Kerry Songs



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It is said that there are two Kingdoms, The Kingdom of God and The Kingdom of Kerry, but in reality there are really Three Kingdoms and the third Kingdom is The Kingdom of Song, for the sons and daughters of County Kerry have written and sung some of the most beautiful and moving songs in all of Ireland.

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.

Here is my collection so far, if you know any more Kerry Songs please email them to me so that I can add them to the growing list.


Do you know who you are? Does your great, great grandfather come from County Kerry?


www.onegreatfamily.com


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.

Fainne Geal an Lae

Maidin moch do ghabhas amach Ar bhruacha Locha Lein An samhradh ag teacht san chraobh le m`ais Gus lonnradh te on ngrein Ar thais dom tri bhailte-puirt As banta mine reidh Ce gheobhainn le m`ais ach an Cuilfhionn deas Le fainne geal an Lae

Ni raibh brog na stocai caidhp nd cloc Ar mo stoirin og n speir Ach folt fionn orga sios go troi gh Ag fas go barr an fheir Bhi calan cruite ci na glaic S ar dhrucht ba dheas a sceimh Do thug barr-ghean o Venus deas Le fainne geal an Lae

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

THE BEST-loved of all Kerry songs must surely be “The Rose of Tralee”, 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 THE BEST-loved of all Kerry songs must surely be “The Rose of Tralee”, 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 Mary O’Connor.

He was heart-broken. He later went onto marry a local girl and moved to America, where his two daughters were born. The marriage, 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 in alcohol. He died on 13th October, 1864, at the early age of 44, and is buried beside his beloved Mary, in Clogherbflefl graveyard.

Here, then, is the charming song which William Muichinock wrote of his loved one...

The Rose Of Tralee

The pale moon was rising above the green mountain, The sun was declining beneath the blue sea; When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain, That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet ‘twos not he-r beauty alone that won me; Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading, And Mary, all smiling, was listening to me; The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding, When I won the heart of the Roe of Tralee.

Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone that won me; Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

In the far fields of India, ‘mid war’s dreadful thunder, Her voice was a solace and comfort to me; But the chill hand of death has now rent us asunder, I’m lonely tonight for the Rose of Tralee!

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone that won me; Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.



Here is the ballad, slightly different than the traditional.

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 tuning up’ 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 the moonlight, And our colleens’waists we’d hug tight; Just to save them from the fairies, In the raheen down below. Then we’d say goodnight and kiss them, We’d go home and pray God bless them, The sweethearts of our boyhood days, In Kerry long ago.


The song 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 Irish lass, Come over the hills to your darling; You choose the rose, love, and I’ll make the vow, And I’ll be your true love forever.

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

‘Twos down by Killarney’s green woods that we strayed, When the moon and the stars they were shining; The moon shone its rays on her locks of golden hair, When she swore she’d be my love forever.

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows, And fair is the lily of the valley; Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne, 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 Irish lass, That I’m leaving old Ireland forever.

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

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, of Ballydonoghue and Pat Dalton from Athea, Co Limerick. They are remembered in two fine ballads, one of them the work of Paddy Drury. However, we have chosen Bryan MacMahon’s splendid song,



The Valley of Knockanure, Bryan MacMahon

You may sing and speak about Easter Week, And the heroes of Ninety Eight; Of Fenian men who roamed the glen, In victory or defeat. Their names are placed on history’s page, Their memory will endure; Not a song was sung of our darling sons, In the Valley of Knockanure.

There was Walsh and Lyons and the Dalton 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 and died, 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 young Dalton’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 spurned the 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 young Dalton died, In the Valley of Knockanure.

The Valley Of Knockanure




This song has many versions, there is another and some people think the best version written by Tim Leahy of Listowel, Co. Kerry in 1921. It tells the story of four young IRA Volunteers who were captured by the Black and Tans in May 1921 near Gortaglanna, Co. Kerry.

They were beaten and tortured , then driven to a remote spot and shot down. Three of the men, Paddy Walsh, Jerry Lyons and Paddy Dalton were killed. The fourth, Con Dee, knocked down one of the Tans and made a dash for freedom. He was shot several times, but still manged to escape. He later emmigrated to Chicago where he lived to a ripe old age.

The Valley Of Knockanure (Tim Leahy)

You may sing and speak of old Easter week And the heroes of ninety-eight Of the Fenian men who roamed the glen In victory or defeat Their names on history's page are told Their memory will endure But this song was sung of our darling sons In the Valley of Knockanure

There was Lyons and Walsh and the Dalton boy They were young and in their prime They rambled to a lonely spot Where the Black and Tans did hide The Republic bold they did uphold Tho' outlawed on the moor And side by side they fought and died 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 young Dalton's down In the Valley of Knockanure

But e'er the guns could seal his fate Young Walsh had broken thro' With a prayer to God he spurned the 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 comrade's 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 young Dalton died In the Valley of Knockanure

One of the most beautiful melodies for an Irish Rebel Song, and performed here to near perfection by the Newry based group The Long Kesh Ramblers. A highly acclaimed short film was made about the incident in 2009 by local filmakers and actors in Co. Kerry. As one critic said: "They made it for buttons, but they made it gold."

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 activities during 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 bright Halls above; Another young life has been laid down for Ireland, Another true heart full offaith and of love, With Barnes and MacCormick he will live in our memory,

And inspire us to fight on ‘til Ireland is free; A friend to the faithful, afoe to the traitor - Young Cathal O Ciardin, the Boy from Tralee.

