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From time to time people have asked me the story behind some of the ballads popular in Ireland. The ones I know most about are the ones from where I live myself - Dublin, so I decided I'd assemble the ones I knew here ...
Finnegan's Wake
The song title was purloined by James Joyce for one of his novels but in Dublin most people upon hearing the term would think first of this ballad, still sung and enjoyed at sessions round the capital. The wake depicted in the song may seem rather boisterous to say the least, but such carousing was an accepted feature of the event - and often (as in the song) with the deceased playing a central role in the proceedings. Our attitudes to death may now rule out such activity as disrespectful, but in Ireland to this day it is not uncommon for friends and family to celebrate a loved one's demise as well as mourn their passing.
Finnegans Wake
Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, a gentleman Irish mighty odd
He had a brogue both rich and sweet, an' to rise in the world he carried a hod
You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way
With a love for the liquor poor Tim was born
To help him on his way each day,
He'd a drop of the craythur every morn
Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partners
Round the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
One morning Tim got rather full, his head felt heavy which made him shake
Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and they carried him home his corpse to wake
Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out upon the bed
A bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head
Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partners
Round the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
His friends assembled at the wake, and Mrs Finnegan called for lunch
First she brought in tay and cake, then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch
Biddy O'Brien began to cry, "Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see,
Tim avourneen, why did you die?", "Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee
Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partners
Round the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job, "Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and left her sprawling on the floor
Then the war did soon engage, t'was woman to woman and man to man
Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began
Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partners
Round the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
Mickey Maloney ducked his head when a bucket of whiskey flew at him
It missed, and falling on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim
Bedad he revives, see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Saying "Fling me whiskey around like blazes,
Tunderin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"
Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partners
Round the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you?
Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake
Johnny Dhú
This song is sung extrememly quickly and with as much ornamentation on the consonants as possible, ostensibly to replicate the accent used by Ireland's beggars in the 19th century and earlier. These were often the descendants of wealthy catholic families displaced by English planters and armed invasion - especially the murderous campaign that Oliver Cromwell embarked on to eliminate the threat of royalist opposition to his regime from Irish sources. The notion that Ireland's itinerants are descended from royalty isn't too wide of the mark! Johnny Dhú was a real person, one in a long line of famous street characters that made Dublin their home - indeed their theatre - over the centuries.
THE BEGGARMAN'S SONG (JOHNNY DHÚ)
I am a little beggarman, a begging I have been
For three score years in this little isle of green
I'm known along the Liffey from the Basin to the Zoo
And everybody calls me by the name of Johnny Dhu
Of all the trades a going, sure the begging is the best
For when a man is tired he can sit him down and rest
He can beg for his dinner, he has nothing else to do
But to slip around the corner with his old rigadoo
I slept in a barn one night in Currabawn
A shocking wet night it was, but I slept until the dawn
There was holes in the roof and the raindrops coming thru
And the rats and the cats were a playing peek a boo
Who did I waken but the woman of the house
With her white spotted apron and her calico blouse
She began to get excited and sure all I said was boo
Sure, don't be afraid at all, it's only Johnny Dhú
I met a little girl while a walkin out one day
Good morrow little flaxen haired girl, I did say
Good morrow little beggarman and how do you do
With your rags and your tags and your auld rigadoo
I'll buy a pair of leggins and a collar and a tie
And a nice young lady I'll go courting by and by
I'll buy a pair of goggles and I'll colour them with blue
And an old fashioned lady I will make her too
So all along the high road with my bag upon my back
Over the fields with my bulging heavy sack
With holes in my shoes and my toes a peeping thru
Singing, skin a ma rink a doodle with my auld rigadoo
O I must be going to bed for it's getting late at night
The fire is all raked and now 'tis out the light
For now you've heard the story of my auld rigadoo
So goodnight and God be with you, from auld Johnny Dhú
Down by the Liffeyside
Peadar Kearney, an uncle of the author Brendan Behan, wrote several ballads still popular today but the one song of his that is sung most often must be the Irish national anthem - "Amhránn na bhFiann". This one however is a love song with a Dublin slant - it's not in many cultures that a girl would woo her beau with the classic line "Oh John come on for a wan and wan!" (fish and chips in the civilized world). Notice how Kearney gets in a neat little plug for himself too - "The Soldiers' Song" is the english title for "Amhránn na bhFiann".
