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Joe Heaney
Interview transcript - parts 5 to 7



Part 5:  Later Background: schooling; college in Dublin; working as a labourer.  The Gaelic language.  House-visiting in Connemara.

EM: Right, Joe, a bit more about your background now.  You went to the local school, did you, in Carna?

JH: Ardcastle where I was born, the village I was born in.  Ardcastle they call it because one of the O'Flahertys, you often heard the old saying 'from the ferocious O'Flahertys, Oh Lord deliver us'.  He had a castle there built out over the sea and anybody he didn't like who'd visit him, he had a trapdoor and they'd walk on the trapdoor, they'd go right in and drowned.  Well he had to get the first, the top of the butter, the first of the butter and anything the people had, any time he felt like getting a sheep or anything to kill …?…everybody had to supply him.

EM: He was the local clan leader, so to speak?

JH: Tyrant, as we called him.  The local tyrant, he was called.  But eventually he was killed.

EM: When was this?

JH: And the remains of the castle is still there.  Oh, that goes back, I suppose, two or three hundred years ago.

EM: When you left school, how old were you?

JH: I was eighteen.

EM: You went 'til you were eighteen?

JH: Well I went to the local school first and then I went to college in Dublin.

EM: What kind of a college?

JH: Preparatory college

EM: Preparatory for what?

JH: A school teacher.

EM: Were you?  Really?

JH: Yes.  I'm afraid I left it before my time was up.

EM: This was your first experience of the big city, was it?

JH: It was.  The first time I'd been to Dublin was in 1935.

EM: That was…and you were fourteen then, fifteen then.

JH: Fifteen, yes.

EM: And you got a scholarship to that?

JH: I got a scholarship. 

EM: You must be bright.

JH: Well, I wasn't too bad that time.

EM: Better than me.  I never got a scholarship anywhere.

JH: I did.  It was my own fault I left it too.

EM: What did you leave it for?

JH: Just being too lazy, shall we say.

EM: And then what did you do?

JH: Then I went to Scotland and when the war broke out …

EM: What were you doing in Scotland, what work?

JH: Just working as a labourer.

EM: What, in building?

JH: Yes, and when the war broke out, I suppose I was too much of a coward to stay there, so I came home again.

EM: You had too much sense, you mean.  And what did you do when you came home to Ireland.

JH: Just started fishing.

EM: Oh.  You went back to Galway?

JH: Oh I went back to Carna, yes.  And I carried on fishing, I suppose I loved the sea and the fishing and carried on …

JH: Every year I used to go to the Oireachtas, which we call the National Festival in Dublin and singing songs and telling stories.  36.  The 'Oireacthas'.  An annual Gaelic cultural festival, promoted by Conradh na Gaeilge (The Gaelic League). (FM)36

EM: So by this time you were established as a singer.

JH: I sang my first song in 1940, first time I ever sang a song, at the Carna Feis and the first prize was to go to Dublin to the Oireacthas, which is something like the Mod in Scotland.  That was the first time I ever sang in my life.

EM: And how did you go on?

JH: I won the prize and went to Dublin and I won the prize in Dublin.

EM: Was this for singing or storytelling?

JH: Singing and writing, writing a Gaelic essay; writing a story in Gaelic.  Composing it more or less myself.  And I used to go every year then.  Then, 1947 I went back to Scotland again and I've been on and off ever since between Scotland, England and Ireland.

EM: Working at odd jobs and labouring?

JH: Labouring and odd jobs here and there.  I never had a steady job.

EM: Was Gaelic your first language?

JH: Oh, yes.

EM: Gaelic was spoken in your home.

JH: From the cradle - there was never a word of English spoken in my home.

EM: And it was spoken in the streets of the village?

JH: All through the village - you wouldn't hear a word of English.

EM: Well, when was English used, then?

JH: Well we learned English by the National School, and that's the only English we heard is that half an hour or an hour we got taught English at the National School. 

EM: So, when you first went to Dublin where presumably most people spoke English, when you went there …

JH: That's when I left school, you mean?

EM: Yes, this would be the first time really that you'd heard English spoken a great deal

JH: Oh it was, the first time.

EM: How did you adapt to it?

JH: Well, where I went, you see, the school I went to in Dublin, you see, it was all Gaelic that had to be spoken in that school because getting the scholarship, you couldn't get to the scholarship without speaking the Gaelic fluently all the time.  But going through the streets of Dublin, of course, you would hear nothing but English.  But in the school itself it was all Gaelic.  It was an offence to speak any English outside lesson hours.

EM: But how good was your English at this period, Joe?

JH: Pretty good because our teacher made sure any English we spoke, we spoke grammatically.

EM: So, on the streets of Dublin, could you understand people?

JH: Oh, I could understand them, but we weren't allowed to speak English.  It was an offence.

EM: And have you gone on with your …can you still write and read Gaelic with ease, with fluency.

JH: No bother.  Any time I go home to Carna, which is seldom nowadays, I never speak a word of English 'til I come back.

EM: Does this mean you could read the kind of big heroic poetry in Gaelic as well - you could read the classic stuff?

JH: Oh, yes, the Roman numerals or anything.  What they call the clár Rómhánach. 37.  Roman tables. (FM)37  I can read and speak and write Gaelic fluently.

EM: So really, you are completely bilingual?

JH: Well, I suppose you could call it that.

EM: Two languages which you can think in.

JH: Yes, but I mostly think in Gaelic.

EM: Is that true, even today you think in Gaelic?

JH: Even today I think in Gaelic, before I speak in English.  I do all my thinking in Gaelic.  Even when I'm farming, on the train, I do all my thinking.  Anytime I talk to myself, it's all in Gaelic.  (laughter) Which is often.  Not quite true. 

EM: And, you've not been back to Carna very much, you say, but you have been back in the last few years, haven't you?

JH: The last time I was back was five years this Christmas.

EM: Do they still have this old business of meeting in somebody's house?

JH: They do.  They still carry on.  Not so much nowadays, but they still do it.

EM: They still sing and tell stories?

JH: They still sing and tell stories.

EM: Haven't they been exposed to television and radio yet?

