No Man's Land

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you always 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Chorus:

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

Chorus:

And I can't help but wonder, now Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Eric Bogle

Bonnie Dundee

Tae the lairds i' convention t'was Claverhouse spoke
E'er the Kings crown go down, there'll be crowns to be broke;
Then let each cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet o' bonnie Dundee.

Chorus

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Saddle my horses and call out my men,
And it's Ho! for the west port and let us gae free,
And we'll follow the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee!

Dundee he is mounted, he rides doon the street,
The bells they ring backwards, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost, douce man, says "Just e'en let him be,
For the toon is well rid of that de'il o' Dundee."

There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,
Be there lairds i' the south, there are chiefs i' the north!
There are brave duniwassals, three thousand times three,
Will cry "Hoy!" for the bonnets o' bonnie Dundee.

Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks,
E'er I own a usurper, I'll couch wi' the fox!
Then tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o' your glee,
Ye ha' no seen the last o' my bonnets and me.

Trad.

The Passing of the Gael

They are going, going, going from the valleys and the hills
They are leaving far behind them heathery moor and mountain rills,
All the wealth of hawthorn hedges where the brown thrush sways and thrills
They are going, shy-eyed cailins, and lads so straight and tall
From the purple peaks of Kerry, from the crags of wild Imaal,
From the greening plains of Mayo, and the glens of Dangle
They are leaving pleasant places,shores with snowy sands outspread;
Blue and lonely lakes a-stirring when the wind stirs overhead;
Tender living hearts that love them, and the graves of kindred dead
They shall carry to the distant land a tear-drop in the eye
And some shall go uncomforted, their days an endless sigh
For Kathalen Ni Houlihan's sad face until they die.

Oh, Kathaleen Ni Houlihan, your road's a thorny way,
And 'tis a faithful soul would walk on the flints with you for aye,
Would walk the sharp and cruel flints until his locks grew grey,
So some must wander to the East, and some must wander West;
Some seek the white wastes of the North and some a Southern nest;
Yet never shall they sleep so sweet as on your mother breast.

Within the city streets, hot hurried full of care
A sudden dream shall bring them a whiff of Irish air --
A cool air, faintly-scented, blown soft from otherwhere
Oh, the cabins long-deserted! Olden memories awake.

Oh, the pleasant, pleasant places! Hush! the blackbird in the brake!
Oh, the dear and kindly voices! Now their hearts are fain to ache.
And no foreign skies hold beauty like the rainy skies they knew;
Nor any night-wind cool the brow as did the foggy dew.
They are going, going, going and we cannot bid them stay:
Their fields are now the stranger's,where the stranger's cattle stray,
Oh!
Kathaleen Ni Houlihan, your way's a thorny way!

From Ethna Carbery's "The Four Winds of Eirinn"

Repression of War Experience


Now light the candles; one; two; there’s a moth;
What silly beggars they are to blunder in
And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame—
No, no, not that,— it’s bad to think of war,
When thoughts you’ve gagged all day come back to scare you;
And it’s been proved that soldiers don’t go mad
Unless they lose control of ugly thoughts
That drive them out to jabber among the trees.

Now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand.
Draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen,
And you’re as right as rain...
Why won’t it rain?...

I wish there’d be a thunder-storm to-night,
With bucketsful of water to sluice the dark,
And make the roses hang their dripping heads.
Books; what a jolly company they are,
Standing so quiet and patient on their shelves,
Dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and green,
And every kind of colour. Which will you read?
Come on; O do read something; they’re so wise.

I tell you all the wisdom of the world
Is waiting for you on those shelves; and yet
You sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out,
And listen to the silence: on the ceiling
There’s one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters;
And in the breathless air outside the house
The garden waits for something that delays.

There must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,—
Not people killed in battle,— they’re in France,—
But horrible shapes in shrouds— old men who died
Slow, natural deaths,— old men with ugly souls,
Who wore their bodies out with nasty sins.

. . . .
You’re quiet and peaceful, summering safe at home;
You’d never think there was a bloody war on!...
O yes, you would ... why, you can hear the guns.
Hark! Thud, thud, thud,— quite soft ... they never cease—
Those whispering guns— O Christ, I want to go out
And screech at them to stop— I’m going crazy;
I’m going stark, staring mad because of the guns.


Siegfried Sassoon

Quote:

“Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge: it is those who know little, and not those who know much, who so positively assert that this or that problem will never be solved by science.”

- Charles Darwin

Three Songs To The Same Tune


I

GRANDFATHER sang it under the gallows:
" Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all mankind:
Money is good and a girl might be better.
But good strong blows are delights to the mind.'
There, standing on the catt,
He sang it from his heart.
Those fanatics all that we do would undo;
Down the fanatic, down the clown;
Down, down, hammer them down,
Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.
"A girl I had, but she followed another,
Money I had, and it went in the night,
Strong drink I had, and it brought me to sorrow,
But a good strong cause and blows are delight.'
All there caught up the tune:
"On, on, my darling man'.
Those fanatics all that we do would undo;
Down the fanatic, down the clown;
Down, down, hammer them down,
Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.
"Money is good and a girl might be better,
No matter what happens and who takes the fall,
But a good strong cause' -- the rope gave a jerk there,
No more sang he, for his throat was too small;
But he kicked before he died,
He did it out of pride.
Those fanatics all that we do would undo;
Down the fanatic, down the clown;
Down, down, hammer them down,
Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.

