Name: Mná na hÉireann
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The Women of Ireland – is the theme that links nearly all these songs – even in the songs of emigration. Wasn’t it nearly always the mothers and sisters and wives and girlfriends who were left behind? The two drinking songs are no exception: in Níl sé ‘na Lá the feckless man is mesmerized by the mugs a-filling and the glasses a-clinking in the tavern below but is brought to his senses instantly when he hears that his wife has been looking for him all over the countryside!

Tiocfaidh an Samhradh

Tiocfaidh an samhradh agus fásfaidh an féar

Tiocfaidh an duilliúir glas ar bharr na gcraobh

Tiocfaidh mo rúnsearc le bánú an lae

Agus buailfidh sí tiún suas le cumha i mo dhiaidh

Scairt mé aréir ag an doras thall

Scairt mé aríst an raibh mo rún le fáil.

‘Sé dúirt a dadaí liom nach raibh sí ann

Nó gur éalaigh sí aréir leis an bhuachaill donn.

Brón ar an fharraige mar is í tá mór

Is í tá dhul idir mé ‘s mó mhíle stór

Siúlfaidh mé na bailte seo agus siúlfaidh mé an ród

Agus dheamhan ban a phósfas mé go dtéim faoi fhód

Is óg ‘s is óg a chuir mé dúil i ngreann

Nó go ndéanfainn súgradh le mo rún ar fáil

Níl baile cuain ar bith a ngluaisfinn ann

Nach bhfaighinn maighdean óg deas shiúlfadh liom

Summer Will Come

Summer at last and the grass grows green

And the leaves grow fast at the top of the trees

My love will come by the morn’s first light

And play sweet music to my heart’s delight

I called last night at yonder door

I called again but my love was no more

Her daddy said that she’d upped and fled

And eloped in the dark with the brown-haired lad

My sorrow on the sea for she is so vast

She goes between me and the love of my breast

I’ll walk these lanes and I’ll walk these roads

And devil the one I’ll marry till they cover me in sods.

O, I was young, so young, when I rambled for fun,

Coaxing the girls at every turn.

There was one from Carndonagh and one from the Isle

And another from Urris my heart had beguiled.

I learned this song while teaching in Coláiste Bhríde, Rann na Feirste, in the late 1970s. It was a fine singer called Sailí Ní Ghallchóir whom I first heard singing it although she had a few more verses than this. My English translation here is fairly literal but I added some Inishowen place-names to the fourth verse to give it (for me) a more localized setting. However, the Gaelic version I sing is more or less as Sailí sang it. I was pestered for years by my good friend Éamonn Ó Bairr from Port Eo to make a recording of this song . Seo anois é fá do choinne-se, a Éamoinn!

Níl sé ‘na Lá

Níl aon phort a chuala mé ar phíob

Ó tháinig mé i méadaíocht ar leinbh

Nach raibh liom ar bharr mo mhéara

Isteach i sliabh ‘s ag dhul ‘na bhaile

Níl sé ‘na lá, ná ‘na lá

Níl sé ‘na lá, ná ‘na mhaidin

Níl sé ‘na lá, ‘s ní bheidh go fóill

Ná níl sé ach uair ó d’éirigh ‘n ghealach

Seo na mugaí, seo na jugaí

Seo na cáirt ‘ líonann iontu leanna

Gan barraíocht airgid in do phócaí

Buail a’ bóthar ‘s gabh ‘na bhaile

Chuir mé féin mo lámh i mo phócaí

Is tharraing mé aníos mo choróin orthu

‘Sé dúirt sí liomsa, bean a’ tí,

“Is gheobhaidh tú an cárta go dtí an galún!”

Tá na caoirigh ag ithe an fhéir

Is tá na huain ag ól an bhainne

Tá mo bhean féin ar fud na tire

Is mithid domhsa ‘ dhul ‘n bhaile

Fág na mugaí, fág na jugaí

Fág na cáirt ‘líonann iontu leanna

Gan barraíocht airgid in do phócaí

Buail a’ bóthar ‘s gabh ‘na bhaile

It’s not daylight

I haven’t heard a single jig on the pipes

Since I found me a wife and a family life –

No craic, no music can be found;

It’s in from the fields and homeward bound.

