"Plúirín na mBan" performed by Plúirín na mBan Cathy Jordan - Vocals, Bodhran, Guitarlele, Bouzouki Claudia Schwab, Violin, keys Irene Buckley- Electronics, keys Artwork - David Gascoigne From the album "Female rambling Sailor" https://pluirinnamban.bandcamp.com/album/female-rambling-sailor. This creation represents Co. Leitrim in our Crankie Island all-Ireland song project where we create a "Crankie Box" video for a song from each county in Ireland. Subscribe to our channel and view the other songs. A "Crankie Box" is a vintage story-telling device that illustrates songs and stories through the use of scrolling illustrations. "Plúirín na mBan" An dtiocfá liom go Contae Liatroma Dúirt plúirín1 na mban donn óg Thabharfainn bia agus lón gach oíche duit Deir plúirín na mban donn óg Míle céad a b’fhearr liom bheith ariamh gan fear Ná a bheith ag siúl an drúchta is na bhfásach leat Mar gur thug mo chroí dhuit grá is gean2 Dúirt plúirín na mban donn óg. Ní thiocfaidh mé leat, is níl aon mhaith dhuit a bheith m’ iarraidh Dúirt plúirín na mban donn óg Ní choinneodh do bhriathra beo gan bia mé Dúirt plúirín na mban donn óg B’fhearr liom féin bheith ariamh gan fear Ná a bheith ag siúl an drúchta is na bhfásach leat Mar thug mo chroí dhuit grá is gean Dúirt plúirín na mban donn óg. Translation ‘Would you come with me to County Leitrim?’ Said the flower of young brown-haired women. ‘I would you give you food and a meal every night,’ Says the flower of young brown-haired women. ‘I would a thousand times rather be without a man forever Than to be walking through the dew and the wilderness with you; For my heart gave you love and affection,’ Said the flower of young brown-haired women. ‘I won’t come with you, and it’s no good your asking me,’ ‑ Said the flower of young brown-haired women. ‘Your words won’t keep me alive without food,’ Said the flower of young brown-haired women. ‘I’d rather be without a man forever Than to be walking through the dew and the wilderness with you; For my heart gave you love and affection,’ Said the flower of young brown-haired women. This song features on an album by Plúirín Na mBan (Claudia, Cathy, Irene) called Female Rambling Sailor, released July 2023 Recorded at the magic room Sligo, engineered by Brian McDonagh pluirinnamban.com Project and video production - Peter Crann Camera: Laura Karhunen Special thanks to the Arts Council of Ireland for their support in this project.

"The Curragh Wrens" - Plúirín Na mBán Original Illustration by Gráinne Bath Enright. This video is part of Crankie Islands all-Ireland song project, where we are presenting a song with original artwork from each county of Ireland. "The Curragh Wrens" is a song written and sung by Cathy Jordan reflecting on the forgotten story of the women who lived rough in the Curragh of Kildare in the 19th century. Driven into poverty, prostitution and homelessness they managed to construct a community that lived in the bushes and hollows of this unique landscape beside the large British army military base. They raised children, survived and looked after each other. There make-shift shelters resembled birds nests, and thus these women gained the nick-name, "Curragh Wrens". Due to the new republics links with the Catholic Church, this part of social history was almost erased, but it is a story that Cathy felt had to be heard, and give some dignity to these brave and innovative women. ' The Curragh Wrens Words and Music Cathy Jordan From the album "Female Rambling Sailor" by Plúirín Na mBan. https://pluirinnamban.bandcamp.com/album/female-rambling-sailor I’m poor girl born near Dublin City All alone and lonely O The Landlord on us showed no pity Born to be a Curragh Wren My Parents died likewise my brother All alone and lonely O At 14 years became a mother born to be a Curragh Wren Chorus Banished out to hollowed quarters God’s men scorned us from their Alters Who will love the sons and daughters born onto this Curragh Wren Death or workhouse lay before me All alone and lonely oh To the road i took my baby and me Born to be a Curragh Wren For miles we trecked through driving weather All alone and lonely oh And on the Kildare plains we found shelter Born to be a Curragh Wren With bare hands worn to blood and bone All alone and lonely oh Among the furze we made our home Born to be a Curragh Wren Like dogs we crouched in damp and squalor All alone and lonely Oh Crawling out when the soldiers hollered Born to be a Curragh Wren At night they’d come to hunt for blood All alone and lonely oh They stripped and beat us in the mud Born to be a Curragh Wren All ye who judge us from your soft beds All alone and lonely oh Hang in shame your righteous heads Born to be a Curragh Wren Plúirín Na mBán are.... Cathy Jordan - Vocal, Uke, Bodhran Claudia Schwab - Vocal, fiddle Irene Buckley - Electronics, Vocal

