Difficult to make until Neil McColl came and gave me a dig out. I was working with people, some of whom were very worried about laundry facilities in Ballyvourney.†
I don’t know what to say just now except I like some of this album very much.
Me And The Rose 127080354537_meandtherose
King Puck 127080389651_kingpuck
Lawless 127080396186_lawless
Terrible title, strange album, sounds like I’m in a hurry, was very difficult to make, to mix, to finish, and to listen to. Some people love it, good enough for me.
Green Island 12708033425_greenisland
Fairytale of New York 12708033743_fairytaleofnewyork
Aisling 127080341976_aisling
This was released without any consultation and was a huge seller. It is a good compilation.
Ordinary Man 127074886593_ordinaryman
City of Chicago 127074889776_cityofchicago
Missing You 127074892419_missingyou
I got my head turned here by Warner suits. They came to my home and sat there telling me I should remix the album. An A & R wanker who fell asleep during the meeting, a big shot from London, the head of WEA Ireland, my manager and me.†
I listened to these shysters and took their counsel and allowed my album to be remixed. It was a rash and regrettable move on my part and to this day I regret it – but I learned.
Mystic Lipstick 127074867881_mysticlipstic
The Voyage 127074870929_thevoyage
Middle of The Island 127074873340_middleoftheisland
I was in New York to play Carnegie Hall. The gig sold out so Atlantic Records felt they should make some sounds. They invited me to their office and had a banner on the wall, which read “Atlantic welcome C. Moore to New York”. They released this compilation and lost the banner.†
No Time For Love 127074847938_notimeforlove
Dying Soldier 127074853120_dyingsoldier
Lisdoonvarna 12707485909_lisdoonvarna
I’m still singing most of these songs – 15 years on. Always a good sign of an album. Don’t listen much to old albums and never to this. There is intensity about this work that I like to remember but not always to hear. Some wonderful guitar work from Des Moore and Declan Sinnott.†
Suffocate 127074772313_suffocate
Derby Day 127074778319_derbyday
Dr Vibes 127074780978_drvibes
This album came about as the result of a trip I made to H Blocks. I left the Falls Road in a van that was clapped out. It was used daily to ferry prisoner’s families to and from the camp. I got the idea to try and raise money for a new van and that was the purpose of this album.†
WEA got to hear about it and sequestered it under terms of contract which is how it became Warner’s album which I had never wanted it to be. The Hungry Fuckers.
Forever on My Mind 127074749957_foreveronmymind
Back Home in Derry 127074756742_backhomeinderry
Granny’s Dustbin Lid 127074760934_granniesdustbinlid
I really enjoyed the making of this. Donal and I were joined by Arty McGlynn who provided gorgeous licks. We made it in Nicky Ryan’s back garden and had a rare ole time of it. We were joined by various others but the four of us did the business.†
I may be repeating myself but this album proves yet again the magic of Donal Lunny. The riffs he created, the colours he painted, the sensitivity he shows, the help he offers, the performances he coaxes and all this done selflessly.
For me, there is no greater rock in all of Irish music and I am privileged in my tether. Of course, it helps that he’s a bogman and Gavin Wednesday has proclaimed the Culchie is the new cool. Far amach!
Sweet Music Roll On 127074729678_sweetmusicrollon
Matty 127074732663_matty
Hard Cases 127074735373_hardcases
Muckross Cottages 1984. Donal Lunny, Declan Sinnott and myself. The Eerie mobile, which had seen better days – 7 of the 16 channels were not functioning. The engineer was Marc Franc and between himself and Jim Donohue the tracks were recorded in a three-week period which was fun and very hard work.†
We had a few nights on the town, got barred out of Danny Manns and chucked out of Gabys Lobster shed. I’d love to record in Killarney again. I’ve many good friends around there and it’s always been a good place to hang out.
