If you have come to this page from a search engine click here to visit our home page.
Come all ye loyal heroes wherever ye may be
Don
’t hire with any master until you know what your work might beDon’t hire with any farmer from the clear daylight of the dawn
For he will want you to be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn
My boots they are all worn and the rain comes tumbling in
My ould coat sure it
’s threadbare now and I’m leaking to the skinBut I’ll rise up every morning from the clear daylight of dawn
And I know I’ll never be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn
My curse attend you Sweeney you have me nearly robbed
You
’re sitting by the fireside your dudeen in your gobYou’re sitting by the turf fire from the clear daylight of the dawn
And you want me to be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn.
Rise up there gallant Sweeney and give your horses hay
Give them a fine feed of oats before ye start the day
Don
’t feed them on ripe turnip boy Take them down to yon green lawnAnd then I might be able to plough the Rocks of Bawn.
I wish that Patrick Sarsfield would write to me in time
And place me in some regiment all in my youth and prime
I would fight for Ireland
’s glory from the clear daylight of the dawnAnd I never would return again plough the Rocks of Bawn
And if I
’m not enlisted I’ll sail across the seaTo the broad fields of Americay or some far country
Where I
’ll learn to rise up early from the clear daylight of the dawnAnd I never would return again to plough the Rocks of Bawn
Bruce got this song from a
Kerry singer called Noel Scanlon who lived in Liverpool in the 1960s. The
English folklorist A.L.Lloyd in notes to the 1960s Joe Heaney album 'Irish Songs
in Gaelic and English' said of The Rocks of Bawn: "In 1652, Oliver Cromwell
‘subdued’ Ireland, a process that often recurred in history before and since.
Many Catholic landholders were dispossessed and forced to take their families
and belongings beyond the Shannon, to the hard country of Connaught. While
English and Scottish Protestant newcomers settled on the lusher vacated farms,
the dispossessed Irish hacked out a thin living among the ‘rocks, bogs, salt
water and seaweed’ of the barren west coast. In the ensuing centuries, to many a
farm-hand even the British Army offered better prospects than the stony
plough-defying soil of Mayo, Galway and Clare. The lament of the Connaught
ploughman has become one of the most popular of all Irish folk songs, seemingly
within the last few years."
Sam Henry in 'Songs of the People'
(1923-39) comments that it took two years searching to obtain the words and that
Pat Magill, the famous author, told him that he heard the song in Strabane Fair
where it was sold as a broadside. Henry also tells us that Bawn or Bawnboy is in
Co. Cavan. In Dominic Behan's 'Ireland Sings' (1965) his notes on The Rocks of
Bawn say that the man who wrote this song was Martin Swiney who hadn't died all
that long ago.
In 1954 the BBC recorded two versions in Co. Galway from
Colm Keane and Mamo Clancy and in 1968 Hugh Sheilds recorded it from John Ban
Byrne (Co. Donegal) and Eddie Butcher (Co. Derry). Further south in Clare Tom
Munnelly recorded Tom Lenihan singing the song in Miltown Malbay (CBE 03 'Mount
Callan Garland') and in the same town Willy Clancy played it as a slow air on
the pipes (CC32CD
'The Pipering of Willie Clancy Vol.1'). Probably the most
well known rendition of the song comes from the Connemara singer
Joe Heaney and his version can be heard on no less than three recordings
OSSCD22,
TSCD655
and
CIC020.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
I
’m a wandering tinker I’ve travelled my shareAnd I’ve courted the colleens from Antrim to Clare
I was always light hearted and hadn’t a care
As I sang like a lark in the morning
Till cupid came sporting one morning in May
I spied a fair colleen while going my way
As I drew along side her my heart went astray
And commenced for to thump without warning
Chorus: Skithery aye dum di dithery I dum da dum.
