From the banks of the Shannon to the streets of Syracuse, two places carry Irish names that tell stories of power, pride, and defiance. In Athlone, we trace the word from its origins in Ireland — a fortress town divided by the River Shannon and scarred by siege — through the lofty halls of Kensington Palace, where Alexander Cambridge styled himself Earl of Athlone, and on to the Cape Flats of South Africa, where the name was stamped onto a township marked by apartheid, protest, and resilience. One name, three worlds: imperial dignity, colonial exile, and Irish memory. Then we move to Tipperary Hill in Syracuse, New York, where Irish canal diggers and their families built a community on grit, Mass, and music. Here, even a traffic light became a battleground. When the city dared put British red above Irish green, local boys took up their slingshots and hurled stones until the order was reversed. Green still shines above red today — a glowing symbol of identity, humour, and the stubborn pride of Irish America. These are stories of how names travel, collide, and transform — carrying Ireland far beyond its shores.