JH: Well, the radio.  Not so much television.  Of course, it's not everyone who can afford a television even today.  But, it's different to my time.  In my time, there was only the lamp, the oil lamp.  And now every house there has the electric light and nearly every house has the radio.  Well, I'm afraid the radio's doing away with a lot of the old style singing and this and that.

EM: Storytelling?

JH: It has done away with it, especially with the young people.  They're inclined to, shall we say, Beatleise it.  I'm afraid so.  In my times it was all céilí dancing in the halls, any other kind of dancing was banned.  But nowadays you walk into the same hall and you get everything like that in it.  Modern dancing and everything.  In my time it was illegal.  The band just wouldn't play anything.  Now they've changed a lot.  I must say that myself, they've changed a lot.  'Course when the old people dies out, I don't know what's going to happen.  It'll probably die out altogether, the tradition.  That's what I'm afraid of.

Part 6:  The Ballad Boom in Dublin; Advice to young singers; Developing singing technique; Singing for an audience.

EM: But you were telling me that in Dublin even today that its now possible to hear, to go to a theatre on a Saturday night and after the theatre closes and sing, 'til the early hours of the morning, traditional songs.

JH: Oh it is and they go down very well - Gaelic and English.  And I was the most surprised man in the world myself when I saw that because some years ago you would just be laughed at if you sang one of them songs in Dublin.

EM: Well, maybe this will spread to the country districts again, Joe?

JH: Yes.  Right now it is.  Whether its going to last or not I don't know.  But they go down very well.  In fact in Dublin at the moment.  I suppose the best … they're absolutely mad for ballads.  They can't get enough of a place to hold the crowd.  Even the Grafton Cinema in Stephen's Green.  I saw myself three hundred people locked out.  I couldn't get in.  That's true.  And there must have been a thousand inside.

EM: So, all kinds of traditional songs.

JH: All kinds.

EM: And how do they respond to you when you sing there?

JH: Very well.  I have sung there.  Very well indeed.  Both Gaelic and English.  And all I sang was … the ones you know I sing … the way I always sing.  I never change it one bit.

EM: Well there's some hope, isn't there?

JH: There is hope, every hope, because even the young people from sixteen onwards is going to them things now.

EM: If you were asked to advise young singers about how to go about assimilating the old tradition, what would you tell them?

JH: Well, I'd tell them, we'll say, if they had any time to spare, to go and sit and listen to who they were recommended to listen to singing the old songs.  And not once, but to go and listen as often as possible or even to go, if they can afford to go on holidays to some district where they have nothing else but that style.  To go and listen as often as possible and to make sure that they did listen before they started, you know, or get briefed by someone who knew what he was talking about.  That would be my advice.  Not to do something on their own, but be briefed, well, say, by the likes of you or by somebody who knew exactly what they were doing.

EM: Do you think that if young Dublin people, young Dublin boys and girls, wanted to learn to sing traditional songs, if they went to Carna, for example, on their holidays, do you think that the local people would be prepared to welcome them and allow them to sit at their feet and learn?

JH: They would.  They'd be delighted to have them come into the house at night and have a sing-song.  They'd do it for them, I know they would.  Because it was done before, they'd do it again.

EM: There'd be none of this business like Jeannie Robertson who refuses to sing to young singers for fear they might sing her songs?

JH: Oh, no, it's nothing like that.  I think that's all wrong, that. 

EM: I think so too.  38.  This does not accord with the experience of many Scots revivalists.  Dr Andy Hunter of the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, was a student of Jeannie's and he told me that he could not have found her more forthcoming.  He did however add that she had been hurt by several big name singers, who took her songs without acknowledgement or royalty payments, or even showing the courtesy of looking her up when they were in Aberdeen.  It was these people she ended up refusing to share her songs with. (FM)38

JH: Because I'd like to encourage it myself as much as possible.  I'd like to hear everyone singing it, so I would.  Because that's the only way they'll be kept alive.

EM: Have you noticed any change take place in your own style of singing?  You've recorded before, haven't you?

JH: Yes.

EM: When did you record before?  When was the first time you recorded?

JH: The first time I recorded was 1954. 

EM: Have you listened to any of the recordings you made in 1954?  39.  Ó h&Eacuteanaí's earliest recording seems to have taken place in 1957, when he sang 'Caoineadh na dtrí Muire' for Gael-Linn. (FM)39

JH: I have.

EM: And do you sing them differently now?

JH: I do, because at the time, at the first time I made a recording, I was dead scared of the microphone before me and I don't think the place was suitable.  But I know now - I saw the mistakes I made and I did make a lot of them and I think I can do them better justice now.

EM: I find that every couple of years, if I go back and listen to records that I made two years ago, I just don't want to listen to them. 

JH: That's me, too.  Honestly.  The first recording I ever made was The Lament of the Three Marys - Caoineadh na dtrí Muire in Gaelic.  I listened to it the other day and I couldn't believe it was me singing it because I sang it too fast for a start and everything.  As far as I'm concerned, people like it, but I think everything is wrong with it. 

EM: I find this with myself, too.

JH: I do.  Because I think the longer you sing it, the more you adapt yourself to a certain thing, you find your own faults yourself.  I do, anyway.  I fault myself every time I sing, I fault myself.  I say "you could do it better."

EM: I think that what happens is that your standards grow more strict, don't you?

JH: Yes.  I think you're more strict on yourself too.

EM: Yes, that's what I mean.  It's just as well of course really.  In a way, this is what's wrong with so many of the revival singers - they believe what the audience tells them, rather than listen to themselves. 

JH: Oh no, I never go by an audience.

EM: You know when you're doing it well, don't you?  You know when you're doing it badly too.

JH: As long as I know there's one person in the audience that is listening to me, that's all that worries me.  Just one person. 

EM: That's what I feel too.

JH: But I don't sing to please them.  Naturally I like to please them, but I don't sing to please them.  I sing and give them what I have, what I can bear to give them.  If they don't like it, I can't help it, but I'm not going all the time to sing what they want me to sing.  They can come another night

EM: What are the problems of being a public singer rather than just a singer in the village, you know, who sings for a few friends who know him?  You come to London, you sing in Birmingham, you sing in Bristol, you sing here, you sing there.  What do you do about the songs you sing when you're faced with this position?  Do you sing different … as far as possible do you try to vary your repertoire each night or sing the same songs?