I drew alongside her she blushing with shame
And I gently inquired would she tell me her name
Begod now said she I will tell you the same
All the people I know call me Mary
But my father has got me a man in his eye
Who has plenty of land and a fortune for I
And he said that for me he
’d be willing to dieAnd his name is Alphonsus O’Leary
Chorus
Sure I know him myself he has land he has gold
Ah but look at the cratur he
’s withered and olAnd an old mans affections are often quite cold
Although he
’d be wed to a fairyAh but look at myself sure I’m handsome and tall
And I know that you’d love me the best of them all
So come on don’t be hiding your head in your shawl
And say that you’ll marry me Mary
Chorus
She blushed and she giggled said she you’re a rogue
And her sweet lilting laughter was soft as her brogue
Say
’s she I’d give up all his gold for one pogueFrom the tinker of sweet Tipperary
So together they went to a priest to be wed
And betwixt them a cross word has never been said
While the rich count their gold they count children instead
And they pray for Alphonsus O
’learyChorus
So come all you young colleens that’s listens to me
Let the man that you marry be youthful and free
For although he
’s much gold as there’s fish in the seaAn ould man is often contrary
He will say that he
’s right and tis you must be wrongAnd worse he will get as the years roll along
So if you want to make all your life a sweet song
Go and marry a tinker called Mary
Chorus
While travelling Ireland one of Bruce's favourite spots was Carrickbeg on the Waterford side of Carrick--on-Suir and it was there he heard The Tipperary Tinker sung by Patrick Galvan in Galivan's pub. This song doesn't seem to turn up anywhere else.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
Oh where I at the moss house Where the birds do increase
By the foot of mount Lienster Or some silent place
By the streams of Bunclody Where all pleasures do meet
O
’ and all I would ask Is one kiss from you sweet
For the streams of Bunclody They flow down so free
By the streams of Bunclody I
’m longing to beA drinking strong liquor in the height of my cheer
Here
’s a health to Bunclody and the lass I love dear
Oh the cuckoo is a happy bird for it sings as it flies
It brings us glad tidings and yells us no lies
It sucks the young birds eggs for to make it
’s voice clearAnd the more it sings cuckoo the summer draws near.
If I were a lark I
’d have wings and could flyI would fly to yon arbour where my true love does lie
I would fly to yon arbour where my true love she does lie
And upon her fond bosom contented I'd lie
If I were a clerk and could write a good hand
I would write to my true love that she might understand
That I am a young fellow all wounded in love
Once I lived in Bunclody but now I must remove.
And the reason my love slights me you may all understand
She has a great freehold and I have no land
She has a great store of riches and plenty of gold
And everything fitting a house to uphold.
So fare thee well my father and my mother adieu
My sisters and brothers farewell onto you
I am bound for Americay my fortune to try
When I think of Bunclody I am ready to die.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
(copyright Bruce Scott - Liverpool)
Sweet May has come It’s here again the cuckoo sings at morning ‘o
To raise all joys and dull all pain and tell us summers dawning ‘o
My love and I by the slaney side go hand and hand together ‘o
Where she promised she would be my bride that summer in Bunclody ‘o
Fair June comes then and sweet July with hosts of summer flowers ‘o
As by the slaney she and I go wandering through the bowers ‘o
The greenwood trees are shimmering now reflected in the waters ‘o
And proud mount Leinsters side we’ll climb when its summer in Bunclody ‘o
Through August and September’s time sweet county Wexfords all aglow
We listen to the church bells chime across the blooming heather ‘o
By the moss house to the town we will go to mass on Sunday morning ‘o
And thank the lord for natures show and summer in Bunclody ‘o
That summer brought us both good cheer and birds sang in the bushes ‘o
And wasn’t it a joy to hear the linnet and the thrushes ‘o
The wedding bells rang out that day over fields where golden corn does grow
As she slipped on the band of gold that summer in Bunclody ‘o
October came with Autumn’s fall as summertime was ending ‘o
The trees all shedding russet leaves strong winds their boughs bending ‘o
But the frost and rime of wintertime and mount Leinsters snows will all soon go
Then we will welcome April flowers and summer in Bunclody ‘o
Sweet county Wexford I have roamed from Kilmore Quay to Gorey ‘o
Through lovely Enniscorthy town and the golden sands of Curracloe
But the sweetest place I’d rather be is strolling by the Slaney ‘o
With my young colleen there by me when its summer in Bunclody ‘o
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
.