He spoke like a soldier, he stood like a true man, When the cravens condemned him to death and to shame; He followed the path of a long line of he roes, And Ireland forever shall honour his name. On a First Friday morning in the month of December, The hangman from England came over the sea; And traitors to Ireland wreaked vengeance and hatred, On Cathal O Ciardin, the Boy from Tralee.

God rest him tonight in the bright- I ness of Heaven! God strengthen each true man to walk where he led, To raise up the standard of justice and freedom, And win for the living the wage of the dead! When the rule of the traitors is ended forever, And the power of their masters, from sea unto sea, We’ll praise the brave soldier of Poblacht na hEireann - Young Cathal 0 Ciardin - the Boy from Tralee.

I am unable to find a recording of the song above, but this one is very moving.

The Boy From Tralee





Banna Strand

Banna Strand (also known as "The Lonely Banna Strand" - "The Ballad of Roger Casement" is a different song) is a Kerry rebel song about the failed transport of arms into Ireland for use in the Easter Rising. Authorship of the song is unknown. The final verse was written by Derek Warfield of the Wolfe Tones in 1965 when Roger Casement's remains were finally returned to Ireland.

'Twas on Good Friday morning, all on an April day A German ship was signalling, way out there in the bay. 'We've twenty thousand rifles here, all ready for to land.' But no answering signal came to them from lonely Banna Strand.

A motor-car went dashing through the early morning gloom. A sudden crash, and in the sea, they went to meet their doom Two Irish lads were drown'ded there, just like their hopes so grand They would not give the signal now from lonely Banna Strand.

'No signal answers from the shore,' Sir Roger sadly said, 'No comrades here to welcome me, alas! they must be dead; But I must do my duty, and at once I mean to land,' So in a boat he pulled ashore to lonely Banna Strand.

The German ship was lying there, with rifles in galore. Up came a British ship and spoke, 'No Germans reach the shore; You are our Empire's enemy, and so we bid you stand. No German boot shall e'er pollute the lonely Banna Strand.'

As they sailed for Queenstown Harbour, said the Germans: 'We're undone The British have us vanquish'd: man for man and gun for gun. We've twenty thousand rifles here, that never will reach land. We'll sink them all, and bid farewell to lonely Banna Strand.'

The R.I.C. were hunting for Sir Roger high and low, They found him at McKenna's Fort, said they: 'You are our foe.' Said he: 'I'm Roger Casement, here upon my native land, I meant to free my countrymen on lonely Banna Strand.'

They took Sir Roger prisoner and they sailed for London Town, Where in the Tow'r they laid him, as a traitor to the Crown. Said he, 'I am no traitor,' but his trial he had to stand, for bringing German rifles to lonely Banna Strand.

'Twas in an English prison that they led him to his death. 'I'm dying for my country dear,' he said with his last breath. He's buried in a prison yard, far from his native land And the wild waves sing his Requiem on lonely Banna Strand.

They took Sir Roger home again in the year of sixty five And with his comrades of sixteen in peace and tranquil lies His last fond wish it fulfilled for to lay in his native land And the waves will roll in peace again On the lonely Banna Strand.

The Lonley Banna Strand



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 a great version of this ballad.

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 a beautiful version of this ballad.

The Glen Of 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.

The Golden Jubilee



Here is another song written by Peggy Flanagan, sung in the same air as Golden Jubilee. It is about the Brosna Junior club team who won the All-Ireland Junior Club Championship at Croke Park in February 2015 against John Mitchels of Liverpool. It was a very tight match winning 0-8 to 0-5.

Our Brosna Tiger’s


1 There’s a Parish in North Kerry

Where the Clydagh River flows In the Centre of Two Counties

Where Feale River Fishes Flow

It’s a Village on a Hillside

Where Hen Harriers do Roam Where there’s Drama, and Sweet Music

Now it’s Football Tiger’s Roar

Chorus

Captain Don, and all his Team-mates

Fought with Passion and with Pride

Back to Brosna they Brought Victory

Togged in Orange and in White

On the Fourteenth day of February

In the year Twenty One five

Its Three Cheers To Football Tiger’s

They Have Brosna Energised

2

Brosna Village Top to Bottom

From Ahane, to Fitz’s Cross

From The Low road, Up the High Road

Barn’s Road, Reacashla Cross

From Our four Inspiring Mentors

Who steered them to Croke Park

For they fought like fighting Tiger’s

For Jim Keano’s, Beating Heart

Chorus

3

Jonathan was called to Action

To his Team Brings Inner Drive

To his Magic, With High Catches

They Respond, with Instant Drive

To our Shadow Team in Waiting

Gazing out, just for the Beck

Minutes ticking, close to Count Down

Sure, They Wait With Anxious Breath

Chorus

4

Names like Michael, Shane, and Aaron

Thomas, Eamon, and Our Flor

Shane, Dave, and Goalie Eamon Peter Curtin, Captain Don Free Taker Mighty Tommy Timmy, Mike, and Forward Adam

As they fought, with fighting Spirit

To All Ireland Brosna Champ’s

Chorus

5

All Sporting fans of Brosna

Who told them have Belief?

As Winning over Losing

You know is, Much More Sweet

And to all who played For Brosna

Looking Down, from Up Above

To a Hillside, Crowned In Glory

Sure it’s Brosna, Hold’s the Cup

Chorus

Captain Don, and all his Team-mates

Fought with Passion and with Pride

Back to Brosna they Brought Victory

Togged in Orange and in White

On the Fourteenth day of February

In the year Twenty One five

Its Three Cheers To Football Tiger’s

They Have Brosna Energised



Here is a great Kerry Song, sung in many a pub and Kerry function.

