Banks of the Moy - Mayo
The sad tale of the fate of Michael Davitt, (25 March 1846 – 30 May 1906) an Irish republican activist for a variety of causes, especially Home Rule and land reform. (Mary Ward)
Recorded at sun studios Tuam Co Galway
Engineered by Kenny Ralph
Mastered by Richie Ford
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Martín O’Connor - Accordion
Steve Cooney - Guitars
Cathy Jordan - Vocals
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Cormac Cullinane - Original crankie illustrations
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One day as I went to my rambles
from Swinford to sweet Ballylea
I met with a maid as I rambled
and her name it was Mary Magee.
Well, she sighed for the rights of old Ireland:
Michael Davitt, my brave Irish boy,
He is now in a prison in Portland,
Far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
I quickly approached this fair maiden,
asked her the cause of her woe
and what was the cause of her misery
that forced her from home to roam.
Well, she sighed, for the rights of old Ireland
Michael Davitt, my brave Irish boy,
He is now in a prison in Portland,
Far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
Don't speak of your sweet '67,
We had brave men and true men you know
There was young Peter Carney, God rest him,
He died in Killarney, also.
He was trailed by the brave, Michael Davitt,
'round the valleys and plains of Fermoy.
And that's why he's in prison in Portland,
Far from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
So now to conclude and to finish
I hope that the day soon will come
when those cruel landlords and bailiffs
From the isle of St. Patrick must run.
We will unfurl our green and gold banner
And we’ll raise them for Ireland on high,
Then we will drink to our brave Michael Davitt
from the lovely sweet banks of the Moy.
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Eileen Óg - Co. Roscommon
(Pride Of Petravore)
Words by Percy French - Roscommon
Percy French was born in Clooneyquinn House on May 1st 1954 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.
Cathy Jordan - vocals
Roger Tallroth - Guitar
Gustaf Ljunggren - Clarinet, guitar
Lars Andreas Haug - Tuba
Arranged by Cathy Jordan and Roger Tallroth
Peter Crann - Original crankie illustrations
Eileen Óg 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 among us could look her in the eye
Boys, oh boys, sure that's the reason why
We're in mourning' for the Pride of Petravore
Eileen Óg my heart is growin' gray
Ever since the day you wandered far away
Eileen Óg, 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
I’d like 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 while she was lookin' small
Most provoking' for the Pride of Petravore
So it went as was in the beginning
Eileen Óg 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
Ah 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
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The Bogs of Shanaheever - Galway
Hunters Toby and Bruce, with no land of their own went hunting illegally on the landlord’s estate with their beloved dogs, Victor and Diana, under cover of darkness. Victor died one fateful night leaving Bruce so heartbroken that he immigrated to America and never again hunted.
The death of Victor, was caused when a rabbit ran right to the edge of a precipice before swerving at the last moment. It being dark, the dog did not see the drop and plunged to its death.
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Recorded at Sun Studios Tuam Co Galway
Engineered by Kenny Ralph
Extra recording at the Blue Room studio Grange Sligo
Engineered by Luke Devaney
Production by Steve Cooney
Mastering by Richie Ford
Mártín O’Connor - Accordion
Steve Cooney - Guitars
Cathy Jordan - Vocals, bodhran
The song is followed by original tunes - The Dogs of Shanaheever, Diana and Victor written by Máirtín O’Connor
Arranged by Cathy Jordan, Máirtín O’Connor, Steve Cooney
Beatrice Newman - Original crankie illustrations
My youthful days are past and it makes my heart feel weary,
As I sit in the cart in the wilds of the prairie,
Hunting the deer that skip around the beaver,
While my thoughts fondly stray to the Bogs of Shanaheever.
By the cold light of the moon won’t you tell them to be ready.
Tell them to prepare and to bring on Master Freddy.
Tell them to be quick and tell them to be very clever,
For it’s my last day of coursing on the Bogs of Shanaheever.
From the shores of Lough Oonagh to the Plains of Glenrikken,
Beneath a red sun my poor old heart is ticking.
We made straight for Letterdean, but the land it didn’t favor,
So we crossed over the mountains for the Bogs Of Shanaheever.
They have boasted in London of the trials of O’Donnel.
And young Willie Ayres praised the fortunes of Diana.
But the truth to you I’ll tell, that Diana was the favorite.
But Victor took the sway on the Bogs of Shanaheever.
On the day that Victor died, my coursing days were over,
And I sat down and cried like a broken-hearted lover.
I put Victor in his grave and I left him there forever,
And booked passage to New York from the Bogs of Shanaheever.
So it’s fare-you-well dear Ireland, and fare-you-well forever.
There is nowhere in the world I will look on with such favor.
And if ever I return I’ll come back again and see her,
And I’ll spend my days at coursing on the Bogs of Shanaheever.
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The Sligo Murder Ballad - Co. Sligo
(also known as Pat O’Brien)
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This traditional song comes from 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 Co 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
Recorded in various home studios during covid
Mixed at the Magic Room Studios Sligo
Engineered by Brian McDonagh
Mastered by Richie Ford
Peter Crann - Original crankie illustrations
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
But 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 color 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
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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.
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Plúirín Na mBan Donn Óg - Leitrim
Unrequited Love - Traditional
Cathy Jordan - Vocals, bodhran, guitalele, bouzouki
Claudia Schwab, Violin, keys
Irene Buckley- Electronics, keys
This song features on an album by Plúirín Na mBan (Claudia, Cathy, Irene) called Female Rambling Sailor, released July 2023
Arranged by Plúirín Na mBan
Recorded at the Magic Room Sligo engineered by Brian McDonagh
Mastered by Richie Ford
Paul Gascoigne - Original crankie illustrations
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.
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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. Munster