It was down by Christ church that I first met with Annie
A neat little girl and not a bit shy
She told me her father who came from Dungannon
Would see her back home in the sweet by and by
Chorus
And whats it to any man whether or no
Whether I’m aisy or whether I’m true
If I lifted her petty coat easy and slow
And I tied up my sleeve for to buckle her shoe
We wandered down Thomas Street along by the Liffey
The night it grew cold sure the evening grew dark
Along by Kings Bridge and begod in a jiffy
My arms went around her out there in the dark.
From city to country a girl is a jewel
And well built for gripping the most of them are
But any young fellow is surely a fool
If he tries at the first time to go a bit far
So if ever you go to the town of Dungannon
You could seek til your eyeballs are empty or blind
For running or walkin for laughin or talking
A girl like Annie you never could never find
This has always been known as a Dublin song and in his book about songs from that city, the late Frank Harte says that he had heard the song for years and the first person he ever heard singing it was Dominic Behan who said that he had got some of it from Sean O' Casey and the rest from a woman in England. Frank said that whenever he asked anyone else he heard singing it what was the source, it would inevitably be traced back to Dominic and indeed Bruce first heard Behan sing it at one of the early Keele Folk Festivals.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
The Herring
Ah there was an old man who came from Kinsail
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
And he had a herring a herring for sale
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Sing herring for sail sing man from Kinsail
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
And what do you think we made of his fins
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
But a nice little package of needles and pins
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Sing herring and fins sing needles and pins
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
And what do you think we made of his belly
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
But a nice little girl we called her Nellie
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Sing herring and belly sing girl sing Nellie
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin.
And what do you think we made out of his back
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
But a fine old sailor we called him Jack
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Sing herring sing back sing sailor Jack
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Well indeed Ihave more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
And what do you think we made of his head
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
The finest griddle that ever baked bread
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Sing griddle sing head sing sailor sing bread
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin.
And what do you think we made of his eyes
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
But the finest balls that ever did rise
Sing ava um vane sing ava o lin
Sing herring sing eyes sing balls sing rise
Sing ava um vane sing ava um vane
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Now all of you people inclined to be prude
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
The next two verses are rather rude
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Sing herring sing prude sing verses sing rude
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Indeed I have more of my herring tosing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
And what do you think we made of his hole
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
The finest bellows that ever blew coal
Sing ava um vane sing ava o’lin
Sing herring sing hole sing bellows sing coal
Sing ava um vane sing ava o,lin
Well indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing ava um vane sing ava o,lin
And what do you think we made of his bollocks
Sing ava um vane sing ava o,lin
But a radical cure for old alcoholics
Sing ava um vane sing ava o,lin
Sing herring sing bollocks sing old alcoholics
Sing ava um vane sing ava o,lin
Well indeed I,ve no more of my herring to sing
Herring Processions in Ireland were riotous cavalcades which took place in many towns and villages, usually on Easter Saturday at the end of Lent, celebrating the end of abstinence from meat and the dominance of the King of the Sea from the diet. Not surprisingly the processions were often led by butchers who had just come through a very frugal 40 days. The herrings were usually mounted on decorated poles followed by musicians and various revellers and led through the streets to an ignominious end such as being dumped back into the sea or in some cases a butcher's boy would pull a line of dozens of herrings through the streets and it was beaten by other boys until not a shred of herring remained on the rope. In spite of The Herring belonging to a popular genre such as The Cutty Wren, The Sow Took the Measles, The Derby Ram, and others, I do not think it too unlikely to conjecture that our song here had its origins in a Herring Procession.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
Lowlands of Flanders (copyright Bruce Scott - Liverpool)
One of Bruce's own compositions which was inspired by an article in the Irish
Post about a peace tower which had been built in Belguim. The tower was styled
on an Irish round tower and was built from stones from all over Ireland.