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

The Hills Of Kerry





DINGLE BAY

The sun was sinking o`er the westward The fleet is leaving Dingle shore I watch the men row in their curraghs As they mark the fishing grounds near Scellig Mor All through the night men toil until the daybreak while at home their wives and sweethearts kneel and pray That God might guard them and protect them and bring them safely back to Dingle Bay

I see the green Isle of Valencia I mind the days around Lough Lein The gannets swinging with abandon As they watch the silver store that comes their way I also see a ship on the horizon She is sailing to a country far away On board are exiles feeling lonely As they wave a fond farewell to Dingle Bay

Now years have passed as I came homeward And time has left me old and grey I sit and muse about my childhood And the happy times I spent near Dingle Bay I see again the green isle of Valencia And the Isle of Inishmore seems far away And I m always dreaming of my childhood And the happy days I spent near Dingle Bay

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 years he left his native home And to Australia’s sunny shores he was inclined to roam He helped the poor he robbed the rich, their crops he would destroy A terror to Australia was the Wild Colonial Boy.

For two long years this daring youth ran on his wild career With a heart that knew no danger and a soul that felt no fear He held the Beechwood Coach up and he robbed Judge McEvoy Who, trembling, gave his gold up to the Wild Colonial Boy.

He bade the Judge ‘Good Morning’ and he told him to beware For he never robbed an honest Judge who acted ‘on the square’ ‘Yet you would rob a mother of her only pride and joy And breed a race of outlaws like the Wild Colonial Boy’.

One morning on the prairie while Jack Duggan rode along While listening to the mocking bird a-singing out his song Out jumped three troopers fierce and grim, Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy Were detailed for to capture him, the Wild Colonial Boy.

‘Surrender now Jack Duggan, you can see we’re three to one Surrender in our Queen’s name for you is a plundering son’ Jack drew two pistols from his belt and glared upon Fitzroy ‘I’ll fight but not surrender!’ cried the Wild Colonial Boy.

He fired a shot at Kelly and he brought him to the ground He fired a shot at Davis too, who fell dead at the sound But a bullet pierced his brave young heart form the pistol of Fitzroy And that was how they captured him, the Wild Colonial Boy

Here is a great and unusual version of this great Kerry song.

Mick Jagger - The Wild Colonial Boy - Australia 1988

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 day Contented with Sheela, I’ll live on half-pay.

Here is an unusual version of this great Kerry song.

The Dubliners - 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 day Watching all the wild flowers that ne’er do decay Oh the hares and the pheasants are plain to be seen Making homes for their young ‘round the Cliffs of Doneen.

Take a view o’er the mountains, fine sights you’ll see there You’ll see the high rock mountains o’er the west coast of Clare Oh the towns of Kilkee and Kilrush can be seen From the high rocky slopes ‘round the cliffs of Doneen.

Fare thee well to Doneen, fare thee well for. a while And to all the kind people I’m leaving behind To the streams and the meadows where late I have been And the high rocky slopes ‘round the Cliffs of Doneen.

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

You can`t beat Paddy Reilly with this song. The Cliffs Of Dooneen



Here is a beautiful song from Dingle way , A Song For Ireland

A Song For Ireland

Walking all the day Near tall towers where falcons build their nests, Silver wings they fly. They know the call for freedom on their breasts, Saw Black Head against the sky, Where breasted rocks they run down to the sea.

(Chorus)

Living on your western shore, Saw summer sunsets. I asked for more. I stood by your Atlantic Sea, And I sang a song for Ireland.

Drinking all the day In old pubs where fiddlers love to play, Saw one touch the bow. He played a reel that seemed so grand and gay. I stood on Dingle Beach and cast in wild foam for Atlantic bass.

(Chorus)

Living on your western shore, Saw summer sunsets. I asked for more. I stood by your Atlantic Sea, And I sang a song for Ireland.

Talking all the day With true friends who try to make you stay, Telling jokes and news, Singing songs to while the time away, Watched the Gaiway salmon run, Like silver dancing, daring in the sun.

(Chorus)

Living on your western shore, Saw summer sunsets. I asked for more. I stood by your Atlantic Sea, And I sang a song for Ireland.

Dreaming in the night, I saw a land where no one had to fight. Waking in your dawn, I saw you crying in the morning light, Sleeping where the falcons fly. They twist and turn all in your air blue sky.

(Chorus)

Living on your western shore, Saw summer sunsets. I asked for more. I stood by your Atlantic Sea, And I sang a song for Ireland.

A Song For Ireland



The Castle Of Dromore

Dromore Castle is a house in Templenoe, just four miles from Kenmare, looking out over the Kenmare river.

The October winds lament around the castle of Dromore Yet peace lies in her lofty halls, my loving treasure store Though autumn leaves may droop and die, the bud of spring are you

Sing hushabye loo, low loo, low lie. Hushabye loo, low loo

Dread spirits over the of black water, Clan Owen's wild banshee Bring no ill wind to him nor us, my helpless babe and me And Holy Mary pitying us to Heaven for grace doth sue

Sing hushabye loo, low loo, low lie. Hushabye loo, low loo

Take time to thrive, my ray of hope, in the gardens of Dromore Take heed, young eaglet, till thy wings are feathered fit to soar

A little rest and then the world is full of work to do A little rest and then the world is full of work to do

The Castle Of Dromore


Here are a few songs relating to North Kerry:

THE CON BROSNAN CUP

By: Cormac O’Leary

1. Our thoughts often hover To that day in October When footballing history was made When the boys from Ardfert Thought that Moyvane they’d best But their hopes very quickly did fade. In the town of O’Dorney, we played them And the tale is quite easily told, For when the great game it was over ‘Twas a win for the Green and the Gold.