It’s not daylight that’s shining bright

It’s just the moon on a cloudless night

It’s not daylight that’s shining here

It’s only an hour since the moon appeared

Here’s the mugs and here’s the jugs

And here’s the beer filling up to the lugs

If you haven’t the money in your purse

You may hit the road and be none the worse

Rise up, rise up, man of the house

Pour me a drink – I’ll be quiet as a mouse

Don’t look grumpy and forlorn

I’ll pay the reckoning before the morn

I plunged my hands in my pockets deep

And pulled out golden guineas three

The woman of the house, she said with delight

“You can drink by the gallon for the rest of the night”

Those sheep of mine are grazing fine

The lambs are sucking milk sublime

But my wife’s in the street with twisted face

I think I’d better leave this place!

Leave the mugs and leave the jugs

And leave the beer filling up to the lugs

If you haven’t the money in your purse

You may hit the road and be none the worse

Ba é Condaí Mhicí Hiúdaí an chéad duine a chuala mé ag ceol an amhráin seo. This west Donegal version of a popular drinking song, known all over Ireland in a wide range of settings, was first heard by me in Rannafast. Condaí Mhicí Hiudaí was the singer and later I heard Anna Ní Mhaonaigh from Cois Cladaigh ,Gaoth Dobhair,doing a beautiful version of it with a group of female vocalists. The lyrics of this particular version were hard to come by so I am very grateful to Aoife Ní Fhearraigh for faxing me the words. Aoife recorded a very interesting arrangement of the song on her first solo album.

Mná na hÉireann

Tá bean in Éirinn a bhronnfadh séad domh is mo shá le n-ól;

Tá bean in Éirinn ‘s ba bhinne léi mo ráflaí ceoil nó seinm téad;

Tá bean in Éirinn‘s níorbh fhearr léi beo

Ó mise léimnigh nó leagtha i gcré is mo tharr fé fhód.

Tá bean in Éirinn a bheadh in éad liom mura bhfaighinn ach póg

Ó bhean ar aonach – nach ait an scéala, is mo dháimh féin leo;

Tá bean ab’ fhearr liom ná cath is céad díobh nach bhfaighinn go deo

‘S tá cailín spéiriúil ag fear gan Béarla dúghránna crón.

Tá bean a déarfadh dá siúlfainn léi go bhfaighinn an t-ór;

Tá bean ina léine is is fearr a méin ná na táinte bó

Le bean a bhuairfeadh Baile an Mhaoir agus clár Thír Eoghain.

Is ní fheicim leigheas ar mo ghalar féin ach scaird a ól.

The Women of Ireland

There’s a woman in Ireland and jewels she’d bestow and a cabinet full of drinks;

There’s a woman in Ireland who swoons to my poems – O the strumming of strings!

There’s a woman in Ireland who would rather I was dead, laid in clay, my belly under sods – or so she thinks.

There’s a woman in Ireland who’d be jealous and enraged if I only got one kiss

From a girl at the fair, what a shame, and my love for them both is simply bliss.

There’s a woman who’s my fancy and I’d choose her more than any – a harem full of nymphs all dressed in lace –

And the stunning little girl is with a churl who speaks the Gaelic but who doesn’t wash his face.

There’s a woman and she said that if I took her I’d have gold

There’s a woman in her shift and her face would please me more than a hord

Of cattle from that woman who has tortured Ballyweir and half Tyrone –

But quite frankly there’s no cure but this tankard in my hand and I feel sick.

This delightful and magical tune was composed by Seán Ó Riada in 1969 by way of a commission from Éigse Oirialla. The occasion was the bicentennial celebrations of the 18^th -century Gaelic poet Peadar Ó Doirnín from South Armagh. Ó Riada set the Ó Doirnín poem Mná na hÉireann to music and it was performed at a famous concert in the Gaiety Theatre, Dublin, along with many other old Ulster tunes and songs. The concert was considered by many to be one of the greatest live performances of traditional music in recent times and was released on LP shortly afterwards as “Ó Riada sa Gaiety”. It featured the singer Seán Ó Sé, the band Ceoltóirí Chualann and Seán Ó Riada himself on the harpsichord.

Mná na hÉireann has been extensively recorded since but nearly always as an instrumental piece. I only know of two recordings of it (excluding my own) as a song. It was used as a theme throughout the film “Barry Lyndon” performed instrumentally on that occasion by the Chieftains, a group that actually spawned from Ceoltóirí Chualann.

The Flower of Magherally O

One pleasant summer’s morning when all the flowers were springing O!

Nature was adorning and the wee birds sweetly singing O!

