Saint Patrick is a county in Trinidad and Tobago which occupies an area of 673 km2 (260 mi2). It occupies the southwestern peninsula of the island of Trinidad and is bounded by the Columbus Channel to the south, the Gulf of Paria to the west, and Victoria to the north. It includes the towns of Point Fortin, La Brea, Siparia, Cedros, Fyzabad and Penal. Saint Patrick is divided into four Wards - Cedros, La Brea, Erin and Siparia.
Prior to 1990 local government was administered by the Saint Patrick County Council and the Point Fortin Borough Corporation. After 1990, areas formerly administered by the Saint Patrick County Council were divided between the Penal-Debe and Siparia Regional Corporations.
Famous quotes containing the words saint patrick, saint, patrick and/or county:
“O Paddy dear, an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?
The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground!
No more Saint Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his colour can’t be seen,
For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the Green!”
—Unknown. The Wearing of the Green (l. 37–40)
“This Light inspires, and plays upon
The nose of Saint like Bag-pipe drone,
And speaks through hollow empty Soul,
As through a Trunk, or whisp’ring hole,
Such language as no mortal Ear
But spiritual Eve-droppers can hear.”
—Samuel Butler (1612–1680)
“The first time many women hold their tiny babies, they are apt to feel as clumsy and incompetent as any man. The difference is that our culture tells them they’re not supposed to feel that way. Our culture assumes that they will quickly learn how to be a mother, and that assumption rubs off on most women—so they learn.”
—Pamela Patrick Novotny (20th century)
“Don’t you know there are 200 temperance women in this county who control 200 votes. Why does a woman work for temperance? Because she’s tired of liftin’ that besotted mate of hers off the floor every Saturday night and puttin’ him on the sofa so he won’t catch cold. Tonight we’re for temperance. Help yourself to them cloves and chew them, chew them hard. We’re goin’ to that festival tonight smelling like a hot mince pie.”
—Laurence Stallings (1894–1968)