Máire na Searraigh

Máire na Searraigh

My uncle,Martin Holleran,known as Matie (1915-2001) told me numerous stories of the "goings-on" around Clonbur,Co.Galway in the good old days .Things he had seen and things he had heard casually from the old people in the area.
He told me about an amazing woman who lived in Dooroy,Clonbur.He called her Máire Sheáin ,but said she was known far and wide as Máire na Searraigh.Searrach,as is well known,is the Irish word for a young horse or foal.

I checked her out and ,sure enough,there she was on the 1901 Census of Ireland.Mary Varley aged 38 which means, if she gave truthful information,that she was born in 1863.She was a single lady and on the night of the Census she lived in house number 19 in Dooroy with her servant,John Duffy,aged 16. John Duffy was probably related to her.

In the 1911 Census she gave her age as 40 (birth 1871) so take your pick.


She was nicknamed Máire na Searraigh because she was a noted "ceannaidhe" of horses and cattle She had a great eye for stock.

She travelled to fairs all over Connamara and way down Mayo dealing in horses and cattle.She'd buy lean beasts,fatten them up for a spell on Good Dooroy grass and then sell them on for a nice profit.

She could do the deals but she needed drovers to move her large herds.One of her drovers was my grandfather,Liam Holleran,of Carrowkeel,Clonbur.It was through Liam's chats that Matie heard of the Amazonian Máire na Searraigh.

The Drovers worked mainly at night so as to reach the fair venue at crack of dawn.Liam told of a cattle drive to the fair of Balla,Co Mayo.They were on the road all night.Máire would sell her prime stock and then send the drovers around the fair to mingle with the crowd and evesdrop on any bargains that were in progress.When she had all her information collected she would use her knowledge well and buy a new bunch of beasts at fairly "Knock-down" prices.

I assume she became rich but do not know who inherited her vast fortune and estate.Maybe there are sovereigns buried in Dooroy so keep an eye on the end of the rainbow agus go n-eirí leat.

The Tyre in the Fire

Máirtín Ó Murchú lived with his mother,Bríd Josie,in Dooroy,about a mile from Clonbur.Their little house was built on a fork of the road.Carrowkeel to the right and Coalpark to the left.
Murchú's house became a meeting place for scorachs in the area.Young lads had no outlet for their energies at that time.There weren't any pastimes for penniless teenagers.So they would congregate in Murchús for a chat and were made welcome by Murchú and Bríd who were friendly old types.

When they were coming up from Clonbur they would usually jump into the little wood near the nurses house and drag a craobh with them to keep the fire going well up in Murchú's.
One night someone spotted an old tyre that Paddy Burke had taken off a lorry.Some smart boy figured it would make great firing material.They tried to cut it up with a bowsaw but to no avail.They attacked it with an axe but the tyre resisted all their efforts.Finally they said "feck it"and put the whole tyre into the fire.

In a short time the tyre began to splutter and burn and soon became a raging,roaring sheet of multicoloured flame.The kitchen got really hot and soon streams of yellow varnish were cascading down the mantelpiece and filthy rivulets of smoky blue paint were streaming down the dresser.
At this point everyone began to get frightened but couldn't think of anything constructive to relieve the situation.Poor old Bríd Josie was in the bedroom and they wondered could they get her out through the little window if the whole house went up in flames.

Two lads who had been to Clonbur stopped for a chat at the crossroads down on the main road and one of them saw sparks rising from Máirtín Ó Murchú's chimney.He remarked on this because the sparks were multicoloured and shooting high in the air on the gentle breeze.These boys were sure the house would be reduced to a pile of ashes.
But no! the house survived and the night of the burning tyre was a source of many a chat and laugh in the months to come.

When old Bríd died Máirtín lived on in that house alone until sad misfortune overtook him.One night there was a most ferocious storm and the gable end of the house came crashing down and killed poor Máirtín in his bed.
Go ndéanfaidh Dia trócaire ar a anam uasal.

All the scorachs who were there on the night of the blazing inferno are now gone ar shlí na fírinne and Paddy Burke's trucks are rusted and still.

Many of the present generation have never heard of Máirtín Ó Murchú or Bríd Josie and their little house has no stone on a stone.
The lush green grass covers all traces of their jolly little house where ghosts of former days still meet on their nightly vigil.

The origin of the Drum-a- Derry jig

Once upon a time,in a far off town in South Mayo,there lived a poor creature who had a terrible hump. He had a childhood accident which resulted in his fearful "cruit"
Though he was inflicted in life he was a cheerful enough type.He made his living from basket making.A dab hand he was and his baskets were in demand all over two parishes.
In his youth he had some fiddle lessons and could scrape a bunch of tunes.In a countryside where" pus" music was the norm he was highly acclaimed-a big fish in a small pond as you might say.

He was in great demand for parties,dances and American wakes and would play his little heart out for a few mugs of porter or whatever liquor was available at that time.
Oftentimes he played until nearly dawn and wouldn't stagger home till bunny was out.


One night he played for a party and left for home in the early hours,clutching his precious fiddle and humming a lively jig to shorten the road.
He took a short cut across some fields and paused, by a fairy rath, to rest his weary bones.
Whether he dozed or not isn't rightly known but suddenly he heard singing and
dancing inside the fairy rath.He crept up for a look-see and he beheld a host of little people dancing merrily around and around a fairy thorn.A nice group of singers was all they had in the line of music and they sang,

De Luan,De Máirt
De luan,De Máirt

over and over and over again.They sang it until the "cruiteachán"was sick and tired of their sweet refrain-so-when next they sang

De Luan,De Máirt
De luan,De Máirt

-he added in DE Céadaoin

The fairies were astounded and amazed with the improvement in their song and they quickly gathered around"mo dhuine"and cheered and clapped him till their little hands were stinging and sore."Sing it again,sing it again" they shouted in wild glee and excitement.
He did.

The king of the fairies stepped up "Well",adeir sé,"you have improved our song greatly and I mean to reward you for your kindness"

"Abra kill abra Killiney aZoo"adeir sé and with these magic words the "cruiteachán's" hump disappeared and he was as straight as a die-Moladh agus buíochas le Dia na Glóire-he said and he went away home "ar cos in áirde"


By God,the word soon spread of this miraculous cure and soon reached the ear of another unfortunate "cruiteachán" who lived in the neighbouring parish."On my word",adeir sé,"I'll have to investigate this rumour".

Now this "cruiteachán" ,we'll call him John, was a completely different character to our hero ,from now we'll call HIM "Bob".
John was cranky-I suppose ,not improved by his terrible affliction.
He was ,as they say,as "coiligneach as a dris cosáin"-as awkward and contrary as a briar across a path.
Still and all, when John arrived at Bob's door, with a face on him that'd sour milk,our Bob never ceased his smiling and welcoming."Come in,a stór,"says he,"and what can I do for you?"
From the gymp of John it was obvious that the hump was his problem ,so Bob told him his scéal and how his good fortune had made him whole.

John said he'd have a go himself.

For the next three nights he sat in the field but all he heard was the keening wind and the faint crack of twigs as they broke in the bitter frost.
Then on the fourth night he awoke from a doze and heard the soothing sound of the fairies singing.He crept up to the fort and ,sure enough, there they were, dancing around the fairy bush and they were singing their hearts out
De Luan,De Máirt
De luan,De Máirt
De Luan,De Máirt
De Céadaoin
Damn nice it sounded, ringing out in the frosty air, but John was not happy-NO-when next they sang their song he HAD to add in ...Agus Deardaoin.

Well there was consternation among the fairy host.The king roared "You bloody bastard,you have ruined our lovely song, you are as useless as tits on a goose, blast you to hell".
John pleaded, but to no avail. Then he made a bolt for freedom but a senior fairy with a walking stick,deftly put the "cámóg" around his neck and dragged him back to face his tormentors.The king roared again "Amber Kilambra Durrow Aloo" and lo and behold a fairy servant appeared with Bob's hump and slapped it on the back of poor John.