El Salvador 127074683436_elsalvador
Back Home in Derry 127074765329_backhomeinderry_ro
Vive LA Quinte Brigada 127074694467_vivelaquintebrigada
A bit of a dogs mickey of an album that I recorded to step back onto the acoustic stage. It was my first serious outing as a writer with three of my own songs featured.†
“Don’t forget your shovel” became a very big hit when Ronan Collins began to play it every morning on his early show – he literally played it into the charts and this contributed to my work crossing over into the mainstream.
I also was being managed seriously for the first time and beginning to understand the workings of the music business, the moola and the shamboola and how to try and hang to a bit of if for myself and the family.
Wicklow boy 127074660344_wicklowboy
All I Remember 127074675820_alliremember_mh
Having written ” 90 miles to Dublin” I became aware that there were a number of people who wanted to give support to the men and women on the Blanket in the H. Blocks and Armagh Jails.†
Mick Hanly wrote and performed “On the Blanket” Stephen Rea read 2 works by Bobby Sands and one by Brian O’Buille. Dan Dowd played ” Taimse im Colaid” Matt Molloy played The Rights of Man and Repeal the Union. Noel Hill and Tony Linnane played Reels and Anne and Frances Brolly sang “I’ll wear no convicts uniform”.
Thomas Ryan offered up his startling image for the sleeve and the special branch obliged us by raiding the launch and guaranteeing us much publicity. Thanks Lads.
Rights Of Man 127074584495_rightsofman
On The Blanket 127074586633_ontheblanket
90 Miles From Dublin 127074591564_90milesfromdublin
This was a busy year. Once I had the Iron Behind the Velvet it was straight into rehearsals for this album. I had not worked with Donal Lunny and Nick Ryan since ‘73 so along with Jimmy Faulkner we decided to record some gigs around Dublin City.†
In the original Grapevine Arts Centre, Trinity College, The Meeting Place, Nicky Ryans Parlour and a quick run down to Pat Dowlings in Prosperous we recorded these tracks over 6 nights.
The first of my 3 live albums this one is from a time when my gigs were less than exhilarating. The more substances in the air, the less substance in the work. It’s still kicking about and recently I heard a couple tracks on radio and it sounded fine.
Little Mother 127074551715_littlemother
Hey Sandy 127074554888_heysandy
The Crack Was Ninety in The Isle Of Man 127074558535_thecrackwasninetyintheisleofman
John Spillane
I sing The Field I sing The Farm
I sing The House my Mother was born
In Gortatagort Colomane
A green jewel
Sewn in a patchwork quilt of fields
Between the mountain and the River
In this time now and in another
Where I ran free with my brothers
Through the Longmeadow The Cnocan Rua
The Fortfield The Pairc na Claise
The Newhouse field The Guillane Field
The Clover Field The Rushy Field
Where the Red Fuschia weeps in The Hen’s Garden
And the angels bleed over Bantry Bay
I see The House I see The Yard
I see The Stall I see The Stable
I see The Haggart and The Sandy Field
I see The Hill I see The Well
I sing The Spring of Well Water
I sing The Field of Standing Stones
The South Rey Grass The North Rey Grass
The Break and The Paircin na hEornan
Where the Red Fuschia weeps in The Hen’s Garden
Where God foes to sleep in the hills and the valleys
Where the Moon rises over The Haggart
Where peace descends on Gortatagort
Where the angels bleed over Bantry Bay
Saddle up the old grey mare,
Tim Big Danny and Jacky Timmy
Are going across The Mountain
To Puck Fair
I sing The Field I sing The Farm
I sing The House my Mother was born
In Gortatagort Colomane
A Green Jewel
Wally Page
Mamma still waiting for someone to say
Sara Christina was found yesterday
And the ghost of not knowing still eats her away
Sara Christina’s still missing
In El Salvador that’s the way that it is
Say what you feel and you run all the risks
Of ending up on the casualty list
Lost but never forgotten
Los Desaparacidos
Los Paradiso covered in mist
Friends start acting like strangers
Beware of the dangerous Judas kiss
That carries you away
Stand with the Union, You’re taken up wrong
Stand with Romero they’ll block out the sun
As the Air Force lands in your face with a gun
And carries you away
The dirty face of a dirty war
On the streets of San Salvador
No fandango in here anymore
They’ve taken it all away
This could be paradise free of the spell
Of the Yankee dollar bills from hell
That keeps all the jailers and generals well
While the innocent ones go missing
Wally Page/Tony Boylan
In the summer of 1832
The sailing ship John Stamp
Tied up into the port of Pennsylvania
Up the ladder from the cargo deck
Poor men and women crept
Into the open skies above
Dia is Muire Dhuit agus Failte Romhat
Duffy’s my name, I cut through stone
Work for me, I’m one of your own
In dollars I will pay you
57 men signed up,
Duffy promised to fill their cup
If they cut the Malvern Valley up
Mile 59 had to be on time for the railway line
From Ballyshannon and The Glenties
They sailed right into hell
They suffered like the weeping Christ
Down Duffy’s Cut they sweat their blood
Into his wishing well
Were they taken by the sickness?
