FOR THE IRISH FOLKIES AMONG US

Post by **laurie** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 1:29 am

I've noticed quite a few references to Irish folk music in other threads lately, so I thought I'd start one dedicated to that topic.

You can post song lyrics (or parts thereof), links to Irish music sites, or just talk about favorite songs, singers or musicians.

I'll start off with my favorite song:

Four Green Fields by Tommy Makem

What did I have? said the fine Old Woman.
What did I have? this proud Old Woman did say,
I had four green fields, each one was a jewel,
But strangers came, and tried to take them from me.
I had fine, strong sons: They fought to save my jewels.
They fought and died, and that was my grief, said she.

Long time ago, said the fine Old Woman.
Long time ago, this proud Old Woman did say,
There was war and death, plundering and pillage.
My children starved by mountain, valley and stream,
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens.
My four green fields ran red with their blood, said she.

What have I now? said the fine Old Woman.
What have I now? this proud Old Woman did say,
I have four green fields, one of them in bondage;
In strangers' hands who tried to take it from me,
But my sons have sons, as brave as were their fathers.
My four green fields will bloom once again, said she.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A bit of explanation:

In much Irish poetry and folklore, Ireland is represented as an "Old Woman". The "four green fields" are the four Provinces of Ireland: Munster, Leinster, Connaught and Ulster, with Ulster (Northern Ireland) being the one "in bondage". The "strangers" are, of course, the English who took the land away from its original (Irish) owners.

Post by **Kvetch** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 6:35 am

I like that one, i've got it in several versions, the best version being sung by the Dubliners. I always find it depressing in an upbeat kind of way.

how about, if not my most favourite song, one that comes pretty close:

Cavan Girl

As I walk the road from Killashandra, weary I sit down.
For it's twelve long miles around the lake to get to Cavan town.
Though Oughter and the road I go once seemed beyond compare.
Now I curse the time it takes to reach my Cavan girl so fair.

The autumn shades are on the leaves, the trees will soon be bare,
Each red-gold leaf around me seems the colour of her hair.
My gaze retreats to find my feet and once again I sigh,
For the broken pools of sky remind the colour of her eye.

At the Cavan Cross each Sunday morning there she can be found,
And she seems to have the eye of every boy in Cavan town.
If my luck will hold I'll have the golden summer of her smile,
And to break the hearts of Cavan men, she'll talk to me a while.

So next Sunday evening finds me homeward - Killashandra bound,
To work the week, till I return and court in Cavan town.
When asked if she would be my bride at least she'd not said "no",
So next Sunday morning, rouse myself, and back to her I'll go.

one of the more beautiful of the irish love songs. The colours in the second verse always seem so vivid...

Post by **KiltanneN** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 6:40 am

Mod alert - moved thread to right fora. This definately signal - not noise...

kilt

Post by **Darb** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 12:37 pm

Laurie: say, did you ever follow up on that referral to WFUV radio I gave you after you arrived here in the IBDoF ? Several of their scheduled shows (on the weekend) are heavily Celtic. My wife and I listen to them all the time. Even if you're not local, you can tune in via web-stream. The only hitch is that they're in one of their 2x yearly pledge drives ATM.

As for Irish songs ... my wife (who's Irish on both sides) had her uncle, a retired Catholic Priest, sing this at our wedding reception:

The Rose of Tralee

The pale moon was rising above yon green mountain,
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea,
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
That stands in the beautiful vale of Tralee.

Chorus:
She was lovely and fair, as the rose of the summer,
Yet t'was not her beauty alone that won me.
Oh no, t'was the truth in her eye ever dawning,
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee!

The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading,
And Mary, all smiling, stood list'ning to me,
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding,
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.

Chorus

Post by **laurie** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 1:23 pm

KILT: Thanks for moving the thread. I wasn't sure which it belonged in, so I put it in mine.

BRAD: I did check out the links. Have to go with the web-stream (I'm a 5 hr. drive from NYC), but it's good. I love the "Thistle and Shamrock" show. "Rose of Tralee" was one of my grandmother's favorites - she was a Mary, too.

KVETCH: "Cavan Girl" is beautiful. I have the Clancy's version, with Liam singing.