President Mary McAleese inaugurated the Peace Tower at the Peace Park in Mesen (Messines) on 11th November, 1998 in the presence of King Albert II and Queen Paola and Queen Elizabeth II. The Peace Tower is dedicated to the memory of those from the island of Ireland who fought and died in the First World War. It is erected at the site of the Messines Ridge Battlefield, the only location in that conflict where the 36th Ulster Division and the 16th Irish Division fought side by side. The Memorial not only recalls the sacrifices of those from the island of Ireland from all political and religious traditions who fought and died in the war, but also serves as a powerful symbol of reconciliation in the present day.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
Bold McShane
My name 'tis McShane from the plains of Kildare
A farmer I was until the last year
Until I took a notion of pay or promotion
Went over to Scotland the harvest to shear
Rum tooral ah rum tooral addy
Rum tooral ah mush a rum tooralay
I parted with molly so blithe and so jolly
Picked up a stick for a staff in me hand
And to keep myself cheery in case a grew weary
I sang Paddy Wack as I went on me way
I arrived at Dumbarton on a fine summers evening
Me bundle and stick I held in my hand
There was some of them laughin' and some of them chaffin'
But most of them tryin' to stick Paddy away
I went up to a woman and asked her for lodgings
Said she me young man now don’t look so dull
For I will tell you where you can find lodging
With the woman that lives next door to the black bull
I went up this woman and asked her for lodgings
She instantly showed me a bed in the room
And me being so weary and worn out with walking
I threw myself down on the bed in the room
But a lump of a tinker lay up in the corner
He swore upon his soul sure he’d kill all 'twas there
Says I me bold tinker leave over your braggin'
For I’m bold McShane from the plains o Kildare
Well he tried for to hit me a thump on the stomach
I instantly landed him one in the throat
He tumbled heels over his head in the corner
And cut all his head on a rusty oul pot
I lifted him up like a sheep he was bleeding
I swore upon me soul sure I’d cut of his life
But I lifted him up and sent down for a noggin
And me and the tinker we ended the strife.
Bruce got McShane from Dublin singer Tommy Dempsey who lived in Brimingham in
the 1960s. The song, which recounts his adventures in Scotland as a migrant
labourer, seems quite rare although it would be surprising if such a good song
had not been taken up by a broadside printer sometime. The only other collected
version we know of was collected by Tom Munnelly in 1972 from John Joe Murphy,
Darrynahenlish, Roslea, Co. Fermanagh.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
It Was in the
Month of January
It was in the month of January the hills were clad in snow
As over the hills and mountains my love and I did go
It was there I spied a pretty maid with a salt tear in her eye
She had a baby in her arms and bitterly she cried
Oh cruel was my father to bar the door on me
And cruel was my mother this dreadful crime to see
And cruel was my own true love to change his mind for gold
And cruel was that winters night that pierced my heart full cold
The taller that the pine tree grows the sweeter is the bark
The fairer that a young man speaks the falser is his heart
He will kiss you and embrace you until he thinks he has you won
Then he will go away and leave you all for some other one
So come all ye pretty fair maids a warning take by me
And never try to build your nest on top of any tree
For the roots they all shall wither and the branches all decay
And the beauties of a false young man must all soon fade away
A fine narrative song from the Northern Irish singing tradition. Herbert Hughes
printed a fragmentary version of this song called The Fanaid Grove, in 'Irish
Country Songs, Vol 1', and says that he knows of no other folk song composed to
the same melody -” a beautiful example of a modified Soh Mode", while in Joyce's
'Old Irish Folk Music and Songs' there is a fragmentary set sung by a reaper in
a harvest field, containing the aromatic line: ‘My love is as sweet as the
cinnamon tree.’ It is a song that Co. Armagh singer Sarah Makem made her own and
on the notes of the 1968 Topic LP 'Ulster Ballad singer' Sean O' Boyle writes,
"This was Sarah Makem's greatest contribution to the annals of folksong. Here
she treats with great sincerity of feeling one of oldest themes in traditional