Chorus. I pledge you Moyvane men And the deeds they have done, The gallant Con Brosnan, Tom Stack on Red Rum: Their memories we’ll cherish Those good men and true, And here’s to the men Of Nineteen Eighty Two.

2. I’ll start with our goalie, The great-hearted Jodie, He cleared balls, from near and afar, And great at full-back Was the young Ritchie Stack, In football he sure will go far. On the right was the gritty Noel Sheehan, He stemmed the on rushing tide, And sound as the Rock of Gibraltar Mike Mulvihill held the left side. (Chorus)

3. And fit as a fiddle, Johnnie Stack in the middle, His fetching was something to see; Those two gallant triers With dash and with fire, Eamonn Fitz and the young Bobby Sheehy. Sean Walsh had a great game at centre, As high in the air he did soar, And Hamish was never once beaten, And two lovely points he did score. (Chorus)

4. Now Thomas and Eamonn On the wings they were flying, They played with great dash and great flair. Teddy Keane like a beaver Was ever so eager, And Donal commanded the square. On the forty, sure Johnny was brilliant, And shone like the bright Polar Star And clever in every endeavour, Paddy slipped a few over the bar. (Chorus).

5. Our substitutes too, All good men and true, Ever ready to answer the call To our Chairman and Trainer, Selectors all four, Great praise to them one and all. Old timers like us too were happy And our glasses we quickly filled up And toasted the young generation, Who brought home the Con Brosnan Cup. (Chorus).



THE DAWNING OF THE DAY

By; Paddy Drury

0, Holy Ireland, suffering still Your troubles now are great, From tyrants trained to shoot and kill; Whose mind are filled with hate; Who sold their souls for foreign gold To rob and steal away; It’s no wonder that our hearts are sad At the dawning of the day.

Sons of North Kerry, proud and true Step forward, every man; You know the foreign bloodhound crew, The murderous Black and Tan Who shot young Lyons and Dalton And Walsh, the proud and gay, As they left their gallant comrades At the dawning of the day.

On Gortaglanna’s rugged height Surrounded by that crew, How could they stand, how could they fight, What could our martyrs do? They showed no fear when death was near, When the tigers sought their prey, But our blood ran cold when the tale was told At the dawning of the day.

But Kerrymen are fighting still From Dingle to Tralee; I’m proud to be a Kerryman And I’m proud of sweet Athea; I’m proud of Lyons that noble lad Who gave his life away As he left his gallant comrades At the dawning day.

When writing down the Roll of Fame In old Ireland’s history, With green and gold illume the name Of gallant brave Con Dee. I’d give my life to clasp his hand And ‘tis with him I would stay And fight by his side for my native land At the dawning of the day.



Unable to find the above version, but this one is quiet good.

The Dawning Of The Day


THE GLEN OF KNOCKANURE

By: Paddy Drury

May the Lord have mercy on their souls, Their hearts were loyal and true. They were beat and shot in a lonely spot, In a glen near Knockanure.

There was Jerry Lyons now, from Duagh, There was Dalton from Athea, There was Walsh from Ballydonoghue And Con Dee, who ran away.

Through hill and vale, he did leg bail, As the bullets pierced the ground, ‘till he jumped the stream, at the Bog Lane, Where he blinked the devil’s hounds.

Through mountainside slow, he did tide Though wounded then and sore, And he shed a tear for his comrades dear, Who were bleeding in their gore.

For our martyrs bold, now dead and cold, To the lorries were thrown in, And Smith said there was an ambush at The Gortaglanna glen.

For now Sinn Fein prove that you’ll gain And remember those who died And let each man try to keep his eye, On Smith and on McBride.

Now we have two more, we sad deplore, That in this parish fell, They are Galvin and Sheahan, In Heaven they all dwell.



The Tinkerman's Daughter

The small birds were lining the bleak autumn branches Preparing to fly to a far sunny shore When the tinkers made camp at a bend in the river Returning from the horse fair in Ballinsloe

Now the harvest being o'er the farmer went walkin Along the Faele River that borders his land And 'twas there he first saw her twixt firelight and water The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann.

Next morning he rose from a night without resting He went straight to the tinker and made himself known And at a pub in Listowell they worked out a bargain To the tinker a pony, to the daughter a home

Where the trees cast their shadows along the Faele River The tinker and the farmer they inspected the land And a white gelding pony was the price they agreed on For the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann.

Now the wedding soon o'er the tinkers departed They were eager to travel on south down the road But the sound of the iron-shod wheels crunch on gravel Was as bitter to her as the way she'd been sold

But she tried hard to please him she did all his bidding She slept in his bed and she worked on the land But the walls of that cabin pressed tighter and tighter Around the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann.

Now as white as the hands of a priest or the hangman The snow spread it's blanket the next Christmas round And the tinkerman's daughter slipped out from her bedside Turned her back to the land and her face to the town

And it's said someone saw her at dusk that same evening She was making her way out by Lyreacrompane And that was the last that the settled folk saw her The tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann.

When the north Kerry hills cut the Faele at Listowell At a farm on its banks lives a bitter old man And he swears by the shotgun he keeps by his bedside That he'll kill any tinker that camps on his land

And yet, when he hears iron-shod wheels crunch on gravel Or a horse in the shafts of a bright caravan His day's work tormented, his night's sleep demented By the tinkerman's daughter, the red-headed Ann

Here is a lovely musical version of this song.

