images/1926-1945/con_news.jpg (425102 bytes)Following is a poem composed by Cornelius D.Gallagher and recited by him on the occasion of his 74th birthday (1929). It was reported in the local newspaper. The original newspaper story may be viewed by clicking on the thumbnail at left.

My Hills in Donegal

Sweet Donegal, the pride of all,
I oftimes think of thee
That old home where I did roam,
When I was young and free.
Big houses grand in a foreign land,
Would not compare at all
To my cottage bright on winter's night
In the Hills of Donegal.

Right well I mind in the harvest time,
That doleful, dreary day,
In leaving all in Donegal
I wandered far away.
In Dunloe town my friends stood round
As I bade farewell to all,
Twas on the van I waved my hand,
To my hills in Donegal.

And in gazing back at Duherry,
My own dear native hills,
I thought no shame nor who could blame,
For I to cry my fill,
My neighbors and neighbors all,
My parents kind run in my mind,
My heart did ache
I thought it would break,
For leaving Donegal.

From Derry Quay we sailed away,
The waters being calm and still.
Down Lock Foil our tud did toil
To the big ships at Mobile.
Some longed to see each Tor and tree
And ancient Lordly Hall
But my thoughts that day
Were far away
Amidst the hill of Donegal.

Donegal has Castles tall
Among her ancient hills,
The Castle of McSweeney
And the Castle down near Dou,
The House of Arts near Derry Town,
Where Cunningham's clan did fall.
By the faithful hands of Bold Hugh Bawn
On the hills of Donegal.

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Following is an anecdote told to me by his granddaughter Elizabeth Gallagher Winter.

Con Gallagher walking down the street and a woman he knows is approaching. He says hello and she does not know him. He says, "I'm Con Gallagher", and she replies, "No you're not. Con Gallagher is a good looking man."