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The Schools’ Collection

This is a collection of folklore compiled by schoolchildren in Ireland in the 1930s. More information

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  1. (no title)

    “Come all ye Irish heroes that are seeking for liberty.”

    CBÉS 0306

    Page 171

    Come all ye Irish heroes that are seeking for liberty
    Do no longer bear with ill-treatment or bigotry.
    But tumble off [?] weights we're bearing those many years
    Sorely we were treated and cheated with dread and fear.
    No comfort night and morning but always the Galley-slaves
    Since our parliament was stolen by the rogues from poor Granuaile.
    The year of 63 we were treated with treachery
    The gallows it was stained with false swearing and perjury
    Our backs were exposed to a thong that

  2. (no title)

    “The following are some of the songs composed by the local poet Mr Timothy McGovern.”

    CBÉS 0410

    Page 039

    The following are some of the songs composed by the local poet Mr Timothy McGovern.
    Through the green hills of Kerry my ballads are ringing
    Sinn Féin is my motto my land Granuaile
    Brave youths and fair maidens my songs you'll be singing
    When I am at rest on the banks of the Feale.
    II
    When I think of the tyrant, the robber the stranger
    My heart was in fire and my courage ran down
    When Kerry stood first in the red gap of danger
    While Murphy encamped on the banks of the Laune

  3. A Song

    “Through the green hills of Kerry”

    CBÉS 0410

    Page 151

    The following is a version of a song composed by Timothy Mc Govern in the year 1922, lamenting our betrayal by Mulcahy, Griffith and Collins and also the murder of Jerry Leary and Johnny Linnane by the Black - and - Tans.
    The Banks of the Feale
    I.
    Through the green hills of Kerry my ballads are ringing,
    Sinn Féin is my motto and my land "Gránuaile"
    The lads and fair lassies my songs will be singing
    When I'm laid down to rest on the banks of the Feale.
    II.
    When I think of the tyrants
    2

  4. Pat O'Donnell's Vision (Fragment)

    CBÉS 1118

    Page 361

    One night as O'Donnell in prison lay sleeping,
    He had a grand vision which filled him with joy,
    A grave looking queen to his bedside came weeping,
    Saying, "cheer up O'Donnell, my brave Irish boy,
    For I'm Granuaile and I'll liberate you,
    I'll gain your release if there's blood in your veins,
    For the shooting of Carey I congratulate you,
    But I'm grieved for to see you in cold prison chains."
    O'Donnell arose in a great consternation,
    He eagerly gazed on that emblem-clad queen,
    Saying, "Madam, you give me such grand consolation,
    You must be a friend to old Erin the green."

  5. Geevagh Prisoners

    CBÉS 0181

    Page 173

    Nineteen hundred and eight I well remember,
    That fateful year when young heroes gay
    Awoke old Erin from her weary slumber
    To break the chains that around her lay
    Those noble heroes of faith and daring Their bold behaviour evokes applause
    While the songsters hush in their amazement.
    At the operation of coercion laws.
    II
    With wolves and vultures this land is tortured
    Their selfish greed has her bosom tore
    And to overthrow those infamous hirelings.
    Ten gallant Geevagh boys did suffer sore.
    They were arrested and cruelly treated.
    And tightly handcuffed and brought to jail
    Their only crime was that they were faithful
    To the cause of Ireland and Granuaile.

  6. My Inchigeelagh Lass

    CBÉS 0345

    Page 276

    V11
    O'er Muskerry's heights and Shehes slopes The waning moon shone pale,
    As I clasped her to my heart that night In Keimaneighs emerald vale.
    And when inside the cottage door Her nimble form did pass,
    The last I saw of my coleen breagh My Inchigeela lass.
    V111
    As I sped through Inniscarra's groves Before the dawn of day,
    Took passage in a Yankee ship That in Queenstown Harbour lay.
    The Captain being a Fenian boy My safety did compass,
    And I sailed away from Granuaile And my Inchigeela lass.
    1X
    What became of Maureen ogue Iveleary's famous flower,
    She drooped as droops the mayflower 'Neath belated wintry showers.
    Ere the autumn trees had shed their leaves They lay her 'neath the grass,
    My promised bride the village pride My Inchigeela lass.

  7. Local Singers

    CBÉS 0360

    Page 084

    And a son of Granuaile.
    I joined the Fenian brotherhood
    In the year of sixty four
    Bound to save our native land
    Or perish on its shore.
    III
    Ah! My curse be on those traitors
    Who did our cause betray,
    I'd tie a rope around their neck
    And drown them in the say(sea).
    They were Sweeney, Massey, Dwyer.
    And Talbot; that makes four
    They are banned and exiled from our land
    And cursed for evermore.

