Finnegan’s Wake

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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner
round the flure yer trotters shake
Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye,
we had lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

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

His friends assembled at the wake,
and Widow Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake,
then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O’Brien began to cry,
“Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim, auvreem! O, why did you die?”,
“Will ye hould your gob?” said Paddy McGee

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

Mickey Maloney ducked his head
when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed,
the liquor scattered over Tim
Now the spirits new life gave the corpse, my joy!
Tim jumped like a Trojan from the bed
Cryin will ye walup each girl and boy,
t’underin’ Jaysus, do ye think I’m dead?”

The Fields of Athenry

By the lonely prison wall.
I heard a young girl calling
Michael they are taking you away,
For you stole Trevelyan’s corn.
So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.

Low, lie the fields of Athenry,
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing,
We had dreams and songs to sing.
It’s so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

By the lonely prison wall.
I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters Mary when you’re free,
Against the famine and the Crown
I rebelled they ran me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.

Low, lie the fields of Athenry,
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing,
We had dreams and songs to sing.
It’s so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

By a lonely harbour wall
She watched the last star falling
And that prison ship sailed out against the sky
Sure she’ll wait and hope and pray
For her love in Botany Bay
It’s so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

Low, lie the fields of Athenry,
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing,
We had dreams and songs to sing.
It’s so lonely round the fields of Athenry.

The Fields of Athenry is probably the best-known song about the Great Famine which raged over Ireland from 1845 until 1849.
The main character is awaiting transportation to the penal colony Botany Bay for stealing corn from a food depot. Whilst imprisoned his thoughts wander off to the abandoned fields of Athenry, a village just east of Galway Town.
Charles Trevelyan, the Permanent Secretary at the Treasury during most of the Famine years, was reluctant to hand out his corn and when the corn depots opened they mainly contained maize, or Indian corn. Due to its hard kernel the Irish were unable to process the maize.

When The Fields of Athenry was published in 1979 by Pete St. John the rumour was spread that the words already had been published in the 1880’s. Evidence supporting this rumour however is never produced and St. John’s claim is widely acknowledged.
Once published Paddy Reilly did a great job in distributing the song.

Amhrán na bhFiann

THE IRISH NATIONAL ANTHEM

Sinne Fianna Fáil
Atá Fá gheall ag Éirinn
Buidhean dár sluagh tar rúinn do ráinig chughainn
Fámhoídh bheírh saor
Sean-tír ár sinnsear feasta
Ní fágfar fá’n tíorán ná fa’n tráil
Anocht a theigeamh sa bhearna baoghail
Le gean ar Gaedhí chun báis nó saoghail
Le gunna sgréach: Fá lamhach na piléar
Seo Libh canaidh amhrán na bhFiann

Seo dhibh a cháirde duan oglaidh
Caithréimeach, bríoghmhar, ceolmhar
Ár dteinte cnámh go buacach táid
‘S an spéir go min réaltógach
Is fionmhar faobhrach sinn chun gleo
‘S go tiúnmhar glé roimh tigheacht do’n ló
Fa ciúnas chaoimh na h-oidhche ar seol
Seo libh, canaídh amhrán na bhFiann

Cois banta réidhe, ar árdaibh sléibhe
Ba bhuadhach ár rinnsear romhainn
Ag lámhach go tréan fá’n sár- bhrat séin
Tá thuas sa ghaoith go seolta
Ba dhúthchas riamh d’ár gcine cháidh
Gan iompáil riar ó imirt áir
‘Siubhal mar iad i gcoinnibh rámhaid
Seo libh, canaidh amhrán na bhFiann

A buidhean nach fann d’fuil Ghaoidheal is Gall
Sinn breacadh lae na saoirse
Tá sgéimhle ’s sgannradh í gcroidhthibh namhad
Roimh ranngaibh laochra ár dtíre
Ár dteinte is tréith gan spréach anois
Sin luinne ghlé san spéir anoir
‘S an bíodhbha i raon na bpiléar agaibh
Seo libh, canaidh amhrán na bhFiann

[English translation]

A Soldier’s Song

We’ll sing a song, a soldier’s song
With cheering rousing chorus
As round our blazing fires we throng
The starry heavens o’er us
Impatient for the coming fight
And as we wait the morning’s light
Here in the silence of the night
We’ll chant a soldier’s song

Chorus:
Soldiers are we
whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come
from a land beyond the wave
Sworn to be free
No more our ancient sire land
Shall shelter the despot or the slave
Tonight we man the gap of danger
In Erin’s cause, come woe or weal
‘Mid cannons’ roar and rifles peal
We’ll chant a soldier’s song

In valley green, on towering crag
Our fathers fought before us
And conquered ‘neath the same old flag
That’s proudly floating o’er us
We’re children of a fighting race
That never yet has known disgrace
And as we march, the foe to face
We’ll chant a soldier’s song