Down By The Liffeyside
by Peadar Kearney
'Twas down by Anna Liffey, my love and I did stray
Where in the good old slushy mud the sea gulls sport and play
We got the whiff of ray and chips and Mary softly sighed,
"Oh John, come on for a wan and wan
Down by the Liffeyside."
Then down along by George's street the loving pairs to view
While Mary swanked it like a queen in a skirt of royal blue;
Her hat was lately turned and her blouse was newly dyed,
Oh you could not match her round the block,
Down by the Liffeyside
And on her old melodeon how sweetly could she play.;
"Good-by-ee" and "Don't sigh-ee" and "Rule Brittanni-ay"
But when she turned Sinn Feiner me heart near burst with pride,
To hear her sing the "Soldier's Song",
Down by the Liffeyside
On Sunday morning to Meath street together we will go,
And it's up to Father Murphy we both will make our vow
We'll join our hands in wedlock bands and we'll be soon outside
For a whole afternoon, for our honeymoon,
Down by the Liffeyside
Lord Nelson
This is a less than sympathetic, but quite amusing, ballad describing the demise of what was once Dublin's most famous landmark - Nelson's Pillar in O'Connell Street. I love the punch line too! Tommy Makem is better known for his musical collaborations with the Clancy Brothers and Liam Clancy in particular, but is a great singer and songwriter in his own right.
Lord Nelson
by Tommy Makem
Lord Nelson stood in pompous state,upon his pillar high
And down along O'Connell Street he cast a wicked eye
He thought how this barbaric race had fought the British Crown
Yet they were content to let him stay right there in Dublin town!
So remember Brave Lord Nelson, boys,
He has never known defeat
And for his reward they stuck him up
In the middle of O'Connell Street!
For many years, Lord Nelson stood, and no one seemed to care
He would squint at Dan O'Connell who was standin right down there
He thought the Irish love me or they wouldnt let me stay,
All except that band of blighters that they call the IRA!
So remember Brave Lord Nelson, boys,
He has never known defeat
And for his reward they stuck him up
In the middle of O'Connell Street!
And then in nineteen sixty six, on March the seventh day,
A bloody great explosion made Lord Nelson rock and sway!
He crashed, and Dan O'Connell cried,in woeful misery
Now twice as many pigeons will come and sh*t on me!
So remember Brave Lord Nelson, boys,
He has never known defeat
And for his reward they stuck him up
In the middle of O'Connell Street!
Molly Malone
I've already spoken my piece about this song (I hate it) in my Monumental Dublin travelogue. It hails from Edinburgh - the earliest published version (1884) was written by Scotsman James Yorkston with music arranged by Edmund Forman. Either through music halls or via the military it arrived in Dublin and a few small word changes here and there repatriated Molly to this island. It has now become so synonymous with the town that it would almost be sacrilege to omit it from a list of Dublin ballads so under protest I'll include it! For the record, Dublin gaelic football fans sing the best version (though VT's policy on bad language prevents me from quoting their version of the lyrics here!)
Molly Malone
by James Yorkston
In Dublin's fair city
Where girls are so pretty
I first laid my eyes on
Sweet Molly Malone
As she wheeled her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh,
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
Now she was a fishmonger
And sure twas no wonder
For so were her father
And mother before
And they each
Wheeled their barrows
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh,
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end
Of sweet Molly Malone
Now her ghost
Wheels her barrow
Through streets
Broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh,
Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh
The Ould Triangle
Brendan Behan, no stranger to prison life himself, wrote this song as part of his play "The Quare Fella". Dublin's main prison - Mountjoy - stands next to the Royal Canal and the triangle in question is the instrument used to alert prisoners that meals are being served. Behan himself was an argumentative drunken lout but yet came up with some of the funniest ad lib retorts you're likely to hear. For example, having been sober for a few months he "fell off the wagon" while on a tour of Canada and appeared on a TV chat show there hardly able to stand, let alone speak. The interviewer was rather cross about this and asked Brendan directly how on earth he had allowed himself to get into such a disgraceful state. "All my life" replied Behan, "I've been told by advertisements from your land to Drink Canada Dry. I was merely seeing if this was possible!"
