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MUNSTER

Paddy, The Cockney And The Ass - Clare

Witty Comic

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Another song I learned from the repertoire of Tom Lenihan, from a collection called “The Mount Callen Garland” collected and edited by another great songster, Tom Munnelly. This comic song tells of an Irish country man who outwits a city slicker in London. It is thought that the song originated in America and traveled back as opposed to the other way around.

Recorded during covid in Sligo, Manchester and North Carolina

Mastered by Richie Ford

Cathy Jordan - Vocals, uke guitar, bones

John Doyle - Guitar, bouzouki

Mike McGoldrick - Low whistle, snare drum, jaw harp

Peter Crann - Original crankie illustrations

 

Pat Molloy was an Irish boy, he left sweet County Clare

Says he, ‘I’ll go to London to see the wonders there

Sure I’ve often heard that London was a very pretty place

So bedad says he, I’ll go and see it that’s the blooming case

 

When Pat arrived in London, he was taken by surprise

For the sights  of that great city fairly dazzled Paddy’s eyes

One day while going down the street meditating to himself

He met a ragged Cockney with a donkey, selling delph

 

This damed old ragged cockney wouldn’t let poor Paddy pass

Saying ‘Come and speak to your brother’ while he pointed to the ass

‘Well bedad’ says Pat ‘I never knew that I had a brother here’

And turned round he whispered something into the ass’s ear

 

When Pat was speaking to ass, now boys what did he do?

He dropped a pebble  in his ear, he did bedad ’tis true

The ass went mad, upset the cart, smashed all the earthenware

And the damned old ragged Cockney, he went crazy clear and clane

 

Now he called upon the peeler for  to take poor Pat in charge

Saying ‘Seize this Irish vagabond, for he shouldn’t be at large’

‘Begone you English spailpín’ cries Paddy with a smile

‘For you took me to be an ass because I come from Erin’s Isle’

 

Thats nonsense cried  the magistrate, you know the ass went mad

I do indeed said paddy and I’m sorry to bedad

Be careful cried the Magistrate I’ll have no nonsense here

But come and tell me every word you whispered in his ear

 

‘Well indeed I will’ says Paddy, ‘that request I can’t refuse

For I’d often heard that donkeys, they were very fond of news

I thought I might say something this ‘oul donkey’s heart to cheer

And now I’ll tell you every word that I whispered in his ear’

 

‘Well, I told the ass’ says Paddy, ‘that we had our wrongs redressed

That noble wealthy Irishmen were no longer oppressed

We got rid of all the landlords, Ireland to ourselves we had

And when the donkey heard the news, be Jesus he went mad’

 

The magistrate, from laughing well he had to creep his head

When he looked at poor Ould Paddy and he thought of what he said

And turning round to Paddy ‘what a clever rogue you are

And for your clever answer, I’ll dismiss you from the bar’

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Deartháirín ó mo Chroí - Limerick

(Brother of my heart)

Author - Michael Hogan - “The Bard Of Thomond”

Co Limerick 1828 - 1899 - Battle and recruitment and the pain of separation due to war.

Recorded during covid in Sligo, Manchester and North Carolina

Mastered by Richard Ford

Cathy Jordan - Vocals, uke

John Doyle - Bouzouki, Guitar, Bass

Mike McGoldrick - Flute, Clarinet

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Peter Crann - Original crankie Illustrations

 

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 lightning 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

 

 

 

Johnny Carey - Tipperary

A comic song from the repertoire of Thomas McCarthy

Trickster Johnny follows Molly for her money but when asked to follow her to the next world, he declines her offer

Recorded at Studio Mhic An Daill, Dingle Co Kerry

Engineered by Donogh Hennessy

Mastering - Richard Ford

Donogh Hennessy - Guitar

Cathy Jordan - Vocals bodhran, bones

 

Johnny Carey loved a beauty a lively cutie Molly O’Leary

But her father won’t agree his daughter to give to Johnny Ceary

Away we’ll run away for the fun for my father is too contraire 

Won’t you follow me, won’t you follow me,

Faith I will said Johnny Carey

 

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

 

Molly’s father died one day they say twas not from drinking water

The house the cash the land they say, was left by will to Molly’s daughter

The house the cash the land also, away we’ll run so meet and cheers

Won’t you follow me won’t you follow me

Faith I will said Johnny Carey

 

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

 

Molly herself was taken bad the fever worse each day was growing

Johnny dear tis awful sad to the other world I think I’m going

You won’t survive my loss you know, no longer remain in Tipperary

Won’t you follow me won’t you follow me

Faith I WILL NOT said Johnny Carey

 

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

Ry di diddle doh, di outtle doddle doh

diddrey outtle di dittle die do diddle do

The Boys of Fairhill - Cork

A lofty view of Fairhill in Cork city. Many verses have been added over the years but this version I learned from the great Cork musical troubadour Jimmy Crowley who learned it from Paul Frost and is thought to be close to the original.