The old saying is true"It is NOT safe to upset the fairies.!!

An Siúnéirí Glic

Bhí fear fadó ann agus níor tháinig aon family suas dhó ach aon mhac amháin.Bhí an athair agus an mháthair an- ríméadach go raibh mac acu.Bhí siad deisiúil go maith - bhí siad saibhir, agus nuair abhí an mac réidh leis an scoil dúirt siad leis "Well anois, má thrograíonn tú é,cuirfimid le ceird ar bith thú,a mbheadh suim agat ann."
"Well ba mhaith liom",adeir sé,"a bheadh i mo shiúnéirí."
"Más maith ,anois,"adeir an tathair,"cúnóidh mise leat chomh maith is atá mé i ndon."


Bhí sé ag foghlaim a cheirde agus bhí sé ag gabhail isteach 's amach i dteach a mhuintire ná gur cheapadar go raibh ceird sách maith aige.Fuair sé a chuid páipéir le gabhail ag obair ina rogha áit.

Bhí a chuid páipéir aige an lá seo agus ní raibh aon job aige agus d'iarr sé..."Meas tú ,"adeir sé leis an athair,"céard is fearr dom a dhéanamh inniú?"
"'Séard a dhéanas tú - déanfaidh tú boiscín deas a bhéas agam le mo chuid airgid a chur ann agus boiscín a mbeidh glas 's eochair air".
By gob,chuaigh sé ag déanamh an boiscín agus nuair abhí an boiscín réidh bhí an lá caite.
"Muise,a dhiabhal," adeir sé leis an athair."nach olc an ceird í."
"Well b'fhéidir" arsa an tathair,"arnú beidh sí a't agus beidh tú, b'fhéidir, níos fearr an chéad lá eile"
"Tá mo lá caite lei",adeir sé,"agus, by gob, níl mórán déantaí a'm"
"Well",adeir sé ,"is olc an ceird í,níl déantaí ach boiscín agus an lá caite.Diabhal mórán ar bith a dhéanas mé as an siúnéireacht seo - b'fhearr dom gabhail in éindigh le Máistir na gCrámhairí"
"Ó,"adeir an tathair,"beimid náraithe má dhéanann tú rud ar bith den tsort sin."
"Tá sé ag íoc an- pháigh",adeir an mac,"agus mar a bhfuil mise ach ag gabhail a déanamh boiscín sa lá ,is olc an pháigh atá mé ag gabhail a dhéanamh"
"Is dócaí,"arsa an tathair,"go gcaithimid do chomhairle fhéin a thabhairt duit - ach ní mait linn é"


"Well anyway",adeir sé "beidh craic agam le Máistir na gCrámhairí" Níor stop é ariamh go ndeachaigh sé isteach aige ar fud an urláir agus dúírt sé leis "Má thugann tú job dhom gabhaidh mé leat"
"Cé'n graithí a bheadh agam duit",adeir sé,"an bhfuil plean ar bith agatsa le dul amach ag cramhaireacht?"
"Ní bheadh a fhios agat é" adeir an siúnéar.
Labhair an Máistir."Tá dhá fhear curthaí amach a'msa anois agus inseóidh mé dhuit cé'n bealach a bhfuileadar ag tíocht.Tá siad le caora bhreá ramhar a bheith acu agus má tá tusa i ndon an chaora a bhaint dóbha le plean ar bith, tógfaidh mise ag obair thú".

Chuaigh sé amach agus thosaigh sé ag tochas a chloigeann.
Bhí siopa gar go maith dhó ,abhí ag díol brógaí,agus bhí a fhios aige go maith cé'n saghas a theastódh ón dhá fhear - bhí aithne mhait aige orthu.
Cheannaigh sé péire bróg agus d'imigh leis agus na brógaí aige.
An bealach a raibh siadsan ag teacht bhí staighre ann agus caithfeadh siad a gabhail trasna an staighre agus leag sé CEANN do na brógaí ann.


Nuair a tháinig siad go dtí an staighre fuaireadar ceann de na brógai,(Bhí an caora acu agus rópa ar a muinéal acu)
"Diabhaltaí deas an bhróg é sin,"arsa ceann acu leis an gceann eile."Cé'n mhaith é",adeir sé,"nuair nach mbeadh an péire a'inn."
D'imigh leofa agus d'fhágadar an bhróg ansin.Shiúil siad leo nó go ndeachaigh siad scathamh maith agus bhí an bhróg eile leagthaí faoi bhun staighre eile.

"Seo í comrádaí na bróg a chonaic muid anseo thoir, nach é an feall nár thugamar linn é."
"Ach céard is fearr a dhéanamh," arsa ceann acu leis an gceann eile."B'fhearr dúinn an chaora a cheangail",adeir sé,"agus cíbé fear a'inn a bhéas is luaithe ag an mbróg thoir beidh an dá bhróg tugthaí dhó."
D'imigh siad ag rithe ná go dtéadh siad ag an mbróig agus sheo é leis an mbuachaill agus rug sé ar an gcaora. Níor stop sé ariamh ná gur sheas sé istigh le Máistir na gCramhairí.
"Seo é an caora",adeir sé,"abhí ag do chuid fear agus bhain mise dóbha é le neart mo phleanannaí agus tá mé ag gabhail ag obair dhuitse níos mó."
Chuaigh sé ag obair leo agus tá sé ag obair ó shin.

Bodach an Chóta Lachtna

Bhí Fionn Mac Cumhaill agus baill de na Fianna amuigh ag fiach lá. Bhí seilg maith acu agus sa trathnóna shuí siad ar Bhinn Éadair ag caint 's ag comhrá 's ag ligint a scíth.
Bhíodar ag breathnú amach ar an bhfarraige nuair a chonacadar long ag tíocht anonn faoi lán tseoil. Nuair a bhuail sí port d'eirigh aon gaiscíoch amháin amach aisti.
Léim sé amach ar gheal gaineamh na trá, sleá mór ina lamhaí aige agus é in éidí cogaidh.
Shiúil sé i láthair Fionn agus sheas sé ós a chóir.
"Cé h-é tusa ,a ghaisgigh,"arsa Fionn.
"Is mise Caol an Iarainn",adeir sé,"mac rí na Teastáille,sa nGréig"
"Níl inis ná oileán ón nGréig go-dtí an láthair seo nár chuir mé faoi smacht agus tádar faoi chíos anois agam."Is mian liom cíos na críche seo a fháil freisin.An bhfuil aon fhear agaibh in dhon an lámh in uachtar a fháil orm ag rithe ,nó ag troid ,nó ag coraíocht?""Má tá fear ar bith in dhon an ceann is fearr a fháil orm ní chuirfidh mé tuilleadh buairtheadh oraibh ach fillfidh mé ar ais ag mo thír fhéin.Cé acu comórtas ar mhaith libh a fheiceál?"
"B'fhearr liomsa an rithe"arsa Fionn,"ach tá Caoilte Mac Rónáin,an fear reatha is fearr againn,as láthair.Rachaidh mise ar a thóir amárach agus ansin beidh rás againn."
"Maith go leór",arsa Caol an Iarainn agus sásúlacht ina shúilí.

Maidin lá arna mhárach chuaigh Fionn ar thóir Caoilte Mac Rónáin. Ba ghearr go ndeachaigh an cosáin isteach i lár coille.Chonaic Fionn fear mór buí ag siúl roimhe.Bhí cóta lachtna síos go sáilí air.Bhí a dhá bhróig cosúil le taobh báid agus gach coiscéim a thógfadh sé cuirfeadh sé lán baraille greallaí ar chaon taobh.
D'fhéach Fionn air le h-íontas mar ní fhaca sé a leithead ariamh roimhe sin.