Chorus Repeat

Sons of the Gael! Men of the Pale!
The long watched day is breaking
The serried ranks of Inisfail
Shall set the Tyrant quaking
Our camp fires now are burning low
See in the east a silv’ry glow
Out yonder waits the Saxon foe
So chant a soldier’s song

Chorus Repeat

Gloomy Sunday Video

Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy,
My hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows
I live with are numberless
Little white flowers
Will never awaken you
Not where the black coaches
Sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thoughts
Of ever returning you
Wouldn’t they be angry
If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy Sunday

Gloomy is Sunday,
With shadows I spend it all
My heart and I
Have decided to end it all
Soon there’ll be candles
And prayers that are said I know
But let them not weep
Let them know that I’m glad to go
Death is no dream
For in death I’m caressin’ you
With the last breath of my soul
I’ll be blessin’ you

Gloomy Sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you asleep
In the deep of my heart here
Darling I hope
That my dream never haunted you
My heart is tellin’ you
How much I wanted you
Gloomy Sunday

(“Gloomy Sunday” (from Hungarian “Szomorú Vasárnap”, IPA: ['somoruː 'vɒʃarnɒp]) is a song written by the Hungarian self-taught pianist and composer Rezső Seress in 1933. According to urban legend, it inspired hundreds of suicides. When the song was first marketed in the United States, it became known as the “Hungarian suicide song”. There is no systematic substantiation for such claims, as it is not documented where any such allegations appear in press coverage or other publications of the time.

Numerous versions of the song have been recorded and released. Michael Brooks wrote in the program notes for the 10-CD set, “Lady Day” – the Complete Billie Holiday on Columbia, 1933-1944:

“Gloomy Sunday reached America in 1936 and, thanks to a brilliant publicity campaign, became known as The Hungarian Suicide Song. Supposedly after hearing it, distraught lovers were hypnotized into heading straight out of the nearest open window, in much the same fashion as investors after October 1929; both stories are largely urban myths.”)

Finnegan’s Wake

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentle Irishman mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet, an’ to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he’d a sort of a tipplers way but the love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day, he’d a drop of the craythur every morn

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

Mickey Maloney ducked his head when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Saying “Whittle your whiskey around like blazes, t’underin’ Jaysus, do ye think I’m dead?”

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn’t it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan’s Wake

 (A Tim Finnegan is the main character in James Joyce’s book Finnegans Wake. According to people who ought to know there are some parallels between Joyce’s Tim Finnegan and the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhail. Both are representatives of the old Irish order and values. As you may know Fionn MacCumhail is asleep in the Sheebeg Cairn and he will wake when Ireland need him. In this song Tim Finnegan has broke his skull and seemingly has passed away. Finnegan raised again when whiskey was spilled over him. Nice touch: in Gaelic whiskey is known as uisce beatha, or water of live.)

The Dawning Of The Day (Raglan Road)

On Raglan Road on an autumn day
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I might someday rue
I saw the danger
Yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf
At the dawning of the day

On Grafton Street in November
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine
Where can be seen
The worth of passion’s pledge
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
And I not making hay
Oh I loved too much
And by such and such
Is hapiness thrown away

I gave her gifts of the mind
I gave her the secret sign
That’s known to the artists
Who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint, I did not stint,
I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair
Like clouds over fields of May.

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should
A creature made of clay
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose
His wings at the dawning of the day.

(The confusion caused by the two titles of this song can be traced back to the different previous history of the tune on one hand and the words on the other.

The tune, known as Fainne Gael an Lae, strictly meaning The Bright Ring of Day, probably originates from the seventeenth century blind Sligo harpist Thomas O’Connellan. In 1847 Edward Walsh scored an eighteenth century poem to this air and the song Fainne Gael an Lae, by then translated as The Dawning of the Day, was born. The popularity of this song rocketed when a masterly interpretation by the famous Irish-American tenor John McCormack, of the The Dawning of the Day was used in the 1937 film Wings of the Morning.
O’Connellan’s air inspired not only Edward Walsh, but also Thomas Moore, when he sought music for The Minstrel Boy, as well as the author of The Ballad of William Bloat, Raymond Calvert.
In 1909, to make thing even more complicated, Cicely Fox Smith published a poem entitled At the Dawning of the Day. Apart from some phrases this poem has little to do with our subject, although it is not entirely unthinkable that Patrick Kavanagh at least knew this poem.

Most likely with knowledge of Walsh’s song The Dawning of the Day and Smith’s poem At the Dawning of the Day Patrick Kavanagh wrote a poem entitled Dark Haired Myriam Ran Away. This poem, which was published in 1946, seemingly referred to an unrequited love of Patrick Kavanagh. The words however don’t give a clue about her name and like a true gentlemen he never consigned the lady’s identity.

