Cry, Annie, Cry!
Cry, Annie, cry!
Cold in the grave full of secrets watered in pain
I wonder do they see you as I see the woman
Named Annie, birthed from the stomach of a starved lioness
Cry, Annie, cry
Scream out your suffering to a world asking why?
No longer a place where your anguish is misunderstood
Annie
Did your tears stop
On the day that you died?
Clare Kinnaird, 2025.
Flyntland
Sun 23rd Feb 2025 15:13
Clare, what a story I am so glad I asked.
People were treated like animals, cruelty was the norm, and pity from anywhere was in very short supply. I am ashamed to say that we (the English) while not alone, were among the worst offenders. We owned them, took their land, and offered nothing.
Women were mere pawns, to be used but not supported, they were expendable. The resulting babies were their fault and their responsibility - Oh! how they must have suffered
The church did not come out well either - women who could not support their babies were forced to give them up and then sent on their way to manage as best they could.
This was even happening in living memory - the shame of having a baby out of wedlock was such that the mother was expected to give up her child before going home to her family.
A comparatively recent discovery of an Irish Convent Cemetery full of unidentified babies and small children in unmarked graves, and covering many years, was a testament to the tragic loss of young lives in mass care.
Times have changed - children count and help is available, in one form or another, to keep families together.
Your poem and its meaning are important - those days should not be swept under the carpet but used as an example not to make such mistakes again and to move on with compassion.