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St. Patrick's Day on March 17 is often marked in the U.S. by quirky traditions, such as Chicago dyeing its river emerald green, but the holiday has historical and religious roots in its origin country of Ireland.

Here are 10 surprising facts you may not have known about how St. Patrick's Day started, its legendary symbols, and how it's still celebrated today.

St. Patrick's Day's namesake was not born Irish

People often wonder: "What is the true story of St. Patrick's Day?" The holiday is named after St. Patrick, a Patron Saint of Ireland, who died around the fifth century.

However, St. Patrick is thought to have been a Roman citizen in Britain who was enslaved and taken to Ireland, either escaped or was released, then returned as a priest and converted Druids to Christianity, Marion Casey, a clinical assistant professor of Irish Studies at New York University, previously told TIME.

If you have also found yourself querying, "Why do we celebrate St. Patrick's Day on March 17?" it's because that is believed to be the day that he died.

St. Patrick's Day began as a Catholic Feast Day

If you're ever asked, "What is St. Patrick's Day celebrated for?" it was originally started in 1631 by the Catholic Church as a Feast Day honoring St. Patrick-one of many church holidays.

However, the holiday, imported to the U.S. by Irish immigrants, morphed into a show of Irish-American pride and worldwide celebration of Irish culture.

Legend says St. Patrick used the shamrock to teach Christianity

Legend has it that St. Patrick used the shamrock, a three-leaf clover, to teach the Christian doctrine of the Trinity-Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in one. Irish botanist and cleric Caleb Threlkeld described the connection in 1726, when he also wrote that the shamrock was the emblem of the holiday and the country's national symbol.

However, historians say the story is likely fiction, as the plant itself is mythical and not linked to a scientific species, according to National Geographic. The shamrock became associated more broadly with Ireland as a symbol during rebellions against Britain in the 18th century.

Green became connected to St. Patrick's Day after Irish rebellions

Green as an Irish color has political origins. Timothy McMahon, Vice President of the American Conference for Irish Studies, previously told TIME the color dates back to the Great Irish Rebellion of 1641, where Catholic local leaders revolted against the English crown, using a green flag with a harp as an emblem.

Green was worn again during the Irish Rebellion of 1798. The Irish forces promoted the nationalistic ballad " The Wearing of the Green, " which immortalized the color's connection with Ireland.

Before these rebellions, blue was traditionally associated with Ireland, Smithsonian Magazine reported.

The first St. Patrick's Day parade was held in the U.S.

The first recorded parade on the Catholic Feast Day of St. Patrick was held on March 17, 1601, in a Spanish colony in modern-day St. Augustine, Florida. More than a century later, Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched in Boston in 1737 and in New York City in 1762.

St. Patrick's Day was promoted by the Irish government

Inspired by Irish-Americans, Ireland's National Agricultural and Industrial Association organized a parade in Dublin in the early 1950s to showcase Irish industry, according to the National Museum of Ireland. Dublin Tourism took over the parade from 1970, until a St. Patrick's Day Committee was established in 1995, which grew the festival into a weekend and then a week.

The government established the weeklong St. Patrick's Day Festival in 1995, Irish news outlet The Journal reported. The holiday was boosted that year by an Irish government campaign.

Leprechauns originated in Irish folklore

The supernatural fairies, or sprites, were thought to bring good luck and protection to humans, or to mess up their plans. The oldest written reference to leprechauns was in a medieval story about three magical fairies, or sprites, who drug the King of Ulster into the ocean, according to National Geographic.

The legend gained popularity in the 19th century, when leprechauns were painted as grouchy shoemakers who guarded gold. Walt Disney's depiction of a more cheerful leprechaun kicked off the current commercialized image.

"Lucky" four-leaf clovers are real-but rare

Although common three-leaf clovers are most closely associated with the saint and his holiday, much ado has been made about "lucky" four-leaf clovers. Vincent Pennetti, a doctoral student at the University of Georgia's College of Agricultural and Environmental Sciences, told the Associated Press that it takes a recessive trait to develop a fourth leaf, so although the plants are rare, they're real.

An American union started dyeing the Chicago River green decades ago

One of the most iconic St. Patrick's Day celebrations in the U.S. is Chicago temporarily dyeing the river that shares its name green using about 40 pounds of environmentally friendly dye.

Starting in 1955, city workers used green dye to help identify the source of sewage in the river, NPR reported. The inspiration to dye the entire river came after Stephen Bailey, the business manager for the Chicago Journeymen Plumbers Local Union, noticed a plumber's white overalls stained with bright green, per chicagoist. The tradition began in 1962 when the Plumbers Local Union dyed the river green with 100 pounds of dye for a week, according to Illinois' tourism website, and continues today.