"The Wind That Shakes The Barley" As part of our 32 county song project, we present this beautiful recording by Belfast band, Réalta, featuring Myles McCormack & Cathy Jordan. www.realta.com www.cathyjordan.com www.crankieisland.com The Wind That Shakes The Barley. Robert Dwyer Joyce (1830-1883) Published in 1861 I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love. My sad heart strove the two between The old love and the new love. The old for her the new, That made me think on Ireland dearly. While the soft wind blew down the glade And shook the golden barley. T'was hard the woeful words to frame To break the ties that bound us. But harder still to bear the shame, Of foreign chains around us. And so I said the mountain glen I'll meet at morning early. And I'll join the bold united men While soft winds shook the barley. T'was sad I kissed away her tears, My fond arm round her flinging. When a foe, man's shot burst on our ears From out the wild woods ringing. A bullet pierced my true love's side, In life's young spring so early. And on my breast in blood she died While soft winds shook the barley. But blood for blood without remorse I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow. I've lain my true love's clay like corpse Where I full soon must follow. Around her grave I've wandered drear Noon, night, and morning early. With breaking heart when e'er I hear The wind that shakes the barley. The song is about a young man's dilemma, choosing between his country and his love during the 1798 rebellion in Ireland. Recorded in Bannview Studios, Co Antrim, Ireland. Thanks to the Arts Council of Ireland for their support in realising this project.

"Pat O'Brien" - The Sligo Murder Ballad This song comes from the the broadside ballad tradition of the 19th century and is a song of betrayal, murder and the supernatural. Pat O’Brien lures Nancy into a shady grove where he murders her, but she comes back from the dead to seek revenge. This version I learned from the singing of Tom Lenihan from Miltown Malbay County Clare. Cathy Jordan - Vocals, Guitars, Keyboard, Slow Moving Clouds - Strings - Kevin Murphy - Cello - Ultan O’Brien - Fiddle - Aki - Nyckelharpa Arranged by Cathy Jordan String Arrangement - Slow Moving Clouds Illustration & Video - Peter Crann Nancy's Hand - Laura Karhunen Recorded remotely Mixed at the Magic Room Studios Sligo Engineered by Brian McDonagh Thanks to The Arts Council of Ireland for their support in producing this video. Lyrics This young man’s name was Pat O’Brien a carpenter by trade Both day and night he took delight in courting this fair maid She was young and innocent and always to the fore, But little was her notion that he’d prove her overthrow. She wrote to him a letter and an answer to it came Saying ‘Nancy, lovely Nancy, I hope you’ll not me blame For I’ve been working all this time and could not see you o’er Bot I hope to have your company this evening at the grove’. When she read those few lines they enticed her for to go She dressed herself in private, I mean you for to know The night was bright with the moonlight which caused her for to go But little was her notion, she’d never come back home When he saw her coming, it was then he went to hide The words he said unto himself, ‘You’ll never be my bride For I have heard for certain that you have me deceived And this very night I’ll take your life, a butcher I will be’. It was then he stepped up to her and then his colour changed. She said ‘Patsy, lovely Patsy, what makes you look so pale?’ I want no talk at all from you, just kneel down there and pray For there’s not a woman breathing will ever deceive me. He caught her by the yellow lock and drew her to the ground. ;Twas with a knife he stabbed her oh, and gave her a deadly wound Her last dying words ‘Pat O’Brien you do not feel my pain. And twas with a spade he dug her grave and then dashed out her brains. This girl was 3 days buried to her mother she did appear, The mother spoke to her without any dread or fear She says ‘mother loving mother you’ll never see me more For Pat O’Brien has murdered me and laid me in my gore ‘Go down to that old grove be sure make no delay, There you’ll find my body buried, and covered with the clay You’ll find the blood spilled on the spot, the place he murdered me. Go down and get him taken and hung he’ll surely be. The night before his trial came on to him she did appear With her baby in her arms, oh which filled her heart with fear. She said “often times you told me that I would be your bride On the gallows high you now will die for taking away my life.