Were they hunted down like scum?
Was there poison in the water?
Was it cholera or murder?
The smoke that hid the bullets
From the barrel of the boss’s gun
The Blacksmith and the Holy Sisters
Good people through and through
Whispered prayers into the victims ears
It’s all that they could do
How come the bosses had silence on their lips
As 57 Irish Navvies were buried in a pit
No stone to mark their resting place
No one to mourn their passing
Donagh Long
Silver falls like painted dolls they sit
Their endless days now done
In fields of fire their hearts retire
Dancing the China waltz
Their younger years touched by thoughts
Their time has surely come
With all their cares thrown away
On love of a secret waltz
Dance me the China Waltz
Under the Easter moon
They move in silence their bodies rise and fall
Overtaken in the breaking light of dawn
The hard release steals the peaceful dream
Then takes your breath away
But here behind where love is blind
The sound of the China Waltz
Gilmour/Waters/Wright
Remember when you were young you shone like the sun
Shine on you crazy diamond
Now there’s a look in your eye like black holes in the sky
Shine on you crazy diamond
Your were caught in the crossfire of childhood and stardom
And blown upon the steel breeze
Come on you target for faraway laughter
Come on you legend you stranger you martyr and shine
You reached for the secret too soon you cried for the moon
Shine on you crazy diamond
Frightened by shadows at night, exposed in the light
Shine on you crazy diamond
You wore out your welcome with random precision
You rode upon the steel breeze
Come on you raver you seer of visions
Come on you painter you piper you prisoner and shine
Nobody knows where you are how near and how far
Shine on you crazy diamond
Pile on many more layers I’ll be joining you there
Shine on you crazy diamond
And we’ll bask in the shadow of yesterdays triumph
We’ll sail upon the steel breeze
Come on you boy child you winner and loser
Come on you miner of truth and delusion and shine
Hank Wedell
Listen to the whisper of moonlight on the water
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the singing of a feather on the breeze
Close your eyes and listen
Listen
Listen to the harmony of heartbeats in unison
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the rhythm of souls dancing ‘round the stars
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the ringing of distant bells calling
Listen to the flutter of an angel wings on high
Listen to the rapping and the clapping and the humming
Listen to the snow fall gently on the mining town
Close your eyes and listen
Listen to the whisper of moonlight on the water
Listen to the singing of a feather on the breeze
Listen to the prayers of children to their blessed mothers
Listen to the pleading of the faithful to their father
Christy Moore
As I wandered abroad by Kilsheelan
Where the river meanders on down
To my left lay the Comeragh Mountains
To the right of me sweet Sliabh na mBan
Where the fishermen cast on the waters
And the apples are pressed into wine
Where the herd returns slowly to pasture
Through the fields that surround Ballydine
I marvelled at nature’s abundance
In Tipperary so rich and so rare
I drank from the well of spring water
Breathing in deep the fresh air
When I came to John Hanrahan’s homestead
In the fields around Ballycurkeen
I lay down in a meadow of wild flower
And dreamt a mysterious dream
I dreamt of a curious eviction
Unlike the evictions of old
No sign of a redcoat nor bailiff
‘twas more pernicious and cold
On the air cam a colourless vapour
The fields they felt silent and still
As I lay in that meadow of wildflower
Dreaming on Hanrahan’s hill
When I awoke I was frightenened
I knew ‘twas time to head home
I made my way back to Cluan Meala
On the road passing Merck Sharpe and Dohme
Paul McCormack & Barney Rush
When we got our redundancy, myself and the lads went on a spree
A brand new passport in my hand as we took off for The Netherland
Myself and Dinny and O’Dwyer and Scut at Schipol we were all half cut
We opened up the duty-free, the red lemonade and brandy
And we jumped on board a tram
