OBITUARY

New Zealand Tablet, 2 December 1920, Page 22

OBITUARY

REVEREND EDWARD DUFFY, PATE A. Yesterday (November 26), I was deeply grieved when a wire came to tell me of the death of Father Edward Duffy, palish priest of Patea. During the years that I lived in I aranaki I came to know Father Duffy very intimately, cUid since then, whenever possible, 1 never lost an opportunity of visiting him when in the North Island. He was a fine typo of Irish sag art ; a charitable, zealous, large-hearted priest; he was as gentle as a woman, and pain long endured had taught him many lessons such as are only learned by patient sufferers on earth ; what lie did suffer, and for how many years, only his friends know; for. it never dimmed Ins brightness and never clouded his geniality or quenched the light of his brilliant wit. He died in the prime of life: I should say ho was . about 44 years of age. or at least 1.0 years he had been in precarious health, and had undergone many and serious operations. His probation is now' ended, and he has gone home leaving ns who knew him v eil poorer for a friend in a world where friends are few. I don’t think there was a more lovable priest in New Zealand than Edward Duffy; and there certainly are hut few' for whose loss at least one priest could feel so sorry. I know that his fellow-workers in Wellington will pray for him . 1 know that his faithful peoplp in Patea will remember him; and I trust the editor of the Tablet may ask all his readers to unite with him in praying for “refreshment, light, and peace” for his deceased friend.—R.l.P. — J. K.

THE “BLACK AND TAN.” (A Street Ballad which may he sung at P.P.Ass. gatherings). f am an English Black and Tan by the name of Johnnie Raw, The light of day ray blooming eyes in London town first saw. -And now tun years f have campaigned in Ireland’s lovely isle. Where I have never touched a thing that I did not defile. I fought and killed a, rebel man—ho was ninety years of age And once I bayonet ted a kid in righteous British rage; 1 burned homes and looted shops and stole gewgaws and chains, Ami naked men I flogged with glee and laughed to see their pains. Archbishop Walsh, he is a man both delicate and old, Into his house I broke one night with other Britons bold. 1 won my spurs in Jones’s Road the day that we mowed down Unarmed men and children weak who came from Dublin town. Lord French he is a good old sport and Greenwood is the same ; We robbed and slaughtered Irishmen and never got no blame. And Bonai' Law, he is a toff, Lloyd George an all right bloke. They never growl when Irish towns go up in fire and smoke. When dry you break into a pub and fill yourself with gin, When drunk you fire into a crowd and hit or miss you win. So long live French and Greenwood, Lloyd George and llonar Law. For they alone would tolerate a scamp like Johnnie Raw.