Áine: A dear friend of mine, a marine carpenter and blacksmith from western England once told me a story. He remembers when the roads of England where lined seasonaly with horse drawn Wardos (or Voodrons), and then, when he was a teenager, those long lines of Kompania declined. He had gotten his first motorcycle and was terring across the country side when he came to a dirt road rutted with cart wheals. "Larry... I knew just what I would find at the end of that lane, and sure enough, I followed it down and found a ring a wagons, with Gypsies sitting around a fire cooking their meal. I waved and turned and left them to their meal. It was their time, not mine."
Áine, their company is yours in a way that Country People, Gadjeh, or Golcs can never understand. You and I breath the air because of the crime of survival our ansestors committed in the face of laws which outlawed our blood in every land into which we were driven. "There is a bilaw to say we mun be on our way, and another to say we can't wander..." Ours is a brotherhood and sistership of the victory of survival. Our pride is pride in the face of hatred and insult - and there is little more valuable than that. When they look down their nose at us, remember, Paddy Kennan, Finbar and Eddie Furry, Johnny McDonnagh, and so many others the Country Folks toady up to after concerts, well, only you and I can call em shem.
My dee kos amay, Sister
Your Prala and Shem,
Larry