Dé Luain Dé Máirt (Monday, Tuesday) This beautiful Lullaby tells the story of a hunchback, called Donal, who met a troupe of singing fairies in the woods. He resolved the monotony of the fairies song by providing a conclusion to their chorus, and in return they cured him of his ailments - a bargain indeed. I’m delighted to be joined on vocals by my great friend and song sister Nuala Kennedy with whom I’ve been collaborating, to produce an album of lullabies called "Husheen": featuring both new and traditional songs for the young and the young at heart. Cathy Jordan - Vocals, Autoharp, Guitars, Keyboard. Nuala Kennedy - Vocals, Glockenspiel Recorded remotely and in The Magic Room Sligo Engineered by Brian McDonagh Arranged by Cathy Jordan Thanks to the Arts Council of Ireland for their support in creating this video.www.artscouncil.ie Video & Artwork - Peter Crann Actor - Marianna Spina Camera - Laura Karhunen Crankie Box design - Tony Travers. Lyrics Bhí Donall bocht cam agus dronn ar a dhroim Ag gabháil tríd an ngleann ins an oíche Nuair a chuala sé ceol ba chaoineadh ag na sióg Ag teacht aige ar learg na gaoithe Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt ... Do stad sé agus d'éist go ciúin le gach séis 'S i ngéibheann ar glaoch binn is bhuaigh sé Ach a chroí istigh go breoigh mar do theip ar an gceoil 'S níor cuireadh críoch cóir leis an líne Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt ... Ná ghlac Donall cam agus dronn ar a dhroim A mhisneach, agus chan go deas séideán Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt Dia Luain, Dia Máirt is Dia Céadaoin! Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt ... Céadaoin! Nuair a chuala an slua sí an críoch gheal míor bhinn Nach orthu a bhíodh rí-rá agus áthas Do bhain siad an dronn de Dhonall bocht cam Agus d'imigh siad abhaile gan meacan Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt, Dia Luain, Dia Máirt ... Céadaoin! English translation Monday, Tuesday Poor Dónall was crippled with a hump on his back Going through the glen at night When he heard music, the lament of the fay Carried to him on the wind Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday He stopped and listened quietly to each strain And was ensnared by its sweet call But his heart was aflame since the music fell flat And the line wasn't properly finished Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday Didn't crippled Dónall with the hump on his back take courage and sing softly and skillfully Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday! Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday ... Wednesday! When the fairy host heard the bright, sweet finishing phrase Weren't they glad and joyous They removed the hump from poor crippled Dónall And he went home without any lameness Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday ... Wednesday!