Recorded in Studio Mhic An Daill, Dingle Co Kerry

Engineered by Donogh Hennessy

Mastering - Richie Ford

Cathy Jordan - Vocals

Donogh Hennesy - Guitars

Alan Kelly - Accordion

Dave Gascoigne - Original crankie illustrations

 

Come on boys and you'll see

Lads and lassies full of glee

Famous for all they will make your heart thrill

The boys they will not harm you

The girls they will all charm you

'Here's up 'em all!' says the boys of Fair Hill

 

Come on boys and spend a day

With our harrier club so gay

The cry of the hounds it will make your heart thrill

When you hear Quinton say

'Challenger has won the day'

'Here's up 'em all!' says the boys of Fair Hill

 

Come on boys and spend the day

With our bowling club so gay

The loft of the ball it will make your heart thrill

When you hear the Shea boy say

'Jimmy Delaney's won thе day'

'Here's up 'em all!' says thе boys of Fair Hill

 

Come on up to Fahy's well

For a pint of pure spring water

The grandest place of all, sure the angels do sing

Thousands come from o'er the foam

Just to kiss that blarney stone

That can be viewed from the groves of Fair Hill

 

Come on down to Quinlan's pub

That is where you join our club

Round us in gallons the porter does flow

First we tap to half a terse

Drink a health to Dashwodd's race

'That's the stuff to give them!' says the boys of Fair Hill

 

Lakes of Coolfinn - Waterford

Story of a tragic drowning in Coolfinn lake

Recorded in Benny McCarthy’s studio Doon 

Mixed by Billy Sutton

Mastering - Richie Ford

Adapted and arranged by Cathy Jordan

Cathy Jordan - Vocals

Benny McCarthy - Accordion

Caoimhín Ó Fearghaíl - Bouzouki, whistle, 

Donal Clancy - Guitar vox

Janie Cavanagh - Original crankie illustrations

 

It was early one morning' young Willie rose

And off to his comrade's bedchamber did go

Sayin', "Arise dearest comrades! Let nobody know"

"It's a fine summer's morning' to the lakes let us go”

 

Well, Willie plunged in and he swam to lay ground

'Till he came to an island of soft marshy ground

Crying, "Comrades dearest comrades, do not venture in

For there's false and deep waters in the Lakes of Coolfin

 

Well, early next morning Willie's sister arose

And onto her mother's bedchamber did go

Sayin', "I had a sad dream 'bout Willie last night

He was clad in a shroud, In a shroud of snow white”

 

Well, later that evening Willie's mother stood there

She was ringing her fingers and tearing her hair

Saying woe to the hour young Willie plunged in

For there's false and deep waters in the Lakes of Coolfin

 

Well, I saw a fair maid standing fast by the shore

Her face it was sad she was crying for sure

Singing woe to the hour young Willie plunged in

For there's false and deep waters in the Lakes of Coolfin

​

Bog Braon don tSeanduine - Kerry

The old man bears some resemblance to a baby and each craves the “bog braon” , the warm/soft drop, milk for the baby,  whiskey for the old man. This is still a popular lullaby all over Ireland.

Recorded in Creg Na Vagabone

The Burren Co Clare

Engineered by Garry O’Briain

Cathy Jordan - Vocals

Nuala Kennedy - Vocals

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Charlotte Smith - Original crankie illustrations

 

Bog braon, bog braon, bog braon don seanduine,

Bog braon, is blais féin, is é a thabhairt don seanduine.

 

Cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh an seanduine,

Cuir a chodhladh, is nigh a chosa , bog braon don seanduine.

 

Ubh circe, ubh circe, ubh circe don seanduine,

Ubh circe, is blúirín ime, is é a thabhairt don seanduine.

 

Cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh an seanduine,

Cuir a chodhladh, is nigh a chosa , bog braon don seanduine.

 

Feoil úr, feol úr, feol úr don seanduine,

Feoil úr, is braon súip, is é a thabhairt don seanduine.

 

Cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh, cuir a chodhladh an seanduine,

Cuir a chodhladh, is nigh a chosa , bog braon don seanduine.

 

Bog braon, bog braon, bog braon don seanduine,

Bog braon, is blais féin, is é a thabhairt don seanduine.

 

                    Translation

Move a drop, move a drop, move a drop for the old one

Move a drop, taste it yourself and give it to the old one

Chorus

Put to sleep put to sleep put to sleep the old one

Put to sleep and wash his feet and move a drop for the old one

A hen’s egg a hen’s egg hen’s egg for the old one

A hen’s egg and a little dab of butter and give it to the old one

Chorus

Fresh meat fresh meat fresh meat for the old one

Fresh meat and a drop of soup and give it to the old one

Chorus

Move a drop move a drop move a drop for the old one

Move a drop taste it yourself and give it to the old one

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