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Our first stop was the coffee shop, in we went and we all sparked up
Hashish from Pakistan, Morocco, Nepal and the Lebanon
All the boys was rollin’ joints, they forgot to drink their pints
Water pipe came bubblin’ around, took one pull and hit the ground
Lads wake him if you can
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Sunday we went to the Blarney Stone, Paddy Wynne had the Leinster final on
The Lily Whites and The Boys in Blue, the Majors and Taytos
Over to Mulligans for the night, the bar was leppin’ and the bank was shite
De Burgh, De Bono and De Wolfe Tones ‘til Dinny grabbed the microphone
And gave us Van the Man
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Macker sez while we’re here we’ll go and have a look at the kinky gear
I said a quiet prayer I would’nt bump into anyone from Kildare
Big dildos, blow up dolls, snap on tools and hairy balls
Vibrators, whips and chains and fanny ticklers
God between us and all harm
O the weekend that we went to Amsterdam
Then we went for a midnight walk, all our eyes were out on stalks
Gay bars, bordellos, models in the windows with no clothes
Dinny he danced all night with a South American transvestite
Everything was goin’ grand until Dinny tried to drop the hand
There was pandemonium
O the weekend that we went to Amsterdam
The bouncer she was 5’10’’, Lowland heavyweight champion
She hit Dinny an awful box, the boys ran amok and wrecked the shop
We could hear the squad cars getting near, it’s time lads we were out of here
Dinny pulled up his tights and we disappeared into the night
All together no one by one
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
Queen Beatrix she rides her bike, Rembrandt is hangin’ down in the Rijk
Ajax, Heineken, Van Gogh, The Gargle and The Ghanja
Monday morning we were all half cracked we dived into the Kaisergracht
They fished us out, hosed us down and put us on the plane to Dublin
Home to the Mammy again
O the weekend that we spent in Amsterdam
John Spillane & Christy Moore
Haiti was born, The Calabash was broken
The waters of the world flowed down the mountain
From the sacred caves came the Mestizo
Island people of the Arawak Taino
In Port-Au-Prince the city has fallen
From rubble and dust a voice is calling
Hear the fearful cry of a frightened nation
Carried on the wind from the Carribean Ocean
O Haiti when I heard your cry I knew that you were broken
O Haiti you will rise again, one day you’ll smile again
My Creole sister
Way back in the time when Skibbereen lay mourning
There came a message of love from the Choctaw nation
Tom Tuohy
My little Honda 50 she’s rapid and she’s nifty
She’ll do a hundred and fifty on a windy day
My little Honda 50, hit the nitro and she’ll shift me
Get me away from the Garda anyway
I got her in the Buy and Sell back in ‘82
A travellin’ man in a caravan said “This is the bike for you”
He was lookin’ for a hundred, I gave him thirty two
Took her for a spin out the Kinnegad Road and begod she feckin’ flew
I drove her into Newbridge lookin’ for a couple of parts
Alloy wheels, a sat-nav and a new push button start
Headin’ out to Robertstown for the bingo and the beer
Comin’ down the Hill of Allen she hit the ton in second gear
I was ridin’ across The Curragh nice and slow
The Guards pulled in behind me, Sergeant Kelly, don’t you know
I said, “O Buck, just my luck” and I hit the nitro hard
By the time the squad hit Brookets Cross I had her parked in Brady’s Yard
Kevin Littlewood
Out beyond the street lamps where the calliopes roar
Past the rack and samphire, beyond the shore
I’ve seen them walking through the tide as rain cuts through the spray
Chinese cockle-pickers on the sands of Morecambe Bay
I stood behind them in the corner shop and in the market too
I should have spoken to them, told them everything I knew
Like our mothers told us as we went out to play
Never try and race the tide on the sands of Morecambe Bay
For the tide is The Devil, it will run you out of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tide is the very Devil and the Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