The Ould Triangle
by Brendan Behan
Oh! a hungry feeling, it came o'er me stealing
And the mice they were squealing in my prison cell--
Chorus:
And the ould triangle, It went jingle jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal.
Now the screw was peeping while the lag was sleeping
And he was dreaming of his gal, Sal,
Chorus
And to begin the morning, the warders bawling
"Ah, get up you bowsey and clean out your cell!"
Chorus
Now in the female prison there are seventeen women
And it's among those women I would like to dwell;
Chorus
Summer in Dublin
Another song written as recently as the 1970s but has already become a classic and you'll hear it being belted out in a singsong along with others a few hundred years older quite often! The author, Liam Reilly was lead singer at the time with a great Dublin band Bagatelle, and this song was not only an instant hit here but topped the charts in several European countries on its release. The Dublin he sang about is already a thing of the past. The Grafton Street mentioned here was prior to pedestrianisation and yuppification, the Liffey has long since been cleaned up and has lost its peculiar aroma (thank god), and I don't think any bus driver ever in the history of Dublin would let you "stop off to pick up your guitar"!
Summer in Dublin
by Liam Reilly
Take me away from the city
And lead me to where I can be on my own
I wanted to see you but now that I have
I just want to be left alone
I'll always remember your kind words
And I'll still remember your name
But I've seen you changing and turning
And I know that things won't be the same
I remember that summer in Dublin
And the Liffey as it stank like hell
And the young people walking on Grafton Street
And everyone looking so well
I was singing a song I heard somewhere
Called Rock and Roll Never Forgets
When my humming was smothered by a 46A
And the scream of a low-flying jet
So I jumped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire
Stopping off to pick up my guitar
And a drunk on the bus told me how to get rich
I was glad we weren't going too far
So I'm leaving on Wednesday morning
Tryin' to find a place where I can hear
Where the wind and the birds and the sea and the rocks
And where open roads always are near
And if sometimes I tire of the quiet
And I want to walk back up that hill
I'll just get on the road and I'll stick out my thumb
I know that you'll be there still
I remember that summer in Dublin
And the Liffey as it stank like hell
And the young people walking on Grafton Street
And everyone looking so well
I was singing a song I heard somewhere
Called Rock and Roll Never Forgets
When my humming was smothered by a 46A
And the scream of a low-flying jet
So I jumped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire
Stopping off to pick up my guitar
And a drunk on the bus told me how to get rich
I was glad we weren't going too far
I can still see that summer in Dublin
The German Clockwinder
Back in more innocent times this song was regarded as the height of innuendo and very naughty. It still raises a laugh when performed with the right degree of winking and hand gestures! Versions of this song are also still sung in Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow so it might be safe to assume that the song was a favourite of the sailors and dock workers in British ports, of which Dublin was one of the largest. Many of these places also were host to large German communities, often Jewish, and clock manufacture was in fact something that a lot of them turned to as a living.
The German Clockwinder
A German clockwinder to Dublin once came
Benjamin Fuchs was the old German's name
And as he was winding his way 'round the strand
He played on his flute and the music was grand
Chorus
Too-ra-lam-a-lam-a, Too-ra-lam-a-lam-a Too-ra-li-ay
Too-ra-li Oo-ra-li Oo-ra-li-ay
Too-ra-lam-a-lam-a, Too-ra-lam-a-lam-a Too-ra-li-ay
Too-ra-li Oo-ra-li Oo-ra-li-ay
There was a young lady from Grovenor Square
Who said that her clock was in need of repair
In walked the German and to her delight
In less than five minutes, he had her clock right
(Chorus)
And as they were sitting right down on the floor
There came a very loud knock on the door
In walked her husband and great was his shock
To see the old German wind up his wife's clock
(Chorus)
Then says her husband, "Look here Mary Ann,
Don't that old German come in here again.