song - the story of a young girl betrayed and abondoned by her wealthy lover
cast by cruel parents into the snow". Bruce thinks he learned it from her son
Tommy Makem while in Carrick-on-Suir where he would regularly meet up with him
and the Clancy Brothers. Other available recordings include Paddy Tunney on
TSCD656 'Tonight I'll Make You my Bride' and Geordie Hanna on 'The Fisher's
Cot'.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
The Deck of the Baltimore
Come listen to my story now and my story I will tell
Concerning Jack McCarthy who in Liverpool did dwell
Down by the northern docks one day he happened for to stray
And on the deck of a western ocean boat he stowed himself away
And sailing down the river for New York we were bound
The Irish lad was stowed away far from his native land
This Irish boy was stowed away far from his native shore
On the deck of a western ocean boat called the city of Baltimore
And early every morning the first mate stood them to
And early every morning twas thus he addressed the crew
Where is that Irish vagabond that lately stowed away
Well here I am cried McCarthy and what do you mean I pray
Tis true I am an Irish man and that I’ll not deny
Before I will stand under I will fight until I die
If you’re a man of courage now it’s me you’ll stand before
And I’ll fight you all along the deck of the city Baltimore
Well the first mate being a cowardly dog before him he’d not stand
He called upon the 2nd mate to come and give him a hand
He said I’ll not be flouted by any Irish son of a whore
I’ll cause your blood to drip along the deck of the Baltimore
Well the second mate he quickly came to the 1st mates relief
But McCarthy grabbed a handspike and made them both retreat
His Irish blood began to boil and with a mad lion’s roar
He quickly laid them senseless on the deck of the Baltimore
Now the captain being a Scotsman McDonald was his name
On seeing what this young man done and towards him he came
He shook his hand and took him aft saying of you I’ll ask no more
You’re the bravest man that ever trod on the deck of the Baltimore.
Well soon the voyage was over and they landed in New York
By the lady of sweet liberty McCarthy he found work
And now he runs an alehouse where the sailors come ashore
N,ere regretting the day he stowed away on the deck of the Baltimore
Another from Peter Scott's pub in Liverpool where Noel Scanlon would be asked to
sing The Deck of the Baltimore. The song, which tells of the adventures of an
Irish man who stows away on a ship in the Liverpool docks seems to be rare. This
story of an Irishman who is taunted by others who live to regret it is a
recurring theme in Irish folksong; Erin Go Brágh possibly being the most popular
song in the genre. This song is much rarer, being particularly favoured in the
maritime states of North America. It is also known as The City of Baltimore and
Bold McCarthy. Joseph Ranson collected a fine version in Wexford in 1948 from
Mary White of Ballyhack. The last verse was added by Bruce who was asked by
American singer Bob Milner to contibrute to a session at Sidmouth Folk Festival
on songs of emigration, the only criterion being that all the songs should start
in Liverpool and finish in New York. The story of The Deck of the Baltimore was
thus completed!
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
My Liverpool Rose (copyright Bruce Scott - Liverpool)
There’s a girl I adore by the Mersey shore with her lovely eyes of brown
And her long dark hair I’ve a feeling rare She’s the rose of Liverpool town
When I first did vow on Everton Brow That we’d never ever part
And I swore on my life I’d make her my wife for she surely stole my heart
Oh we often strolled where the waters rolled along by the Mersey shore
And in calm or gale o’er the waters sail to the one eyed town next door
Birkenhead was grand and New Brighton strand enchanting for to see
Then home again o’er the Mersey Main to the only town for me
Down Paradise Street fish and chips we’d eat then stroll along the old Park Lane
Dance away the nights 'neath Locarno’s lights or the Grafton’s hall of fame
Home by Gregson's Well where the midnight bell for Christmas mass did ring
Those were times of joy for a girl and boy and our hearts were on the wing
Oft I would rove Parnassus grove in muse to find a phrase
her heart and mine for to entwine in cupids fondest praise
no hosts of golden daffodils sweet rosemary or thyme
could leave in shade my Mersey maid my own sweet rose so fine.
