Kerry Songs

Kerry, the loveliest of the Counties of Ireland, with its magnificent, breath-taking scenery, its magical lakes and mountains…Kerry of the songs and stories, whose greatest possession is its own warm-hearted friendly people.

Where Your Ancestors From County Kerry?

However County Kerry is, above and before all, a county which has always stood four square for Irish Freedom, the County of Piaras Feirtear, Thomas Ashe, Austin Stack, O`Rahilly, Charlie Kerins and many other patriot sons.

Kerry with its lovely Corca Dhuibhne and Uibh Rathach Gaeltacht areas has always been to the fore in the fight to restore the Irish Language to its rightful place.

Kerry has many delightful songs in the Gaelic language, one of the best loved of these being “Fainne Geal an Lae.” The song is about wooing a lovely Girl on the banks of Loch Lene, one of Killarney’s famous lakes, at the dawning of the day.

Do shuigh an bhrideach sios le m`aisAr bhinse glas den bhfear

The story of the song is so well known as scarcely needs re-telling. It is a song about the love of William Pembroke Mulchinock and a local girl called Mary O’Connor.

William a staunch nationalist, was quite wrongly blamed for a killing during a THE BEST-loved of all Kerry songs must surely be “The Rose ofTralee”, a simple love ballad, from which has evolved one of Ireland’s most acclaimed festivals.

The story of the song is so well known as scarcely needs re-telling. It is a song about the love of William Pembroke Mulchinock and a local girl called Mary O’Connor.

William a staunch nationalist, was quite wrongly blamed for a killing during a Daniel O’Connell meeting in Tralee, and was forced to flee the country. He worked for six years as a war correspondent, in India.

In the spring of 1849, having been cleared of all complicity in the murder, he returned to Tralee, hoping to see his beloved Mary once again. But, his hopes were sadly blighted. Arriving in the town,he saw a cortege pass by, and was told that it was the funeral of MaryO’Connor.

He was heart-broken. He later went onto marry a localgirl and moved to America, where his two daughters were born. Themarriage, sadly, was not a success. The couple separated in 1855,and William returned to Tralee.

He became a victim of extreme depression and sought solace inalcohol. He died on 13th October, 1864, at the early age of 44, and isburied beside his beloved Mary, in Clogherbflefl graveyard.

Here, then, is the charming songwhich William Muichinock wroteof his loved one...

The Rose Of Tralee

The pale moon was rising above thegreen mountain,The sun was declining beneath theblue sea;When I strayed with my love to thepure crystal fountain,That stands in the beautiful Vale ofTralee.

She was lovely and fair as the rose ofthe summer,Yet ‘twos not he-r beauty alone thatwon me;Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyesever dawningThat made me love Mary, the Roseof Tralee.

The cool shades of evening theirmantle were spreading,And Mary, all smiling, was listeningto me;The moon through the valley her palerays was shedding,When I won the heart of the Roe ofTralee.

Though lovely and fair as the rose ofthe summer,Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone thatwon me;Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyesever dawningThat made me love Mary, the Roseof Tralee.

In the far fields of India, ‘mid war’sdreadful thunder,Her voice was a solace and comfortto me;But the chill hand of death has nowrent us asunder,I’m lonely tonight for the Rose ofTralee!

She was lovely and fair as the rose ofthe summer,Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone thatwon me;Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyesever dawningThat made me love Mary, the Roseof Tralee.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube The Rose Of Tralee

OUR NEXT offering is the evocative nostalgic ballad “Kerry Long Ago”. It was written in the early years of the last century by Sean O’Nolan, a native of Baltinglass, Co Wicklow, who spent most of his life in the United States, where he died, in 1943, at the age of 72.

He composed many songs, of which the best-known are “Kerry Long Ago” and “The Boys from County Cork”.

Kerry Long Ago

Oh, God be with you Kerry,Where in childhood we were merry;V#’hen we’d hear the fiddler tuningup’And resining his bow.At the crossroads we’d be dancing,And our colleens shyly glancing,Just like their dads and mothers did,in Kerry long ago.