The Tinkers daughter



Have you ever been to the town of Brosna? If you have then here is a song to remind you of your visit.

Brosna Town

My dear old home in the Kerry Hills, my thoughts are still with thee Although I'm in a foreign land, across the deep blue sea I long to stand outside your door, and watch the sun go down And hear the church bells tolling o'er my native Brosna town.



By the old wood road I long to stroll, with its hedge's tall and green By Hannons gate I would debate, with some lovely fair colleen Or to take a walk to Guines bridge, on a Sunday afternoon Where oft I danced a polka set, to a lively fiddlers tune.

At Carrigeens winding bends, and fancy too I see The river Feale flows fast and clear, round Murphy's Elder Tree Where the many the romance was discussed, from dark till early dawn And many the time I spent, with my cailin bawn.



At Knockaclarigs lofty hills, I long to stand once more Ans view from Shannon Airport, to the town of sweet Rathmore Back to the peaks of Cuddy's Reeks, from Kilorglin on the Laune From Caltlemaine to Coolnagrain, and home by Brosna town.



Now to Conclude I say God bless, to mother and Ireland too I'll ne'r forget when the both of you, just faded from my view But soon I will return again, and good times we'll put down In that dear old home by the old wood road, 3 miles from Brosna Town, In that dear old home by the old wood road, 3 miles from Brosna Town.




Brosna Town




The Boys of Barr na Sraide - To the beautiful people of Cahersiveen and County Kerry, Ireland: Siergson Cliffords wonderful song about the men and women who lived on Top Street (Barr na Sraide) and their struggle for Irish freedom and the preservation of Irish traditions, music, poetry and culture.

The Boys of Barr Na Sraide.

Oh, the town, it climbs the mountains and looks upon the sea At sleeping time or waking time, it's there I'd like to be. To walk again those kindly streets, the place where life began, With the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.

With cudgels stout they roamed about to hunt for the dreólín* We searched for birds in every furze from Litir to Dooneen. We danced for joy beneath the sky, life held no print nor plan When the Boys of Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wren.

And when the hills were bleedin' and the rifles were aflame To the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon strangers came, But the men who dared the Auxies and fought the Black-and-Tan Were the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.

But now they toil in foreign soil where they have made their way Deep in the heart of London or over on Broadway, And I am left to sing their deeds and praise them while I can Those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.

And here's a health to them tonight wherever they may be. By the groves of Carham river or the slope of Bean 'a Tí John Daly and Batt Andy and the Sheehans, Con and Dan, And the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.

When the wheel of life runs out and peace come over me Just take me back to that old town between the hills and sea. I'll take my rest in those green fields, the place where life began,, With those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren



I love this song.

The Boys Of Barr Na Sraide




This one is not really a Kerry Song but it does mention Killarney.

If we only had old Ireland over here.

I was dreaming of old Ireland and Killarney's lakes and fells I was dreaming of the shamrock and the dear old Shandon bells When my memory suggested, in a vision bright and clear All the strange things that would happen if we had old Ireland here.

If the blarney stone stood out on Sydney harbour And Dublin town to Melbourne came to stay. If the Shannon river joined the Brisbane waters And Killarney's lakes flowed into Botany Bay

If the Shandon bells rang out in old Fremantle And County Cork at Adlaide did appear Erin's sons would never roam All the boys would stay at home If we only had old Ireland over here.

There are lots of lovely fairies dancing on the village green There are lots of lovely colleens the finest ever seen Where the boys are all called Paddy, and the girls called Molly dear Sure we’d wrap the green flag 'round them if we had old Ireland here



If we only had old Ireland over here.



One of the most beautiful and poignant songs ever written about emigration from Ireland is called “As I Leave Behind Neidin”, written by Jimmy McCarthy, vividly conveying the wrenching sadness of leaving a beloved home never to return. Neidin is the Irish for Kenmare.

As I Leave Behind Neidin

As I leave behind Neidin It's like purple splashed on green, My soul is strangely led To the winding hills ahead And she plays a melody Of winds and streams for me

Chorus
Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me

And we wind and climb and fall Like the greatest waltz of all Float across the floor Her sweet breath outside the door And it's time that I was gone Across the silver tear

Chorus
Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me

As I leave behind Neidin In the halls where we have been Rhododendrons in her hair In the scent of mountain air* I still feel her spirit song Across the silver tear

Chorus
Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me Won't you remember Won't you remember Won't you remember me



As I Leave Behind Neidin.




I know this song is not a town in Kerry, however it was written by one of the most famous of Kerry writers, poet and song writer, none other than Sean McCarthy. Also it is one of my favourites.

Shanagolden


The cold winds from the mountains are calling soft to me, The smell of scented heather brings bitter memories: And the wild and lonely eagle sweeps high up in the sky O'er the fields of Shanagolden, where my young Willie died.

I met him in the wintertime, when the snow was on the ground. The Dorsai hills were peaceful, and love was all around. He was scarce nineteen years old, a young man fine and brave. We were married, me and Willie, on the morn of New Year's Day.

The came the call to arms, and the hills they were in flame. Down from the silent heavens, the Terran strangers came. I held his in my arms, then, my young heart wild with fear, In the fields near Shanagolden, in the springtime of the year.

And we fought them, I and Willie, to hold our rooftrees-ground. You could hear the rifles' firing, in the mountains all around. I held him in my arms again, and his blood ran free and bright, And he died near Shanagolden, on a moonlit summer night.