JH: I like to vary it every night if I can.

EM: Why?

JH: Because it's not alone that I think somebody in the audience gets tired of listening to the same song but I get tired myself and I think a song is wasted if it's sung too often.  It's better left aside for a while.

EM: Very good.  That's exactly what I think too.

(tape distortion)

Part 7:  Emigration and America; Rules of Macaronic songs; Organisation of repertoire.

JH: I'll sing Bean Pháidin first.

EM: What does Bean Pháidin mean?

JH: Bean Pháidin means Páidin's wife, and she wasn't very popular with another woman in the village who wanted Páidin all to all to herself and she made up the song and she wished Páidin's wife and his wife every harm that could come to anybody.  She wished her to fall and break her leg or her arm and being a hermit.  And the next one is what they call Cailleach an Airgead, which means The Hag with the Money.  Well now, this Cailleach an Airgead, happens to be my own great grandmother.  That's true.  Without fear of contradiction I'd say that.  Photo by Brian ShuelAnd she had so much money, rotten with money, as we say, that she wanted to marry a fellow nineteen years old.  She was seventy four and he was only nineteen.  And he was accused of being after her money.  But nobody accused her of what she was after, but of course they didn't want him to marry her and they didn't get married.  (unintelligible)  Well here goes Bean Pháidín anyway.

Bean Pháidín (Páidín's Wife)
Is trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
Is trua ghéar nach mise Bean Pháidín-
Is trua ghéar nach mise, nach mise
'S an bhean atá aige a bheith caillte.

Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh
'S rachainn go Gaillimh le Páidín
Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh
'S thiocfainn abhaile sa mbád leis. 

Is trua ghéar nach mise……

Rachainn go haonach an Chlocháin
'S isteach go Béal Átha na Báighe,
Bhreathnóinn isteach trína fuinneogaí
'Shúil 's go bhfeicfinn Bean Pháidín.

Is trua ghéar nach mise……..

Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa, a Bhean Pháidín
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa
Go mbristear do chosa 's do chnámha!

Is trua ghéar nach mise…..

Chaith mé mo bhróga, mo bhróga
Chaith mé mo bhróga i ndiaidh Pháidín,
Chaith mé mo bhróga, mo bhróga
Chaith mé na boinn is na sála.

Is trua ghéar nach mise…..

It is my bitter sorrow that I am not, I am not
It is my bitter sorrow that I am not Páidín's wife-
It is my bitter sorrow that I am not, that I am not
And the wife he has is not dead.

I would go to Galway, to Galway
And I would go to Galway with Páidín.
I would go to Galway, to Galway
And I would come home in the boat with him.

I would go to the fair of Clifden
And into Ballinaboy,
And I would look through the windows
Hoping to see Páidín's wife.

May your legs be broken
May your legs be broken, Páidín's wife
May your legs be broken
May your legs be broken and your bones!

I wore out my shoes, my shoes
I wore out my shoes after Páidín,
I wore out my shoes, my shoes
I wore out the soles and the heels.

Cailleach an Airgid (The Hag with the Money)

Agus 'sí do mhaimeó í, 'sí do mhaimeó í
'Sí do mhaimeó í cailleach an airgid.
'Sí do mhaimeo í ó thóin Iorrais Mhóir í,
Chuirfeadh sí cóistí ar bhóithre Chois Fharraige.

'S an measann tú an bpósfaidh, measann tú an bpósfaidh,
Measann tú an bpósfaidh cailleach an airgid?
Tá fhios a'am nach bpósfaidh, tá sé ró-óg di
Tá sé ina reic agus d'ólfadh sé an t-airgead.

Agus 'sí do mhaimeó í………

Is gairid go bpósfaidh, is gairid go bpósfaidh,
Is gairid go bpósfaidh beirt ar an mbaile seo.
Is gairid go bpósfaidh, is gairid go bpósfaidh
Tom Mhíchíl Mhóir agus Máire Ní Chathasaigh.

Agus 'sí do mhaimeó í……….

Dá bhfeicfeá-sa an steam a' gabháil siar Tóin Uí Loing
Is barr a cuid crainte amach ar an bhfarraige
Dá gcorrófá an stiúr naoi n-uaire ar a tóin,
Ní choinneodh sí siúl le cailleach an airgid!

Agus 'sí do mhaimeó í, 'sí do mhaimeó í
'Sí do mhaimeó í cailleach an airgid.
'Sí do mhaimeo í as tóin Iorrais Mhóir í,
D'íosfadh sí feoil on Friday and Saturday.

And she is your grandmother, your grandmother
She is your grandmother the hag with the money.
She is your grandmother from the bottom of Iorras Mór
And she would put coaches on the roads of Cois Fharraige 40.  Lit.  'beside the sea'.  The region on the north shore of Galway Bay to the west of Galway City. (ÉÓB)40

And do you think, do you think
Do you think that the hag with the money will marry?
I know she will not marry, he is too young,
He is a rake and he would drink the money.

Soon they will marry, soon they will marry,
Soon they will marry, two in this townland.
Soon they will marry, soon they will marry
Tom Mhichíl Mhóir and Mary Casey. 41.  Lit. 'Tom the son of Big Michael'.  More usually 'Seán Shéamuis Mhóir'. (ÉÓB)41

If you were to see the steamship going west by Tóin Uí Loing
And the tops of her masts out on the sea
If you were to turn the rudder nine times at her stern 42.  'Tóin' implies the bottom of the boat.  More normally the word 'cul' is sung here to indicate the rear or stem of the ship. (ÉÓB)42
She wouldn't keep up with the hag with the money.

And she is your grandmother, your grandmother
She is your grandmother the hag with the money.
She is your grandmother from the bottom of Iorras Mór
And she would eat meat on Friday and Saturday.
 
EM: Putting in the Friday and Saturday in English at the end, Joe.  Is that because there are no Gaelic words for Friday and Saturday?

JH: Oh there was, but that was the way it was done.  Its a joke.