Now my heart is sad and weary,In my dreams I see my Mary;With her golden tresses flying,On her cheeks the rosy glow.I can hear her softly singing,With Phil Hal pin’s fiddle ringing,As he played “The Stack of Barley”,in Kerry long ago.

We’d go down to Mary’s dairy,With hearts so light and airy;At the churn we’d take our turn,Till the butter would o’er flow.To the kitchen we’d retire,And seek out the biggest liar,Just to tell us fairy stories,Of old Kerry long ago.

Then we’d stroll home in themoonlight,And our colleens’waists we’d hugtight;Just to save them from the fairies,In the raheen down below.Then we’d say goodnight and kissthem,We’d go home and pray God blessthem,The sweethearts of our boyhood days,In Kerry long ago.

OUR FOURTH song, the ever-popular “Red is the Rose”. The work of an anonymous poet, dates from the middle of the nineteenth century. It tells the sad tale of a young man who was deeply in love, but whose sweetheart and sister died during the Famine. He is now about to depart for far foreign fields.

Red Is The Rose

Come over the hills, my bonnie Irishlass,Come over the hills to your darling;You choose the rose, love, and I’llmake the vow,And I’ll be your true love forever.

Red is the rose that in yonder gardengrows,And fair is the lily of the valley;Clear is the water that flows from theBoyne,But my love is fairer than any.

‘Twos down by Killarney’s greenwoods that we strayed,When the moon and the stars theywere shining;The moon shone its rays on her locksof golden hair,When she swore she’d be my loveforever.

Red is the rose that in yonder gardengrows,And fair is the lily of the valley;Clear is the water that flows from theBoyne,But my love is fairer than any.

It’s not for the loss of my only sister,Kate,Ii’s not for the grief of my mother;‘Tis all for the loss of my bonny Irishlass,That I’m leaving old Ireland forever.

Red is the rose that in yonder gardengrows,And fair is the lily of the valley;Clear is the water that flows from theBoyne,But my love is fairer than any.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube Red Is The Rose

County Kerry, as we all know, was very much involved in the struggle for Irish freedom. In 1920, four young soldiers of Ireland were surrounded by crown forces in the valley of Knockanure. One of the four, Con Dee, managed to make his escape, but the other three were ruthlessly mown down by the enemy.

They were Jerry Lyons, a native of Duagh; Paddy Walsh, ofBallydonoghue and Pat Dalton from Athea, Co Limerick. They areremembered in two fine ballads, one of them the work of PaddyDrury. However, we have chosen Bryan MacMahon’s splendid song,

The Valley of Knockanure

You may si~ng and speak about EasterWeek,And the heroes of Ninety Eight;Of Fenian men who roamed the glen,In victory or defeat.Their names are placed on history’spage,Their memory will endure;Not a song was sung of our darlingsons,In the Valley of Knockanure.

There was Walsh and Lyons and theDalton boy,They were young and in their prime;They rambled to a lonely spot,Where the Black and Tans did hide.A republic bold they did uphold,Though outlawed on the moor;And side by side they fought anddied,In the Valley of Knockanure.

It was on a neighbouring hillside,We listened in hushed dismay;In every house, in every town,A young girl knelt to pray.They’re closing in around them now,With rifle fire so sure;And Lyons is dead and youngDalton’s down,In the Valley of Knockanure.

But ‘ere the guns could seal his fate,Young Walsh had spoken true;With a prayer to God he spurnedthe sod,As against the hill he flew.The bullets tore his flesh in two,Yet he cried with voice so sure;“Revenge I’ll get for my comrades’death,In the Valley of Knockanure”.

The summer sun is sinking low,Behind the field and lea;The pale moonlight is shining bright,Far off beyond Tralee.The dismal stars and the clouds afar,Are darkening o’er the moor;And the banshee cried when youngDalton died,In the Valley of Knockanure.