Thosíodar ag caint agus d'innis Fionn dó go raibh sé ag lorg Chaoilte le geall reatha a bhaint de Chaol an Iarainn
"Bíodh ciall ort" a deir an Bodach,"ní bheadh seans ag Caoilte ,ach dá nglacfá liomsa bhainfhinn geal reatha den laoch duit"
"Tógfaidh mé an seans ",arsa Fionn,"siúl leat"

Nuair a d'fhill siad ar Bhinn Éadair chruinnigh na Fianna thart ar Bhodach an Cóta Lachtna agus íontas an domhain orthu.Dúirt Caol an Iarainn nach náireódh sé é fhéin ag dul i gcoimhlint lena leithead.Thosaigh an Bodach ag gáire agus ag magadh faoi agus chuir sé fearg ar Chaol.Faoi dheireadh d'aontaigh sé dul sa rás-ó Shliabh Luachra,na Mumhan go Binn Éadair.

Nuair a shroich siad Sliabh Luachra bhí an lá caite agus shrochraigh siad ar an rás a thosnú le breacadh an lae.
"Is fearr dúinn bothán a thógáil" arsa Bodach an Chóta Lachtna.
"Ní chuirfidh mé an trioblóid sin orm fhéin as ucht oíche amháin" arsa Caol
"Mait go leór",arsa an mBodach,"déanfaidh mise bothán dom fhéin ach is fada amach as a fhanfhas an té nach gcuideóidh liom".

Chuaigh an Bodach isteach sa gcoill agus fuair sé píosaí adhmaid.Shnaidm sé na píosaí le chéile nó go ndearna sé bothán deas agus díon luachra air.Chruinnigh sé ualach críonnaigh agus chuir sé múr tine i lár an urláir.

"An gcuideóidh tú liom" adeir sé le Caol,"cuid na hoíche a sheilg?"
"Ní raibh mé ariamh gan lucht freastalaí le bia a sholáthar dhom agus ní rachaidh mé ar sheilg le do leitheadsa"arsa Caol an Iarainn.
"Déan do chomhairle fhéin"adeir an Bhodach ,agus d'imigh sé leis isteach sa gcoill.
Ba ghearr gur mhúscail sé scata mucaí fiáine.Lean sé iad nó gur mharaigh sé an torc ba mhó acu.Thug sé ar a dhroim é go dtí an bothán.Chóirigh sé an fheoil agus chuir sé ar bearaí róstaí é-timpeall na tine.

Chuaigh sé go teach Inse Coinn agus sciob sé dhá baraille fíona agus a raibh d'arán san áit.Nuair a d'fhill sé ar an mbothán bhí an fheoil róstaí.D'ith sé leath an torc,leath an aráin,agus d'ól sé baraille fíona.
Chuir sé brat luachra ar an urlár agus chodail sé go sámh go heirí na gréine.

Bhí Caol an Iarainn ar an sliabh i rith na hoíche-gan bia,gan dídean agus mhúscail sé an Bodach go moch ar maidin.
"Eirigh,a Bhodaigh,"ar seisean"tá sé in am an rás a thosnú"
Chuimil an Bhodach a dhá shúil lena bhois"Tá uair eile codalta le déanamh a'msa" adeir sé"má tá deifir ort imigh leat agus beidh mise i do dhiaidh ar ball".
D'imigh Caol an Iarainn leis agus luí an Bhodach siar ar an leabaí luachra.

D'eirigh Bodach an Chóta Lachtna nuair abhí a sháith codalta aige.D'ith sé an arán, an leath eile den torc agus d'ól sé baraille fíona.
Chuir sé crámhaí na muice i mbinn a chóta agus thug sé do na bunnachaí é.
Tháinig sé suas le Caol an Iarainn agus chaith sé crámhaí na muice aige.
"Má tá ocras ort bí ag cogaint na crámhaí sin",ar seisean.
"Chrochfainn thú,a Bhodaigh,sula níosfainn d'fhuilleach",arsa Caol an Iarainn.
Ar aghaidh leis an mBodach, agus é ag gáirí leis fhéin,ná gur chuir sé deich mhíle fichead ina dhiaidh.
Bhí driseachaí ar thaobh an bhealaigh agus thosaigh sé ag ithe sméaraí dubha.
Tar éis leath uair a' chloig tháinig Caol.
"A Bhodaigh",ar seisean,"d'fhág tú binn do chóta ar na sceachaí nuair abhí tú ag dul tharam".
Chonaic an Bhodach go raibh binn a chóta stróicthe."Fan anseo, ag ithe sméar,go fh'fuigh mé é".adeir sé.
"Is mise nach bhfanfaidh" arsa Caol."Gluais leat más mian leat" arsa an Bhodach, agus d'fhill sé ar ais go bhfuair sé binn a chóta agus d'fhuáil sé í.
Tháinig sé suas le Caol aríst agus ar seisean "Ní mór duit deifir a dhéanamh más mian leat árd chíos ar Éireann a fháil-ní fhillfidh mise feasta".

D'imigh sé leis mar bheadh séideán gaoithe na Márta agus níor stop sé aríst go raibh sé ag amharc ar Bhinn Éadair.

Thosaigh an Bodach ag baint sméar aríst agus nuair abhí a sháith ite aige bhain sé dhó a chóta.D'fhuáil sé íochtar a chóta,go ndearna sé mála as agus líon é le sméaraí é.
Faoin am seo bhí sé dubh ó bhonn go bhaithis le sú sméar.
Chuir sé an "mála" ar a dhroim agus ghluais sé leis i dtreo Bhinn Éadair.
Bhí faraire amuigh agus nuair a chonaic sé an "fear dubh" ag tíocht ina threo shíl sé gur Caol an Iarainn abhí ann agus an Bhodach sa mála ar a dhroim.
Nuair a tháinig an Bhodach níos giorra dhó d'aithnigh an faraire é agus lig sé gáir áthais as.Chruinnigh na Fianna thart ar an mBodach-"Innis do scéala dúinn" ar siad.
"Muise", adeir sé"tá ocras orm, fan go níosfaidh mé- tá sméaraí agam- an bhfuil aon min bhuí agaibh?"
Cuireadh brat ar an talamh.Cuireadh carn minne ina lár agus dhóirt an Bhodach na smearaí ar an gcarn agus thosaigh sé leis ag ithe .

Níorbh fhada gur thainig Caol an Iarainn agus racht feirge air.Bhí a chlaoimh ina láimh aige.Rith sé i dtreo an Bhodaigh.Ní dhearna an Bhodach ach lán a chráig den bhia a chaitheadh leis.Bhuail sé sa leiceann é agus chas sé a chloigeann ar a mhuinéal.

"A Chaol", ar seisean," ligfidh muid do anam leat má thugann tú geallúint dúinn go gcuirfidh tú cíos an Teasáille anonn ag Fionn gach bliain as seo amach"
"Tugfaidh mé an geallúint sin "arsa Caol.

D'árdaigh an Bodach é agus thug sé síos ag an trá é.Chuir sé ina shuí sa long é.
Chuir sé a bhróig le cúl na loinge agus chuir sé seacht léig amach sa bhfarraige é.

Nuair abhí an Bodach ag filleadh aníos ón trá las an ghriain ina thimpeall agus d'aithnigh na Fianna é.
Manannán Mac Lir, Dia na farraigí, abhí ann.Tháinig sé ag cabhrú le Fionn agus na Fianna.
Chuir siad fáilte agus fiche roimhe agus bhí fleadh agus féasta acu le onóir a thabhairt dó.

Stuimpín a' Chúlainn

Bhí fear thiar sa gCúlainn fadó agus sé an t-ainm a thugfhadh siad air "Spuimpín a' Chúlainn" Phós sé ceann go na McGraths in aice Cunga agus baistiú páiste leofa. Ní raibh an páistín ach trí seachtainí nuair a cailleadh a mháthair. Bhí aintín ag an bpáiste thall i Meiriceá-Státaí Mheiriceá-agus thánadar abhaile agus thugadar an páiste anonn leofa.