Post by **laurie** » Thu Nov 11, 2004 11:43 pm

The Castle of Dromore

The October winds lament around
The castle of Dromore
Yet peace is in those lofty halls,
My loving treasure store
Though Autumn leaves may droop and die
A bard of Spring are you

Chorus:

Singing hush-a-bye loo la loo lo lum
Singing hush-a-bye loo la loo

Bring no ill-will to hinder us
My helpless babe and me
Dread spirits of the Black Water
Clanowen's wild banshee
And Holy Mary, pitying us
In Heaven for grace doth sue

(chorus)

Take time to thrive, my ray of hope
In the garden of Dromore
Take heed, young eaglet, 'til thy wings
Are feathered fair to soar
A little rest, and then the world
Is full of work to do

(chorus twice)

---------------------------------------------------

This is the lullaby I've sung to my 10 nieces and nephews at naptime and bedtime. The youngest (now age 5) sings it to her dolls - and sometimes to her almost-grown kitten.

Post by **Kvetch** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 3:05 am

That's a new one to me. I'll go and find an audio copy...

sad to say, i have nowt to post, but I'll retrurn with something better.

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 11:41 am

The Patriot Game / words and music by Dominic Behan

Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and I wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.

I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game

And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

This is probably the strongest pro-IRA statement ever put to music. Not only does it condemn the British, but it also calls into question the loyalty of one of the leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising, Eamon DeValera, who went on to lead the Republic of Ireland as its Prime Minister and President. Unlike the other leaders of 1916, DeValera escaped the British death sentence because he held United States citizenship, having been born in New York City.

Post by **Kvetch** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 12:03 pm

I've got that on an Old LP so I don't here it often. If we are on IRA songs, how about:

the Old Alarm Clock

When first I came to London in the year of 'thirty-nine
The city looked so wonderful and the girls were so divine
But the coppers got suspicious and they soon gave me the knock
I was charged with being the owner of an old alarm clock

Oh next morning down by Marlborough Street I caused no little stir
The IRA were busy and the telephones did bar
Said the judge, I'm going to charge you with the possession of this machine
And I'm also going to charge you with the wearing of the green

Now says I to him , Your Honour, if you'll give me half a chance
I'll show you how my small machine can make the peelers dance
It ticks away politely till you get an awful shock
And it ticks away the gelignite in my old alarm clock

Said the judge, Now listen here, my man, and I'll tell you of our plan
For you and I are countrymen I do not give a damn
The only time you'll take is mine - ten years in Dartmoor dock
And you can count it by the ticking of your old alarm clock

Now this lonely Dartmoor city would put many in the jigs
The cell it isn't pretty and it isn't very big
Sure I'd long ago have left the place if I had only got
My couple of sticks of gelignite and my own alarm clock

(as sung by The Dubliners)
Tune: The Garden Where the Praties Grow

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 12:20 pm

That's a great one !

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:22 pm

Here's an old rebel song

The Rising of the Moon / lyrics by J.K. Casey, music by Turlough O'Carolan

Oh then tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Hush me buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bear orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was throbbing for the coming warning light
Murmurs ran along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

There beside that singing river that dark mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon.

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:29 pm

A father's (or mother's) lament for a son off to war:

Danny Boy / Traditional

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come you back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'tis I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:37 pm

The inspiration for that Joyce fellow (and a tad more comprehensible):

Finneganâ€™s Wake / Traditional

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street,
A gentle Irishman mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet,
An' to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a tipplinâ€™ way
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on with his work each day,
He'd a drop of the craythur every morn

Chorus:

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner
Round the floor yer trotters shake
Isnâ€™t it the truth they tell ye,
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

One morning Tim got rather full,
His head felt heavy which made him shake
He fell from a ladder and he broke his skull,
They carried him home his corpse to wake
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet,
And laid him out upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head

(chorus)

His friends assembled at the wake,
And Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake,
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brien began to cry,
"Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?",
"Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee

(chorus)

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the cry,
"O Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob
And left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage,
T'was woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage
And a row and a ruction soon began

(chorus)

Mickey Maloney ducked his head
When a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed,
The liquor scattered over Tim
Now look, the corpse, see how it rises
Timothy rising from the bed
Sayinâ€™ â€œWhirl yer whiskey around like blazes,
Tannan An Deir *, do ye think I'm dead?"

(chorus)

* Gaelic for â€œthunder and lightningâ€

Evaine · Post by **Evaine** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:42 pm

Julian May uses Danny Boy as the sacred song of the Tanu in her Pliocene Saga of the Exiles, and explains this by saying that it is unique among Irish folk tunes for the tempo. If it was played at the same speed as normal Irish tunes, it'd be an unremarkable jig. Of course, this could just have been a mistake on the part of the song collectors....

