REYNARD THE FOX - Co. Offaly 

An Irish traditional song which commemorates a fox chase that took place in Offaly in 1793. The Fox is a trickster with human traits.

Recorded in Doon Studious Waterford

Engineered Benny McCarthy

Mixed by Billy Sutton

Mastered by Richie Ford

Cathy Jordan - vocals

Donal Clancy - vocals, guitar

Caoimhín Ó Fearghaíl - bouzouki, whistle, uilleann pipes

Benny McCarthy - Accordion

Vincient Devine - Original crankie artwork

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On the first day of March in the year of ninety-three

The first recreation was in this country,

The King’s County gentlemen o’er hills, dales and rocks

They rode so joyfully in search of a fox

Tally-ho, hark away, tally-ho hark away

Tally-ho, hark away me boys away, hark away

 

When Reynard was started he faced Tullamore

And Arklow and Wicklow along the sea shore

We kept his brush in view every yard of the way

And it’s straight he made his course for the street of Rosstrade

For Reynard, sly Reynard lay hid there that night

And we swore we would watch him until the daylight

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Next morning early morning, the hills did resound

With the sweet smell of horses and the sweet cry of hounds

When Reynard was started he faced to the hollow

Where none but the footmen and hounds they could follow

The gentlemen cried “Watch him, watch him, what will he do?

If the rocks do not stop him he will cross Killaloe”

​

When Reynard was captured his wishes to fulfill

He sent for pen and paper and ink to write his will

And what he made mention of, we found it no thank

For he gave us all a cheque on the National Bank.

“Oh to you, Mr Casey, I leave my whole estate

And to you, Mr Johnson, my money and my plateI give to you,

Sir Monaghan, my whips, spurs and cap

For you jumped ore hedge and ditches and ne’er looked for a gap.

 

 

THE CURRAGH WRENS- Co. Kildare

Words and Music Cathy Jordan

A song inspired by the plight of single women during the famine who lived in small hollowed out ‘nests’ in the Curragh Co Kildare

Recorded in The Magic Room Sligo,

Engineered by Brian McDonagh

Mastered by Richie Ford

Grainne Bath Enright - Original crankie illustrations

Cathy Jordan - Vocal, uke, bodhran

Claudia Schwab - Vocal, fiddle

Irene Buckley - Vocal electronics

This song features on an album by Plúirín Na mBan (Claudia, Cathy, Irene) called Female Rambling Sailor, released July 2023, Arranged by Cathy Jordan and Plúirín Na mBan.

 

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 I became a mother, Born to be a Curragh Wren

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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 trekked through driving weather, All alone and lonely oh,

And on the Kildare plains we found shelterBorn 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 WrenWith bare hands worn to blood and boneAll alone and lonely ohAmong the furze we made our homeBorn 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 Wrens

 

 

 

BURIED IN KILKENNY - Co. Kilkenny 

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17th century Child ballad no12 Lord Randal, Henry My Son, What Had You For Supper.Versions exist in Italy, America, UK, Scotland. One of the only European ballads which became so strongly traditional in Ireland and translated into the Irish language - Amhrán Na hEaseainne - The Song of the Eel.Although hundreds of versions exist the story is similar and is told through the eyes of a man who has been poisoned by his sweetheart. The method of poisoning varies - eels, snails, frogs, poison beans etc

Donal Clancy - Guitar

Cathy Jordan  - Vocals

Recorded in Doon Studios Waterford

Engineered by Benny McCarthy

Mastered by Richie Ford

Paul Bokslag - Original crankie illustrations

 

What will you have you for dinner now, My  young darling boy?

What  will you have you for dinner, My comfort and my joy?

I had bread, beef and cold poison, Mother,  will you dress my bed soon?

I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down,

What will you leave your father, My  young darling boy?

What will you leave your father , My comfort and my joy?

I’ll leave him the coach and four horses

Mother,  will you dress my bed soon? 

For I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down

​

What will you leave your brother, My young darling boy?

What will you leave your brother, My comfort and my joy?

My bow and my fiddle, Mother, will you dress my bed soon?

For I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down,

What will you leave your mother, My young darling boy?

What will you leave your mother, My comfort and my joy?

I’ll leave her the keys to my treasure

Mother, will you dress my bed soon? 

For I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down

​

What will you leave your children, My own Darlin boy

What will you leave your children, my comfort and my joy

I’ll let them follow their mother, Will you dress my bed soon?

For I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down

What will you leave your sweetheart, My young darling boy?