Choinnigh siad sa gcliabhán é nó go raibh sé i ndon lapareacht thart agus nuair abhí sé réidh leis an gcliabhán chuir siad ag an scoil é agus thugadar scoil agus foghlaim dó.

Nuair a d'fhás sé suas ina fhear bhí sé ar an bhfear ba bhreá a d'fhéadfaí a fheiceál i Státaí Mheiriceá agus, mo léan, ghléasadar suas é le éadach maith agus bhí sé ag gabhail isteach 's amach.

Rinne sé suas le iníon millionaire agus ní raibh aon fhear ar an domhain abhí ag gabhail síos leithí mar é.
Bhí fios maith ag a muintir go raibh sé ag gabhail isteach 's amach leithí agus bhíodar an- t-sástaí ach ní raibh a fhios acu sa domhain cá rugadh é nó cé'n sort muintire abhí aige.
Bhí go leór fir ag obair don millionaire seo ach an fear is fuide abhí ag obair dhó phointál sé amach é le gabhail go hÉirinn go bhfeicfeadh sé cá rugadh an fear seo nó cé dhár daoibh é.

Chuireadar scéal ag Stuimpín a' Chúlainn go raibh a leitheid d'fhear ag tíocht.
Nuair a tháinig sé bhí sé ag siúl leis ariamh ná go ndeachaigh sé go Chúlainn agus nuair a chuaigh sé don Chúlainn 'séard abhí ansin -Ó go leór,leór sean tithí agus go leór,leór gabhair agus pucaidí.Bhíodar ag jumpáil ó fhuinneóg go fuinneóg nuair a chonaic siad an strainséaraí ag teacht.

Chuaigh sé isteach agus bhí Stuimpín ina shuíomh síos agus é ag ól braon tae agus 'séard an sort bord abhí aige-cláirín beag fágtha ar a dhá glúin agus mug tae agus píosa de cháca leagthaí ar an gcláirín aige.

D'innis an fear dó cé'n t-údar a dtáinig sé."Tá fáilte agus fiche agam romhat" adeir an Stuimpín."Ná bíodh aon fhaitíos ort go gcuirfidh mé aon cheo as duit.Cuirfidh mé rud ar bith i do threo má tá mé i ndon."
"Ó,a stór go deo,rud ar bith atá tú i ndon a dhéanamh dúinn,"adeir an Stuimpín,"déan dúinn é."
Ach,anyway,nuair abhí an braon tae óltaí ag an Stuimpín d'fhiafraigh sé den fhear a tháinig anall as Státaí Mheiriceá an ólfhadh sé fhéin braon.
"Ó,muise m'anam go n-ólfhad" adeir sé.
"Ach,m'chonsíos," adeir an Stuimpín, "níl mo lámhaí an- ghlan"."By God",adeir sé,"caithfidh mé mo lámhaí a níochán."
Chuaigh sé amach ag an doras agus 'séard a rinne sé,thosaigh sé ag múin ar a chuid lámhaí agus by God,nuair abhí siad glan go maith aige tháinig sé isteach aríst 's thosaigh sé ag réiteach 's ag feistiú.
Ní dhearna sé ach cláirín nua a leagan ar a dhá ghlúin ag an bhfear agus chuir sé mug tae agus ghearr sé píosa breá arán agus leag sé ar an gcláirín é.Ní bhfuair an fear lucht ar bith air.

Chuaigh an fear anonn go Státaí Mheiriceá agus d'fiafraigh an millionaire dhó"Ce'n sórt áit ,"adeir sé,"a rugadh an fear seo?"
"A muise,a stór" adeir sé" caisleán mór"adeir sé" agus saighdiúirí an domhain thart air" adeir sé "agus iad ag rithe isteach 's amach ar na fuinneógaí nuair a chonaic siad mise ag teacht.Agus an bord abhí aige"adeir sé"ní bhfuigfeá a leithead le ceannacht i Státaí Mheiricá agus nuair abhí an tae óltaí a'm cathú an bord amach.
Agus an Tap abhí sé ag níochán a lámhaí ann ní cheannófá le do saibhris é."

"Ó,",adeir an millionaire,"más sin é,tá sé níos fearr ná muid fhéin."
"Well" adeir an fear "tá mise ag insint duit chuile shórt dá bhfaca mé."

Phósadar agus tádar saibhir sástaí ón lá sin go dtí an lá atá inniu ann.

Is beag atá idir an t-olc agus an mhaith...ach is fearr an mhaith.

Bhí Lord fadó ann agus bhí sé chomh saibhir is a d'fhéadhfhadh sé a bheith. agus thar éis chomh saibhir's abhí sé-bhí seomrín aige agus bhí coirnéal dó líonntaí le ginniúchaí buí ór-agus th'réis an saibhris abhí aige,bhí chuile dhuine thart ag tabhairt bronntanás aige.

Bhí fear bocht ann agus bhí cúigear gasúr ann agus bean agus ní raibh aon tslí ar domhain aige ach ag dul ó áit go h-áit ag saothrú lá agus ag iarraidh bheith ag tógáil a mhuirín.

D'fhan sé sa mbaile an lá seo-bhí garrantaí beaga aige-agus dúirt sé leis an mbean "Well, adeir sé "fanfaidh mé abhaile inniú le go gcuirfidh mé barraing ar chuile shórt" "Tá sé chomh maith dhuit" adeir sí

Thart ar mheán lae réithigh sí an dinnéar agus bhuail sé isteach ag a bhean. Bhí sé an- ríméadach,chomh mait 's abhí sé ag déanamh, ag cur barraing ar chuile shórt.

"Well"adeir an bhean leis "tá muid ag déanamh chuile shórt" adeir sí"chomh maith 's atá muid i ndon ach th'éis sin" adeir sí "níl muid chomh maith le gach duine".
"Muise céard sin nach bhfuil muid a dhéanamh, a stór," a deir sé.
"Well" adeir sí "níl muid ag tabhairt aon bhronntanás ag an Lord, agus tá chuile duine ag tabhairt-a bheag nó a mhór-bronntanás aige".
"Well" adeir sé"is deacair fuil a bhaint as turnop". "Is deacair" adeir sí"ach th'éis chomh deacair's atá sé-tá dhá coilleachín ansin amuigh-dhá coilleachín bheag-agus'á dtugfhá síos ag an Lord iad bheadh sé chomh ríméadach astú le duine ar bith eile"

"Is beag idir an t-olc agus an mhaith-ach is fearr an mhaith."
"Well, más mar sin é, a bhean,"adeir sé, "gabh amach agus cuir buaircín orthu agus leagfaidh mise shíos i lár an urlár ag an Lord iad".

Chuaigh sí amach agus chuir sí ceangail ar a gcosaí agus bhuail sé ceann faoi théin ascail agus sheo leis nó go ndeachaigh sé isteach ag doras an Lord.Bhuail sé cupla tip air agus is é an lord é fhéin a tháinig ag foscailt an doras agus bhí fáilte agus fiche aige roimhe."Ach" a dúirt sé leis,"má bhí rud ar bith a'd fhéin theastaigh sé uait fhéin níos mó ná liomsa"
"Well dúirt mo bhean liomsa gur bheag a bhíonns idir an t-olc agus an mhait agus sin é anois an méid abhí mé i ndhon a thabhairt duit"

Thóg sé an dá coilleachín uaidhe agus bhí an- ríméad acu astu.
Fuair sé gloine bhreá fuiscí agus nuair abhí an fuiscí óltaí aige bhí bord mór leagthaí le tae agus cácaí milise,chuile sort dá bféadfhá cuimhniú air. D'ól sé greadadh tae agus nuir abhí an tae óltaí aige shuíadar síos ar chupla cathaoir-é fhéin 's an Lord-agus bhí craic bhreá cainte acu.
Nuair abhí siad tuirseach ag caint d'eirigh sé suas agus adeir sé "B'fhéidir go bhfuil rud eicint le déanamh sa mbaile"
"Ní choinneóimid aon mhoill ort "adeir an Lord"ach táimid an- bhuíoch duit." " Tá an méid sin déantaí agatsa ",adeir sé" agus rud ar bith sa domhaina bhéas mise i ndon a dhéanamh aríst go deo"adeir sé" déanfaidh mé dhuit é"

"Well anois,a Lord,"adeir sé"níl aon cheo faoin domhain a d'fhéadfhá a dhéanamh dhomsa a b'fhearr liom nó dá dtabharfá aon amharc amháin dom ar an seomrín óir"
"Ó,a stór,"adeir an lord" tuige nach dtabharfainn". Fuair sé an eochair,chuadar ag an seomrín agus d'oscail sé an doras.