Saw them sending money orders home, all their hard earned pay
Tales of crossing borders on the road to Morecambe Bay
Sleeping in crowded rooms on cold hard floors
Such dreamless life is not worth dying for
I see them in the distance, laid out in the morning light
23 migrant workers were drowned last night
Their final phonecalls halfway round the world crossed
As between the river estuaries they raced the tide and lost
For the tide is The Devil, it will run you our of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tides is the very Devil and The Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
In Fujian and Zeeland they mourn their next of kin
Gang masters with snake tattoos call money loans back in
Broked hearted parents watch their children stow away
To the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
The tide is the very Devil and The Devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
Am
“Look at the dying soldier”, I heard someone whisper
Em
Then I saw the blood come through my shirt.
Am
Am I going to die here? I don’t want to die here.
Em
Someone come and pick me from the dirt.
G A
I don’t belong here, don’t let me die here alone.
My hands get colder, my thoughts are growing weaker.
This must be the way it is.
Stop the shooting, don’t you see I’m dying,
Someone come and say a prayer.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
My eyes are closing. I see someone coming
He turns his back and runs away.
They’ve stopped shooting, it’s started raining,
This must be the way.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
Am
I want to go back home where my friends are,
Em
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I want to go back home where my friends are,
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I met with the author Ger Costello when his band The Outfit played with Moving Hearts in Limerick and The Baggott Inn.He sent me this song shortly afterwards
Author Unknown
In the year of one thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight
A sorrowful tale the truth unto you I’ll relate
Of thirty-six heroes to the world they were left to be seen
By a false information they were shot on Dunlavin Green
Bad luck to you Saunders their lives you sold away
You said a parade would be held on that very day
The drums they did rattle and the fifes they did sweetly play
Surrounded we were and quietly marched away
Quite easily they led us as prisoners through the town
To be shot on the plain we then were forced to lie down
Such grief and such sorrow in one place was ne’er before seen
As when the blood ran in streams down the dykes of Dunlavin Green
There is young Andy Ryan he has plenty of cause to complain
Likewise the two Duffy’s who were shot down on the plain
And young Mattie Farrell whose mother distracted will run
For the loss of her own darling boy her eldest son
Bad luck to you Saunders bad luck may you never shun
That the widow’s curse might melt you like snow in the sun
The cries of those orphans whose murmurs you shall never sheen
For the loss of their own dear fathers who died on the green
Some of our boys to the hills they have run away
Some of them have been shot and more have run off to sea
Michael Dwyer of the mountain has plenty of cause for the spleen
For the loss of his own dear comrades who died on the green
Christie Hennessy
G C
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
G
Oh don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
C
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work
Or you’ll end up where you came from like the rest of us
G C
Digging, digging, digging. Ow di liddle do.
And don’t forget your shoes and socks and shirt and tie
And all.
Don’t forget your shoes and socks and shirt and tie and all.
Mr Murphy’s afraid you’ll make a claim if you take a fall.
How’s it goin’ – Not too bad – Ow di liddle do.
And we want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
We want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
Yeah we want to go to heaven but we’re always diggin’ holes.
Well there’s one thing you can say – we know where we are going.
Any chance of a start* – No – OK – Ow di liddle do.
