Christy Moore/Wally Page
I crossed the River Liffey bridge and went on up the town
By Coffey’s clock twas plain to see how time was moving on
Past Neeson’s and John Johnson’s, Tommy Tougher’s and Keadeen
How’s it going said Paddy Dolan, game ball said Skinner Behan
The morning hooter called the workers to the factory line
To weave the bales of sisal into rope and binder twine
Beneath the weeping ash I heard Jack Lawlor’s anvil ring
Back down the town in Cummins’s heard John McCormack Sing
From Hawkfield and Kilbelin, Chinatown and Rosy’s Lane
Scattered round the world we dreamt of coming home again
From the Rocks of Sydney Harbour, the Bronx and Birmingham
To the Sandy Hills, the Seven Springs, The waters of the Fen
Walking down the Moorefield Road my father tellin me
Of the Corbally eviction back in 1953
The story of Clongorey, the hunger and despair
Gone but not forgotten in the history of Kildare
To stand upon the Gibbet Rath I walked along the Plains
By Donnelly’s Hollow heard the keening of the Curragh Wrens
Black & Tans in The Barracks as young rebels crossed the fields
From the back lanes and the boreens came Sheahans and O’Neills
Here comes Darky Prendergast and Mrs Charlie Weld
The Halfords and The Edderys, the Brabazons and the Bells
The Owners and The Trainers, stallions and brood mares
Fillies, colts and yearlings on the gallops of Kildare
The Roo, The Goo and Gandy, every nickname brings a smile
Tell Fid, Conks and Corney I’ll be home in a little while
As the sun goes down behind the Town we’ll gather on the strand
Dance to Jimmy Dunny’s orchestra, Tom Wilmot’s Ceili band
I grew up in Co. Kildare between 1945 and 1963. Early images of Newbridge remain crystal clear in my mind. Since then it has expanded tenfold and is now a dormitory town to the nation’s capital. I have tried to write a song about a place that still exists, if only in my mind. It’s an old song that was written recently.