hands buried deep in his pockets,rocking back and forth as he surveyed the agitated sea. After a few minutes he announced to nobody in particular that he was hungry. Now,when you are out on the sea with a bunch of hard-drinking, wild-looking Donegal fishermen, there is no talk of food. The only thing resembling food would be the live fish which were brought up from the deep in the lobster pots. That is where my grandfather headed in search of his lunch.
Whistling with that tongue lilt of his, he reached down into the body of the boat and picked up a crab which was very much alive and kicking. I watched him like a hawk, having no idea what he was planning to do with the crab. After all, there was no way to cook the crab on the boat. What he did next shocked a couple of the wild fishermen as much as it did me. He bent forward from the waist and smashed open the crab's back on the floor of the boat. Then he stood up straight, raised the broken crab to his mouth, and sucked the juice out of it before plunging his fingers into the meat and scooping that into his mouth.
One of the Vikings looked at me and said, "I hope he is not a relative of yours." I looked him back square in the eye and replied, "Never saw him before this morning." Then I did my best to hold the contents of my stomach down until we returned safely back to the dock.
From the Back Cover
Welcome Home to the Emerald Isle!
The authors of Four Green Fields have gone above and beyond on theirpromise to bring us "wild Irish banter and craic." They have literallythrown open the doors of their collective closets and introduced us tothe family skeletons, put flesh back on their bones and made them dance!
Not only do we get a glimpse into the wacky world of their Irishupbringing, but we are introduced to fathers, grandfathers and uncles -utterly devoid of any sense of political correctness - who at times went about their daily lives oblivious to the havoc they wreaked aroundthem, but at other times knew full well the embarrassment they werecausing their families.
About the Author
J.P. Sexton grew up in the extreme North of Ireland, on a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean.
The area is so far "off the map," very few tourists have made it up that far - hardly surprising when one considers most Irish people have not ventured that far North either. As a result of its remoteness, the people of Inishowen seem to be a different breed from the rest of Ireland. It is this untethered nature of the people and wild nature of the landscape which inspired J.P. to start writing as a young boy.
J.P. learned how to be resourceful and face challenges head-on. This inherent survival mode has stood him well over the decades and miles he has journeyed through life's odyssey. No matter how many continents he has crossed, he can hear the call of his ancestors whispering to him on the wind when it is time for him to return home.
The peace of mind and soul in his native Donegal is like no other place on earth.
Greg McVicker was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland.
He grew up during the heightened period of sectarian hatred and a violent, political war known as 'The Troubles' which claimed the lives of 3,700 people. At age fifteen, his parents relocated their family by way of immigration to Winnipeg, Canada. He describes this as an 'Everlasting Homesickness.'
Writing unashamedly from the heart, Greg composes stories and narrative poems which delve into arduous topics regarding the human journey of life. He composes his works as a social worker, drawing inspiration from his experiences and working with marginalized populations.
His first book, a personal memoir, saw countless people equate their life experiences to his in their search for a sense of belonging while exploring their past.
Greg conducts speaking engagements within Canada and the USA. These are based on his experiences and memories of growing up during 'The Troubles' within Northern Ireland's dark history.
![Four Green Fields: Wild Irish Banter & Stories, Shenanigans & Poetry. by [Greg McVicker, J.P. Sexton, Mark Rickerby]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51ZnLcdghhL._SY346_.jpg)