What will you leave your sweetheart, My comfort and my joy?

The long rope for to hang herMother, will you dress my bed soon?

For I have a pain in my heart and I long to lie down

​

Where will you be buried now, My own young darling boy?

Where will you be buriedMy comfort and my joy?

I’ll be buried in Kilkenny, where I’ll take a long sleep

With a stone to my head and a scraith to my feet

 

 

THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME - Co. Carlow

A 14 year old boy from Carlow meets a colonel, who enlists him in the Wicklow Rangers. He leaves his girl behind. Her friends tell her not to worry. If he survives his enlistment he will return to his girl.

Lyrics adapted by Cathy Jordan

Recorded in Doon Studious Waterford

Engineered by Benny McCarthy

Mixed by Billy Sutton

Mastered by Richie Ford

Cathy Jordan - Vocals, bodhran

Donal Clancy - Vocals, guitar

Caoimhín Ó Fearghaíl - Bouzouki, whistle, uilleann pipes

Benny McCarthy - Accordion

Patricia Corriea - Original crankie illustrations

 

Come all you handsome comely maids that lives near Carlow dwelling

Beware of young men’s flattering tongues with words to you they’re telling

Beware of the kindest words they say be wise and never mind them

For if they were to be talking till they die they’d still leave you behind them.

​

I was scarcely eighteen years of age when I was broken-hearted

I was deep in love for seven long years when first my jewel he parted

These maidens wonder why I’m mourn and bid me not to mind him

For he will have more grief than joy for the leaving of you behind him.

​

In Carlow town I was brought up all free from debt or dangers

When Colonel Reilly listed me to join the Wicklow Rangers

He dressed me up in scarlet red and treated me most kindly

But still I thought my heart would break for the girl I left behind me.

​

Oh me and my comrade both walked out one day for recreation

Me and my comrade both walked out to view a pleasant station

Me and my comrade both sat down while fair maids sat beside us

And we raised a glass and drank a toast to the girls we left behind us.

​

Right angrily these maids arose saying we can stay no longer

For if we're not home by milking time I’m sure there will be anger

Sit down my handsome comely maids your cows are all in clover

Sit down fair maids and be content for your milking days are over.

​

It's not my love I blame I own all for our separation

That left me wandering far from home to a distant nation

\But if ever I get liberty no one shall ever bind me

I’ll see my native land once more and the girl I left behind me

 

 

LOUGH SHEELIN'S SIDE - Co. Meath

A mass eviction took place one cold February night at a place called Tonagh in the late 1840s. Tonagh at the time was a thriving village located near Ross on the Meath shores of the lake and not far from Mountnugent. T

he song is purportedly based on an account of an eviction of more than 700 tenants, witnessed by Dr Thomas Nulty, Roman Catholic Bishop of Meath, in 1848, in his first year as a priest in the diocese.

Song adapted and arranged by Cathy Jordan

Recorded in the Magic room sligo

Brian McDonagh Engineer

Richard Ford - mastering

Cathy Jordan - Voice

Anna Houston - Cello, voice

Claudia Schwab - Violin, harmony

Rick Epping - Harmonica concertina voice

Seamie O’Dowd - Guitar, mandola, voice

Anne Kiernan - Original crankie illustrations

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Farewell! my country, a long farewell,

My bitter anguish no tongue call tell,

For I must fly o’er the ocean wide

From the home I loved by Lough Sheelin’s side.

​

Fond memories come till my heart grows sad,

And vengeful thoughts till my brain goes mad,

When I think of Ellen, my gentle bride,

In the churchyard lone by Lough Sheelin’s side.

​

Ah! proud was I of my girl so tall

And envied most by the young men all

When I brought her back my blushing bride

To my cottage home by Lough Sheelin’s side.

​

But oh! our joy was too full to last;

The landlord came our young hopes to blast;

In vain we pleaded for mercy - no!

He turned us out in the blinding snow.

​

And none dare open for us their door

Or else his vengeance would reach them sure;

My Ellen fainted - in my arms died -

While the snow fell fast on the mountain side.

​

I said one prayer for my lifeless love,

And raised my hands to Heaven above

“Oh, God of justice” I wildly cried,

“Avenge the death of my murdered bride.

​

”We buried her down in the churchyard low,

Where in the springtime the daisies blow,

I shed no tear for the font was dry

On that woeful night by Lough Sheelin’s side.

​

Farewell! my country; farewell for aye!

The ship will soon bear me away,

But, oh, my fond heart will still abide

By my Ellen’s grave by Lough Sheelin’s side.