My dad was on holiday in Ireland a few years ago (he went for the Guiness and the fishing), when someone in the pub where he was drinking started singing the Four Fields, and was quickly shut up by his friends because of the Englishman sitting by the bar. What they didn't know was that Dad had been in the Irish Guards, and already knew all the words (and what they meant).

Post by **Kvetch** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:47 pm

I like the rising of the moon - the catchy rhythm and the tune.

how about:

The Broad Black Brimmer
Noel Nagle

ThereÂ´s an uniform thatÂ´s hanging in whatÂ´s known as fatherÂ´s room
An uniform so simple in his style
It has no braid of gold or silk no hat with feathered plume
Yet the mother has preserved it all the while
One day she made me try it on, a wish of mine for years
"In memory of your father, son" she said
And when I put the Sam Browne on she was smiling with the tears
As she placed the broad black brimmer on my head

ItÂ´s just a broad black brimmer with ribbons frayed and torn
By the careless whisk of many a mountain breeze
An old trench coat thatÂ´s battle stained and worn
And breeches almost threadbare at the knees
A Sam Brown belt with buckle big and strong
A holster thatÂ´s been empty manyÂ´s a day
When men claim IrelandÂ´s freedom the one who'll choose to lead them
Will wear the broad black brimmer of the IRA

It was the uniform been worn by me father long ago
When he reached me mothers homestead on the run
It was the uniform me father wore in that little church below
When oul Father Mac he blessed the pair as one
And after truce and treaty and the parting of the ways
He wore it when he marched out with the rest
And when they bore his body down that rugged heather braes
They placed the broad black brimmer on his breast

It really needs to be heard - the tune adds much to it.

download: http://music.download.com/brunosbrawler ... 49908.html here (no idea if the recording is any good)

I like that story too

Post by **laurie** » Fri Nov 12, 2004 2:48 pm

Nice story, Evaine - I'll bet your Dad had a good laugh over that one.

Evaine · Post by **Evaine** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 8:29 am

He did, yes.

Post by **laurie** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:02 am

This one makes me laugh every time I hear it:

Reilly's Daughter

As I was sitting by the fire
Eating spuds and drinking porter
Suddenly a thought came into my mind
I'd like to marry old Reilly's daughter.

CHORUS:
Giddy i-ae Giddy i-ae Giddy i-ae for the one-eyed Reilly
Giddy i-ae (bang bang bang) Play it on your old bass drum.

Reilly played on the big bass drum
Reilly had a mind for murder and slaughter
Reilly had a bright red glittering eye
And he kept that eye on his lovely daughter.

Her hair was black and her eyes were blue
The colonel and the major and the captain sought her
The sergeant and the private and the drummer boy too
But they never had a chance with Reilly's daughter.

I got me a ring and a parson too
Got me a scratch in a married quarter
Settled me down to a peaceful life
Happy as a king with Reilly's daughter.

Suddenly a footstep on the stairs
Who should it be but Reilly out for slaughter
With two pistols in his hands
Looking for the man who had married his daughter.

I caught old Reilly by the hair
Rammed his head in a pail of water
Fired his pistols into the air
A damned sight quicker than I married his daughter.

Post by **laurie** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:17 am

Another rebel song:

Roddy McCorley (Words by Ethna Carberry; music traditional)

O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's never a tear in his blue eyes, full clear and bright are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

When he last stepped up this street, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, an earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

There's never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray
Than he who marches to his fate on the bridge of Toome today;
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Post by **Kvetch** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 6:20 pm

I always associate Roddy McCorley with (don't ask me why, ok):

The Ould orange Flute

In the County Tyrone near the town of Dunganon,
There was many a ruction that meself had an hand in
Bob Williams he lived there a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout Orange blade
On the twelfth of July as around it had come
Bob played his old flute to the sound of the drum
You can talk to ya harp, ya piano or Lute
But nothing compares with the old Orange Flute

But Bob, the deciever, he took us all in
He married a Papish called Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws
Now the boys in the place made some comment upon it
And Bob had to fly to the province of Connacht
Well he fled with his wife and his fixings to boot
And along with the latter his ould Orange Flute

At the chapels on sundays, to atone for past deeds
He'd say Paters and Aves and he counted his beads
Till, after some time, at the priest's own desire
Bob went with his ould flute to play in the choir
Well he went with his ould flute to play in the mass
But the instrument shivered and sighed, oh alas
And blow as he would, though it made a great noise
The flute would play only "The protestant boys"

At a council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the ould flute away
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob a new one to play in its stead
Now the ould flute it was doomed and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic
As the flames roared around it, sure they heard a strange noise
'Twas the ould flute still playing 'The protestant boys'

Post by **Kvetch** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 6:26 pm

another good one is:

The Foggy Dew
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
Their armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
But the Angelus bells o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-el-bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns with their long-range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas Britannia bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the shore of the great North Sea
Oh had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we would keep where the Fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

why is it that I like the 'kill the English' songs the most?