As she stood by my side and became my bride in St Francis old church hall
Down Langsdale Street where we did meet she did my heart enthral
For she is my love and my turtle dove and as long as the Mersey flows
She will be my queen sweet Polly dear and forever my Liverpool rose
Bruce's own song for his wife Dot whom he usually calls 'Polly', written some
twenty five years ago as a Valentine's present after she complained that he had
never wrote a song for her. The air he used is Mo Cailin Deas (My Lovely Girl).
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
’s Boat
On the deck of Patrick lynch’
s boatI lay in mournfull plight
Through the weeping all the weary day
And lamenting through the night
Were it not for want and poverty
From my people forth I go
By the blessed sun 'tis royally
I would sing thy praise Mayo
When I dwelt at home in plenty
And my gold did much abound
In the company of fair young maids
The Spanish ale went around tis a sad sad change
From those gay days
That now I
’m forced to goI must leave my bones in Santa Cruz
Far from my sweet Mayo
They are altered girls in Irrull now
Tis proud they are grown and high
With their hair bags
And their top knots
They pass their buachailles by
Ah but little now I heed their airs
For God would have it so
I must sail away
From Erin
’s IsleAnd leave my own Mayo
Tis to my grief that Patrick Lochlainn
Is not earl in Irrul still
Or that Brian Duff no longer rules
As lord upon the hill
Or that Colonel Hugh McGrady
Should be lying cold and low
And me sailing swiftly sailing
From the County of Mayo.
Yet another song that Bruce got from Noel
Scanlon. It is usually called The County of Mayo or The Mayo Exile and is said
to have been translated from the Irish by 17th century writer Thomas Lavelle and
was put to the tune of Billy Byrne of Ballymanus by George Fox some time after
1815. Well known throughout Ireland nowadays, particularly from the singing of
John Lyons, this translation of Condae Mhuigh Eo was hugely anthologised after
its first appearance in the’ Irish Penny Journal’ in 1840. It is the only known
poem of Belfast man Fox of whom not a lot is known. Born in 1809 and educated in
Trinity Colllege, Dublin, he was a friend of the executed rebel, Robert Emmet.
He emigrated to America at the height of the Famine, in 1847 and he is believed
to have died in New Guinea sometime around 1880.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
She Moved Through the Fair
My young love said to me my mother wont mind
And my father won’t slight you for your lack of kind
Then she moved away from me and this she did say
It will not be long love 'til our wedding day
She moved away from me and she moved through the fair
And fondly I watched her move here and move there
Then she made her way homeward with one star awake
Like the swan in the evening moves over the lake
For the people were saying no two could wed
For one had a sorrow that never was said
And she made her way homeward with the goods and the gear
And that was the last time that I saw my dear
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
Buck St John Black Army
On the first of my downfall I barred up the door
And I straight made my way to sweet Carrick on Suir
Coming in by Peel Row it was late in the night
Going down the main street for to view the big light
Chorus: Rattling fol the diddle da rattling fal the di aye
Going down the main street for to view the big lamp
There I met an old man you’d call him a tramp
I boldly stepped up to him and on to him said
Can you direct me to anyplace I’d find a bed
Chorus
He directed me down to a place call Cope Lane
Where a man called Buck St John kept a slumbering cave
And over the door was a bit of a board
And it neatly tied down with some marline cord
Chorus
I walked up and then down till I found the ould door
I was cold wet and weary tired to be sure
When Buck St John came out and onto me said
If you’d show me two coppers I’d show you a bed
Chorus
Then he took me inside clapped my back to the wall
And I saw I was into an old cobblers stall
Sure and there the old cobbler him mending old brogues