I met my love near Banbridge Town – my charming blue-eyed Sally O!

She’s the queen of the County Down and the Flower of Magherally O!

With admiration I did gaze upon this blue-eyed maiden O!

Adam wasn’t half so pleased when he met Eve in Eden O!

Her skin was like the lily white that grows in yonder valley O!

She’s my queen and my heart’s delight, my Flower of Magherally O!

Her yellow hair in ringlets fell, her shoes were Spanish leather O!

Her bonnet with blue ribbons clung, her scarlet cap and feather O!

Like Venus bright she did appear, my charming blue-eyed Sally O!

She’s my queen and my heart’s delight, my Flower of Magherally O!

And I hope the day will surely come when we’ll join hands together O!

It’s then I’ll bring my darling home in spite of wind and weather O!

Ah, let them all say what they will, ah, let them reel and rally O!

I shall wed the girl I love, my Flower of Magherally O!

This song takes its form from the aisling (dream) genre of Gaelic poetry where the poet falls

asleep and in his dreams encounters a beautiful woman who represents the soul of Ireland.

She prophesies that Ireland will someday be freed from her chains of bondage. The damsel in

this song – Sally – although quite a stunner, has no political message to impart. This is

adoration, pure and simple, and, if he gets his way, the poet will bring his Sally home to roost,

despite the begrudgers. It’s set to a fine tune. Magherally was the ancestral home of the Brontë

(O’Pronty) family. I often wondered if Emily’s father Patrick ever heard the song in his childhood.

An Réaltán Leanbach

Tá an Réaltán Leanbach sa tír lastuaidh,

Tá gile agus finne le fáil ‘na gruaidh.

Tá a píob mar a’ sneachta agus í ‘na suan,

Is gur binne liom a glao ná géim ón chuaich.

Ó ‘se mo léan gan mé agus í,

I ngleanntán sléibhe nó ar mhaol-chnoc fraoigh,

Mar ar bh’eol dúinn cluiche, nó stró beag imirt,

A bháibín na finne, dá dtéadh siúd linn.

‘Sí an Réaltán Leanbach do ghrás ar dtús,

Is fíor gur thugas taithneamh dí thar mhná na Mumhan,

Is dá mbéinnse marbh is an bás im’chionn –

Is a rún, ná tréig mé ach éalaigh liom.

Ná leigse chun fáin mé mar chách ar siúl,

‘S gurbh aoibhinn an lá go mbéinn sealad agus tú,

A Róis gan dearmad, beir scéala cruinn abhaile uaim,

Go n-éalochadh an cailín deas thar sáile liom.

The Child-Like Star

The Child-Like Star is from a place apart,

Brightness and fineness are in her countenance –

Her neck is white as snow as her head reclines,

Her voice is more melodious than the cuckoo’s chimes.

Such a pity that she and I can’t ever be

In a lonely mountain valley with a heathery breeze

To learn all the lessons and the language of the heart –

O elegant little creature! We should never part!

The Child-Like Star is graceful from the start –

It’s true she pleased me more than all of Munster’s hearts

If I were lying dying and my mind in a whirl

O do not leave my bedside, my darling girl!

O please do not desert me like other hearts beguiled –

What ecstasy to be with you if only for a while!

O rose so unforgettable, please send the message soon

That you’ll sail across the sea with me, my love so true.

The arrangement of this traditional song from Clear Island, Co. Cork, is an adaptation of a version for voice and piano which Seán Ó Riada made in the late 1950s. The dance-tune used here by way of a ritornello is one that fascinated Ó Riada for years – The Garden of the Daisies. He used to play it not only as a solo piano piece, with exquisite ornamentation, but as a tune that ingeniously harmonizes with the song Iníon a’ Phailitínigh [The Palatine’s Daughter].

Méiltí Cheann Dubhrann /

A Thousand Farewells to Tír Chonaill my Home

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, sibh a thógfadh domh cian,

Tráthnóna sa tsamhradh nuair a luigheas an ghrian;

Is aoibhinn do chladaigh d’oíche ‘s de ló

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, céad slán libh go deo!

Tír Chonaill, my childhood was spent on your moors

I followed the gowans right down to your shores

My cradle was rocked to the sound of your foam

A thousand farewells to Tír Chonaill my home

Sna Méilt’ údaí a chaith mé seal aoibhinn gan gruaim,

Is mé ag buachailleacht eallaigh ar imeall a’ chuain

Is ann a bogadh mo chliabhán nuair a bhí mé beag óg,

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, céad slán libh go deo!