On March 16, ahead of the official St. Patrick's Day 2024 celebrations, Chicago dyed its river emerald green as spectators looked on.

Corned beef and cabbage is an Irish-American invention

The dish is not common in Ireland, news outlet IrishCentral reported. Instead, Irish immigrants to the U.S. reportedly found a less expensive alternative to the meat more common in their home country-bacon-in beef. They cured the beef using corn-sized crystals, hence the moniker "corned." The beef was then paired with cabbage, one of the cheapest vegetables available. So while people in the U.S. may see corned beef and cabbage on themed St. Patrick's Day menus, it's highly unlikely people in Ireland will be offered the delicacy.

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10 Surprising Facts About St. Patrick's Day

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The truth about St. Patrick Day, from leprechauns and shamrocks to the color green's connection to Ireland.

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 ОНЛАЙН АНГЛИЙСКИЙ ДЛЯ ДЕТЕЙ 5+ on Instagram: "Phrasal verbs to open the items

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What will it take to end child labour? | Inside Story

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Thou hast committed-
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
The Jew of Malta.

I

Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself-as it will seem to do- With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." -And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. "You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, [For indeed I do not love it...you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!] To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you- Without these friendships-life, what cauchemar!" Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite "false note." -Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments, Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. II Now that lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room And twists one in his fingers while she talks. "Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks) "You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse And smiles at situations which it cannot see." I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea. "Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall My buried life, and Paris in the Spring, I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world To be wonderful and youthful, after all." The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune Of a broken violin on an August afternoon: "I am always sure that you understand My feelings, always sure that you feel, Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel. You will go on, and when you have prevailed You can say: at this point many a one has failed. But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me? Only the friendship and the sympathy Of one about to reach her journey's end. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends..." I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends For what she has said to me? You will see me any morning in the park Reading the comics and the sporting page. Particularly I remark An English countess goes upon the stage. A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance, Another bank defaulter has confessed. I keep my countenance, I remain self-possessed Except when a street piano, mechanical and tired Reiterates some worn-out common song With the smell of hyacinths across the garden Recalling things that other people have desired. Are these ideas right or wrong? III The October night comes down; returning as before Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees. "And so you are going abroad; and when do you return? But that's a useless question. You hardly know when you are coming back, You will find so much to learn." My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac. "Perhaps you can write to me." My self-possession flares up for a second; This is as I had reckoned. "I have been wondering frequently of late (But our beginnings never know our ends!) Why we have not developed into friends." I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark Suddenly, his expression in a glass. My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. "For everybody said so, all our friends, They all were sure our feelings would relate So closely! I myself can hardly understand. We must leave it now to fate. You will write, at any rate. Perhaps it is not too late. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends." And I must borrow every changing shape To find expression...dance, dance Like a dancing bear, Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape. Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance- Well! and what if she should die some afternoon, Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose; Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand With the smoke coming down above the housetops; Doubtful, for a while Not knowing what to feel or if I understand Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon... Would she not have the advantage, after all? This music is successful with a "dying fall" Now that we talk of dying- And should I have the right to smile?

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Thou hast committed-Fornication: but that was in another country,And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew of Malta. I Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself-as it will seem to do- With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.

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from T.S.Eliot 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats

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from T.S.Eliot 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats

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The Rum Tum Tugger

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testi jason derulo the rum tum tugger - Google Search

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with Jason Derulo] The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat [Jason Derulo] If you offer me pheasant, I'd rather have grouse. If you put me in a house, ...

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Rephrasing: last, for, since, ago - 2 worksheet

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Rephrasing online worksheet for B2. You can do the exercises online or download the worksheet as pdf.

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Verb tenses - key word transformations worksheet

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Rephrasing online worksheet for B2. You can do the exercises online or download the worksheet as pdf.

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Rephrasing, present perfect, past simple online worksheet for B1/B2/PET/FCE. You can do the exercises online or download the worksheet as pdf.

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Fraser Doherty Founder of SuperJam - Interview

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If the name Fraser Doherty isn't familiar to you, then perhaps the sobriquet "Jam Boy" will strike a chord.

A decade ago, Fraser hit the headlines as the inventor of SuperJam - a sugar-free preserve which went on to become a familiar sight on the shelves of most of the UK's major supermarkets.

He had been propelled on to the stage by his story - a 14-year-old boy who had started making jam based on his grandmother's recipes before persuading Waitrose to stock his products across their UK stores.

He was just 18 when the breakthrough came. It was to lead to a clutch of entrepreneurial awards and later an MBE.

But it was not a straightforward journey.