And if you want to do it – don’t you do it again the wall.
If you want to do it – don’t you do it again the wall.
Never seen a toilet on a building site at all.
There’s a shed up in the corner where they won’t see you at all.
Mind your sandwiches.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
Enoch Powell will give us a job, diggin’ our way to Annascaul.
And when we’re finished diggin’ there they’ll close the hole and all.
Now there’s six thousand five hundred and fifty-nine Paddies over there in London all trying to dig their way back to Annascaul
and very few of them boys is going to get back at all
– I think that’s terrible.
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Oh, don’t forget your shovel if you want to go to work.
Or you’ll end up where you came from like the rest of us
Digging, digging, digging. Ow di liddle doooooooooooooh.
[* A start = a job]
Christie Hennessy made one of the great albums, he is the sweetest singer,the gentlest of men…….his honesty and charm very often unsettles interviewers,they dont have the wherewithal to embrace his affection and generosity … he is a prince among men.
Ian Prowse
McKenzie’s soul lies above the ground in that
Pyramid near Maryland
Easyjet is hanging in the air
Takin’ everyone to everywhere
See the slave ships sailing into port
The blood of Africa is on every wall
Now there’s a ley line runs down Mathew Street
It’s giving energy to all it meets
Hey does this train stop
Does this train stop on Merseyside?
Alan Williams in the Marlboro’ Arms
Giving his story out to everyone
Famine boats are anchored in the bay
Bringing in the poor and desperate
Hey does this train stop
Does this train stop on Merseyside?
Boston babies bouncing on the ground
The Riggers beamin’ out to every town
Can’t conceive what those children done
Guess there’s a meanness in the soul of man
Yorkshire policemen chat with folded arms
While people try and save their fellow fans
Why don’t you remember?
Christy Moore
Bishop walked in circles inside the cloistered wall
Pondering in solitude on leather soles
Just outside the palace down on his wretched knees
Husband begged for whiskey beneath the lilac trees
Over in the courthouse Judge sat wrestling with a yawn
Wondering would the gardener pluck the daisies off the lawn
Annoyed and irritated by a “guilty” woman’s whine
Poor wife pleading innocence to an alleged crime
Next day was a Derby Day down on the Curragh plains
Dry old men of cloth and silk watched the sport of kings
Meanwhile back down the town a husband battered down the door
Beat his wife around the face and kicked her to the floor
Husband took his own life, wife passed away
Judge donned his veil of sorrow, put the children into care
They became God’s little orphans, learned to serve and to obey
To be unobtrusive when Bishop knelt to pray.
every line from a different story,the landlords always have the judges in their pockets and the bishops always bless the carry on (so as they can carry on themselves),,,,,
Elvis Costello
At the Arrividerci Roma night club bar and grill
Standing in the fibre-glass ruin watching time stand still
All your troubles you’ll confess
To another faceless, backless dress
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so poor deportee.
There’s a fading beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down and everybody fiddles
The poor deportee
But a thousand dollars won’t buy you a yankee wife, alas
There’s a thousand years of history
drowned in that whiskey glass
Now I wish that she was mine
I could have been a king in 6/8 time – poor deportee
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so poor deportee
It’s a brittle charm, but the lady’s had enough
Still she wrote her number on your paper cuff
It’s hard to know when to start and when to stop
Her pillow talk is nothing more than talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
She stole my return ticket and I didn’t even know it
I prayed to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of Frank Sinatra
And all of these things have to come to pass
In America the law is a piece of ass – deportee
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod, Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so
Poor deportee.
Schnapps, Chianti, Porter and Ouzo
Pernod, Vodka, Sambuca, I love you so – deportee.
I love you so poor deportee.
I met the quare fella when he lived here for a decade or two,when I heard him on “Blue” his singin mesmerised me,he called in and sang a great harmony on “Missing you” and then (Ithink) he sent me the words of this, I changed a few of them but he never complained.He set sail out west a few years ago,way out west now but always making music,one of these days hes gonna write a song for me..maybe when ….