He wound up your clock and left mine on the shelf.
If your old clock needs winding I'll do it myself!"
(Chorus)
Then says the German, "Sure I meant you no harm,
But the spring wouldn't work in your old wife's alarm.
I pulled out me oil can and I gave it a squirt;
If you keep it well-oiled, your wife's clock will work!"
(Chorus)
The Finding of Moses
Zozimus, blinded by illness in childhood, is probably the "king" of Dublin street characters of any era. His prodigious memory for songs was surpassed only by his ability to invent his own - all of which have become classics in their own right. This retelling of the bible story is one of my favourites - it populates ancient Egypt with true Dubs, I love the Pharaoh's reaction when his daughter asks can she keep the child! "Marr Yah" is a phrase you'll hear a lot in Dublin. It comes straight from the Irish language and is used very much in the same way as adding "Not!" to the end of a sentence. Blackamore was a term drived from the Moors of Spain and Morocco, at one time a scourge of the Irish coast when they raided for slaves.
The Finding of Moses
by Zozimus (Michael Moran, 1794-1846)
In Aygypt's land, contagious to the Nile,
The early Pharaoh's daughter went to bathe in style.
She took a dip, and coming in to land,
For to dry her Royal pelt she ran along the strand.
A bulrush tripped her, whereupon she saw
The little babby Moses in a wad of straw.
She picked him up and said in accent mild
Tarranation Jayzus girls, which iv yiz owns the child
She took him up and she gave a little grin
For she and Moses were standing in their skin,
"Bejayzus now" says she "It was someone very rude
Left a little baby by the river in his nude."
She took him to the Pharaoh sitting on the throne,
"Da," says she, "Will you give the boy a home?"
"Bedad," says he, "Sure I've often brought in worse.
Go my darlin' daughter and get the child a nurse."
An oul' blackamore woman among the crew
Cried out "You royal savage, what's that to do with you?
Your royal ladies is too meek and mild
To beget dishonestly this darling little child."
"Ah then," says Pharaoh, "I'll search every nook
From the Phoenix Park down to Donnybrook
And when I catch hoult of the bastard's father
I will kick him from the Nile down to the Dodder."
They sent a bellman to the Market Square
To see if he could find a skivvy there.
But the only young one that the man could find.
Was the very same young one that left the child behind.
She came up to Pharaoh, a stranger, marr yah,
Never lettin' on that she was the babby's ma.
And so young Moses got his mammy hack
Shows that coincidence is enough to crack
Biddy Mulligan
This song, from about 1900, is typical of the genre of ballads that were written to be performed in Dublin's music halls and which dealt with the trades and professions shared by the music hall audiences. Even today Dublin has a thriving "sub economy" of mainly female street traders. Centred now on the Moore Street market and Thomas Street they once flourished all over the capital. Biddy's patch is on Patrick Street. It was on seeing the plight and working conditions of these traders around St Patrick's Cathedral that the Guinness patron Lord Iveagh built the now much lamented Iveagh Market, where they could ply their trade under shelter and in sanitary conditions.
Biddy Mulligan
You may travel from Clare to the County Kildare
From Francis Street back to the Coombe
But where would you see a fine widow like me?
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe
I'm a buxom fine widow, I live in a spot
In Dublin, they call it the Coombe
Me shops and me stalls are laid out on the street
And me palace consists of one room
I sell apples and oranges, nuts and sweet peas
Bananas and sugar stick sweet
On a Saturday night I sell second-hand clothes
From the floor of me stall in the street
You may travel from Clare to the County Kildare
From Francis Street back to the Coombe
But where would you see a fine widow like me?