But that was long ago, now, and our son grows fine and strong; The Dorsai hills are at peace again: the Terran stangers gone. We'll place a red rose on the grave, in the silvery pale moonlight, And I'll dream of Shanagolden, on a lonely autumn night.


Shanagolden



Have you ever been to Duagh? Here is a moving song by Thade Gowran

The Boys of Sweet Duagh.

Oh sad mournful, is the tale that I am forced to tell

From Ballheigue to Abbeyfeale we'll mourn there loss as well

Where are the men who raised the flag when freedom's sword did draw

Who trampled down the English flag, the boys of sweet Duagh.

When Kerryman from far and near attended the Brosna raid,

They were the first to appear and started the blockade,

With motor car prepare for war with hatchet rope and saw

They first came on to lead the van, the boys of sweet Duagh.

Sad was their fate I must relate no danger did they fear

In youth and bloom they met their doom the solderies ambush near.

No friendly voice no warning sound advised them to withdraw,

The Saxon bayonets did surround our boys of sweet Duagh.

Surrounded by the Khakie clan, what could our fenians do.

I'm proud to say one Kerryman from the soldiers did break through

We warned the company in the rear and told them what he saw

He saved his comrades then and the there the boy from sweet Duagh.

McMahon brave, Fitzgerald true and Relihan also,

Mulcaire and Stack, brave heroes too were captured by the foe.

And Jimmy Joy that noble boy who broke the English law,

They died to see their country free those boys of sweet Duagh.

The car drove on, their leaders gone what rescue could they make,

The volunteers then did retreat, their hearts were fit to break.

The boys were trapped the raid was stopped the forces did withdraw

"Twas hard to face their native place the boys of sweet Duagh.

In wormwoodscrubs with labour hard two years to remain

But England's power is dead and gone we will have them back again.

God bless our men in jail within the bravest Ireland saw

So may we see old Ireland free and the boys of sweet Duagh.

www.onegreatfamily.com


And another Duagh song

Duagh Volunteers.

The sun is a shining in dear old Kilcara

Where strains of fife music was borne on the gale,

As bravely, Daugh Volunteers are advancing

Forward their march to Listowel by the Feale

Onward our army then, fight for the land again,

Sons of those men who have never known fear.

On’gainst the Carson crew, noble’s the work you do,

Onward to victory, Duagh Volunteers.

Martial the music that’s heard ere the sunset,

And cheers of a thousand are thick on the air,

As forward the brave Volunteers are advancing

And steadily marching they enter the Square.

What horseman are those who so proudly approach us?

Resplendent in Sashes of green and of gold,

Led by the banner and band so long famous,

Truly they look like the Clansmen of old.





Red Haired Mary
As I was going to the fair at Dingle One fine morning last July When going down the road before me, A red haired girl I chanced to spy.

I went up to her, says I, "Young lady, Me donkey, he will carry two." And she looked at me, her eyes a-twinkle, And cheeks they were a rosey hue.

"Well I thank you kindly, sir," she answered, And then she tossed her bright red hair, "Now seein' that you've got your donkey, I will ride with you to the Dingle fair."

But when we reached the fair at Dingle, I took her hand for to say good-bye, When a tinkerman stepped up beside me, And he struck me in my right eye!

"Keep your hands off red-haired Mary, Her and I are to be wed. We're seein' the priest this very morning, And tonight we'll lie in a marriage bed."

Now I was feeling kind of peevish, And my poor old eye was sad and sore, So I tapped him lightly with me hobnails, And he flew back through Tim Murphy's door!

Then a policeman, he came round the corner, And he told me I had broke the law, Then me donkey kicked him in the ankle, And he fell down and broke his jaw!

Now he went off to find his brother; The biggest man you ever did meet. He 'gently' tapped me with his knuckles, And I was minus two front teeth.

Now this red haired girl, she kept on smiling. "Young sir, I'll go with you instead. We'll forget the priest this very morning, And tonight we'll lie in Murphy's shed!

Through the Dingle Fair we rode together, My black eye and her red hair. Smilin' gaily at the tinkers, Be God we were a handsome pair.

Red Haired Mary



Sweet Kerry
By Seamus Moore

Sweet Kerry you know I love you, And the mountains up above you. The rivers and strems I played as a boy. Of the places so grand, In my native Ireland. Sure I love my County Kerry, And that's where one day I'll be.

You may travell through Castleisland, Farronfore and The Gap Of Dunlow, And look onpo Killarney's Lakes From the hights of Aherdo. You may see Kate Karney's Cottage Or the clear Torc waterfall. As I move along the south coast, Through the town of Annascaul.

Sweet Kerry you know I love you, And the mountains up above you. The rivers and strems I played as a boy. Of the places so grand, In my native Ireland. Sure I love my County Kerry, And that's where one day I'll be.

It's then you'll view the Connor Pass, And dear old Dingle Town. The whistling of the Sea Gulls, As they fly up and down, Ballyheigh Listowl and Causeway Ardfert and Cahirciveen And the place I know where I was born, Is my native town Tralee.

Sweet Kerry you know I love you, And the mountains up above you. The rivers and strems I played as a boy. Of the places so grand, In my native Ireland. Sure I love my County Kerry, And that's where one day I'll be.


Sweet Kerry By Seamus Moore



Here is another Duagh song

The Champions, Duagh



Stand there ‘till I tell you a tale of true heroes Who come from a parish that we call our own From the hills of Glenruddery right down to the lowlands Where the Feale glides on by with its murmuring tone For fifty long years we have waited for victory To raise up our flags and to shout hip hurragh For way too much water has run down the Smearlagh But now we have reason to cheer for Duagh.