II

Justify all those renowned generations;
They left their bodies to fatten the wolves,
They left their homesteads to fatten the foxes,
Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves
In cave, crevice, hole,
Defending Ireland's soul.
"Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman,
"They killed my goose and a cat.
Drown, drown in the water-but,
Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman.
Justify all those renowned generations,
Justify all that have sunk in their blood,
Justify all that have died on the scaffold,
Justify all that have fled, that have stood,
Stood or have marched the night long
Singing, singing a song.
"Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman.
"They killed my goose and a cat.
Drown, drown in the water-butt,
Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman.
Fail, and that history turns into rubbish,
All that great past to a trouble of fools;
Those that come after shall mock at O'Donnell,
Mock at the memory of both O'Neills,
Mock Emmet, mock Parnell:
All the renown that fell.
"Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman,
"They killed my goose and a cat.
Drown, drown in the water-butt,
Drown all the dogs,' said the fierce young woman.

III

The soldier takes pride in saluting his Captain,
The devotee proffers a knee to his Lord,
Some back a mare thrown from a thoroughbred,
Troy backed its Helen; Troy died and adored;
Great nations blossom above;
A slave bows down to a slave.
Who'd care to dig em,' said the old, old man,
"Those six feet marked in chalk?
Much I talk, more I walk;
Time I were buried,' said the old, old man.
When nations are empty up there at the top,
When order has weakened or faction is strong,
Time for us all to pick out a good tune,
Take to the roads and go marching along.
March, march -- How does it run? --
O any old words to a tune.
"Who'd care to dig 'em,' said the old, old man,
'Those six feet marked in chalk?
Much I talk, more I walk;
Time I were buried,' said the old, old man.
Soldiers take pride in saluting their Captain,
Where are the captains that govetn mankind?
What happens a tree that has nothing within it?
O marching wind, O a blast of the wind.
Marching, marching along.
March, march, lift up the song:
"Who'd care to dig 'em,' said the old, old man.
"Those six feet marked in chalk?
Much I talk, more I walk;
Time I were buried,' said the old, old man.

William Butler Yeats

The Big Fellah


Mo chara is mo lao thu!
My friend and my calf
Is aisling trí néallaibh
A vision in dream
Do deineadh aréir dom
Was revealed to me last night
IgCorcaigh go déanach
In Cork, a late hour,
Ar leaba im aonar
In my solitary bed

I remember you back in the GPO with Connolly and Clarke
Laughin' with McDermott through the bullets and the sparks
Always with the smart remark, your eyes blazin' and blue
But when we needed confidence we always turned to you
And when they shot our leaders up against Kilmainham wall
You were there beside us in that awful Easter dawn
Hey, big fellah..........where the hell are you now
When we need you the most
Hey, big fellah..........c'mon

Tabhair dom do lámh
Give me your hand

Back on the streets of Dublin when we fought the black and tans
You were there beside us, a towerin' mighty man
And God help the informer or the hated English spy
By Jaysus, Mick, you'd crucify them without the blinkin' of an eye
Still you had a heart as soft as the early mornin' dew
Every widow, whore and orphan could always turn to you
We beat them in the cities and we whipped them in the streets
And the world hailed Michael Collins, our commander and our chief
And they sent you off to London to negotiate a deal
And to gain us a republic, united, boys, and real
But the women and the drink, Mick, they must have got to you
'Cause you came back with a country divided up in two

We had to turn against you, Mick, there was nothin' we could do
'Cause we couldn't betray the republic like Arthur Griffith and you
We fought against each other, two brothers steeped in blood
But I never doubted that your heart was broken in the flood
And though we had to shoot you down in golden Béal na Blath
I always knew that Ireland lost her greatest son of all.


Larry Kirwan

The Croppy boy


It was early, early in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their notes from tree to tree
And the song they sang was "Ould Ireland Free"

It was early early in the night
The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall
And taken was I by Lord Cornwall

'Twas in the guard-house where I was laid
And in a parlour where I was tried
My sentence passed and my courage low
When to Dungannon I was forced to go

As I was passing my father's door
My brother William stood at the door
My aged father stood at the door
And my tender mother her hair she tore

As I was going up Wexford Street
My own first cousin I chanced to meet
My own first cousin did me betray
And for one bare guinea swore my life away

As I was walking up Wexford Hill
Who could blame me to cry my fill?
I looked behind, and I looked before
But my aged mother I shall see no more

And as I mounted the platform high
My aged father was standing by
My aged father did me deny
And the name he gave me was the Croppy Boy

It was in Dungannon this young man died
And in Dungannon his body lies
And you good people that do pass by
Oh shed a tear for the Croppy Boy

Trad.

Come Out Ye Black and Tans


I was born in a Dublin Street where the Loyal drums did beat
And those loving English feet they walked all over us
And every single night when Da would come home tight
He'd invite the neighbours o'er with this chorus-

(Chorus)

Come out ye black and tans
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wife how you won those medals down in Flanders
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra

Come let us hear you tell how you slandered the great Parnell
When you thought him well and truly persecuted
Where are the sneers and jeers that you loudly let us hear
When our leaders of 1916 were executed

(Chorus repeat)

Come tell us how you slew them old Arabs two by two
Like the Zulus they had spears and bows and arrows
How bravely you faced one with your 16 pounder gun
And you frightened them damn niggers to the marrow

(Chorus repeat)

Now the time is coming fast and I think them days are here
When each English shawneen he'll run before us
And if there'll be a need our kids will say God speed
With a verse or two of singing this chorus -

Quote:

The law in its majestic equality forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the street, and to steal bread.

Anatole France