He recalls: "In 2003 I started off making jam on a tiny scale, selling it in the neighbourhood, farmers markets and local shops. It grew and grew and it became my ambition to sell it to a big supermarket.

"So one day, I convinced my dad to drive me to Waitrose. I borrowed his suit - probably about four sizes too big for me - and got a chance to pitch my idea to a supermarket buyer.

"At first they said no - the labelling was all wrong, the price was wrong. I didn't really know what I was doing. But after a couple more attempts and a bit of advice, eventually they agreed to put it on their shelves all over the UK."

Edinburgh-based Fraser went on to prove that it's possible to make plenty of bread out of jam.

Before long, his products were being stocked in big chains such as Tesco, Sainsbury's, Morrisons and Asda and his business was turning over about £1m a year.

But as the years went on, one by one the big supermarkets dropped SuperJam from their listings. Only his original backers, Waitrose, stood by him - as they do to this day.

That might have been the end of Fraser's fairytale story, had it not caught the imagination of South Koreans.

"Some entrepreneurs in Korea heard about my story and asked if they could try and sell my jam over there," he explains.

"I said 'sure, let's give it a shot', so they ordered a couple of hundred jars, then a couple of thousand jars, then 20,000 jars.

"Then I was invited by South Korea's answer to Martha Stewart to appear on her home TV shopping show."

Cardboard cutout

That proved to be more problematic than he bargained for as he was told he would have to speak in Korean.

Fraser recalls: "I spent a few months practising some key phrases in Korean.

"I tried my best, memorised a few sentences and recorded the show. Later unfortunately I found out my part had been edited out.

"I had been replaced with a cardboard cutout of myself.

"I think what happened was that I had rehearsed the answers in a set order and I don't think they stuck to that, so I was answering question number three when it was question number one."

The setback did nothing to hurt sales, however. Soon South Korea was to became SuperJam's biggest market, accounting for several hundred thousand jars a year.

Fraser puts that down to Korea's appetite for British products and a fascination for his story as a boy who made it big in the world of business.

Japan also picked up on his story, with one station broadcasting a TV drama about his life.

Fraser says: "I think something got lost in translation when they cast an Indian boy to play me, but never mind."

It seems Fraser's story still resonates to this day.

He estimates that he has given hundreds of motivational speeches at business conferences and universities around the world.

His invitations have come from corporate giants such as RBS and Unilever, as well as small businesses.

He explains: "I don't pretend to be an expert in anything but if people can take something from my story and it can encourage them to pursue their own ideas or to think about their own business in a different way, then that can be a great thing."

So what is he most commonly asked at a speaking event?

"Probably the number one thing is how do you motivate yourself when things don't go right, when you do have a setback," he replies.

"In my case, probably the biggest setback was when Waitrose said 'No' when I was a teenager. I thought I had it in the bag and it turned out if was far from that.

"It was a point where I thought about giving up. The reason I didn't was that I listened to the feedback from the customer.

"Not every idea you try is going to work. Probably the first version of an idea is going to be wrong.

"But if you are willing to give it a shot and then listen to the feedback that you get from customers, maybe change it, try something else then you probably will stumble upon something that does work."

Aside from his motivational work, Fraser's focus in recent years has shifted away from his jam business, which he says is now "ticking along".

A few years ago, he linked up with fellow Scottish entrepreneur James Brown to co-found Beer52 - an Edinburgh-based club which imports craft beer from around the world.

'Huge amount of fun'

His hands-on job includes visiting countries near and far to sample potential brew selections for subscribers.

Fraser says the firm now ships hundreds of thousands of bottles of beer every month to UK customers.

So does he miss being in the limelight as Jam Boy?

"I wouldn't say I miss anything," he says.

"It was a huge amount of fun at the time and I got to have a lot of experiences that I remember really fondly, and met a lot of interesting people.

"I am still having a lot of fun tasting beer every week and visiting breweries and beer festivals, so it is certainly a great place to be."

More on this story

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Whatever happened to 'Jam Boy' Fraser Doherty?

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If the name Fraser Doherty isn't familiar to you, then perhaps the sobriquet "Jam Boy" will strike a chord. A decade ago, Fraser hit the headlines as the inventor of SuperJam - a sugar-free preserve which went on to become a familiar sight on the shelves of most of the UK's major supermarkets.

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Thou hast committed-
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
The Jew of Malta.