Here is the song on U-Tube The Valley Of Knockanure

Another great Kerry song is a tribute to the young Tralee patriot, Charlie Kerins, or Cathal () Ciaráin~ as he preferred to be known. A third level student in Dublin, much involved in republican activitiesduring the years of World War II, he was hanged in Mountjoy Jail on 1st December, 1944, by the government of the day.

His death aroused huge indignation in Kerry~ particularly in his native Tralee. Anger raged, in particular, when it was discovered that the English hangman was employed to carry out the deed of death.

Charlie Kerins, as well as being a republican and an Irish language activist was, as befitted a Kerryman, a splendid Gaelic footballer, who had played with the famed O’Rahillys Club, in Tralee.

Following his death, the O’Rahillys players and officers ensured that his memory would live by adding his name to the club... from then on to be know as Kerins O’Rahillys. Kerins O’Rahillys went on to win three Kerry senior football titles in the 1950s.

CharlieKerins’s grave, which I had the privilege of visiting some years ago, is in Ballyseedy Cemetery, not far from where eight other brave soldiers of freedom were done to death during the Civil War.

He is remembered in the splendid song composed by the stalwart Meath republican writer, Brian O’Higgins. It is entitled.

The Boy from Tralee

Emmet and Barry and the Manches-ter Martyrs,A comrade have met in the brightHalls above;Another young life has been laiddown for Ireland,Another true heart full offaith andof love,With Barnes and MacCormick hewill live in our memory,

And inspire us to fight on ‘til Irelandis free;A friend to the faithful, afoe to thetraitor -Young Cathal O Ciardin, the Boyfrom Tralee.

He spoke like a soldier, he stood like atrue man,When the cravens condemned him todeath and to shame;He followed the path of a long lineof he roes,And Ireland forever shall honour hisname.On a First Friday morning in themonth of December,The hangman from England cameover the sea;And traitors to Ireland wreakedvengeance and hatred,On Cathal O Ciardin, the Boy fromTralee.

God rest him tonight in the bright- Iness of Heaven!God strengthen each true man towalk where he led,To raise up the standard of justiceand freedom,And win for the living the wage ofthe dead!When the rule of the traitors is endedforever,And the power of their masters, fromsea unto sea,We’ll praise the brave soldier ofPoblacht na hEireann -Young Cathal 0 Ciardin - the Boyfrom Tralee.

Another great song, not really from County Kerry, but more famous than most 0f the Kerry songs.

How Can You Buy Killarney

An American landed on Erin’s green isle.He gazed at Killarney with rapturous smile.“How can I buy it?” he said to his guide.“I’ll tell you how,” with a smile he replied.

How can you buy all the stars in the sky?How can you buy two blue Irish eyes?How can you purchase a fond mothers sighs?How can you buy Killarney?

Nature bestowed all her gifts with a smile.Te emerald, the shamrock, the blarney.When you can buy all these wonderful things.Then you can buy Killarney.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube How Can You Buy Killarney

There is a very moving ballad about Aghadoe.

A young man that joined in the 1798 Rebellion and escaped from the government's mopping-up operation and hid with the help of his lover in Aghadoe was finally arrested due to her son's treachery and was beheaded and now sleeps like an Irish King in Aghadoe. Although this ballad appears to be a tragic love song, its real motive is not private and emotional, but public and political in that it allegorically expresses love of Ireland and the hatred for England

The Glen Of Aghadoe

There's a glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe There's a deep and secret glen in Aghadoe Where we met my love and I, love's fair planet in the sky In that deep and silent glen in Aghadoe

There's a glade in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe There's a deep and secret glade in Aghadoe Where I hid from the eyes of the redcoats and their spies That year the trouble came to Aghadoe

But they tracked me to that glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe When the price was on his head in Aghadoe O'er the mountain through the wood as I stole to him with food But the bullets found his heart in Aghadoe

I walked from Mallow town to Aghadoe, Aghadoe I took his head from the jail gate to Aghadoe There I covered him with fern and I piled on him the cairn Like an Irish king he sleeps in Aghadoe



Here is the ballad on U-Tube: The Glen In Aghadoe



THE GOLDEN JUBILEE

It was down in the county Kerry, in a place they call Tralee,

A grand old couple they lived there, Kate and Pat MaGee.