Our plan of campaign; it was ever a clear one Said the bould Martin Leane now the time it is right. As he urged every one of Duagh’s GAA club To think of the Mall and to stand up and fight. Our mission was clear then, we’ll take on North Kerry We’re giving no quarter and we’ll never shirk And the man on the field who will lead us to glory The one we call Captain, the great Kieran Quirke.

We’ll shoulder, we’ll cheer them For none can get near them We’ll boast of their deeds And we’ll shout hip hurrah. We’re proud for to know them And honour we’ll show them, Those men who brought victory The champions, Duagh

Opponents were plenty, they tumbled before us The championship final we had in our view And there we met up with the lads by the Shannon The Beale men were ready to die or to do It was man against man, with no quarter given The struggle was dower and the outcome looked grim When up stepped Ant Maher and not for the first time And the draw that was earned did owe much to him

In 2013 on the 6th day of January, A date we will treasure and talk of for years In Listowel’s Sheehy Park, Duagh won the replay Giving every supporter good reason for cheers The hoodoo was broken and the long wait was over And the feat of our heroes we long will admire And the rafters will ring and the bonfires will burn Around the valleys and hills from Duagh up to Lyre

We’ll shoulder, we’ll cheer them For none can get near them We’ll boast of their deeds And we’ll shout hip hurrah. We’re proud for to know them And honour we’ll show them, Those men who brought victory The champions, Duagh

I’ll name you the lads who have brought us such glory Nan Maher and Kieran we’ve mentioned before In the red gap of danger our keeper Jer Kelly His feats will forever be part of folklore The rock John O’Brien with Terry and Aaron Put paid to full many a strong Beale attack Tim Scanlon and Diarmuid along with their captain Completed the lineout that guarded the back.

A mention with pride we’ll give to brave Denny And Peter and Maurice and Joey also While Duffy and Scannell and Nigel O’Connor With skill and with courage set all hearts aglow Jason, Ed Stack, McCarthy and Moran Stepped up to the mark when the chips they were down And the secret was teamwork, commitment and workrate And determination to bring home the crown.

We’ll shoulder, we’ll cheer them For none can get near them We’ll boast of their deeds And we’ll shout hip hurrah. We’re proud for to know them And honour we’ll show them, Those men who brought victory The champions, Duagh

There was great strength in depth with the likes of Eoin Kelly John Sherin, Tim Quirke and that young man, Chris Breen O’Sullivan was solid and Scanlon was rugged And Johnny O’Connor was tall on the scene. John Curran along with the young Kieran Lucey And the brothers McKenna were up for the fray In the year when the mighty Duagh were the victors A time we’ll remember for many a day

Our heroes are champions, we’ll never forget them The maroon and the gold now forever will wave And the youth of our parish will follow the footsteps They made on their way through the land of the brave The management team was a brilliant foundation For Scanlon and Dillon and Stack paved the way The name of John Halpin will proudly be mentioned When we think of Duagh and that mighty display

We’ll shoulder, we’ll cheer them For none can get near them We’ll boast of their deeds And we’ll shout hip hurrah. We’re proud for to know them And honour we’ll show them, Those men who brought victory The champions, Duagh

(Joe Harrington, January 2013)


I am searhing for the lyrics of these Kerry Songs



The Kingdom Of Kerry By Declan Nerney



A Gallant Kerry Soldier



The Green And Gold By THE WHISKEY JACKS



This is a Kerry – Cork Song wich I love—and this is the best version.

As I was a going over the Cork and Kerry Mountains, I spied Colonel Farrell and his money he was countin'. First I drew me pistol and then I drew me rapier, Sayin' stand and deliver for I am your bold receiver.

cho: Well shirigim duraham da Wack fall the daddy oh, wack fall the daddy oh There's whiskey in the jar.

He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny, I put it in me pocket to take home to darling' Jenny. She sighed and swore she loved me and never would deceive me But the devil take the women for they always lie so easy. .

cho: Well shirigim duraham da Wack fall the daddy oh, wack fall the daddy oh There's whiskey in the jar.

I went into me chamber all for to take a slumber To dream of gold and girls and of course it was no wonder. Me Jenny took me charges and she filled them up with water, Called on colonel Farrell to get ready for the slaughter. .

cho: Well shirigim duraham da Wack fall the daddy oh, wack fall the daddy oh There's whiskey in the jar.

Next morning early before I rose to travel, There came a band of footmen and likewise Colonel Farrell. I goes to draw me pistol for she'd stole away me rapier, but a prisoner I was taken I couldn't shoot the water. They put me into jail with a judge all a writin' For robbing Colonel Farrell on Gilgarry Mountain. But they didn't take me fists so I knocked the jailer down, And bid a farewell to this tight fisted town.

cho: Well shirigim duraham da Wack fall the daddy oh, wack fall the daddy oh There's whiskey in the jar.

I'd like to find me brother the one that's in the army, I don't know where he's stationed in Cork or in Killarney. Together we'd go roving o'r the mountains of Killkenney, And I swear he'd treat me better than me darling' sporting Jenny.

cho: Well shirigim duraham da Wack fall the daddy oh, wack fall the daddy oh There's whiskey in the jar.

There's some takes delight in the carriages and rolling, Some takes delight in the hurley or the bowlin'. But I takes delight in the juice of the barley, Courting pretty maids in the mourning oh so early.


Wiskey In The Jar



This song is not from Kerry, but I saw Christy Moore sing it one night in Tralee, and he does mention Fenit and Banna Strand.