Christy Moore
I dreamt a dream the other night I couldn’t sleep a wink
The rats were tryin’ to count the sheep and I was off the drink
There were footsteps in the parlour and voices on the stairs
I was climbin’ up the walls and movin’ round the chairs.
I looked out from under the blanket up at the fireplace.
The Pope and John F. Kennedy were starin’ in me face.*
Suddenly it dawned at me I was getting the old D.T.s
When the Child o’ Prague began to dance around the mantlepiece.
CHORUS
Goodbye to the Port and Brandy, to the Vodka and the Stag,
To the Schmiddick and the Harpic, the bottled draught and keg.
As I sat lookin’ up 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 some sleep.
I fell into an awful nightmare – got a dreadful shock.
When I dreamt there was no Duty-free at the airport down in Knock.
George Seawright was sayin’ the rosary and SPUC were on the pill.**
Frank Patterson was gargled and he singin’ Spancil Hill.
CHORUS
I dreamt that Mr. Haughey had recaptured Crossmaglen
Then Garret got re-elected 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 supportin’ Traveller’s rights.
I dreamt that Ruairi Quinn was smokin’ marijuana in the Dail
Barry Desmond handin’ Frenchies out to scuts in Fianna Fail.
CHORUS
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 jacuzzi along with Alice Glenn
’twas then I knew I’d never ever, ever drink again.
CHORUS
[In Christy’s live versions, the previous 2 verses are replaced with the following; ]
I dreamt I was in ecstacy in Heaven, and in agony in Hell,
I was bored in Limbo and then I was in Purgatory as well
And there was original sins and venial sins and mortal sins by the score
So I tied barbed wire around my underpants and flagellated myself on the floor
Then I dreamt I was in the confessional box and the auld Bishop said to me;
‘Any impure thoughts, my child?’
Sure the f**king barbed wire was killin’ me!
And then I dreamt I was in the jacuzzi with that auld hoor from No. 10
And then I knew I’d never ever, ever drink again.
* – In later versions, Jack Charlton gets a mention!
** – Ian Paisley was sayin’ the rosary and Mother Teresa was on the pill
at the end of a top shelf stagger I rattled me knob off the corner of a gable end, thats it sez I -never again….but shur I was ony coddin mysel….put us on a nice basin there Shay and I’ll have a large Vera and super while its settlin ….whose upstairs tonight, Oh its myself is it,…Is there, by any chance, a spare box in the house, do ye want one set or two,whos doin the door, could you sub a few bob til after
Traditional
As I roved out one evening fair
It bein’ the summertime to take the air
I spied a sailor and a lady gay
And I stood to listen
And I stood to listen to hear what they would say.
He said “Fair lady, why do you roam
For the day is spent and the night is on”
She heaved a sigh while the tears did roll
“For my dark-eyed sailor
For my dark-eyed sailor, so young and stout and bold.”
“‘Tis seven long years since he left this land
A ring he took from off his lily-white hand
One half of the ring is still here with me
But the other’s rollin’
But the other’s rollin’ at the bottom of the sea.”
He said “You may drive him out of your mind
Some other young man you will surely find
Love turns aside and soon cold has grown
Like the winter’s morning
Like the winter’s morning, the hills are white with snow.”
She said “I’ll never forsake my dear
Although we’re parted this many a year
Genteel he was and a rake like you
To induce a maiden
To induce a maiden to slight the jacket blue.”
One half of the ring did young William show
She ran distracted in grief and woe
Sayin’ “William, William, I have gold in store
For my dark-eyed sailor
For my dark-eyed sailor has proved his honour long”
And there is a cottage by yonder lea
This couple’s married and does agree
So maids be loyal when your love’s at sea
For a cloudy morning
For a cloudy morning brings in a sunny day.
