School: Béal an Átha Móir (B.)

Ballinamore, Co. Leitrim
Seán Ó Heslin

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Béal an Átha Móir (B.) | The Schools’ Collection

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The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0225, Page 330

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By Master O Rourke, Drumhallowen

Ye jovial tourists who seek the purest
And grandest scenery in the land,
Pray pay attention whilst here I mention
A mode of travelling which will suit you grand.
Not the motor I'm going to vote for,
Nor the premier cycle though all the rage.
But my advice is what'er the price is,
Go buy a ticket on the Narrow Gauge.
Just travel by it, it will take you quiet,
The best company you're sure to meet,
Of donkey dealers and fowl retailers
From Church St, Canaloe and Chapel St.
Now grand Directors, and Line Inspectors
And local Pressmen, so cute and so sage,
All travel gratis, you know what that is,
While others must pay on the Narrow Gauge.
Oh: Nature's charms in all her forms,
All along the line will enchant the view.
St Caillen's gander saw nothing grander
When round through Wicklow all alone he flew.
Moore's Lalla Rook is, (a beautiful book 'tis,)
With blooming, flowers on it's every page.
For Shearon's roses can't match the posies
That decked the borders of the Narrow Gauge.
Green hills and mountains, clear rills and fountains
With its placid lakes-there are hills between.
Monastic ruins, the wicked doings,
Of cursed Cromwell and the Virgin Queen.
Historians tell us what befell us
In the ancient times, persecution's age.
Ere people spoke of a locomotive,
Or knew the comfort of the Narrow Gauge.
Going to Dromod there are still some would
Prefer to sit behind Dooner's grey.
If to Belturbet, they'd surely shun it,
The old brakes seem on all the blessed way.
If to Drumshambo, you by the Tram go,
A slower passage no one could engage.
Jack Redsy's donkey he calls him spunkey.
Could blind K. Edward on the Narrow Gauge.
Ye English loyal may shout disloyal,
So here my meaning I will now define.
King Ned's an engine made in Bengen,
Fair lovely Bengen on the world-famed Rhine.
So John Thornton, (he's a cute and sly one),
May seek promotion by some other stage.
Else, him I'll sentence to due repentance
Of twenty miles on the new Narrow Gauge.
'Twas my intention much more to mention
For half its praises I have not yet sung:
But the baby is balling, Moll is calling,
With click, click, click telegraphic tongue.
But sweet as thrushes in trees and bushes,
And the pet canary in gilded cage,
When I have leisure, I'll sing with pleasure
The countless beauties of the Narrow Gauge.

By...Hyland, B' more.

A wonderful rumour I heard in Belfast,
That G.S.R. had been painted at last.
The public declares that there is something wrong,
For it has not been painted for the Lord knows how long.

The G. S. trains are all famed for their speed.
If they tried to go slower they could not suceed.
About ten miles an hour is their usual rate,
But when there's a rush they'll reduce it to eight.

You have all heard, I'm sure of their famous Express,
For it stops every mile like a ship in distress.
I'm sure I'm not going too far when I say
That it can take you to Mohill and back in a day

This winter the foot-warmers seem to be scarce.
As regards dirty windows it's quite the reverse
The carriages seem to be choking with dust,
And even the handles are covered with rust.

When you're getting home by the light train at night
You get into a carriage and you think you're alright
But you haven't got properly stretched at your ease,
When the guard bangs the door and shouts '' Tickets please. ''

There's Gilheaney, the porter I'm sure you can't pass
For he's generally knocking around the first class
Change here for Drumshambo, you'll hear him shout
But it's only when travellers are knocking about

With these few short verses I hope you've enjoyed,
And I hope that the Manager won't be annoyed.
I'm sorry for taking your time up so long,
So l think I'll wind up with the G. S. R song