Nár mhéanar a bheith ann muna mbínn ann ach lá

‘S mé ag amharc ar an fhaoilean ‘na luí ar a ‘tsnámh

Bheadh aoibhneas agus aiteas, bheadh spórt agus greann

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, céad slán libh go deo!

O pity me tomorrow as I’m leaving the quay

The hills of another land are beckoning me away

My tears like a river will endlessly flow

A thousand farewells to Tír Chonaill my home

‘S nach trua mise amárach ‘s mé gabháil eadar dhá dtír

Is sléibhte na coigrích ‘cur cumhaidh ar mo chroí

Béidh mo roscaí mar a’ shruthán ag síor-shileadh deor

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, céad slán libh go deo

The stars of the morning are speckled in the sky

The rooster is calling at the dawning of day

Our ship she is waiting in the mist all alone

A thousand farewells to Tír Chonaill my home

Tá néalta na maidine ar breacadh sa spéir

Tá na coilligh ag scairtigh le bánú an lae

Tá an soitheach ag fanacht in imeall a’ cheo

‘S a Mhéiltí Cheann Dubhrann, céad slán libh go deo!

I have been singing Méiltí Cheann Dubhrann from the 1ate 1970s onwards. It’s a richly poignant song of emigration from the west Donegal Gaeltacht of Rann na Feirste and was penned by the writer Séamus Ó Grianna who wrote under the pen-name “Máire”. It’s a very intense song to sing and I found it increasingly emotionally draining so I began to recite the words in concert instead. To make it less a local expression of leaving and more of a general one for Co. Donegal I made a loose translation of the Gaelic words calling it A Thousand Farewells To Tír Chonaill My Home.

The bilingualism of this whole track harkens back to the macaronic songs (mixture of Gaelic & English texts) of the early 19^th- century. In the days of the hedge schools in rural Ireland people from Irish language homes embraced the new English language and rejoiced in finding there many novel ways of expressing themselves.

The Green Fields of Gweedore

Down by Dunlewey’s bonny lakes one morning I did stray

Until I reached sweet Clady banks where the silver salmon play;

I strolled around through old Bunbeg and down along the shore

And gazed with admiration on the green fields of Gweedore.

I visit Magheraclocher, on Middletown heights I stand;

Beneath me lies the ocean wide and Magheragallon strand;

Those sandy banks so dear to me, those banks I do adore;

Behind me lies sweet Derrybeg and the green fields of Gweedore.

The bonny Isle of Gola and Inismean so near;

I see the little fishing fleet as it lies along the pier;

I wandered through the graveyard where those have gone before

That once lived happy and content by the green fields of Gweedore.

I see sweet Inis Oirthir and far off Tory Isle;

I view the ocean liners as they stream along in style;

On board are Irish emigrants with hearts both sad and sore

As they gazed on old Tír Chonaill hills and the green fields of Gweedore.

Ba ghnáth le Cathal Ó Baoighill an sean-amhráin seo a cheol agus b’iad Clannad an grúpa ar chuir ar cheirnín é don chéad úair. It’s a song in praise of place – ar nós “Gaoth Barra na gCoillte, Gaoth Barra na dTonn” – and I thought a certain repeated chord pattern on the guitar would be appropriate to mimic the wanderings of the poet as he moves from sand and sea to mountain and meadow and back again to the ocean.

The Queen of Hearts

To the Queen of Hearts, he’s the Ace of Sorrow,

He’s here today and he’s gone tomorrow.

Young men are plenty but sweethearts few;

If my love leave me what shall I do?

Had I the store on yonder mountain

Where gold and silver is there for counting

I could not count for the thought of thee

Mine eyes so full I could not see.

I love my father, I love my mother,

I love my sisters, I love my brothers,

I love my friends and my relatives too –

I’ll forsake them all and go with you.

My father left me both house and land

And servants plenty at my command –

At my commandment they ne’er shall be –

I’ll forsake them all and go with thee.

To the Queen of Hearts, he’s the Ace of Sorrow,

He’s here today and he’s gone tomorrow.

Young men are plenty but sweethearts few;

If my love leave me what shall I do?

A long time ago I listened to two versions of The Queen of Hearts: those of Joan Baez and of Martin Carthy. But as the years went by I developed my own way of doing the song by singing it often and consciously not listening again to the two earlier sources. This is what I do now with nearly all the songs I sing, but can never tell how original my treatment is. That’s for others to decide, I suppose.