‘Twas the day of their golden wedding, ‘twas their golden jubilee.

Then Kate says she to Pat MaGee come listen here to me.



Chorus

Put on your old knee britches and your coat of emerald green

Take of that hat me darling Pat, put on your old cáibin

For today’s our Golden Wedding and I’ll have you all to know

Just how we looked when we were wed fifty years ago.



Oh well do I remember how we danced on the village green

You held me in your arms dear Pat and called me your colleen

Your hair was like a raven’s wing but now it’s turning grey

Come over here my sweet heart dear and hear what I’ve to say.



Chorus

Oh well do I remember when first I was your bride

In the little chapel on the hill where we stood side by side

Of good friends we ye had plenty, of troubles we’ve had few

Come over here my sweetheart dear and here’s what you must do.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube The Golden Jubilee



THE HILLS OF KERRY

The palm trees wave on high, all along the fertile shore.

Adieu the hills of Kerry I’ll ne’er see you no more.

Why did I leave my home. Why did I cross the sea

And leave the small birds singing around you, sweet Tralee.

The noble and the brave have departed from our shore

They’ve gone off to a foreign land where the mighty canyons roar

No more they’ll see the shamrock or the hills so dear to me

Or hear the small birds singing all round you, sweet Tralee.

No more the sun will shine on that blessed harvest morn

Or hear the reaper singing in the fields of golden corn

There’s a balm for every woe and a cure for every pain

But the pretty smile of my darling girl I will never see again

DINGLE BAY

The sun was sinking o`er the westwardThe fleet is leaving Dingle shoreI watch the men row in their curraghsAs they mark the fishing grounds near Scellig MorAll through the night men toil until the daybreakwhile at home their wives and sweethearts kneel and prayThat God might guard them and protect them and bring them safely back to Dingle Bay

I see the green Isle of ValenciaI mind the days around Lough LeinThe gannets swinging with abandonAs they watch the silver store that comes their wayI also see a ship on the horizonShe is sailing to a country far awayOn board are exiles feeling lonelyAs they wave a fond farewell to Dingle Bay

Now years have passed as I came homewardAnd time has left me old and greyI sit and muse about my childhoodAnd the happy times I spent near Dingle BayI see again the green isle of ValenciaAnd the Isle of Inishmore seems far awayAnd I m always dreaming of my childhoodAnd the happy days I spent near Dingle Bay

Here is the ballad on U-Tube Dingle Bay



WILD COLONIAL BOY

There was a wild colonial boy,Jack Duggan was his name.He was born and reared in Ireland in a place called Castlemaine.He was his father’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy.And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy.

At the early age of sixteen yearshe left his native homeAnd to Australia’s sunny shoreshe was inclined to roamHe helped the poor he robbed therich, their crops he woulddestroyA terror to Australia was theWild Colonial Boy.

For two long years this daringyouth ran on his wild careerWith a heart that knew no dangerand a soul that felt no fearHe held the Beechwood Coach upand he robbed Judge McEvoyWho, trembling, gave his gold upto the Wild Colonial Boy.

He bade the Judge ‘Good Morning’ and he told him to bewareFor he never robbed an honestJudge who acted ‘on the square’‘Yet you would rob a mother ofher only pride and joyAnd breed a race of outlaws likethe Wild Colonial Boy’.

One morning on the prairie whileJack Duggan rode alongWhile listening to the mockingbird a-singing out his songOut jumped three troopers fierceand grim, Kelly, Davis and FitzroyWere detailed for to capture him,the Wild Colonial Boy.

‘Surrender now Jack Duggan,you can see we’re three to oneSurrender in our Queen’s namefor you is a plundering son’Jack drew two pistols from hisbelt and glared upon Fitzroy‘I’ll fight but not surrender!’ criedthe Wild Colonial Boy.