DELIRIUM TREMENS



I dreamt a dream the other night I couldn’t sleep a wink, the rats were trying to count the sheep and I was off the drink, there were footsteps in the parlour and voices on the stairs, I was climbing up the wall and moving round the chairs I looked out from under the blanket and up at the fireplace The Pope and J.F Kennedy were staring in me face, Suddenly it dawned on me I was gettin’ the old DT’s when the child o’ Prague began to dance around the mantelpiece.

Goodbye to the Port and Brandy to the Vodka and the Stag, to the Schmiddick and the Harpic, the bottle draught and keg. As I sat lookin up at the Guinness ad I could never figure out how your man stayed up on the surfboard after 14 pints of stout.

Well I swore upon the bible I’d never touch a drop My heart was palpitatin’ I was sure ‘twas going to stop, thinkin’ I was dyin’ I gave my soul to God to keep A tenner to St. Anthony to help me get to sleep. I fell into an awful nightmare and got a dreadful shock When I dreamt there was no duty free at the airport down in Knock, Ian Paisley was sayin’ the rosary and Nora Bennis was on the pill, Finbar Wright was gargled and singth’ Spancil Hill.

I dreamt that Mr Haughey had recaptured Crossmaglen then Garret got reelected and gave it back again. Dick Spring and Roger Casement were on board the Marita Ann as she sailed into Fenit they were singin’ Banna Strand, I dreamt Archbishop McNamara was on Spike Island for 3 nights havin’ been arrested for supportn’ travellers rights, I dreamt that Ruari Quinn was smoking marijuana in the Dail and Barry Desmond handin’ Frenchies out to the scuts in Fianna Fall.

I dreamt of Nell McCafferty and Mary Kenny too the things that we got up to, but I’m not tellin’ you, I dreamt I was in a jacussi along with Alice Glenn twas then I knew I’d never ever ever drink again.

DELIRIUM TREMENS ,A big hit for Christy Moore


Some Real Old Ones From The Great John McCormack




THE Kerry Dance

You must have heard “The Kerry Dance” sung and played in the backround of many an old Irish film, such as “The Quiet Man”. It was written by J.L.Malloy. James Lyman Molloy was born in County Offaly and worked as a barrister in London in 1872 where he wrote the song


O the days of the Kerry dancing, O the ring of the pipers tune! O for one of those hours of gladness Gone, alas! like our youth, too soon: When the boys began to gather In the glen of a summer’s night And the Kerry pipers tuning Made us long with wild delight: O to think of It, 0 to dream of it, Fills my heart with tears! O the days of the Kerr)’ dancing. O the ring of the piper’s tune! O for one of those hours of gladness. Gone, alas! like our youth, too soon.


Was there ever a sweeter colleen In the dance than Lily More! Or a prouder lad than Thady As he boldly took the floor lads and lasses, to your places, Up the middle and down again, Ah! the merry hearted laughter Ringing through the happy glen!


O to think of it, 0 to dream of it, Fills my heart with tears! O the days of the Kerry dancing, O the ring of the pipers tune! O for one of those hours of gladness, Gone, alas! like our youth, too soon.


Time goes on and the happy years are dead And one by one the merry hearts are tied; Silent now is the wild and lonely glen Where the bright glad laugh will echo neer again. Only dreaming of days gone by. In my heart I hear Loving voices of old companions Stealing out of the past once more, And the sound of the dear old music Soft and sweet as in days of yore:


When the boys began to gather In the glen of a summer’s night And the Kerry pipers tuning Made us long with wild delight: O to think of it. 0 to dream of it Fills my heart with tears! O the days of the Kerry dancing, O the ring of The pipers tune! O for one of those hours of gladness, Gone, alas! like our youth, too soon.


Here is a version from Julie Andrews.








Here is a beautifull song about Macgillycuddy's Reeks, written by Muldoon, Paul B. / Warren Zevon, .

Macgillycuddy's Reeks


She stood beside my narrow bed To check my E.K.G. She shook her pretty little head At what's become of me

I thought I glimpsed a path that led Through rhododendron days And fuchsia nights to the boat shed In which we two once lay

But she gazed only at my chart The valleys and the peaks Brought back the time she broke my heart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

But she gazed only at my chart The valleys and the peaks Brought back the time she broke my heart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

I saw her on Killarney's shore One morning in July When I still thought I was a thorn Trying to find a side

I met her in the little launch That runs to Innisfallen Hunched together, haunch to haunch Trying to keep my balance

But she upset my applecart She kissed me on the cheek And I was struck by Cupid's dart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

Macgillycuddy's Reeks Macgillycuddy's Reeks When I was struck by Cupid's dart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

She was a systems analyst For a dot com company She said, "You think because we've kissed I'll be yours eternally"

"I'll sign another pre-nup And we'll merge our P.L.C.s That's why most girls go belly-up In this economy"

But when it comes to a jump start Your forecast's pretty bleak The NASDAQ goes by dips and starts Like Macgillycuddy's Reeks

Macgillycuddy's Reeks, boy Macgillycuddy's Reeks The NASDAQ goes by dips and starts Like Macgillycuddy's Reeks

She looked only at my chart The valleys and the peaks Brought back the time she broke my heart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

Macgillycuddy's Reeks Macgillycuddy's Reeks That was the time she broke my heart In Macgillycuddy's Reeks

Songwriters MULDOON, PAUL B. /WARREN ZEVON,

Here it is




Dolly Parton once visited Kerry and stopped off at Paudi O`Sheas in Ventry.




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