EM: Its a little joke is it?

JH: Its something to make, just in case there's anybody there who don't know Friday and Saturday.  Dé hAoine is Dé Sathairn 43.  'Dé hAoine is Dé Sathairn' = Friday and Saturday. (FM)43 used to be there.  But just in case there was anybody in the company who didn't understand what it was all about, they put them there.  Friday and Saturday.  That means she'd eat meat - she didn't care.  Friday they don't eat meat, you know and that means that she broke all rules.  She couldn't care less what she did, more or less.

EM: How about two English songs to match that now, two English language songs - Irish songs in English.  That is, fast and witty songs like that.  Have you any?

(Break)

JH: (Discussing The Jug of Punch) Which version?

EM: I've only heard you sing one version.  I must say I like that version very much that you sing, that one with the odd chorus.

JH: I'll sing that version, then.  I'll sing that one in English and Gaelic; Cúnla for you. 

The Jug of Punch (Roud 1808)

It being on the third of June, as I sat weaving all by my loom, (repeat)
A birdie sang on an ivy bunch and the song he sang was the jug of punch.

Chorus: Laddly fol the dee.  Laddly fol the diddle idle idle um.
Skithery idle diddle dum.  Skithery idle diddle um dum dee.

What more diversion can a man desire than sit him down oh beside the fire?  (repeat)
On the table a jug of punch and on his knee one tidy wench.

Chorus

But what more diversion can a man endure than sit him down oh behind the door?  (repeat)
On the table no jug of punch and on his knee no tidy wench.

Chorus

When I am dying and my drinking's over, I'll take one drink and I'll take no more.
When I am dying and my drinking's over I'll take one drink into the fold
In case I wouldn't get another chance I will take it now and then pass on.

Chorus

But when I am dead and in my mould, at my head and feet lay a flowing bowl, (repeat)
And every man that passes by, they can take one drink and remember I

Chorus
 
JH: I think it's more traditional than the one they (The McPeakes) sing.  Although I wouldn't like them to hear me saying that.  I did say it to Francie the last time I met him, but he didn't agree of course.  He got it off some relation of his, as usual.

This, I'll sing it 'til I can go no further, because I was never, I never found out what happened after he tickled her toes.  It's about a man who used to come courting a girl and she wanted him and she didn't want him.  By the way, go away, but come hither, that was more or less what she was saying.  First of all, he came to the wall outside her house and climbing the wall, he knocked the wall and then he came to the window and knocked at the window, then he started raking the fire, the next thing he pulled the blanket off her and the next thing he tickled her toes.  What happened afterwards, I don't know, but the song ends there.  It's English and Gaelic.  The verse in English.  The chorus is more or less of a jolly type of song.  44.  In Ireland one sits up on a ditch and falls into a dyke.  A literal translation of the Irish-Language version is hardly necessary as the verse translation sung is quite close to the original. (ÉÓB)44

Cúnnla   (Roud 13969)

Agus cé hé sin thíos atá ag leagan na gclaíocha?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag leagan na gclaíocha?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag leagan na gclaíocha?
"Mise mé fhéin", adeir Cúnnla.


(And who is that down there that is knocking down the ditches?
Who is that down there that is knocking down the ditches?
Who is that down there that is knocking down the ditches?
"It's me", says Cúnnla)

'Chúnnla a chroí, ná tara níos gaire dhom,
'Chúnnla a chroí, na tara níos gaire dhom,
'Chúnnla a chroí, na tara níos gaire dhom.
"(Níor) chóir dom sin", a deir Cúnnla.


(Cúnnla my heart, do not come any nearer to me,
Cúnnla my heart, do not come any nearer to me,
Cúnnla my heart, do not come any nearer to me,
"I shouldn't do it", says Cúnnla.)

And who is that there that's knocking the ditches down?
Who is that there that's knocking the ditches down?
Who is that there that's knocking the ditches down?
"Only me," says Cúnnla.

And Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me,
Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me,
Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me.
"Oh maybe I shouldn't" says Cúnnla.

'S cé hé sin thíos atá ag bualadh na fuinneoige?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag bualadh na fuinneoige?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag bualadh na fuinneoige?
"Mise mé fhein" adeir Cúnnla.


(And who is that down there knocking on the window?
Who is that down there knocking on the window?
Who is that down there knocking on the window?
"It's me", says Cúnnla)

'Chúnnla a chroí, ná tara níos gaire dhom …

And who is that there that's breaking the window pane?
Who is that there that's breaking the window pane?
Who is that there that's breaking the window pane?
"Only me", says Cúnnla.

Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me …

'S cé hé sin thíos atá ag fadú na tine dhom?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag fadú na tine dhom?
Ce hé sin thíos atá ag fadú na tine dhom?
"Mise mé fhéin" adeir Cúnnla.

'Chúnnla a chroí, ná tara níos gaire dhom …


(And who is that down there who is setting the fire for me?
Who is that down there who is setting the fire for me?
Who is that down there who is setting the fire for me?
"It's me", says Cúnnla)

And who is that there that is raking the fire for me?
Who is that there that is raking the fire for me?
Who is that there that is raking the fire for me?
"Only me", says Cúnnla.

Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me …

Agus cé hé sin thíos atá ag tarraingt na pluide dhíom?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag tarraingt na pluide dhíom?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag tarraingt na pluide dhíom?
"Mise fhéin" adeir Cúnnla.

'Chúnnla a chroí, ná tara níos gaire dhom …


(And who is that down there that is pulling the blanket off me?
Who is that down there that is pulling the blanket off me?
Who is that down there that is pulling the blanket off me?
"It's me", says Cúnnla)

And who is that there that is pulling the blankets off?
Who is that there that is pulling the blankets off?
Who is that there that is pulling the blankets off?
"Only me" says Cúnnla.

And Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me …

'S cé hé sin thíos atá ag tochas mo bhonnacha?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag tochas mo bhonnacha?
Cé hé sin thíos atá ag tochas mo bhonnacha?
"Mise mé fhéin" adeir Cúnnla.