Sheas an fear bocht ag breathnú ar an óir bhuí abhí sa gcoirnéal agus nuair abhí sé tuirseach ag breathnú air shiúil sé isteach ní ba ghoire don Lord agus dúirt sé leis.
"Cé'n mhaith duitse an seomra óir ach an oiread liomsa?"
"Cé'n fáth a ndeir tú na focail sin" adeir an Lord.

"Well" adeir sé "ní fhéadfaidh tú a bhaint as go deo,fad a bhéas sé ansin ach lán do dhá shúil agus tá lán mo dhá shúil baintí agamsa anois as" adeir sé "agus má théann aon phinghin sa gconra leat,"adeir sé," ní bheidh ach trí lá go mbeidh tú ós cionn na creafóige aríst."

"Well" adeir an Lord "is iomaí fear a raibh craic cainte agam leis ach níor dhúirt aon fhear ariamh an fhírinne chomh maith leatsa" adeir sé.
"Gabh isteach,a stór," adeir sé "agus lán do phócaí agus tabhair abhaile go do chuid páistí é.

Chuaigh sé isteach agus bhí wáscoat air-Lan sé pócaí an wáscoat agus lán sé pócaí a bhríste agus pócaí a chasóige.

Nuair a theann sé in aice le'na theach bhí a bhean amuigh ag scaradh éadaí."Gabh 'steach abhaile"adeir sé"agus comhaireóidh mise amach luach do dhá coilleachaí go baireannach 'ad"

"Ó,tá do sháith óltaí go breá agat"adeir sí.Shíl sí gur óltaí abhí sé
"Tá mo sháith óltaí a'm ach,mo chonsíos,tá luach mo dhá choilleach a'm"
Chuadar isteach agus thosaigh sé ag cathú amach sovereigns agus ginniúchaí buí óir ar an mbord agus bhí an bheirt acu chomh ríméadach is a dféadfhadh siad a bheith agus dúirt théin ceann acu gur bheag a bhíonns idir an t-olc agus an mhaith ..ach gur fearr an mhaith.

Ón lá sin go dtí an lá atá inniú ann ní fhaca siad aon lá bocht.

Sin é mo scéal!

Irish rail ,Midland branchlines

The railway line from Clara to Banagher in Co. Offaly ,Ireland , was" twenty years a-growing".
When this railway started it had the name"The Midland Counties and Shannon Junction Railway"-what a mouthful!
The line passed through Ballycumber ,Ferbane ,Belmont ,near Cloghan ,Shannon Harbour ,and on to Banagher. The original plans were to extend the line on through Lusmagh and across the river Shannon at Meelick but this did not happen. It took just over twenty years to finish the line as far as Banagher.

The work started very well with over 500 men employed. The contractors had little experience of railway building and soon became bankrupt so the tracks lay unfinished for fifteen years.

In 1880 the name of the line was changed to the Clara and Banagher Railway and the line was finally finished in 1884. Traffic was light and the line was in danger of closing.
Then-happily the largest railway company in Ireland bought the line. This was the famous Great Southern and Western Railway Company. It paid about £12,000 for the line or less than £400 per kilometre. This was a good bargain considering the line remained open for almost eighty years and it gave a valuable service to the towns and villages along the way.

When the line finally closed in the 1960's no more care was taken of the buildings. Many were dismantled and sold.Others now lie in ruins.

The viaduct over the river Brosna near Ferbane was built from cut stone and still survives. In many places embankments are still to be seen.These show where the tracks lay.

The information above was taken from"Looking Around" by James Scully.

When I came to Ferbanein 1966 the railway line had already closed but it was still fresh in peoples memories. Children used to bring in pieces of metal picked up near the line and I had many a chat concerning the railway with Tommy Corcoran(R.I.P.)who had vivid memories of the line which ran close to his house.


Old Number Nine

The Autumn winds play tunes among the leaves beyond the Railway Hill
The Hollow of the Parson keeps me from their chill
As I sit to take my rest
From far away I hear again the rumble of an old goods train
Sparks are flying on the track in the evening rain
That's her coming from the west

Freight train-I hear your whistle on the evening breeze
Freight train-Calling to me from across the years

Barefoot lads,go running down along the track with screams of joy
A penny laid upon the rail by a laughing boy
Comes out squashed and paper thin
He holds it high.Billy Feelan blows his whistle,it rings in his ears
He's heading on for home now with his souvenir
He'll not see this sight again

She's fading now.Her noise is drifting back across the Clara Bog
Her headlights are swallowed by the evening fog
He can't hear her mighty roar
Her day is done.Trucks are pounding tarmac with their heavy loads
There's no one left to ride along the Iron Road
Old Number Nine will roll no more


This song is on "Life Lines" by Fartulla Ramblers

O,man of the white horse!!

Up until quite recently people in the West of Ireland rarely,if ever,sent for the doctor.Ailments were cured using the skills of the local herbalist or in some cases using "pisrógs"(Pronounced pish-rogues) -superstitious cures akin to African witchdoctoring.

One such cure was for the "triuf". Triuf was the Gaelic word for whooping cough. It was believed that the rider or driver of a white horse had the cure for the triuf.
The suppliant,on approaching the "man of the white horse",had to speak first so it was advisable for him/her to stay out of sight until the "white horse"person was close by-then leap out and get in his request.
"A fhear an chapaill bhán,an bhfuil leigheas agat ar an triuf?" "O ,man of the white horse, have you a cure for the whooping cough?"
The man of the white horse was then obliged to give a cure.He could choose any "cure" he wanted .Whatever he prescribed would do the job-anything that came into his head.


Once upon a time,in the West,there were two men who had "fallen out".They no longer spoke to each other and their relationship was bordering on "hatred",or maybe that's too strong a word,but let's say they had a healthy dislike for one another.
It so happened that one of them was the proud owner of a white horse and the other had the misfortune of having a household member who was suffering from the "triuf".
One day the unfortunate,who was in despair from listening to the constant bark of the triuf saw his neighbour,the owner of the white horse,approaching at a distance.He hid out until the horseman was near and then leaped onto the road and shouted"A fhear an chapaill bhán,an bhfuil leigheas agat ar an triuf?" before the horseman had time to speak and who,I suppose, had his hands full keeping his startled animal under control.

Now tradition had cornered the horseman and he was obliged to offer a cure-even to this person whom he thoroughly disliked.
Not to be outdone,and being in possession of a lightening fast brain ,he came up with the following "cure"

Bainne cíoch circe (The milk from a hen's teat)

Á bhleán in adharc muice (Milked into a pig's horn)

'S á súthú le cleite cait (To be mixed,or agitated with a cat's feather)

This folktale was told to me many years ago by my uncle,Mattie,and funnily enough I came across a reference to it in Dineen's Irish-English dictionary of all places.It was said that this story was collected around Tuam,Co.Galway.so,obviously this tale was told all across the swarth of land from Tuam into Joyce Country.

These old cures were crazy,of course (or were they?)Belief is a very potent healer-if only we could harness the mind as easily as harnessing the White Horse

Slán go fóill!

Rainbows in your hair

My cousin,John Joe Holleran,always claimed that he was the one who toughened me up for life. He was a couple of years older than me and certainly led me on a few "hairy"expeditions.He used to come to our house for his "summer holidays"and we were constantly on the go.