I

Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself-as it will seem to do- With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and fingertips. "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." -And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins. "You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends, And how, how rare and strange it is, to find In a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends, [For indeed I do not love it...you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!] To find a friend who has these qualities, Who has, and gives Those qualities upon which friendship lives. How much it means that I say this to you- Without these friendships-life, what cauchemar!" Among the windings of the violins And the ariettes Of cracked cornets Inside my brain a dull tom-tom begins Absurdly hammering a prelude of its own, Capricious monotone That is at least one definite "false note." -Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance, Admire the monuments, Discuss the late events, Correct our watches by the public clocks. Then sit for half an hour and drink our bocks. II Now that lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room And twists one in his fingers while she talks. "Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (Slowly twisting the lilac stalks) "You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse And smiles at situations which it cannot see." I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea. "Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall My buried life, and Paris in the Spring, I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world To be wonderful and youthful, after all." The voice returns like the insistent out-of-tune Of a broken violin on an August afternoon: "I am always sure that you understand My feelings, always sure that you feel, Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand. You are invulnerable, you have no Achilles' heel. You will go on, and when you have prevailed You can say: at this point many a one has failed. But what have I, but what have I, my friend, To give you, what can you receive from me? Only the friendship and the sympathy Of one about to reach her journey's end. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends..." I take my hat: how can I make a cowardly amends For what she has said to me? You will see me any morning in the park Reading the comics and the sporting page. Particularly I remark An English countess goes upon the stage. A Greek was murdered at a Polish dance, Another bank defaulter has confessed. I keep my countenance, I remain self-possessed Except when a street piano, mechanical and tired Reiterates some worn-out common song With the smell of hyacinths across the garden Recalling things that other people have desired. Are these ideas right or wrong? III The October night comes down; returning as before Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees. "And so you are going abroad; and when do you return? But that's a useless question. You hardly know when you are coming back, You will find so much to learn." My smile falls heavily among the bric-à-brac. "Perhaps you can write to me." My self-possession flares up for a second; This is as I had reckoned. "I have been wondering frequently of late (But our beginnings never know our ends!) Why we have not developed into friends." I feel like one who smiles, and turning shall remark Suddenly, his expression in a glass. My self-possession gutters; we are really in the dark. "For everybody said so, all our friends, They all were sure our feelings would relate So closely! I myself can hardly understand. We must leave it now to fate. You will write, at any rate. Perhaps it is not too late. I shall sit here, serving tea to friends." And I must borrow every changing shape To find expression...dance, dance Like a dancing bear, Cry like a parrot, chatter like an ape. Let us take the air, in a tobacco trance- Well! and what if she should die some afternoon, Afternoon grey and smoky, evening yellow and rose; Should die and leave me sitting pen in hand With the smoke coming down above the housetops; Doubtful, for a while Not knowing what to feel or if I understand Or whether wise or foolish, tardy or too soon... Would she not have the advantage, after all? This music is successful with a "dying fall" Now that we talk of dying- And should I have the right to smile?

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Thou hast committed-Fornication: but that was in another country,And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew of Malta. I Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself-as it will seem to do- With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room, Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.

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How Fairtrade is tackling the climate crisis

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Dean Lewis - How do I say Goodbye (1 hour) (Lyrics)

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Along the reaches of the street

Held in a lunar synthesis,

Whispering lunar incantations

Dissolve the floors of memory

And all its clear relations,

Its divisions and precisions,

Every street lamp that I pass

Beats like a fatalistic drum,

And through the spaces of the dark

Midnight shakes the memory

As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

The street lamp sputtered,

The street lamp muttered,

The street lamp said, 'Regard that woman

Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door

Which opens on her like a grin.

You see the border of her dress

Is torn and stained with sand,

And you see the corner of her eye

Twists like a crooked pin.'

The memory throws up high and dry

A crowd of twisted things;

A twisted branch upon the beach

Eaten smooth, and polished

The secret of its skeleton,

A broken spring in a factory yard,

Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left

Hard and curled and ready to snap.

'Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,

And devours a morsel of rancid butter.'

So the hand of a child, automatic,

Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.

I could see nothing behind that child's eye.

I have seen eyes in the street

Trying to peer through lighted shutters,

And a crab one afternoon in a pool,

An old crab with barnacles on his back,

Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

The lamp muttered in the dark.

La lune ne garde aucune rancune,

She smiles into corners.

She smoothes the hair of the grass.

The moon has lost her memory.

A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,

Her hand twists a paper rose,

That smells of dust and old Cologne,

With all the old nocturnal smells

That cross and cross across her brain.'

Smells of chestnuts in the streets,

And female smells in shuttered rooms,

And cigarettes in corridors

And cocktail smells in bars.

Here is the number on the door.

The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,

The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,

Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.'

The last twist of the knife.

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Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T. S. Eliot | Poetry Foundation

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions, Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

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Dean Lewis - How Do I Say Goodbye (Live in Sydney with his Dad)