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe
I sell fish on a Friday spread out on a board
The finest you'll find in the sea
But the best is my herrings, fine Dublin Bay herrings
There's herrings for dinner and tea
I have a son Mick, he's great on the flute
He plays in the Longford Street band
It would do your heart good to see him march out
On a Sunday for Dollymount Strand
You may travel from Clare to the County Kildare
From Francis Street back to the Coombe
But where would you see a fine widow like me?
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe
In the park on a Sunday I make quite a dash
The neighbors look on in surprise
With my Aberdeen shawlie thrown over my head
I dazzle the sight of their eyes
At Patrick Street corner for sixty-four years
I've stood and no one can deny
That while I stood there, no one could dare
To say black was the white of my eye
You may travel from Clare to the County Kildare
From Francis Street back to the Coombe
But where would you see a fine widow like me?
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe, me boys
Biddy Mulligan the pride of the Coombe
The Foggy Dew
Many songs were written about Ireland's struggle to regain independence from Britain. Even unsuccessful attempts at mutiny and rebellion tended to be revered in song and you often find history re-written to a large extent. This one hijacked an older air and tells of the 1916 Rising in Dublin, which started on Easter Monday. The author fancifully witnesses armed bands of marching men entering the city to join the revolution. This is not true, the participants assembled outside Liberty Hall near the docks. Nor was the morning particularly foggy. But you can't let the truth get in the way of good imagery, and this song still packs quite a wallop when sung in Ireland.
The Foggy Dew
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipes did hum, no battle drum did sound it's loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they flung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves on the fringe of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we'd keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
Oh, the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springtime of the year
While the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
Through the glen I rode again, my heart with grief was sore
For I parted with those valiant men that I'll never see no more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the Foggy Dew
The Rocky Road To Dublin
The origins of this song are clouded in uncertainty, it has even been claimed to have first seen the light of day back in the early 1800s. There is no doubt it struck a familiar chord with Irish people right up to the 1960s, when emigration to England was many peoples' only hope of employment. This is a lively tune, very popular still, and tells of a lad from county Galway and the tribulations he meets travelling to Dublin and beyond in search of a better life.
The Rocky Road To Dublin
While in the merry month of May from me home I started,
left the girls of Tuam nearly broken hearted,
saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,
drank a pint of beer me grief and fears to smother,
then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born,
cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin
In a brand new pair of brogues I rattled o'er the bogs
and frightened all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the ways to Dublin, whack fol al de rol
In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary,
started by daylight next morning light and airy,
took a drop of the pure, to keep me heart from sinkin',
that's the Paddy's cure whenever he's on for drinkin'
To see the lassies smile, laughin' all the while,
at me curious style, 'twould set your heart a-bubblin'
They ax'd if I was hired, the wages I required,
til I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the ways to Dublin, whack fol al de rol
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity
to be so soon deprived a view of that fine city,
then I took a stroll, all among the quality
me bundle it was stole in a neat locality,
Something crossed me mind, then I looked behind,
no bundle could I find upon my stick a-wobblin',
Enquirin' after the rogue, they said me Connacht brogue
wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the ways to Dublin, whack fol al de rol
From here I got away, me spirits never failin',
landed on the quay just as the ship was sailin',
Captain at me roared, said that no room had he,
when I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy
down among the pigs, I skipped some funny rigs,
I played some hearty jigs, the water round me bubblin',
When off to Holyhead, I wished meself was dead,
or better far instead on the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the ways to Dublin, whack fol al de rol
The boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed
called myself a fool, I could no longer stand it,
blood began to boil, temper I was loosin'
poor old Erin's isle they began abusin',
Hurrah me soul, says I, my shillelagh I let fly,
some Galway boys were by, saw I was a-hobblin',
Then with loud hurray, they joined in the affray,
we quickly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin
One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road and all the ways to Dublin, whack fol al de ro
The Rare Ould Times
Everyone in the Dublin cinema laughed when we saw the piper lamenting the dead student in The Dead Poets Society so what was meant to be a sad scene had the opposite effect here. It was set in the early 1960s and Pete St John didn't write The Fields Of Athenry, the piper's lament, until the 1980s. But Pete has a way of writing classic ballads, you can forgive anyone thinking they must have been around for donkeys' years. This one is a real favourite in Dublin and tells of the lament a Dub has for the passing of the old ways - written in the 1970s but just as valid today, as more and more of the "real" Dublin falls foul of yuppification and endless office development. I well remember one Christmas Eve in the Brazen Head pub - before it too succumbed to modernization - with Pete sitting in front of a roaring fire, young daughter on his lap, and belting out a song of his own in one of the best "sessions" I had the fortune to chance on!