This a little video clip explaining our project

"Deartháirín ó mo Chroí" (My Beloved Brother/Little brother of My heart)) Written by Michael Hogan - “The Bard Of Thomond” 1828 - 1899 Cathy Jordan - Vocals John Doyle - Bouzouki / Guitar / Bass Mike McGoldrick - Flute / Clarinet Peter Crann - Illustration / Video Tony Travers - Crankie design Thanks to The Arts Council of Ireland for their support in making this video. Premiered at The Winnipeg Crankie festival 2021 Deartháirín ó mo Chroí. I am a young fellow who has always loved rural sport, The fairs and the patterns of Erin I used to resort, The true sons of Bacchus were always in my company, Till I was deprived of my deartháirín ó mo chroí. The womb's turned to earth that gave birth to my brother and me, My father and mother have gone to eternity, We worked at our trade and our money we spent it quite free, Which makes me lament for my deartháirín ó mo chroí. When we were children we did each other adore, This lovely green island we wandered it o'er and o'er, My brother was taken and sent o'er the dark rolling sea, And I am left lonely for deartháirín ó mo chroí. In Dublin's fair city my brother he was pressed away, On board of a warship to Spain o'er the wild rolling sea, Where cannons roar loudly and bullets like lightening do fly, Perhaps in some battle my deartháirín ó might die, He was sent to the wars for to fight against Boney and France, His regiment was first in the red battle ranks to advance, But when night cast it's gloom on that gory and life wasting lea, Pale, bleeding and cold lay my deartháirín ó mo chroí. If heaven would aid me and send me to Spain where he be, My life I would venture to set him at liberty, Like a true loyal brother I would fight for him manfully, Or I'd die in the arms of my deartháirín ó mo chroí. But now I'm alone like the desolate bird of the night, The world and it's beauties no longer afford me delight, The dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me, Since I lost my heart's treasure my deartháirín ó mo chroí.-

"Eileen Óg" (The pride of Petravore) Performed by Cathy Jordan, Artwork and Video by Peter Crann. Roger Tallroth - Guitar Gustaf Ljunggren - Clarinet, Guitar Lars Andreas Haug - Tuba Thanks to Manuel Garrido and Rubén Diez for lending this vintage Spanish "Super Cine Nic" projector! This Crankie Song project has been supported by Creative Ireland and Roscommon County Council Roscommon native Cathy, has selected 3 songs to begin an accessible video archive of songs from the county. Please check out the other videos "Úna Bhán" & "Eastersnowe" Eileen Oge (Pride Of Petravore) Words by Percy French Eileen Oge oh that the darlin's name is, Through the Barony her features they were famous If we all loved her who was there to blame us For wasn't she the Pride of Petravore? But her beauty made us all so shy Not a man could look her in the eye Boys, oh boys, sure that's the reason why We're in mournin' for the Pride of Petravore Chorus (after every verse): Eileen Oge, my heart is growin' grey Ever since the day you wandered far away Eileen Oge, there's good fish in the sea But there's none of them like the Pride of Petravore. Friday at the fair in Ballintubber Eileen met McGrath the cattle jobber Got to set my mark upon the robber For he stole away the Pride of Petravore He never seemed to see the girl at all Even when she ogled him from underneath her shawl Lookin' big and masterful when she was lookin' small Most provokin' for the Pride of Petravore So it went as was in the beginning Eileen Oge was bent upon the winning Big McGrath contentedly was grinning Being courted by the Pride of Petravore Says he: “I know a girl that could knock you into fits” At that Eileen nearly lost her wits The upshot of the ruction is that now the robber sits With his arm around the Pride of Petravore. Boys, oh boys, with fate it's hard to grapple Of my eyes Eileen was the apple Now I see her walkin' to the chapel With the hardest featured man in Petravore Now, boys, this is all I have to say: When you do your courtin' make no display If you want them to run after you, just walk the other way For they're mostly like the Pride of Petravore Percy French was born in Coonyquin House, Co Roscommon on May 1st 1854, and his songs are popular to this day. Here is one of his best loved and light hearted songs involving the beautiful Eileen and her many admirers. Supported by Roscommon County Council Creative Ireland Programme through the Creative Communities Job Stimulus Measure 2020.