'Chúnnla a chroí, ná tara níos goire dhom …


(And who is that down there that is scratching the soles of my feet?
Who is that down there that is scratching the soles of my feet?
Who is that down there that is scratching the soles of my feet?
"It's me", says Cúnnla.)

And who is that there that is tickling the toes of me?
Who is that there that is tickling the toes of me?
Who is that there that is tickling the toes of me?
"Only myself", says Cúnnla.

And Cúnnla dear, don't come any nearer me …
Whether he did or not I don't know.
 

EM: The Gaelic was the same as the English?

JH: The same thing; explaining what happened. 

(Break)

JH: … sing this exactly the way he gave it, not adding a word down from the way he gave it.

Barb'ry Ellen   (Roud 54, Child 84)

In Scarlet Town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling.
Made every youth well rue the day.
Her name was Barb'ry Ellen.

Christmas came and went one year.
The green leaves they had fallen.
When a young man from the north country.
Fell in love with Barb'ry Ellen.

He sent his servant out one day,
To the place where she was dwelling. 
My master wants a word with you,
My bonny Barb'ry Ellen.

One word from me he ne'er shall get,
Or any young man living.
No better no better he e'er shall get,
For I know his heart is breaking

'Oh rise up, rise up', her mother cried,
'And go and see this young man.'
Oh mother, mother don't make me go,
For I do love no-one.

But slowly slowly she got up,
And slowly she put on her.
And slowly slowly to the sick man's bed.
'Young man I hear you're dying'.

'I'm dying in this very bed.
The death lies in my bosom.
One kiss from you would restore my health,
My bonny Barb'ry Ellen.'

'Don't you remember last Saturday night?  
You were in the alehouse drinking.
You drank the health of all the girls,
But you slighted Barb'ry Ellen.'

'Oh I remember last Saturday night. 
I was in the alehouse drinking.
I drank the health of all around,
But my love was for Barb'ry Ellen.'

He turned his pale face to the wall.
His friends all gathered round him.
'Adieu adieu', he said to all,
'But be kind to Barb'ry Ellen'.

As she trudged her way ward home,
She heard the small birds singing.
And with every note they seemed to say,
Cruel hearted Barb'ry Ellen.

Oh mother, mother make my bed.
Make it soft and narrow.
A young man died for me last night.
I'll die for him tomorrow.

play Sound Clip She was buried in the old churchyard,
And William was buried beside her.
From Barbara's grave grew a red red rose.
From William's a green briar.

They grew to the top of the old church wall,
'Til they could grow no higher.
They wrapped and entwined in a lover's knot,
The rose around the briar.
 

(Break)

EM: … if you'd like to sing it.  I don't want you to sing any song you don't like.

JH: Well, I like it as well as any.

PS: What do you call it, Joe?

JH: Well, we call it The Old Woman of Wexford.  I suppose if somebody else sings it you could call it The Old Woman of Glasgow or something like that.  We call it The Old Woman of Wexford.  Of course, that happened in County Wexford, this.

The Old Woman of Wexford   (Roud 183)

There was an old woman in Wexford and in Wexford Town did dwell.
She loved her husband dearly but another man twice as well.

Chorus: With me right fol die fa diddleo and me racks fol die fol dee.

One day she went to the doctor some medicine for to find.
She said 'I want something for to make my old man blind'.

Chorus:

Oh feed him eggs and marrow bones and make him suck them all.
It won't be so very long after 'til he can't see you at all.

Chorus:

So the doctor wrote a letter and he sealed it with his hand.
And he sent it to the old man just to let him understand.

Chorus:

And she fed him eggs and marrowbones and made him suck them all.
It wasn't so very long after 'til he couldn't see the wall.

Chorus:

Oh, says he, 'I'd go and drown myself, but that would be a sin'.
She said, 'I'll come to the water's edge and help to push you in'.

Chorus:

So they jogged and jogged and jogged along 'til they came to the water's brim.
She said, 'you came here to drown yourself and me to push you in.'

Chorus:

So the old woman stepped back a bit for to push him in.
But the old man quickly stepped aside and she went tumbling in.

Chorus:

Oh how loudly did she yell and how loudly did she bawl.
'Arrah, whist your tongue', dear woman' he said ' sure I can't see you at all'.

Chorus:

And she swam and swam and swam around 'til she came to the farther brim.
But he grabbed a sally wattle and he pushed her further in.

Chorus:

Now eggs and eggs and marrowbones may make your old man blind,
But if you want to drown him, you must creep up close behind.

Chorus:
 

PS: What's a sally wattle?

JH: Well a sally is a, well they use it to make baskets and creels and things like that. 

EM: A willow.

JH: No, it's er …

EM: Osier?

JH: Osier, that's it.

(Break)

JH: The Two Greyhounds.  One of the greyhound's name was Bruce.  I often meant to sing that in Dublin, saying you couldn't blame them for calling Bruce one of them.  Well, these two fellows, they lived in Shanaheever which is outside Clifden.  It's a long time ago, and they had two greyhounds, but they had no land of their own and the only way they could course the greyhounds was to go to the landlord's place at night under the light of the moon.  And course the two greyhounds.  And they got so fond of the greyhounds that when one of the greyhounds died, the lad who owned it, Bruce was the name of one of them and Toby was the name of the other, that he went away to America and he composed the song there, telling about the bogs of Shanaheever.

EM: You mean he was so broken hearted?

JH: So broken hearted that he left and emigrated.  Andy and Norah (?) was the name of the landlord, you see and in their absence they used to take out the two greyhounds and course them on this big domain.  But he was so broken hearted when the greyhound died that he went to America.

The Two Greyhounds (The Bogs of Shanaheever)   (Roud 5335)

My youth is long past and I am mighty dreary.
An exile I am cast on the wilds of the prairie.
I'm hunting the wild deer, the panther and the beaver.
But I look back with pride on the bogs of Shanaheever.