 

 

THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY - Co. Wexford

Written by Robert Dwyer Joyce 1836 to 1883

Written from the perspective of a doomed young Wexford rebel who is about to sacrifice his relationship with his loved one and plunge into war in the 1798 rebellion,The reference to barley in the song derives from the fact the rebels carried barley of oats in their pockets as provisions from when on the march. This gave rise to the post rebellion phenomenon of barley growing and marking the croppy holes unmarked graves into which rebel casualties were thrown.These croppy holes became a symbol of Irish resistance against British rule.Song 2994 roud.

Recorded at Bann View Studios Portglenone

Engineered by Sean Óg Graham

Deirdre Galway - guitar piano

Conor Lamb - uilleann pipes

Dermot Mulholland - banjo, bouzouki, double bass

Loic Blejean - uilleann pipes, whistles

Miles McCormac - vocals, guitar

Cathy Jordan - Vocals

Peter Crann - Original crankie illustrations

 

I sat within the valley green, I sat there with my true love.

My fond heart strove to choose between, The old love and the new love.

The old for her the new, That made me think on Ireland dearly.

While soft the wind blew down the glen, And shook the golden barley.

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T'was hard the mournful words to frame, To break the ties that bound us.

Yet harder still to bear the shame, Of foreign chains around us.

And so I said the mountain glen, I'll seek at morning early.

And join the brave united men, While soft winds shook the barley.

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T'was sad I kissed away her tears, her arms around me clinging.

When to my ears that fateful shotcame out the wild woods ringing.

The bullet pierced my true love's heart, In life's young spring so early.

And there upon my breast she died, While soft winds shook the barley.

​

I bore her to some mountain stream and, And many’s the summer blossom

I placed with branches soft and green About her gore stained bosom

I wept and kissed her clay cold corpse And rushed ore vale and valley

My vengeance on the foe to reek, While soft wind shook the barley

 

And blood for blood without remorse, I took out Oulart Hollow.

I Placed my true love's clay cold corpse, Where mine full soon may follow.

Now round her grave I've wandered drear, Noon, night, and morning early.

With aching heart when e'er I hear, The wind that shakes the barley.

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DONAL KENNY - Co. Westmeath

John Keegan Casey -1846 -1870

One of the most poignant of all our emigration songs.

Recorded in the Magic room Sligo

Brian McDonagh - Engineer

Richard Ford - Mastering

Cathy Jordan - Vocals, uke Guitar

Anna Huston - Cello, 

Claudia Schwab - Violin,

Rick Epping - Harmonica Concertina

Seamie O’Dowd - Guitar

Peter Crann - Original crankie illustrations

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"Come, piper, play the 'Shaskan Reel,'

Or else the 'Lasses on the Heather,'

And, Mary, lay aside your wheel

Until we dance once more together.

At fair and pattern oft before

Of reels and jigs we've tripped full many;

But ne'er again this loved old floor,

Will feel the foot of Donal Kenny."

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Softly she rose and took his hand,

And softly glided through the measure,

While, clustering round, the village band

Looked half in sorrow, half in pleasure.

Warm blessings flowed from every lip

As ceased the dancers' airy motion:

O Blessed Virgin! guide the ship

Which bears bold Donal o'er the ocean!

 

"Now God be with you all," he sighed,

Adown his face the bright tears flowing--

"God guard you well, a mhic, a ruin”

"Upon the strange path you are going."

So full his breast he scarce could speak,

With burning grasp the stretched hands taking,

He pressed a kiss on every cheek,

And sobbed as if his heart was breaking
 

"Boys, don't forget me when I'm gone,

For sake of all the days passed over--

The days you spent on heath and bawn,

With Donal Ruadh, the rattlin' rover.

Mary, agra, your soft brown eye

Has willed my fate," he whispered lowly;

"Another holds thy heart: good-bye!

Heaven grant you both its blessings holy!”

 

A kiss upon her brow of snow,

A rush across the moonlit meadow,

Whose broom-clad hazels, trembling slow,

The mossy boreen wrapped in shadow;

Away o'er Tully's bounding rill,

And far beyond the Inny river;

One cheer on Carrick's rocky hill,

And Donal Kenny's gone forever.”

 

The breezes whistled through the sails,

O'er Galway Bay the ship was heaving,

And smothered groans and bursting wails

Told all the grief and pain of leaving.

One form among that exiled band

Of parting sorrow gave no token,

Still was his breath, and cold his hand;

For Donal Kenny's heart was broken

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