It’s an English folksong which harkens back to the Elizabethan period but I have heard the third verse used in several Irish songs.

Má Théid Tú ‘un Aonaigh

Má téid tú ‘un aonaigh bíodh a’ chaora leat, a holann is a huan,

Má bhíonn tú díomhaoin bíodh do mhian leat ar thoiseach a’ tslóigh

Ó bí aoibhiúil geanúil caomhúil agus molfar as sin thú –

Ní hí a’ mhaoin a bheafas i dtír thú agus ná mealtar léithe thú.

Óró annsacht cérbh’ annsa leat fear eile agat ná mé,

‘S gur tú an plannda beag a shanntaigh mé i dtoiseach mo lae,

Thug mé fancy duit gan amhras mar bhí mé óg gan chéill

‘S focal cáinte ná raibh ins an cheann údaí a mholfadh duit ach mé.

Teacht an Earraigh ceannochód talamh is dhéanfad fáras beag domh féin –

Beidh mo mhuintir ‘á shíor-mholadh domh gur críonna rinn’ mise é.

Níl ach moladh ar mhná an domhain agus beidh bean agam féin –

Ní hí an mhaoin atá mé a shanntú ach a cáilíocht ‘s a méin.

Óró a chéad searc an féidir go gcodlann tú san oích’

An é rud nach léir duit na saighde ‘tá polladh in mo chroí ?

Tá ní éigin a mo bhuaireadh is an arraing a mo chloí

Agus mé ag éisteacht le héanacha na coilleadh ‘ ghabháil a luí.

.

If You Go to the Fair

If you go to the fair be sure to be there with your sheep, her wool and her lambs,

If you’re a single man you should make your plan for the very best at hand

Be fun-loving, peasant, eager to please, and you’ll make friends on the day –

It’s not your wealth that will berth you safe so don’t be easily led.

O beloved girl, why do you prefer the other man to me?

Weren’t you the flower from that little bower that I nourished tenderly?

I saw your face and delicate grace and was smitten from the start

I praised your flawless beauty then but never won your heart.

With the coming of spring I’ll be the king of my little house and plot –

My folks will say I built it well and bless the chosen spot.

The girls of the land will praise my hand and soon I’ll find a match

But it’s not their goods that I would choose but qualities that last.

Oh, my first and only love, do you sleep soundly in the night?

Can’t you see the arrows of death doing mischief in my heart?

You left me truly shattered, my body weak and wan

As I listen to the woodland birds a-slumbering one by one

The song Má Théid Tú ‘un Aonaigh – If You Go to the Fair – is a very old song, probably centuries old. No-one today knows much about it but I did hear a little story once concerning it:

An old woman in Ranafast was very ill – she was dying. She was related to the Ó Dochartaigh family there called Seán Mhicí Óig. A neighbour called in one morning to find out how she was and asked her if she’d slept well the previous night. She quoted him the last verse of the song in its entirety.

D’foghlaim mé an t-amhrán (agus údaras an amhráin) ó Aodh Ó Duibheannaigh (Hughie Phadaí Hiúdaí) as Carraig a’ Choill, Rann na Feirste in 1978. Bhí Hughie muinteartha leis an tseanbhean.

Cheol mise agus Eibhlín Ní Earghaile an t-amhrán seo don Chairdinéal Tomás Ó Fiaich nach maireann oíche amháin in dTeach na Coláiste, Rann na Feirste – amhrán nár chuala sé ariamh roimhe. Chuaigh sé i bhfeidhm go mór air agus sula i bhfad bhí sé féin in áit na fírinne.

I Know My Love

I know my love by his way of walking

And I know my love by his way of talking

And I know my love by his jersey blue

But if my love leaves me what will I do?

And still she cried I love him the best

But a troubled mind sure can know no rest

And still she cried bonny boys are few

And if my love leaves me what will I do?

There is a dancehall in Mardyke

Where my true love goes every Saturday night

And he takes the quare one upon his knee

Well, don’t you know now that vexes me

If my love knew I could wash and rinse

And if my love knew I could weave and spin

I would make a suit of the finest kind

But the want of money sure’d leave me behind

I know my love is an ardent rover

And I know my love roams the wide world over

In some foreign land he would surely tarry

And an English girl he would surely marry

This is one of the first Irish folksongs I ever learned. It has particularly fond memories for me, and maybe even some memories not my own. I sometimes get so deeply into the spirit of the song that I feel I’m reliving the feelings of the girl in question. I know her. I see her face as she churns the butter in the kitchen of her little cottage, heartbroken that her boy has eyes for another girl and not for her. This melody is so labyrinthine and so unforgettable! My dear friends Mary and John Collins of Moville pointed out to me recently that they had heard that the song was sung traditionally as a churning song which possibly explains why the music has a kind of never-ending aspect to it.

