Judge, 1912-07-13 · page 10 of 24
Judge — July 13, 1912 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This nostalgic poem, illustrated with domestic scenes, presents an Irish immigrant's lament for working-class life. The speaker recalls earlier, simpler times: coming home from work to a warm hearth, wife doing dishes, children playing, Saturday nights haggling with "Goldstein" (a Jewish merchant) for clothes and stopping at "McHale's" (Irish bar) for drinks. The satire targets modern life's pretensions: his now-grown, wealthy children have become too refined—driving automobiles, playing bridge, dressing him formally—behaviors the speaker considers excessive and morally questionable (he invokes Father Mathew, a temperance advocate, sarcastically). The cartoon mocks both old-fashioned working-class authenticity and new-money affectation, while the ethnic references (Jewish shopkeeper, Irish family names) reflect period immigrant demographics and stereotypes.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Those ewor the days, lads! Ah, ha! those wor the days! Whin ye came home from work yer moind wus at aise; Wid yer shins at the foire a-draggin’ yer poipe, Whilst Maggie wus givin’ the dishes a ewoipe, And Mary, the baby, up in her high chair, Wid gravy and crumbs from her chin to her hair; Thin Tommy and Danny, just startin’ a foight, To sce who aud bring in the coal for the noight, It's not that ways now, tho’ ; ye may talk as ye plaise! Those wor the days, lads! Ah, ha! those cwor the days! Those wor the days, lads! Ah, ha! those wor the days! On a Saturday noight into torn cid the pays, A-hagglin’ wid Goldstein the price of a suit, And comin’ away wid a nicktie to boot ; And on the way home shtoppin’ off at McHale's For a dhrop o° the shtuff and wan or tro ales; Thin landin’ back home to find Mag, half asleep, Wid a frown on her face (‘twas only shkin deep); For tavo or three minutes the divil she'd raue! Those wor the days, lads!'| Ah, ha! those aor the days! Those ewor the days, lads! Ah, ha! those wor the days! Whin ould-fashioned people had ould-fashioned ways. It's not that ways now, tho’; the childer are grown, And Mag, she’s in heaven, and I'm all alone! They kape me dressed up loike I oxened an eshtate, For they're all well-to-do—but too up-to-date— Wid automobeels and thar partis call'd** bridge — *Tawould make Father Mathew himself break his plidge! Look back forty years—there cwor no such displays— Those wor the days, lads!’ Ah, ha! those wor the days! comicbooks.com