The Rare Ould Times
by Pete St John
Raised on songs and stories, heroes of renown
The passing tales and glories that once was Dublin Town
The hallowed halls and houses, the haunting childrens rhymes
That once was Dublin City in the rare ould times
Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times
My name it is Sean Dempsey, as Dublin as can be
Born hard and late in Pimlico, in a house that ceased to be
By trade I was a cooper, lost out to redundancy
Like my house that fell to progress, my trade's a memory
And I courted Peggy Dignam, as pretty as you please
A rogue and child of Mary, from the rebel Liberties
I lost her to a student chap, with skin as black as coal
When he took her off to Birmingham, she took away my soul
Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times
The years have made me bitter, the gargle's dimmed me brain
Cause Dublin keeps on changing, and nothing seems the same
The Pillar and the Met have gone, the Royal long since pulled down
As the grey unyielding concrete, makes a city of my town
Fare well sweet Anna Liffey, I can no longer stay
And watch the new glass cages spring up along the quay
My mind's too full of memories, too old to hear new chimes
I'm part of what was Dublin, in the rare ould times
Ring a ring a rosey, as the light declines
I remember Dublin City in the rare ould times
The Waxies Dargle
The "waxies" were Dublin's chandlers, or candle makers - a thriving profession in the days before electricity or gas, and the "dargle" was an annual ball they held to which all and sundry were invited, and which often ended up a giant meleé - or "donnybrook" (a reference to a Dublin suburb that once held an annual fair renowned for its violence and drunkenness). "Uncle" Mc Ardle refers to a pawnbroker - an essential, if despised, class of profession, without whom many Dubliners of the period (late 19th century and early 20th) would never have made it to the end of each week. Monto was the red light district around Montgomery Street - the prostitutes became destitutes after the British Army left and the area was "cleaned up" by militant Catholics in the 1920s, much to many Dubs' dismay. The "oul wan" is the mother of course!
The Waxies Dargle
Says my oul wan to your oul wan will you come to the Waxies Dargle
Says your oul wan to my oul wan sure I haven't got a farthin'
I went down to Monto Town to see Uncle McArdle
But he wouldn't give me a half a crown to go to the Waxies Dargle
What will you have? Will you have a pint?
I'll have a pint with you sir
And if one of us doesn't order soon we'll be thrown out of the boozer
Says my oul wan to your oul wan will you come to the Galway Races
Says your aul one to my aul one with the price of my aul lad's braces
I went down to Capel Street to the Jew man money lenders
But they wouldn't give me a couple of bob on me oul lad's red suspenders
What will you have? Will you have a pint?
I'll have a pint with you sir
And if one of us doesn't order soon we'll be thrown out of the boozer
Says my oul wan to your oul wan we have no beef nor mutton
But if we go down to Monto Town we might get a drink for nothin'
Here's a nice piece of advice I got from an aul fishmonger
When food is scarce and you see the hearse you know you've died of hunger
What will you have? Will you have a pint?