Andy and Norah (?) in their absence do get ready.  45.  Joe seems to have got confused here.  I have heard the line sung as, 'Andy and Eoghan in my absence do get ready'.  The song can therefore be interpreted as an exhortation to those left behind to carry on poaching.  Johnny Mháirtín Learaí MacDonnchadha, who comes from Carna, and who sings the song, told me that the story concerned two poachers who used their greyhounds to catch rabbits on a private estate at Shanaheever.  This was done at night to evade the landowner.  According to Johnny, the death was caused when one 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.  Johnny sings his version on Contae Mhuigheo Cló Iar-Chonnachta CIC 013. (FM)45
By the light of the moon go and tell Master Freddie.
Oh tell him to prepare and to be mighty clever.
For it is the last night of hunting on the bogs of Shanaheever.

Now coursed was Toby and Bruce was long-winded.
Coursed every round, the two-year-old was splendid.
This two year old hound he was knacky (skilful) and clever.
But the next I heard there was a death on the bogs of Shanaheever.

From the shores of Lough Annagh to the plains of Kilbrickan,
By the light of the moon, my poor heart was a-tickin'.
We took Bruce to his grave and we laid him down forever.
Then I sat down and cried like a broken hearted lover.
And I ta'en my passage to New York from the bogs of Shanaheever.

Now Ireland my land, fare thee well now and forever.
There is no land on earth that I love with such great fervour.
If ever she's free, I'll go back again and see her.
And I'll settle down forever on the bogs of Shanaheever.
 

EM: How old do you think a song like that would be, Joe?

JH: I haven't a clue how old that but I was told it was handed down, so I couldn't tell you.  That's the only thing I can tell you about that song.  I haven't a clue.

PS: Where did you learn it?

JH: At home

(Break)

EM: … or do you think they were composed in Ireland?

JH: There were a lot of these songs composed in America see and taken back by people who were there and came back.

EM: Would they go back to a place like, like …

JH: Oh, they do, most of them come back in their old age, you know.

EM: They come back to die, do they?

JH: They come back to die there, that's more or less the case.

EM: Like the West coast of Scotland. 

JH: They do, oh they do.  An awful lot of them come back.

EM: And they bring a song like this back with them, do you think?

JH: They do.  That's my belief, they do.

PS: Did you know any people in Carna that did come back?

JH: I did indeed.  Plenty of them.  They're coming back every day.

EM: Exactly the same on the West coast of Scotland, Peg.

JH: They do come back.

EM: They go, they maybe work all their lives in Canada or …

JH: They work forty or forty five years and then come back and live their old days at home.

EM: It's the same in Italy too, you know, or any poor country.

(Break)

JH: … they never forget.  Even now, I'd like to go back there and end my days too.  I would.  I don't know why, there's probably the …?… I don't know how it is.

EM: You have a version of Lord Randal Joe, I've just remembered, don't you?

JH: I have - a Gaelic version.  I'll sing that.  You know the story of that better than I do.

Amhrán na hEascainne / the Song of the Eel (Lord Randal)   (Roud 10, Child 12) 46.  'Lord Randal' is a ballad found in English as well as many other European languages - the oldest dated version comes from Verona in 1629.  Although the English language has been spoken in Ireland for almost 800 years, it is a remarkable fact that the tradition of singing narrative ballads, so prominent among English-speaking people, is hardly represented in the Irish-language tradition at all.  'Lord Randall' is however, a well-known exception and Irish-Language versions have been collected in many parts of Ireland.
The story told concerning the song in Joe's locality is that the song was composed by the brother of a wealthy man, whose wife died and who married again a younger woman.  The younger woman was not content with an older man and decided to murder him by giving him a poisoned eel to eat. (ÉÓB)46

"Cé raibh tú ó mhaidin, a dheartháirín ó?
Cé raibh tú ó mhaidin, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Bhí mé ag iascach 's ag foghlaeireacht,
Cóirigh mo leaba dhom
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus ligidh dhom luí."

"Céard a d'ith tú ar do dhinnéar, a dheartháirín ó?
Céard a d'ith tú ar do dhinnéar, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Ó eascainn a raibh lúb uirthi,
Nimh fuinte brúite uirthi
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus bead go deo, deo."

"Céard fhágfas tú ag do d(h)aidí, a dheartháirín ó?
Ceard fhágfas tú ag do d(h)aidí, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
Ó eochair mo stábla aige,
Sin 's mo láir aige
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus bead go deo, deo."

"Céard fhágfas tú ag do dheartháir, a dheartháirín ó?
Céard fhágfas tú ag do dheartháir, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Ó eochair mo thrúnc aige,
Sin 's míle punt aige,
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus bead go deo, deo."

"Céard fhágfas tú ag do mháithrín, a dheartháirín ó?
Céard fhágfas tú ag do mháithrín, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Dá bhfágfainn saol brách aici,
D'fhágfainn croí cráite aici,
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí, agus 's bead go deo, deo."

"Céard fhágfas tú ag do chleamhnaí, a dheartháirín ó?
Céard fhágfas tú ag do chleamhnaí, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Ó fuacht fada agus seachrán,
'S oíche ar gach bothán,
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus bead go deo, deo.

"Céard fhágas tú ag do bhean phósta, a dheartháirín ó?
Céard fhágfas tú ag do bhean phósta, a phlúr na bhfear ó?"
"Ó Ifreann mar dhúiche aici;
Na Flaithis a bheith dúnta uirthi
Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí agus bead go deo, deo."


"Where were you since morning dear brother?"
Where were you since morning, flower of all men?"
"I was fishing and fowling-
Prepare my bed
I am sick in my heart and let me lie down."

"What did you eat for your dinner, dear brother?
What did you eat for your dinner, flower of all men?"
"A coiled eel
With kneaded and mashed poison on it -
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."

"What will you leave to your daddy, dear brother?
What will you leave to your daddy, flower of all men?"
"The key of my stable to him,
That and my mare to him-
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."

"What will you leave to your brother, dear brother?
What will you leave to your brother, flower of all men?"
"The key of my trunk to him,
That and a thousand pounds to him-
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."

"What will you leave to your dear mother, dear brother?
What will you leave to your mother, flower of all men?"
"I would leave to her eternal life
I would leave to her a tormented heart -
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."

"What will you leave to your in-law, dear brother?
What will you leave to your in-law, flower of all men?"
"A long cold and wandering
And every night in a different house -
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."