I think I learned this from Andy Rynne.He was a great man to sing in a Hayshed.He shared many songs with me and a few floors too,always the best kempt of bog balladeers,coiffed and cravatted carefully but pour a dozen Smithwicks into him and he was as rowdy as the rest of us
Dan Penn
At the dark end of the street
thats where we always meet
hiding in shadows where we don’t belong
living in darkness to hide our wrongs………You and me
time is going to take its toll
we’ll have to pay for the love we stole
its a sin and they say its wrong
oh! but our love has grown so strong…..you and me
they’re goin’ to find us
they’re goin’ to find us
some day, we’ll hide away
down the dark end of the street…you and me
And when the daylight comes around
by chance we are both downtown
if we should meet walk on by…hush baby don’t you cry
tonight we’ll meet down the dark end of the street,you and me.
The Baggot Inn Dublin 1981. Moving Hearts are playing in this smelly kip – three nights a week and it was a wild and wonderful time. The hellhole was thronged every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday night with the same gang of reprobates and some of ’em came all three nights (and not just the band either).
We would rehearse on the top floor on the afternoons of the gig days, people would roll in as best we could in various states of dishevelment – some neater than others. Declan brought this song in one day and we had it up and running that night for we were always keen to get new noise into the set. Keith Donald used to blow this gorgeous on the sax, it never failed to bring on the lump. We filmed it once, just me and Keith in the Baggott. It was on a film called Christy, anyone got it on dvd?
C.G.F…
C.G.F…
C.FGAm.
F.G.F.GC….
middle bit
Am….
Am…
F.C.FC…FGF.G.C…
Traditional
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
’tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.
But come you back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
’tis I’ll be there in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.
And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
And you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me.
Author Unknown ( This version from Denis Sabey of Bradshaw, Halifax, Yorkshire)
It’s hard when folks can’t get their work where they’ve been bred and born
When I was young I used to think I’d bide my time ‘mid the roots and the corn
But I’ve been forced to flee the town so here’s my litany
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
When I was courting Mary Anne the auld squire he said one day
I’ve got no room for wedded folk choose to wed or stay
I could not leave the girl I loved so town we had to flee
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve worked in Leeds and Huddersfield where I’ve addled honest brass
In Bradford, Keightley, Rotherham, I’ve kept my bairns and lass
I’ve travelled all three ridings round and once I’ve been to sea
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve been through Sheffield lanes at night ’twere just like being in hell
The furnaces thrust out tongues of flame that roared like wind o’er the fell
I’ve sammed up coal in Barnsley pit with muck up to my knee
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
I’ve seen grey fog creep o’er Leeds Brig as thick as Bastille soup
I’ve been where folks are stowed away like rabbits in a coup
I’ve seen snow fall on Bradford Beck as black as ebony
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good Lord deliver me
But now my children all have flown to the country I’ll go back
There’ll be forty miles of heathery moor ‘twixt me and the coal pit slack
And oft at night as I sit round the fire I’ll think of the misery
From Hull and Halifax and Hell good lord deliver me
from Alastair Cameron and Dennis Sabey founder members of the Bradshaw Tavern Folk Club in the mid 60s.Thesong is based on an older Yorkshire dialect poem.
Nigel Rolfe/Christy Moore
Everybody knew, nobody said.
A week ago last Tuesday.
She was just fifteen years.
When she reached her full term.
She went to a grotto.
Just a field,
In The Middle of The Island.
To deliver herself.
Her Baby died,
She died
A week ago last Tuesday.
It was a sad, slow, stupid death for them both.
Everybody knew, nobody said.
At a Grotto
In a Field
In The Middle Of The Island
Anne Lovett – may that child rest in peace, is an icon whose passing we should remember.
Her death showed up a terrible but accurate picture of the society that we lived in, in which so many still wallow.
I believe Nigel Rolfe’s lyric to be a monument to the passing of her innocent life. There was a collective shame across the Island. However, its shadow did not reach into the darkest corners where the righteous dwell.
Does anyone have a photo of Anne Lovett? My son wishes to create a shrine to her memory.
Sung accapella to a drone.