He fired a shot at Kelly and hebrought him to the groundHe fired a shot at Davis too, whofell dead at the soundBut a bullet pierced his brave young heart form the pistol of FitzroyAnd that was how they capturedhim, the Wild Colonial Boy

Here is the ballad on U-Tube The Wild Colonial Boy

PS: Mick needs a few lessons

THE KERRY RECRUIT

About four years ago, I was digging the land,With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my hand.

Says I to myself what a pity to see, such a fine strapping lad footing turf in Tralee.

CHORUS:

Wid me toora na nya, and me toora na nya,Wid me toora na noora na noora na nya.

So I buttoned my brogues and shook hands with my spade, And I went to the fair like a dashing young blade,When up comes the sergeant and asks me to enlist,“Arra, Sergeant, a grá, put the bob in me fist.”

And the first thing they gave me it was a red coat,With a wide strap of leather to tie round my throat,They gave me a quare thing; I asked what was that,And they told me it was a cockade for my hat.

The next thing they gave me, they called it a gun,With powder and shot and a place for my thumb;And first she spit fire and then she spit smoke,Lord, she gave a great lep and my shoulder near broke.

The next place they sent me was down to the sea,On board of a warship bound for the Crimea,Three sticks in the middle all rowled round with sheets,Faith, she walked thro’ the water without any feet.

We fought at the Alma, likewise Inkermann,But the Russians they whaled us at the Redan,In scaling the walls there myself lost my eye,And a big Russian bullet ran off with my thigh.

It was there I lay bleeding, stretched on the cold ground,Heads, legs and arms were scattered all around,Says I, if my man or my cleaveens were nigh,They’d bury me decent and raise a loud cry

They brought me the doctor, who soon staunched my blood,And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood,They gave me a medal and tenpence a dayContented with Sheela, I’ll live on half-pay.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube The Kerry Recruit



I have been to Bally B many a time, especially during the races. I remember one such year when we returned to Ballybunnion via Asdee, I wasn`t driving our driver was T`Total till we got back to Bally B.

Anyway we were having an enjoyable drink and a few games of pool in Jessie James`s and in came three horse trainers and about six jockey`s.

During the evening I heard one of the trainers saying to a jockey (I won`t mention any names) saying “could you beat the winner next time? ” “No problem” said the jockey, “But I am Not so sure of beating the two behind me. ”

No wonder I can`t win at the races.

But here is a great song to make you feel good anyway.

THE CLIFFS OF DONEEN

You may travel far far from your own native home.Far away o’er the mountains far away o’er the foam.But of all the fine places that I’ve ever been.Sure there’s none to compare with the Cliffs of Doneen.

It’s a nice place to be on a fine summer’s dayWatching all the wild flowers that ne’er do decayOh the hares and the pheasants are plain to be seenMaking homes for their young ‘round the Cliffs of Doneen.

Take a view o’er the mountains, fine sights you’ll see thereYou’ll see the high rock mountains o’er the west coast of ClareOh the towns of Kilkee and Kilrush can be seenFrom the high rocky slopes ‘round the cliffs of Doneen.

Fare thee well to Doneen, fare thee well for. a whileAnd to all the kind people I’m leaving behindTo the streams and the meadows where late I have beenAnd the high rocky slopes ‘round the Cliffs of Doneen.

Fare thee well to Doneen, fare thee well for a whileAnd although we are parted by the raging sea wildOnce again I will wander with my Irish colleen‘Round the high rocky slopes of the Cliffs of Doneen.

Here is the ballad on U-Tube The Cliffs Of Duneen

Oil Paintings From Photographs.

Would you love an original oil painting on canvas of something or someone you cherish? A painting especially created for your pleasure.

It could be an oil painting of your favourite Kerry Landscape, your old family home in Kerry, a portrait of an ancestor of yours, your Kerry Blue dog, infact anything and any size from a photograph of yours.

Just email me at the link below:

Oil Paintings From Photographs