Kavanagh’s poem led a forlorn existence on dark bookshelves until Patrick Kavanagh and Luke Kelly of The Dubliners, at that time novices in the music scene, treated each other with their talents during a joyful pub session somewhere in the 1960’s.
The exact course of this gathering is vague. Some assume that Kavanagh recited his poem Dark Haired Myriam Ran Away and that Kelly set it to O’Connellan’s air. Others, among them Luke Kelly himself, state that Kavanagh already had set the poem to the air. Anyway, Patrick was impressed by the musical talents of Luke Kelly and he gave him permission to use the song. For some reasons The Dubliners didn’t use the original title of the poem and because there was already a song entitled The Dawning of the Day they came up with On Raglan Road.)

Four Green Fields

By Tommy Makem

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

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

What have I now, said the fine old woman
What have I now, this proud old woman did say
I have four green fields, one of them’s in bondage
In stranger’s hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons had sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again said she

(The Four Green Fields in this song are symbolising the four provinces of Ireland: Connacht (north-west), Leinster (east coast and central), Munster (the south and west coast) and Ulster (north).)

The West’s Awake

by Thomas Osbourne Davis

When all beside a vigil keep,
The West’s asleep, the West’s asleep
Alas! And well may Erin weep
When Connacht lies in slumber deep.
There lake and plain smile fair and free,
‘Mid rocks their guardian chivalry.
Sing, Oh! Let man learn liberty
From crashing wind and lashing sea.

That chainless wave and lovely land
Freedom and nationhood demand;
Be sure the great God never planned
For slumb’ring slaves a home so grand.
And long a brave and haughty race
Honoured and sentinelled the place.
Sing, Oh! Not even their sons’ disgrace
Can quite destroy their glory’s trace.

For often, in O’Connor’s van,
To triumph dashed each Connacht clan.
And fleet as deer the Normans ran
Thro’ Corrsliabh Pass and Ardrahan;
And later times saw deeds as brave,
And glory guards Clanricard’s grave,
Sing, Oh! They died their land to save
At Aughrim’s slopes and Shannon’s wave.

And if, when all a vigil keep,
The West’s asleep! the West’s asleep!
Alas! And well may Erin weep
That Connacht lies in slumber deep.
But, hark! A voice like thunder spake,
The West’s awake! The West’s awake!
Sing, Oh! Hurrah! Let England quake,
We’ll watch till death for Erin’s sake

(Apart from skirmishes in the Wicklow Mountains the 1798 United Irishmen Rebellion was seemingly crushed after the siege and subsequent shelling of the rebels encampment at Vinegar Hill in June 1798.

Two months later however, in August 1798, a small French fleet beached near Killala in County Mayo. Men from Ireland’s most western counties Sligo, Mayo and Galway joined the French army and brought the rebellion back to life.
Initially the combined French-Irish army, commanded by General Humbert, achieved some great successes in a campaign commonly known as the Races of Castlebar. The successes of this small army filled up with untrained civilians, where primarily due to the lack of crown forces in the west. French reinforcements arrived too late and the advance came at a standstill when they met the English forces near Ballinamuck in County Longford. The ensuing Battle of Ballinamuck marked the end of this French invasion of Ireland.)

The Town I Loved so Well

by Phil Coulter

In my memory I will always see
The town that I have loved so well
Where our school played ball by the gasyard wall
And we laughed through the smoke and smell.
Going home in the rain running up the dark lane
Past the jail and down beside the fountain
Those were happy days in so many, many ways
In the town I loved so well.
In the early morn the shirt factory horn
Called women from Creggan, the Moor and the Bog
While the men on the dole played a mothers role
Fed the children and then walked the dog
And when times got rough, there was just about enough
But they saw it through without complaining
For deep inside was a burning pride
for the town I loved so well.

There was music there in the Derry air
Like a language that we could all understand
I remember the day when I earned my first pay
as I played in a small pickup band
There I spent my youth and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
For I’d learned about life and I’d found a wife
In the town I loved so well.

But when I returned how my eyes were burned
To see how a town could be brought to it’s knees
By the armoured cars and the bombed out bars
And the gas that hangs on to every breeze
Now the army’s installed by that old gasyard wall
And the damned barbed wire gets higher and higher
With their tanks and guns
Oh my God, what have they done
To the town I loved so well.

Now the music’s gone but they carry on
For their spirit’s been bruised, never broken
Oh, they’ll not forget still their hearts are set
On tomorrow and peace once again
Now what’s done is done and what’s won is won
And what’s lost is lost and gone forever
I can only pray for a bright brand new day
In the town I loved so well.

(After 21 July 1972, Bloody Friday, the British army started a huge scaled military operation known as Operation Motorman. Army units with tanks and bulldozers cleared the barricades surrounding the so-called no-go areas in Creggan, Bogside and Andersontown. Northern Ireland really had become a war-zone.)