I'll have a pint with you sir
And if one of us doesn't order soon we'll be thrown out of the boozer
Says my oul wan to your oul wan will you come to the Waxies Dargle
Says your oul wan to my oul wan sure I haven't got a farthin'
I went down to Monto Town to see Uncle McArdle
But he wouldn't give me a half a crown to go to the Waxies Dargle
What will you have? Will you have a pint?
I'll have a pint with you sir
And if one of us doesn't order soon we'll be thrown out of the boozer
Spanish Lady
Rarely sung in its entirety (this is the complete version), this ballad with origins in the late eighteenth century (and based heavily on an earlier ballad popular in London of the same theme) is of a Dublin that played host to refugees from many countries over centuries. It was common also for Dubliners to mislabel their foreign guests. Huguenots from France were labelled "Foreign Jews" to distinguish them from the large Jewish population already in situ that were labelled "Dublin Jews" naturally. The "Spanish" lady therefore could have been of any race with features darker and more exotic than the native Dubs. The chorus may look nonsensical but is a good example of "lilting", the Irish habit of imitating a musical instrument in voice that features in many ballads. It also contains that glorious word "mot" - a Dublin word that covers everything from girlfriend to wife, via mistress, lover, female buddy and mans' nemesis! The photo is of Dublin's current "exotic beauty", Samantha Mumba from Drumcondra - a girl older than her eighteen years and a great singer too!
Spanish Lady
As I went down through Dublin City
At the hour of twelve at night
Who should I see but a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candle light
First she washed them and then she dried them
Over a fire of amber coals
In all my life I ne'er did see
A maid so sweet about the soles
Chorus:
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay
Whack fol the toor a loor a laddy
Whack fol the toor a loor a lay
I stopped to look but the watchman passed
Says he, "Young fellow, the night is late
Along with you home or I will wrestle you
Straight away through the Bridewell gate"
I threw a look to the Spanish lady
Hot as the fire of amber coals
In all my life I never did see
A maid so sweet about the soles
Chorus
As I walked back through Dublin City
As the dawn of day was o'er
Who should I spy but the Spanish lady
When I was weary and footsore
She had a heart so filled with loving
And her love she longed to share
In all my life I ne'er did see
A maid who had so much to spare
Chorus
Now she's no mot for a puddle swaddy
With her ivory comb and her mantle fine
But she'd make a wife for the Provost Marshall
Drunk on brandy and claret wine
I got a look from the Spanish lady
Hot as a fire of amber coals
In all my life I ne'er did meet
A maid so sweet about the soles
Chorus
I've wandered north and I've wandered south
By Stoney Batter and Patrick's Close
Up and around by the Gloucester Diamond
And back by Napper Tandy's house
Old age has laid her hands upon me
Cold as a fire of ashy coals
But where is the lonely Spanish lady
Neat and sweet about the soles?
Chorus
As I was leaving Dublin City
On that morning sad of heart
Lonely was I for the Spanish lady
Now that forever we must part
But still I always will remember
All the hours we did enjoy
But then she left me sad at parting
Gone forever was my joy
Monto
Another song that features Dublin's old red light district, it also refers to real historical events such as the infamous Phoenix Park murders when a group calling themselves The Invincibles assassinated Lord Cavendish, the Lord Lieutenant, and his secretary (they were arrested after Carey, one of their members, turned informer). Queen Victoria's state visit and an earlier visit from the Russian Czar also get the treatment. A "wingo" was a prostitute and "Ringo" is Ringsend, a harbour village and suburb of Dublin. "Póg mo thóin" means "Kiss my arse" and "Liathróidí" means "balls" - not a song one encourages children to learn!
Monto
Well if ya have a wingo,
Take her up to Ringo
Where the waxies singo all the day.
If you’ve had your fill of porter and you can’t go any further,
Then give your man the order back to the quay,
And take her up to Monto Monto Monto,
Take her up to Monto langeroo to you.
You've heard of butcher Foster,
The dirty oul imposter
He took a mot and lost her up the Furry Glen,
He first put on his bowler, and he buttoned up his trousers
And he whistled for his growler and he said, "My man,
Take me up to Monto, Monto, Monto.