One day we went roaming on the shores of Lough Mask (south Mayo).We found a boat at a little quay near the present site of Petersburg Activity Centre and of course we launched it on the waters of the little bay. We then found the oars, which we could barely use,and rowed round the bay. In a short time we became bored and decided to venture out into the lake proper.Due to youth and inexperience we didn't realize that a fair old wind was blowing. We had been sheltered by some high trees up to this point but when we got out in the main lake we were swept along by the wind.The waves were high,we couldn't see the land when we were in a trough and we were like on a roller coaster when on the crest of a wave.We were SCARED.

We knew enough to keep the boat pointed in the right direction and finally got in to the shelter of The Red Island where we drew our breath,calmed down ,and figured out a strategy for getting home.
After a heartstopping couple of hours we got back to base and never again sought the pleasures of boating or fishing.We became allergic to water and barely washed ourselves for many a year.
We had a lucky escape but as they say you will never drown if you are meant to hang.

Song is available at Google play on C.D."Lifelines" by Fartulla -Check it out.


Cry of Freedom


Creep along the hidden path beside the river
And I'll meet you in the rushes by the lake
The boat is hidden there,we can sail off anywhere
And go gliding with the white foam in our wake


I can hear again the creaking of the oarlocks
And on her side the thumping of the wave
I can see the endless sky,with the stormclouds flashing by
I still hear the cry of freedom that you gave


Deep in a trough with water all around us
Then it's way up high with oars in the air
Forward like a dart,to the pounding of my heart
The flying foam makes rainbows in your hair


The long winds from the mountains drive us faster
We wonder if we'll ever more see land
A dry mouth from the shock,passing by the jagged rock
And then we're safely beached upon the sand


Sail away,sail away
We hope that you land safely on the strand

Heroes in Black and White

God be with the pre video days when the greatest thrill was the Sunday matinee at the local cinema. Zorro or the Lone Ranger flashed across the flickering screen in glorious monochrome and the smoky atmosphere was shattered by the delighted screams of adventure-seeking children who worshipped their Heroes in Black and White

This song was written by Dominic Madden and is featured on the Fartulla C.D."Life lines"-(See Google Play for same)


Heroes in Black and White


Down to the Ritz each Sunday at three
Get into the queue my old pals and me
Then the doors would open to a whole new world
A world of "make -believe"


And I could be Audie Murphy
And walk about ten feet tall
Leave the mark of Zorro
On the back of the school shed wall
Fly through the trees
With the greatest of ease
Be anyone or go where I please
With my Heroes in Black and White


As the projector light cut through the smoke
I hung on to each word that my hero spoke
And fought the banditos on the big silver screen
In my world of "make-believe"


Out on the street the sun hurt your eyes
Three hundred kids and a thousand warcries
Each one a hero of the big silver screen
In a world of "make believe"


Home along High Street I'd ride like the breeze
To the wilds of Clonminch chased by Comanches
Burst into the kitchen safe from those wild renegades
In a world of"make-believe"

The Old Ground,Ennis,August 1977

In August,1977,Padraig Canny,Liz and I set off for Ennis Co.Clare.It must have been the occasion of the Fleadh Nua or some such. We camped in Milltown Malbay or more accurately in a field at Spanish Point. We were joined by other musical pilgrims,most notably Mick Guilfoyle. As always the music and singing was super but as they say ,all good things come to an end,so on the Monday we lifted our tents,packed old "Danny Blue"(the van) and headed for home.

We were coming in to Ennis when someone suggested we take a break for a cup of tea,so in to the Old Ground we went. We had just got inside the door when we heard the sound of a human voice. We investigated,and found a room full of people just off the main foyer. The singing was going full blast-the naked voice-.Tea and trip home were immediately forgotten and necks were craned and ears dilated to take in every sound and nuance of the session.

Most of the greats were there.
Len Graham and Joe Holmes sang Maherafelt May Fair,Races of Moville,Haymaking and various others
Liam Clancy sang a song from his own locality about a pyromaniac called Byrne. He sang a bi-lingual song about a pup (four legged of course )
Brian Mullins sang a few,as did Marty O'Malley,Jackie Devanney,Roisin White,Sinead Cahir. Geordie Hanna and Sara Anne O'Neill gave us a stave.And of course Frank Harte,the grand daddy of them all.
God it was a veritable "Who's Who "of the singing world at that time.

At tea time the session broke up as people scattered to get food etc. We approached Frank Harte for a chat and discovered that there was to be a singers get-together in Marinan's Pub in Milltown Malbay on that very night.
We grabbed a quick snack and went straight back to our field at Spanish Point,where we set up our tents in the exact spot we had vacated that morning.
When the singers arrived in Marinan's there we were in the choice seats waiting in great anticipation for the feast of songs.
We were not disappointed.
Brian Mullins sang Harry Hughes,Night Visit song and something about a nettle??
Sinead Caher sang Blue Eyed Lassie.
Len Graham sang Kane's Shady Glen and duetted with Joe Holmes on various songs and lilts.
Cathal McConnell sang Killaloe;Jackie Devanney sang Brocadh Hill and Frank Harte sang the great Child Ballad-Lady Margaret and the Ghost.
Thank God for the memories!!


Lady Margaret


Lady Margaret lay on her fine feather bed as the midnight hour drew near
When a ghostly form came to her room
And to her did appear,appear
And to her did appear


Are you my father ,the king ,she said,or are you my brother John
Or are you my true love William,she said
Coming home from Scotland along,along
Coming home from Scotland along


I'm not your father,the king,he said,nor am I your brother John
But I am your true love William,he said
Coming home from Scotland along,along
Coming home from Scotland along


Oh Margaret,oh Lady Margaret,he says for love or charity
Will you give me back the plighted troth
That once love I gave thee,gave thee
That once love I gave thee


I'll not give you back your plighted troth nor any such a thing
Till you take me to my father's hall
Where oft times we have been,have been
Where oft times we have been


So he's taken her to her father's hall and as they entered in
The doors flew open of their own free will,
To let young William in,in
To let young William in.


Oh Margaret ,oh Lady Margaret ,he says ,for love or charity
Will you now give me back my plighted troth
That once love I gave thee,gave thee
That once love I gave thee.


No,I'll not give you back your plighted troth,nor any such a thing
Till you take me to yon high churchyard
And marry me with a ring,a ring
And marry me with a ring


So he's taken her to yon high churchyard and as they entered in
The gates flew open of their own freewill
To let young William in,in
To let young William in


Oh Margaret,oh Lady Margaret, he said,for love or charity
Will you now give me back my plighted troth
That once love I gave thee,gave thee
That once love I gave thee


Then out of her pocket she drew a cross and placed it on his breast
Saying here is back your plighted troth
In Heaven may your soul find rest,find rest
In Heaven may your soul find rest


The wind does blow and the Moorcocks crow and it's nearly breaking day
It's time that the living should depart from the dead
So ,my love,I must away,away
My love,I must away.

Children of the Night

I've been trying to teach children all my life and have enjoyed the experience-by and large. I have to say that the vast majority of them were really top class humans but there was the odd son of a gun along the way. Many of the"son-of-a-gun" fraternity were just poor little devils who had been neglected,physically or emotionally in their youth and never really had a chance in life.
Before the days of "political correctness" an old teacher said,referring to one of these types "His GRANDPARENTS should never have met"

The song "Children of the Night" was written with a particular child in mind but it applies to a whole host of other unfortunates who were bedevilled by bad parenting and faulty DNA.
God protect us all from adversity.