"What will you leave to your wife, dear brother?
What will you leave to your wife, flower of all men?"
"Hell to be her home
And Heaven to be closed on her -
I am sick in my heart and I will be forever."
 

EM: Does the form of that, Joe, is it the same as the non-Gaelic version, do you know?  In the - well, translate the first verse.

JH: Cé raibh tú ó mhaidin - where were you all day.  A dheartháirín ó means brother.  Well, of course, in Gaelic you see, dheartháirín can refer to anybody you're fond of.  Doesn't have to be brother although it is the Gaelic word for brother, deartháir, you could call a dheartháirín somebody you see out coming up the road there.  And that's the nice way you speak to him.  A dheartháirín, céard a tharla dhuit? - what happened to you?  You see it doesn't have to be a brother or a son.  A mother can call it her son, they often do that at home 'deartháirín'.  It's something to tell you that you're very fond of a person.  Affectionate.  And that's what it says in that - where were you all day dheartháirín ó - brother, my son.  Where were you all day my phlúr, the flower of all men.  Ag iascach 's ag foghléireacht - fishing and fowling.  Cóirigh mo leaba dhom - that's make my bed.  Tá mé tinn fó mo chroí - I'm sick in my heart and I'm ready to die.

EM: Oh, it's exactly the same …

JH: Ó eascainn a raibh lúb uirthi, Nimh fuinte brúite uirthi - that's an eel dipped in poison.

EM: Oh, it's an eel in this one, is it?

Slán agus Beannacht le Buaireamh an tSaoil / Farewell to the Troubles of Life (One Morning in June)   (Roud 3381)

play Sound Clip One morning in June agus mé 'dhul ag spaisteoireacht,
Casadh liom cailín, ba ródheas a gnaoi.

She was so handsome gur thit mé i ngra léi;
D'fhága sí arraing i gceartlár mo chroí.

I asked her her name, nó cad é an ruaig bheannaithe
A chas insan áit thú, a ghrá gheal mo chroí?

My heart it will break if you don't come along with me.
Slán agus beannacht le buaireamh an tsaoil.

(One morning in June and I out rambling
I met a girl, very fine was she in appearance
She was so handsome that I fell in love with her;
She left an arrow through the centre of my heart.
I asked her her name, or what blessed chance
Brought you to this place, bright love of my heart?
My heart it will break if you don't come along with me.
Farewell to the worries of life.)

"Cailín beag óg mé ó cheantar na farraige
A tógadh go cneasta mé i dtosach mo shaoil.

I being so early (airy) ó 'sé siúd ba chleachtadh liom,
That made my own parents and me disagree.
"A chuisle 's a stór, dá n-éisteofá liom tamall,
I'll tell you a story ab ait le do chroí
That I'm a young man who is totally in love with you
Surely my heart is from roguery free".

(I am a young little girl from the area by the sea
that was reared decently in the beginning of my life.
I being so early (airy) since that was what I was accustomed to,
That made my own parents and me disagree.
My love and treasure, if you would listen to me awhile
I'll tell you a story that your heart would like.
That I'm a young man who is totally in love with you
Surely my heart is from roguery free").

"Muise, go you bold rogue, sure you are wanting to flatter me,
B'fhearr éan ar an láimh na dhá éan ar an gcraoibh
I've neither wheat, potatoes or anything
Ná fiú an phluid leapa a bheadh tharrainn san oích'"
"Ceannóidh mé tae agus gléasfad in aice seo
Gúna English cotton den fhaisean atá daor

So powder your hair, love, and come away along with me
Slán agus beannacht le buaireamh an tsaoil".

("Muise, go you bold rogue, sure you are wanting to flatter me,
Better a bird in the hand than two birds on the branch.
I've neither wheat, potatoes or anything
or even a bed-spread to cover us at night.
I will buy tea and I'll dress nearby here
A dress of English cotton of the expensive fashion. 
So powder your hair, love, and come away along with me
Farewell to the worries of life.)

There's an ale-house nearby 's beidh muid go maidin ann,
If you're satisfied, a ghrá gheal mo chroí.
Early next morning we'll send for a clergyman
Beidh muidne ceangailte i ngan fhios dhon tsaol.
Beidh muid ag ól a fhad 's a mhairfeas an t-airgead

Then we will take the road home with all speed.
When the reckoning is paid who cares for the landlady
Slán 's beannacht le buaireamh an tsaoil.

(There's an ale-house nearby and we will stay there until morning,
If you're satisfied, bright love of my heart.
Early next morning we'll send for a clergyman
And we will be united unknown to all the world.
We will drink for as long as the money lasts
Then we will take the road home with all speed.
When the reckoning is paid who cares for the landlady
Farewell to the worries of life.)
 

EM: Joe, what does that phrase mean 'powder your hair'?

JH: That was the old way, the old women used to tell their daughters if they were going to their wedding or get married or anything, powder their hair.  Not the face, the hair.  Powder your hair.  That was an old saying.

EM: I was wondering, I know that the rich people used to do this, I didn't realise that the ordinary folk did it.

JH: Yes, especially if a girl was in danger of being left on the shelf.  The old women used to tell her "powder your hair love and go out and look for a man".  Not the face.  Of course, they didn't powder the face in them days.

PS: Is there any rule, Joe, in these songs, or pattern in these songs of equalling up the Gaelic and the English lines?

JH: No, there isn't.

PS: You just put them where you feel like it?

JH: No, sometimes maybe there's two Gaelic lines to one English line, but there's no certain fixed rule, but it's usually one line in Gaelic and one line in English.

PS: But is it meant to carry the story completely in either language, because if I was listening to that as a person who understands only English, it would have no meaning to me.

JH: That's right, it won't carry the story.  It takes the two languages to make the story.  It won't carry the story in either language.

PS: So that's a true macaronic?

JH: It is a true macaronic.

PS: Why is this form used?

JH: Honestly, I haven't a clue.

(Break)

JH:… can't think of the words.  I am a young fellow who …?… Patrick Sheehan.

EM: In which war was that?

JH: Which war was Sebastopol in?

EM: Oh, yes, 1903.  The Crimean War?  47.  The Crimean war was 1853 to 1856. (FM)47

JH: Yes, I think so.