An Droimfhionn Donn Dílis

An File

A Dhroimfhionn Donn Dílis, a shíoda na mbó

Cá ngabhann tú san oíche, ‘s cá mbíonn tú sa ló ?

An Bhó (Éire)

Bím-s ar na coillte is mo bhuachaill i m’chomhair

Agus d’fhág sé siúd mise ag sileadh na ndeor.

Níl fearann, níl tíos agam, níl fíonta ná ceol,

Níl flatha i m’ choimhdeacht, níl saoithe ná sló,

Ach ag síor-ól an uisce go minic sa ló

Agus beathuisce ‘gus fíon ag mo naimhde ar bord.

An File

Dá bhfaighinnse cead aighnis, nó radharc ar an chroróin

Sasanaigh a leidhbfinn mar a leidhbfinn seanbhróg

Trí chnocaibh, ‘s trí ailtibh, is trí ghleanntáin dubha ceo

Agus siúd mar a shaorfainnse mo Dhroimfhionn Donn Óg.

The Beloved White-Backed Amber Cow

The Poet

O Beloved White-Backed Amber Cow! Most silken of the herd!

Hiding stealthily in the night? In the daytime running scared?

The Cow(Ireland)

I do be often in the woods and my protector by my side

But all of that has left me broken, salt tears in my eyes.

No goods, no house, no wine, no bards, no nobles holding court,

No wise men in our castle bawn and only water from the brook

I spend the lonely nights in fear and watch our whiskey sipped,

Wine in tankards on polished tables while lackeys turn the spit.

The Poet

If only I had the right to speech or an army on the hoof

The English I would eradicate like an unwanted, worn-out boot –

Through the hills and through the knolls, through dark and misty glens,

That’s how I would free my cow, my White-Backed Amber friend!

I have always avoided singing political songs but make an exception here with this rather beautiful, poetic outpouring of rage probably dating from the early 17^th– century. The new English lords feared the bards and the power they wielded over the disenfranchised Irish. They even banned the use of the name “Ireland” in their poems. But that didn’t deter the poets. They started to refer to Ireland as beautiful maidens, forlorn and distressed, and gave her names like Roisín Dubh and Caitlín Ní Uallacháin. One anonymous, enterprising poet called his country The Beloved White-Backed Amber Cow and set it to a haunting melody. You can understand the outrage felt at the time when bards watched helplessly as the old Gaelic lords fled the country and the new English took over the big houses with scant regard for the culture they were supplanting.

The Flower of Sweet Strabane

1. If I was king of Erin’s Isle, had all things at my will,

I’d roam throughout creation new comforts to find still,

And the comfort I would seek the most, you all may understand,

Would be to gain the heart of Martha, the Flower of Sweet Strabane.

2. Her cheeks are like the roses red and her eyes a lovely brown,

And over her lily-white shoulders her hair comes tumblin’ down.

She’s one of the finest creatures and famous is her clan

And my heart is fairly captured by the Flower of Sweet Strabane.

3. If I had you, lovely Martha, ‘way down in Inishowen,

Or in some lonesome valley in the wild woods of Tyrone,

I would use my whole endeavour and I’d strive to work my plan

For to gain my prize and feast my eyes on the Flower of Sweet Stabane.

4. So, farewell to bonny Lifford where the sweet Mourne waters flow,

Likewise onto my fair-haired girl, for I from her must go.

As down the Foyle the waters boil and our ship stands out from the land

I will bid adieu to Martha, the Flower of Sweet Strabane.

An Inishowen song, by all accounts. But unlike many local ballads which are often sung to fairly worn out melodies (The air of The Homes of Donegal is a case in point), The Flower of Sweet Strabane has a strikingly good original tune. The words in some local songs can also occasionally feel uncomfortable with the melody to which they are sung, but not in this instance. This is a perfect match of words and music, capturing the sense of great longing. I have known this song so long that I’ve forgotten where I first heard it! Martha was Martha Ramsey, the daughter of a wealthy farmer from outside Strabane who refused to allow his daughter marry the hired Inishowen man. He was one of the McDonalds of Moville.