I think the phrase "Children of the Night" was in Dracula or some such story.
The song is on our(Fartulla) best-selling C.D."Life Lines" and is freely(almost) available on Google Play.
Have at it


Children of the Night


Waves rippled through the corn, on the instant he was born
And blinding, blaring, rainsqualls lashed the night
The rivers all ran deep,made the footless boulders leap
And lightning lit the rocks with ribs of light

Chorus

The children of the night are hid
By day in silent places
Alert and ever watchful
With mute averted faces
Through the streets a shadow creeping,
A dark cloud hovers near
It is fear,my night time children,it is fear


His mother's screams of pain echoed in his infant brain
And hate filled up his childs world from the start
All through those early years he remembers only tears
And lying alone for long hours in the dark


His teachers tried to compensate,but by now it was too late
By the age of twelve he was vulgar and obscene
Shoplifting,robbing cars,drinking cider sneaked from bars
Trying to show his buddies he was mean


He finally ran away from home and started out alone
To the city to find others of his kind
Joined the Children of the Night, all of boyhood dreams took flight
An empty shell is all thats left behind.

Introduction to the Old Folker

I'm Tony Holleran. I've been involved in the music scene in the Midlands of Ireland for the past 40 years. The idea of the Blog is to share musical memories, stories and songs.
I was born near Clonbur Co.Galway,but have spent my whole life living in Co.Offaly,where I've been involved in musical activities non stop right up to the present moment.Dominic Madden and myself have played under the name "Fartulla" for the past twenty-five years but nowadays we confine ourselves to Monday night in the Brewery Tap ,Tullamore and occasional nights with friends.We have recorded a few songs and they are available on Google Play.

Valentine O'Hara

Tom Madden,a native of Tullamore,spent most of his life singing and playing guitar and 5-string banjo in the folk clubs of England and America.Tom,a fine singer and musician,was the envy of all the nine-to-five "would be" folkers around the Tullamore area. His trips home were awaited with great anticipation-he always came up with a few gems.He was our main source of new songs.

In October of 1975 tom came on a visit. There was a session of music in Joe Lee's Lounge and as usual Tom delivered the goods.He sang "Alan Tyne o' Harrow". It was a smasher and before the week was out Iwas singing it with great enthusiasm.
At that time James and Liz McCardle,used to spend time in various libraries seeking out tunes and songs. James came across three or four songs about Valentine O'Hara and sent me a copy of this Irish version which he figured was probably the original.I've sung the song as Valentine O'Hara ever since.
Steve Turner sang Valentine on his excellent L.P. "Out Stack"and in the liner notes he says the song was known as Alan Tyne of Yarrow or Harrow but he said the Joyce collection had two song about the bold Val.

Tom Madden still sings the original version and has lately recorded it on a new C.D. called "Ship to Shore".
After the death of Frank Harte there was a T.V. snip of him sitting under a canal bridge singing "Valentine"


Valentine O'Hara


I am a gallant highwayman called Valentine O'Hara
I come of poor but honest folk nigh to the Hill of Tara
For getting a maid with child for England I sailed over
I left my parents and became a wild and daring rover

Straight to London I did sail where I became a soldier
Resolved to fight Brittania's foes,not Hector great was bolder
They sent me to a foreign land where cannons loud did rattle
And believe me boys I do not boast how I behaved in battle


Many's the battle I've been in ,in Holland and French Flanders
I always fought with a courage keen ,led on by brave commanders
Then a cruel ensign caught me out and I was flogged and carted
Cruel the usage they gave me and so I soon deserted


Straight for England I did sail as fast as winds could heave me
Resolved that of my liberty there could no man deprive me
I slept in the fields at night ,by all my friends forsaken
I couldn't walk the roads by day in case I might be taken


But I being of a courage keen and likewise able-bodied
I robbed Lord Lowens on the King's highway with my pistols heavy loaded
I slapped my pistols to his breast which made his heart a-quiver
Five hundred pounds in ready gold he did to me deliver


With part of my new store of gold I bought a famous gelding
That could leap over a five bar gate ,I bought him from Ned Fielding
Lord Arkinstone,in his coach ,I robbed near Covent Gardens
And two hours later ,that same night,I robbed the Earl of Warren


One night at Tarnum Green,I robbed the revenue collector
And what I got from him I gave to a widow to protect her
I always robbed the rich and great, to rob the poor I scorned
But now in iron chains I'm bound,in doom I now lie bourned


For it's now to Newgate I'm confined and by the law convicted
To hang on Tyburn Tree's my fate at which I'm much afrighted
Farewell my friends and countrymen and my native Hill of Tara
Kind providence may test the soul of Valentine O'Hara.

Tullamore Song

Some people from Scotland were in the Brewery Tap,Tullamore on last Monday night. They work for the new "Tullamore Dew" whiskey company. One of them asked if there was such a thing as a Tullamore song,so Dominic Madden duly obliged.

This same question was asked many years ago by P.J.Grennan.Nobody could think of a local song so Dominic decided to write one.

The song was first aired in the Mallett Tavern and I must say it has stood the test of time very well. The "life lines"of our country run through Tullamore.This song remembers fondly the Tullamore our emigrant sons still recall with great affection.Dominic recorded this song on our C.D. ,"Life Lines" under our group name "Fartulla" and it is available on Google Play.


Tullamore


From the Slieve Blooms to the Shannon lies a timeless rugged land
Six thousand years of growing through nature's guiding hand
Between rolling hills of heather and golden fields of corn
Lies Tullamore,so peaceful,the town where I was born.


Oh and I miss you,I miss you
I need a calm amid the storm
I want to be where I was born
I miss you.


Through poverty,plague and famine this small town did survive
With penal laws and battles came a will to stay alive
And when great fire brought disaster one hundred houses were burned down
Then like the Phoenix from the ashes rose a proud and prosperous town


From the top of Charleville castle where as a boy I etched my name
I could trace the Esker Riada,ice age hills of world-wide fsme
Then the steeple draws me closerI can hear the church bells chime
As I watch the river meanderI'm taken back to another time


On my way from school I hurried past the jail and Acre's Hall
The haunted house in Earl Street where I heard the banshee call
And the trees that gave me shelteroften heard young lovers talk
Making plans about their future as they strolled on Bachelor's Walk


The Grand Canal,a lifeline,barges hauling up and down
And the busy railway station our country's veins run through our town
But as I look out of my window on this busy Boston street
I recall our old thatched cabin where Collier's Stream and Clonminch meet

The trip to Cooleycall

There are few placenames that have a more poetic ring than Cooleycall. Cooleycall is near Bridgetown,Co. Wexford and it boasts a recording studio. What a setting for a nice relaxed afternoon of music.

In or around 1983 Phil Murphy dropped me a line saying he had booked Cooleycall for a recording session.He said he would come to Athlone for a rehearsal as he had a whistler who wanted me to back a tune on the tape.

Bhi go maith agus ni raibh go holc,they duly arrived and I was introduced to Sean White.
After the tea and biscuit I said "Well, get your instrument and we'll make a start". They looked at me in amazement. Of course I had assumed that by "whistler"they meant-tin whistle player-. What a shock! NO! Sean White was the all-Ireland whistling champion,as in whistling with his mouth/lips. You could have knocked me down with a feather.
The problem with whistling a tune was that it was in a slightly different key each time-so-a nightmare for a not-so -hot guitarist.

We arrived at Cooleycall early on a Saturday morning and Phil Murphy went to the boot of his car and introduced a bottle of whiskey to calm the nerves and start the day on a jolly note. The recording started and things were going well.Phil,John and Pips were very well rehearsed so no problem there. The first track was being played back when someone noticed a strange sound in the mix.Roof windows had been wide open and a bloody crow was picked up by the sensitive microphones.So we had to endure the heat for the rest of the day.

I've just played the tape and it has stood the test of time.
Phil,John and Pips Murphy played mouth organs as only they could do.
Sean Stafford,Pips father in law,played accordion. Sean White whistled.Leo Carthy sang two songsand Pip's wife,Catherine, sang "The Fairy Boy".
Joe Monaghan sang "Gallipoli"and I sang"The Bonny Irish Maid",a song Phil Callery and myself had cobbled together from various sources.I think Phil came up with most of the song.