PS: He fought in Sebastopol and he was blinded?

JH: That's where he was blinded and he was sent home and nobody spoke to him because he joined the British Army.  You probably notice that.

EM: No, I don't.

The Glen of Aherlow (Patrick Sheehan)   (Roud 983)

My name is Patrick Sheehan, my years are thirty four.
Tipperary is my native home not far from Galtymore.
I came of honest parents, but now they are lying low,
And it's many a happy day I spent in the glen of Aherlow.

My father died, I closed his eyes outside the cabin door.
The landlord and the Sheriff were there the day before.
And then my loving brothers and sisters three also,
Were forced to go with broken hearts from the glen of Aherlow.

Bereft of home our kith and kin with plenty all around.
I starved within my cabin and slept upon the ground.
But cruel as my lot was, I ne'er did hardship know.
'Til I joined the English army far away from Aherlow.

'And rouse up there' said the corporal, 'you lazy Irish hound.
Why don't you hear, you sleepy dog, the call-to-arms round'.
Alas I had been dreaming of days of long ago.
I awoke before Sebastopol, but not in Aherlow.

I groped to find my musket, how dark I thought the night.
Oh blessed God it wasn't night, it was the broad daylight.
And when I found that I was blind, my tears began to flow.
I longed for even a pauper's grave in the glen of Aherlow.

Oh a poor neglected mendicant, I wandered through the street.
My nine months pension now being out, I beg from all I meet.
Since I joined my country's tyrants, my face I'll never show,
Among my kind old neighbours in the glen of Aherlow.

Oh blessed Virgin Mary, mine is a mournful tale.
A poor blind prisoner here I am in Brixton's dreary jail.
Struck blind within the trenches where I never feared a foe.
And I'll never see my home again in the glen of Aherlow.

Now Irish youth, dear countrymen, take heed of what I say,
If you join the English ranks, you'll surely rue the day.
And whenever you are tempted a-soldiering to go,
Remember poor blind Sheehan from the glen of Aherlow.
 

EM: Nice song.  Where did you learn that?

JH: My father gave me that.

EM: That would be 1903, the Crimean War?

EM: How do you divide your songs up in your own mind?  Do you divide your songs up at all?

JH: I divide them into folk songs and ballads and rebel songs, pretty songs, funny songs, sad songs, lamentable songs, all different things, I try to mix them up any time I sing.  I try to give a bit to each.

PS: Well does say a song like Lord Randall mean any more to you than a song like the one you just sang?  Does it mean any more or is it a different type of song?

JH: No, it means more or less the same thing to me.  It has the feeling in both of them, a deep feeling in both of them, I think.

EM: You don't make a distinction between ballads and the newer songs?

PS: Because I mean, Lord Randall's obviously such an older song, for instance and you seemed before to me to make a distinction between older songs and newer songs.

JH: I do but what I am trying to say is I put the same feeling - Lord Randall and Patrick Sheehan to me they both have a very deep feeling.  I know Lord Randall is much older but Patrick Sheehan, they have the same sad feeling.  I think they've both got to be sung with a bit of feeling because there are some songs, as you know yourself, you've got to, well, the feeling is in the song.  They are both sad songs and they both must have a feeling because …

(Break)


Footnotes:

(ÉÓB) denotes authorship by Éamonn Ó Bróithe
(FM) denotes authorship by Fred McCormick

36.  The Oireacthas.  An annual Gaelic cultural festival, promoted by Conradh na Gaeilge (The Gaelic League)  (FM)

37.  Roman tables.  (FM)

38.  This does not accord with the experience of many Scots revivalists.  Dr Andy Hunter of the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, was a student of Jeannie's and he told me that he could not have found her more forthcoming.  He did however add that she had been hurt by several big name singers, who took her songs without acknowledgement or royalty payments, or even showing the courtesy of looking her up when they were in Aberdeen.  It was these people she ended up refusing to share her songs with.  (FM)

39.  Ó hÉanaí's earliest recording seems to have taken place in 1957, when he sang Caoineadh na dtrí Muire for Gael-Linn.  (FM)

40.  Lit.  'beside the sea'.  The region on the north shore of Galway Bay to the west of Galway City.  (ÉÓB)

41.  Lit. 'Tom the son of Big Michael'.  More usually Seán Shéamuis Mhóir.  (ÉÓB)

42.  Tóin implies the bottom of the boat.  More normally the word cul is sung here to indicate the rear or stem of the ship.  (ÉÓB)

43.  Dé hAoine is Dé Sathairn = Friday and Saturday.  (FM)

44.  In Ireland one sits up on a ditch and falls into a dyke.  A literal translation of the Irish-Language version is hardly necessary as the verse translation sung is quite close to the original.  (ÉÓB)

45.  Joe seems to have got confused here.  I have heard the line sung as, 'Andy and Eoghan in my absence do get ready'.  The song can therefore be interpreted as an exhortation to those left behind to carry on poaching.  Johnny Mháirtín Learaí MacDonnchadha, who comes from Carna, and who sings the song, told me that the story concerned two poachers who used their greyhounds to catch rabbits on a private estate at Shanaheever.  This was done at night to evade the landowner.  According to Johnny, the death was caused when one 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.  Johnny sings his version on Contae Mhuigheo Cló Iar-Chonnachta CIC 013.  (FM)

46.  Lord Randal is a ballad found in English as well as many other European languages - the oldest dated version comes from Verona in 1629.  Although the English language has been spoken in Ireland for almost 800 years, it is a remarkable fact that the tradition of singing narrative ballads, so prominent among English-speaking people, is hardly represented in the Irish-language tradition at all.  Lord Randall is however, a well-known exception and Irish-Language versions have been collected in many parts of Ireland.

The story told concerning the song in Joe's locality is that the song was composed by the brother of a wealthy man, whose wife died and who married again a younger woman.  The younger woman was not content with an older man and decided to murder him by giving him a poisoned eel to eat.  (ÉÓB)

47.  The Crimean war was 1853 to 1856 (FM)

Part of Article MT057


Introduction Interview Part 1 Interview Part 3

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