An Crúiscín Lán

Nuair a gheobhas mé bás ná cuirigí faoi fhód mé –

Tabhair go tí ‘n leanna mé ‘gus cóirigí ar bord mé,

An áir a mbeidh mé af éisteacht leis na mugannaí dá mbuaileadh

Is gur binne liom noai n-uaire é ná ceol binn nacuaiche –

Is líontar dúinn an crúiscín is bíodh sé lán

Grá mo chroí mo chrúiscín,

Sláinte gheal mo mhuirnín

Ba chuma liom an cúilín dubh nó bán

Is líontar dúinn an crúiscín is bíodh sé lán

Tá cailín ar an bhaile seo is tá sí lách aerach

Tá sí lách geanamhail ‘gus loinnir ar a héadán

Macasamhail chan fhaca mé i mbaile nó in áthrach

Ach an pamhsaí Néillí bhí ar thóin na loing’ á bathadh

Is líontar dúinn an crúiscín is bíodh sé lán

An dtiocfaidh tú nó an bhfanfaidh tú, an dtiocfaidh tú, a Dhomhnaill?

An dtiocfaidh tú nó an bhfanfaidh tú, nó an bhfuil do dhóthain ólta?

Tiocfaidh mé ‘s ní fhanfaidh mé, is tá mo dhóthain ólta,

Is beidh an cailín deasagam ma ghlacann sí mo chomhairle

Is líontar dúinn an crúiscín is bíodh sé lán

Is deas an baile an baile seo, is deas an Baile Chnáimhsí

Is deise an baile an baile seo ná baile ar bith san áit seo

Tá congar aifrinn ann, muilinn agus ceardchan –

Nár mhéanar don ógmhnaoi ‘ bheadh ‘na cónaí ann ach ráithe,

Is líontar dúinn an crúiscín is bíodh sé lán

The Little Full Jug

When my time is nigh, don’t lower me in the clay

Carry me to the ale house and place me on the tray

So I can hear the tankards clink and the mugs and jugs a-fillin’

Nine times sweeter music than the cuckoo in the springtime –

O let our jugs be filling up, filling to the brim

Love of my heart, my little jug!

A happy cheer to thee!

It makes no difference what’s the shade, be it yellow, brown or pale –

O let our jugs be filling up, filling to the brim

There’s a damsel in this neighbourhood who’s pleasing, light and airy

She’s pleasing, light and airy with the radiance of a fairy

I never saw her likes before in market town or city

Except the drowning Nelly on that ship – O what a pity!

O let our jugs be filling up, filling to the brim

Donal, wont you come along, or maybe you are stayin’?

Donal, wont you come along, and have you paid the reckonin’?

For sure I’ll come, I will not stay, I’ve had my fill and paid her

And I’ll have that pretty wench as well – or maybe she is taken?

O let our jugs be filling up, filling to the brim

This town is a lovely town and so is Ballycramsey

This town is a lovely town, the nicest in all Ireland

There’s the church, and there’s the mill and there’s the hearty blacksmith

A perfect place for a maid to live if only for a season

O let our jugs be filling up, filling to the brim

Amhrán ólacháin as Contae Thír Eoghain atá ann. This drinking song was recorded in 1951 by a Raidio Éireann crew sent to locate the last native Irish speakers in the Sperrin Mountain district of North Tyrone. It was sung on that occasion by Mary Keenan of Knocanboy. I came on another version in Ranafast in West Donegal but it might have been brought in from Co.Tyrone some years earlier.

Mo Mhuirnín Bán

1 Bhí mé oíche ‘stoigh ‘Fhéile Bríde

Ar faire thíos ar a’ Mhullach Mhór

Nuair a dhearc mé an fhaoileann ar thug mé gnaoi dí

Mar bhí sí aoibhinn deas álainn óg

Is í go cinnte a mhearaigh m’intinn

‘Gus lia na bhFiann ní leigheasfadh mé

Is tá mo chroí ‘stoigh ‘na mhíle píosaí

Mur’ bhfaighe mé dídean ina brollach bán

2 ‘Sé fáth mo bhuartha nach bhfaighim cead cuarta ort

Sa ghleanntán uaigneach mar a mbíonn mo ghrá

Bíonn mil ar luachair ann, im ar uachtar

‘S gur ag tús an fhómhair bíonn na crainn faoi bhláth

Bíonn báibín laoigh ann, bíonn bric ‘na scaoi ann

‘S an eala aoibhinn ar an linn ‘s í ag snámh

‘S dá mbeinn-se críonna bheadh mo shaibhreas déanta

Agus cead agam síneadh le mo mhuirnín bán

My Fair-Haired Darling

1 One night around St. Bridget’s Eve

Down at a wake in Mullaghmore

I saw the girl that I loved so dearly

And she so fresh and fair to be sure.