We played in Loftus Hall that night and drank success to "Traditional Music and Song from South Wexford"
Someone should convert it to C.D. format and re-issue it without delay.


The Bonny Irish Maid


As I roved out one morning fair,so early as I strayed
It being all in the month of June,the birds sang in the shade
The sun shone down right merrily,and the water did gently glide
Where Primroses and Daisies grow down by Blackwater side


I had not gone but half an hour when there by chance I spied
Two lovers talking as they walked down by Blackwater side
And as he embraced her in his arms these words to her he said
When I'm in America I'll be true to my Bonny Irish Maid


Oh when you're in America the Yankee girls you'll find
And you'll have sweethearts of your own, more pleasing to your mind
But do not forget the promises and the vows to me you made
Oh stay at home and do not roam from your Bonny Irish Maid


When I'm in America the Yankee girls I'll see
But they must be very handsome to remind me love of thee
For there's not a flower in yonder grove or a bloom in yonder glade
That can remind me love of you my Bonny Irish Maid



There's manys the foolish youth she said that has gone to a distant shore
Leaving his own true love behind,perhaps to see no more
It's in crossing of the Atlantic's waves sometimes their graves are made
So stay at home and do not roam from your Bonny Irish Maid



And then these sweethearts together so fondly did embrace
Like honey drops upon the dew the tears ran down her face
Saying there's not a day while you're away but I'll visit still these glades
Until you do return again to your Bonny Irish Maid.

The gorgeous City of Mullingar

Colm O'Lochlainn published his book"Irish Street Ballads" in 1939. It was compiled,planned and printed in Fleet St.,Dublin at the sign of the Three Candles. The book became immensely important to the singers of the "folk revival" in the 1960's. There are still gems in that book waiting for their day to come.

In 1965 came book 2."More Irish Street Ballads" and this book also should be on every discerning person's shelf.

In book 2 was the song"In praise of the City of Mullingar". O'Lochlainn writes in his notes"I have known fragments of "Mullingar"since schooldays and my thanks are due to Senator William O'Brien for giving me "Songs and Fables" by Professor W.J.Rankine(Glasgow:Maclehose 1874) wherein this"Ode in praise of the City of Mullingar" appears.
Colm welded the words to the tune of the Irish song,"Preab san Ol",a convivial song by Richard Barrett,the Erris poet.

I completely disremember who sang this song in the "old days" but when in doubt,we'll blame Frank Harte.
I recorded a version in Cha Nicholson's Studio in Athlone in 1984.


In praise of the City of Mullingar

You may strain your muscles to brag of Brussels ,of London ,Paris or Timbuctoo
Constantinople,or Sebastople,Vienna,Naples or Tonktaboo
Copenhagen,Madrid ,Kilbeggan or the capital of the Rooshian Czar
But they're all inferior to that vast superior and gorgeous City of Mullingar


That fair metropolis,so great and populous adorns the regions of sweet Westmeath
That fertile county which nature's bounty has richly gifted with bog and heath
Them sights so charming where snipes a-swarming attract the sportsmen from near and far;
And whoever wishes may catch fine fishes in deep Lough Owel near Mullingar


I could stray forever by Brosna's river and watch it's waters in their sparkling fall
And the ganders swimming and lightly skimming on the crystal bosom of the Royal Canal
Or on Thursdays wander 'mid pigs so tender and geese and turkeys on many's the car
Exchanging pleasantry with the bold fine peasantry that throng the market of Mullingar


Ye nine,inspire me,and with rapture fire me to sing the buildings both old and new
The majestic courthouse and spacious workhouse,the church and steeple that adorn the view
There's a barracks airy for the Military where the brave repose from the toils of war
Five schools,a nunnery, and a thriving tannery in the gorgeous City of Mullingar


The railway station with admiration I next must mention in terms of praise
Where engines howlin' and trains a-rollin' strike each beholder with a wild amaze
Then there's main street,that broad and clean street with rows of gaslamps that shine afar
I could spake a lecture on the architecture of the gorgeous City of Mullingar


The men of genius,contemporaneous,approach spontaneous this favoured spot
Where good society and great variety of entertainment is still their lot
The surrounding quality,for hospitality and conviviality unequalled are
And from December until November there's still diversion in Mullingar


Now,in conclusion,I make allusion to the beautiful females that here abound
Celestial creatures with lovely features and tapered ankles that skim the ground
But this suspends me,the theme transcends me,my muses powers are too weak by far
It would take Catullus,likewise Tibbulius,to sing the praises of Mullingar

The night of the wedding at Locky McGrath's

John Tiernan was a resident musician in the Jolly Mariner folk club in Athlone for a number of years. He played the concertina and smiled a lot,bringing good cheer to the multitudes. His favourite tune was "The Otter's Holt",which he learned from Charlie Piggott. Charlie played banjo,mandolin with the original De Danann. John did a super job on the tune and I still remember it fondly.

John Tiernan's father-in-law,Jack O'Sullivan,used to visit from time to time and always come with John to the Mariner. He would sing a song or two and enjoyed the music and the general atmosphere of the place. Jack made me a tape in 1981 and on it was the song"Locky McGrath" which I recorded in Midland sound studio in 1984.I think that Cha Nicholson actually sang on the chorus.

Locky McGrath

Oh its all of a song I am now going to prattle
The night I fell in with a gang on the tatter
As sure as my life it was just like a battle
The night of the wedding at Locky McGrath's
Chorus
Arra by God t'was a terrible tear
Me and McGrath,my mother was there
And if I get mixed up in the wheels of a train
I may never go to her wedding again
2
The first thing that came was a big load of peelings
A mighty big stew that was made in the Hie'lands
The look of the stew it hurted our feelings
The night of the wedding at Lock McGrath

There was plenty to eat,there was frostbitten liver
As sure as you're there and sure as you're never
The look of the meat sure it gave us the fever
The night of the wedding at Locky McGrath's
3
There were tinkers and tailors and journeymen nailers
Azzina,Azuna and a bundle of Quakers
The look on their faces near gave us the shakers
The night of the wedding at Locky McGraths

The first to come in was old Mrs.McRussell
She couldn't well sing so she started to whistle
Somebody gave her a kick in the bustle
the night of the wedding at Locky McGrath's
4
And the next to come in was old Paddy O'Hara
He came and he gave us a verse of "Tarrara"
I seen all his bones going out in a barrow
After the wedding at Locky McGrath's

The last to come in was old Paddy McGinty
He stood in the door and he started a shinty
He upped with the poker I'm sure he killed twenty
The night of the wedding at Locky McGrath's

Who knows where the time goes?

A few years ago{40 maybe}we in our ignorance smiled at our parents when they said "Make sure you put that radio back on Radio Eireann before you go to bed-we want to hear the news in the morning".
We didn't realize at that time that technology had passed them by. Now my turn has come! I must admit I do not like that feeling but what can one man do?
Who knows where the time goes said dear old Sandy Denny-how right she was.

Some time ago my friend Dominic Madden and I recorded a C.D. of songs we had written. My son persuaded me to put the C.D. on sale on Google Play. So far so good. He did his usual whizzing on the keys and assured me that the deed was done and the C.D. was loaded and ready for action. He then went on his merry way.
On the following day I thought "I must have a look at our C.D. on Google Play" Could I find it? -not a hope. I had to wait until my son's next visit. I explained my predicament and he smiled indulgently(as I myself had done so many years ago). For God's sake "he says"Its so very simple(mutter,mutter,"like yourself")

Step 1. Google play.
Step 2. music
Step 3. Type "Fartulla" in search box
Step 4: Up comes lifelines

Could anything be simpler and here was I wading through mountains of rappers, heavy metallers, teeny boppers, lounge lizards and lowdown jazz rats, when I could have been listening to sweet music ;sweet as the Cuckoo in May. Music mystic and beautiful as the Summer dawn, music to lure the bird from the flock.