Take me up to Monto Langeroo, to you
When Carey told on 'Skin the Goat',
O'Donnell put him on the boat
He wished he'd never been afloat, the dirty skite,
It wasn't very sensible to tell on the Invincibles
They stand up for their principals, day and night.
And they all go up to Monto Monto, Monto.
They all go up to Monto Langeroo, to you
You've seen the Dublin Fusiliers,
The dirty old bamboozaliers
They went and got the childer, one, two, three
Marchin' from the Linen Hall, there's one for every cannon ball
And Vicky's goin' to send them all o'er the sea.
But first go up to Monto Monto, Monto.
First go up to Monto Langeroo, to you
When the Czar of Rooshia,
And the King of Prooshia
Landed in the Phoenix Park in a big balloon
They asked the Metro Band to play,'The Wearin' o' the Green'
But the buggers in the depot didn't know the tune.
So they both went up to Monto Monto, Monto.
They both went up to Monto Langeroo, to you
The Queen she came to call on us,
She wanted to see all of us
I'm glad she didn't fall on us, she's eighteen stone
'Mr. Neill, Lord Mayor', says she,'Is this all you've got to show to me?'
'Why no, ma'am, there's some more to see - póg mo thóin
And he took her up to Monto, Monto, Monto,
Took her up to Monto, langeroo - Liathroidi to you.
Dicey Reilly
%G
A crude, but nonetheless sad, song depicting the decline of a prostitute into old age and alcoholism. The air however is jaunty and quick, in fact the last rendition of the chorus is traditionally sung twice - the second rendition in double quick time! If Dicey really lived, and made it into old age, she was beating the odds. Without the support of the community, and given their trade, Dublin's prostitutes rarely made it past their thirties.
Dicey Reilly
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pop
And then she's in for another little drop
Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
She walks along Fitzgibbon Street with an independent air
And then it's down by Summerhill and as the people stare
She says it's nearly half past one and it's time I had another little one
Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pop
And then she's in for another little drop
Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
Long years ago when men were men and fancied May Oblong
Or lovely Becky Cooper or Maggie's Mary Wong
One woman put them all to shame, just one was worthy of the name
And the name of that dame was Dicey Reilly
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pop
And then she's in for another little drop
Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
But time went catching up on her like many pretty whores
It's after you along the street before you're out the door
Their balance vague, their looks all fade, but out of all that great brigade
Still the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she has taken to the sup
Poor aul Dicey Reilly she will never give it up
It's off each morning to the pop
And then she's in for another little drop
Ah, the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly
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Comments (232)
Invaluable tips, thanks for sharing! Especially the packing list and local customs tips are hilarious! I'm very much looking forward to visiting Dublin in 2 weeks! : )
nostalgia got the best of me.... I miss Dublin. One or two stops by your pages only makes it worse, too. You core right to the heart of her. Best to you again. You still come to mind on occassion.
Your Dublin page is just great and I love your packing tips. Cant wait to visit in May
Love the page, the sarcasm is just great! So damn true, good sense of humor. Want to try alternative tours when here for St. Paddy's, looking for a goog guide that isn't full of crap,one written by a real jackeen. Thank's god for yours! Slán
Hi Marc, your Dublin page is awesome! 4 thumbs up for you! You captured it and live it, and I just love it!! DIella
Hey Marc, I finally made it to Ireland. Lots of fun looking at your Dublin pages and comparing your native knowledge and insight with my once over glib impressions. Well done.
What a wonderful page! You should definitely be in the top 5 for Dublin.
by far the best dublin page i have read for a long time
Silly question, but it has to be asked...is the fish bone still in on the filets at Leo Burdock's in Dublin?
Your Dublin page is the best! Now I understand there is much to see if you don't enjoy drinking. What is the minimum time you would recommend to get a taste of Dublin? I'm always in a rush (see my Beijing in 3 days page!). Congratulations on your prize.
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