It was she for certain who fuddled my thinking

For the healer of the Fianna he did his best –

But my heart inside’s in a thousand pieces

Unless I find shelter in her snow-white breast.

2 ‘Tis the cause of my sorrow that they forbid me to see you

In the lonely valley wherein you dwell;

There’s honey on rushes there, butter and cream there

At the beginning of autumn ‘fore the leaves start to fall,

A young calf is there, and badgers in swarms,

And the beautiful swan swimming on the lake.

If only I were wiser and not like a miser

Then I’d be wed and in bed with my fair-haired maid.

I first encountered the melody of this beautiful song as the main love-theme for the film version of John M. Synge’s stage drama The Playboy of the Western World. It was the composer Seán Ó Riada who had arranged it for instrumental folk ensemble for the sound track. My vocal interpretation of it is, I believe, the first sung version to appear on CD. The first verse is from a Ranafast variant (Níon a’ Bhaoigheallaigh) – sung there to an entirely different air. The second verse, collected in Connaught, is similar to the well-known ‘Sé Fáth Mo Bhuartha. The melody of Mo Mhuirnín Bán is full of linear tension and seems more classical in structure than most folk-song patterns. It may have been the work of an Irish harpist skilled in formal composition in the Bardic schools.

The Holy Ground

1. Fare thee well, my Lovely Dinah, a thousand times adieu,

We are going away from the Holy Ground and the girls we all love true,

We will sail the salt-seas over, and we’ll return for sure

To see again the girls we love and the Holy Ground once more.

Chorus You’re the girl I do adore

And still I live in hope to see

The Holy Ground once more.

2. We’re on the salt-sea sailing and you are safe behind,

Fond letters I will write to you, the secrets of my mind,

And the secrets of my mind, my love, you’re the girl I do adore,

And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.

3. I see a storm a-rising; I can see it coming soon,

And the night is dark and cloudy; you can scarcely see the moon,

And the secrets of my mind, my love, you’re the girl I do adore,

And still I live in hope to see the Holy Ground once more.

4. And now the storm is over and we are safe and well;

We will go into a public house and sit and drink our fill.

We will drink strong ale and porter and make the rafters roar,

And when our money it is all spent, we will go to sea once more.

The slowing down of a song that had previously been known only in up-tempo versions sometimes reveals an unexpected musical attractiveness – and even something poetic – otherwise obscured by the fast treatment. It was the Cork singer Jimmy Crowley I first heard doing a slower version of “The Holy Ground”. I was immediately drawn to it but never did anything about it until it was later covered by Mary Black, clearly inspired by the Crowley version.

I Lost My Own Sweet Inishowen

O Hills of Malin, I am sick with sorrow –

I can no longer call you home,

For somewhere beyond the seven seas

I lost my own sweet Inishowen.

O cruel city, you show no pity

To the lonely stranger from another land –

No smiling face, no warm embrace,

No friendly folk to shake my hand.

My memory takes me beyond the seas

To bonny Sheskin, Slievebane and Bree

Where I left my friends and good company

And those fields of green where I ran free.

O Hills of Malin, I am sick with sorrow –

I can no longer call you home,

For somewhere beyond the seven seas

I lost my own sweet Inishowen.

I was reading one evening through a beautiful collection of poems by Laurence Glackin called “Space Behind An Open Door”. One poem in particular (The Coast Road To Malin Head) really impressed me and I wondered if I could set it to music. Laurence is a native of Bree, Malin Head, and had spent many years working far from home…indeed, far, far “beyond the seven seas”. With a bit of push and shove – and some consultation with the poet – I managed in the end to wed the poem to an old Scottish air called “My Bonnie Laddie Has My Heart” which – to my ears at least – sounds more like an Irish melody. I renamed it I Lost My Own Sweet Inishowen after my favourite line. The tune spans two full octaves and can be difficult to sing if you don’t start on the right note. So, be warned!