2nd Prize, Primary Level

The Wicker Cradle

Object No 77 Wicker Cradle
National Museum Decorative Arts & History


The Wicker cradle in all its ways,

Held many children of many ages.

Poor sweet children who never survived,

Cause the family did not have enough spuds to provide.


The darkness of the famine came,

and spread over the land like blood in a vein.

“Farewell Ireland,” many cried,

While others tried hard to survive.


Mother’s little baby passed away,

While the rest of the family was cutting hay.

Bridget wept and Eily moaned,

and mother and father wailed and groaned.


They left their home, down country roads.

and they carried their heavy loads.

Other families were walking out,

Then they heard a familiar shout.


It was a landlord in all his pride,

With his loving, pretty new bride.

“Give us food,” the people wailed,

“Because our potato crop seemed to have failed.”


And so they begged day and night,

Trying to survive through the potato blight.

The next morn they went ashore,

To gather mussels more and more.


Many people were forlorn and lost,

While the comfortable landlord was the boss.

And many people left Ireland or died,

But we will always remember them and the blight.

Comments about this page

  • A tremendous poem Saoirse. A very sad tale but one that must be told.

    By Joe Grimes (11/06/2014)

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