Talk:Jim Phelan (Irish writer)

I don't think this is a fake at all. Do contact me and I'll try and help you build his life story. David Cowell (david@davidcowell.net) — Preceding unsigned comment added by 81.104.97.123 (talk) 07:17, 7 April 2012 (UTC)

dont read this he is a fake and never knew jim phelan — Preceding unsigned comment added by 86.174.68.229 (talk • contribs) 19:58, 19 July 2011 (UTC)

Untitled
Jim Phelan was my grandfather. He was a rogue, of that there is no doubt! I was very disappointed to see that no mention of my mother, his daughter Catherine Mary Phelan, was in evidence. He has a long line of descendents in the UK, but to us, a lot of his past is a mystery. Yes, we have the books and published articles, but mum rarely spoke of her father, as he deserted her to roam at an early age. I've read a lot of his books, and at one stage even tried to contact his widow, Kathleen, but got no response. I don't even know exactly where he is buried, or what happened to Kathleen. All the family have done a bit of detective work over the years, and slowly we've found out things. When mum died, her 'little black bag' contained letters and pictures, so that whetted our curiosity. The BBC archive of him talking is really strange to watch for me. I never met him (along with my siblings). We all knew of him, but as I said, his name was rarely mentioned when we were kids. I am the youngest of six, and between us, we have many children and grandchildren, so Jim lives on (whether he likes it or not!!!). He wrote this poem 'Drifter' while in his favourite place, the New Forest. I'm told he often said if there was one place he could settle, the New Forest would be it;

DRIFTER, BY JIM PHELAN

Myself, when a boy, was a failure at home, For I always felt wishful to ramble and roam While my family said I was fickle as foam And rebuked me in dignified high tones.. My duty in life, very plainly they showed, And good moral advice day and night they bestowed, But in spite of it all, I set out on the road And I went along, counting the milestones.

My friends all declared I should ramble no more, For I’d meet a bad end on a faraway shore, Or I’d wander and die on some desolate moor Where the crows would come picking my white bones. To comfort I’d come, in the towns I was told; A fine job and big money to have and to hold, Or to find me a wife who’d have silver and gold, But I’d rather go counting the milestones.

With nothing to buy and nothing to sell, That I roam far and near you can easily tell, And the good people everywhere taught me right well, That all drifters and vagrants were vile drones. Each sensible citizen keeps to a base, And I realise well it should be my own case To reside in a home, and to stay in one place ……..but I laugh while I’m counting the milestones.

This says a lot about Jim. Funny thing is, although I never knew him, I've always loved writing, and my hobby? Rambling!!! www.pearlsofthepeak.blogspot.com Lesjsin (talk) 08:53, 14 March 2008 (UTC)