Post by **laurie** » Sat Nov 13, 2004 11:20 pm

Kvetch wrote:why is it that I like the 'kill the English' songs the most?

Teenage rebellion? Or does the English lad have a wee drop of Irish blood in his veins?

/me was a bit worried you might be offended by me posting so many of them - me now stop worrying.

I like the rebel songs best too, and it's definitely genetic - great-grandpapa Sean was forced to leave Derry due to (we think) Fenian associations. When he came to America, he never spoke about his past. And when he was dying, he made his daughter (my grandma) promise never to put a headstone bearing his name on his grave. (Shades of Robert Emmet !!). After she died, the next generation (my dad and his sisters) finally had one put up, but with just his last name, and no birth/death dates. Not quite anonymous, but pretty damn close.

Post by **laurie** » Sun Nov 14, 2004 12:26 am

A rebel song with humor:

Johnson's Motor Car

It was down by Brannigan's corner one morning I did stray.
I met a fellow rebel and to me he did say
He had orders from our Captain to assemble at Dunbar
But how were we to get there without a motor car.

Oh Barney dear be of good cheer I'll tell you what we'll do.
The Specials they are plentiful but the I.R.A. are few,
We'll send a wire to Johnson to meet us at Stranlar
And we'll give the boys a jolly good drive in Johnson's Motor Car.

When Doctor Johnson heard the news he soon put on his shoes
He said this is an urgent case, there is not time to lose,
He then put on his castor hat and on his breast a star,
You could hear the din going through Glen Fin of Johnson's
Motor Car.

But when he got to the Railway Bridge, the rebels he saw there,
Ould Johnson knew the game was up for at him they did stare;
He said I have a permit to travel near and far,
To hell with your English permit, we want your motor car.

What will my loyal brethren think when they hear the news
My car it has been commandeered by the rebels at Dunluce,
We'll give you a receipt for it, all signed by Captain Barr
and when Ireland gets her freedom, you'll get your motorcar.

Well they put that car in motion and they filled it to the brim
With guns and bayonets shining, which made ould Johnson grim.
Then Barney hoisted the Sinn Fein flag and it fluttered like a star,
And we gave three cheers for the I.R.A. and Johnson's motor car.

/when I'm singing this, I often have trouble because the parts in bold make me start giggling - not good for staying on key

Post by **laurie** » Sun Nov 14, 2004 12:58 am

This one has bittersweet memories for me.

Once in a while we would sing it in church during Sunday Mass. My father loved the song, but he would always chuckle afterwards and make a remark about "singing a song written by a drunken Irishman" in church.

I sang it at Papa's funeral last year, just for him.

Lord of the Dance

I danced in the morning when the world was begun
I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun
I danced down from Heaven and I danced on Earth
At Bethlehem I had my birth

Chorus:
Dance, then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the dance, said He

I danced for the scribe and the Pharisee
They would not dance and they would not follow me
So I danced for the fisherman, for James and John
They came with me and the dance went on

(chorus)

I danced on the Sabbath and I cured the lame
The holy people said it was a shame
So they whipped and they stripped and they hung me high
And they left me on the cross to die

(chorus)

I danced on a Friday, when the sky turned black
Itâ€™s hard to dance with the Devil on your back
Oh they buried my body and they thought I'd gone
But I am the Lord and the dance goes on

(chorus)

They cut me down, but I leapt on high
I am the light that will never, never die
I live in you and you live in Me
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he

(chorus twice)

Post by **laurie** » Sun Nov 14, 2004 1:28 am

In Dublin, there are two statues that are big tourist attractions. The first is a tribute to James Joyce, a fountain with a statue of Anna Livia Plurabelle, from Finnegan's Wake. The natives call it "The Floozie in the Jacuzzi."

The second statue is of Molly Malone, the heroine of the song "Cockles and Mussels." She's called "The Tart With The Cart."

Cockles and Mussels

In Dublin's fair city where the girls are so pretty
I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone
She wheeled her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"

Chorus:
Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"

She was a fishmonger and sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her mother and father before
They wheeled their wheelbarrows
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"

(chorus)

She died of a fever and no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"

(chorus twice)