With his hammer and pinchers tied up in galore
Chorus
He showed me upstairs and he blew out the light
And in less than five minutes I had to make fight
In less than five more now my story was worse
For the bugs came in clusters to help the black horse
Chorus
All around my poor stomach there clustered an arch
As a pack of black bugs came and played the dead march
As one big drum major gave me such a nip
He was very near taking the use of my hip
Chorus
I sat up in bed and demanded fair play
If I had you outside sure I’d fight my own way
Ah the blind and the lame you could pity there moans
If they gave me sore sides I’d give them broken bones
Chorus
Now I’ll come to my studies these lines I’ll pen down
To any young labourer who dose come to town
To any young traveller benighted like me
On beware of Buck St John and his black army
Chorus
This song is related to the The Kilkenny Louse-house and Bruce say that the gas-light that is mentioned was the first to be installed in the centre of Carrick-on-Suir and this became a place for people to visit. Carrick-on-Suir was recorded by the BBC from Christy Purcell of Belfast in 1952 and Burke's Engine (the title was mis-heard by collectors) was recorded from Tommy & Gemma McGrath in Ross, Co. Waterford and canbe heard on Topic TSCD557 'First I'm Going to Sing You a Ditty'. As The Kilkenny Louse-house, the song can be heard sung by Mary Delaney of Co. Tipperary on MTCD325-6 ‘From Puck to Appleby’ and by The Dubliners on various compilation CDs. Bruce learned his version in Carrickbeg from Patrick Galvan in Galivans pub in the 1960s. Other songs on the same theme, such as Gut-'Em's Damnation Buck Fleas or The Black Rag of Hill of Hilltown will be known to some Irish singers and we are sure that visitors to Rothesay in Scotland will have some trepidation about booking into lodgings there for a night as it is the setting for the most famous of all the flea-battle songs.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
My Collen by the Shore
(copyright Bruce Scott - Liverpool)
Down the old Howth Road in October
I strolled down by the strand
Strong Autumn winds from the Wicklow Hills
Rolled wild waves onto the land
Where a colleen fair did my heart ensnare
I’d love her forever more
She’s from Dollymount Way down by Dublin Bay
She’s my colleen by the shore.
With her eyes so blue hair of golden hue
An angel there for me
No Greek goddess could her surpass in all reality
No poets mind the words could find
To describe her beauty more
Of that lady fine sweet lass of mine
My colleen by the shore
When the wintertime shed it’s frost and rime
And the wild winds blew no more
Soft April showers brought Mays green bowers
To enhance that charming shore
All around Howth Hill hear the wee birds trill
Through the green woods whistle and sing
Summertime brought joy to a girl and boy
And our hearts were on the wing.
Through those summer days I would sing her praise
With songs and poems of love
I would promise her my maiden fair
The moon and stars above
For no other girl set my mind awhirl
I’ll love her for evermore
My own Irish lass mo colleen deas
My colleen by the shore
And off times I’d roam across the foam
Far from the hill of howth
To foreign lands on distant strands
King fortune bid me rove
But I’d give up gold and wealth untold
Just to sail the seas once more
To return to my pearl, my treasure there
One of Bruce's newly composed songs which gave him the title, for the first time, of All Ireland Champion in the category of newly composed ballads - English' (Amhráin Nua Cheaptha Bearla) at the 2004 Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann in Clonmel, Co. Tipperary. The air he used is Fainne Gael an Lae or The Dawning of the Day which, at a brisker pace, is often used as a marching tune.
Song transcribed by Bruce & Dot Scott
Song notes: John Howson & Tom Munnelly
News Veteran Mail Order welcome page About Veteran
English CDs Scottish CDs Irish CDs American & Blues CDs Books & DVDs
Search by English counties Search by Instruments Shanties & Sea Songs Morris Dance music