  8. An Unpublished Poem - Donoughmore

    CBÉS 0388

    Page 144

    weary bones.
    In holy graves adorned much by monummented stones.
    Of granite and of marble with a host of choicest flowers.
    Oer _ shadowed by the sycamore and lobely beechen bowers
    And pilgrims fail thro-out Granuaile to find they will explore
    So grand a (rulc) rural cemetery as that of Donoughmore.
    V
    And from that spot how eagerly I long to see the day.
    When the gallant boys of Paddy's land will muster in array.
    To claim their nations birthright with no crave in lip or hand.
    But freedom's sword the only word her foes will understand.
    When fifty thousand exiles will enrol the flag of green.

  9. Thoughts and Longings

    CBÉS 0389

    Page 310

    And hear it as it clamours with solemnity and pride,
    Where St. Lachteen and St. Olann met the valleys to divide.
    Then on towards the silvery Lee it rolls with sullen roar,
    And leaves regretful-like behind its native Donoughmore.
    111
    Oh : dear & sainted Donoughmore, within your very breast,
    The mighty dead of centuries here found a peaceful rest.
    Both priest and lay beneath your clay have laid their weary bones,
    In holy groves adorned much by monumental stones.
    Of granite and of marble with a host of choicest flowers,
    O'er shadowed by the sycamore & lonely beechen bowers.
    And pilgrims fail through Granuaile to find when they explore,
    So grand a rural cemetery as that of Donoughmore.

  10. The Coolroe Eviction

    CBÉS 0874

    Page 041

    (IV)
    The most cowardly action I ever did witness
    When the New Ross brass band to the barracks did come
    I saw a policeman catch the horse by the bridle
    And dash his rifle right thro' the head of the drum
    (V)
    Our American cousins crossed over the Atlantic to see what sort of laws were in old Granuaile.
    O Lord of Anger! they nearly went frantic
    When they heard that James Somers got ten months in gaol.
    (VI)
    The dark clouds are breaking
    You'll soon bid farewell to your sorrow and woe
    In a few days more you'll hear Gladstone's voice speaking
    Saying "Jimmy, you miser, pack your bundle and go."

  11. The Battle of Kilcumney

    CBÉS 0904

    Page 311

    (Traditional Ballad Composer Unknown).
    'Twas in the year of '98 that time of blood and woe,
    When many a Saxon reeled beneath the rebels vengeful blow.
    When Brittania's troops before them flew like chaff upon the gale
    As they heard a dreadful war cry of the sons of Granuaile.
    2.
    On June, the six and twentieth, I've heard some old men say,
    The Battle of Kilcumney was fought and lost that day.
    The rebels they were routed though they strove with right good will,
    And many a pikeman wandered that night upon the hill.
    3.
    The sun was shining brightly in the Summer afternoon,
    Like burnished gold was gleaming each helmetted dragoon,
    When nine mounted Ancient Britons knocked at John Murphy's gate,
    They burst the wickets open, no answer would they wait.

  12. The Orange Walk - The Battle of Ardrum Hill

    CBÉS 0225

    Page 156

    At our first engagement we made a great attack,
    We broke their guns and bayonets, and put the Orange back.
    Their numbers strong were ten to one. Our brave boys did not fail,
    Till we showed the scum we were the sons of poor old Granuaile.
    If you were to see our Irish boys when the balls began to fly!
    They did not discommode us-sure they only passed us by.
    We fought them on courageously. Of men we had but few.
    To see them fall you'd compare it to the plain of Waterloo.
    Fifty rounds, upon the ground, they fired at our men.
    But fortune well had favoured us; they could not pierce our skin.
    At our right side we had a guide, although he sat within,
    Their balls of lead, he laid them dead, that day in Ardrum Hill.
    When the news came into town, we had won the ground.
    And that they got no more balls,
    Davy Knott broke up his pot
    And swore he'd kill us all.
    A boxful of stone marbles,
    Old Michael Quaile did send.
    Those ill-bred brats, we'll rid their shops,
    They thought to kill our friends.

  13. O'Neill the Patriot Blacksmith of Carrigallen

    CBÉS 0228

    Page 057a

    I
    'Twas in fair Co. Leitrim in CarrigallenTown
    That brave O'Neill, the blacksmith, our cruel foes put down
    Those bigots thought they'd trample on the friends of Granuaile,
    But Breffni had a leader bold in fearless John O'Neill.
    II
    The cowards called for peace and our braves had left for home
    Then when they saw so few in town they cursed the Church of Rome.
    They swore they'd wipe out rebels then in Carrigallen town.
    "Down, Papists vile," they loudly cried, "Down, Croppies low, lie down."
    III
    O'Neill flung out his weapons then, and marshalled all his men
    White youths were sent to spread the news, through many a hill and glen.
    To fight that mighty multitude it surely did seem vain,
    But quickly on the foemen fell our blows like wintry rain.
    IV
    O'Neill the bold, like Myles of old, is mowing down the Gall,
    The faithful few who still stand true, are pressed against the wall.

  14. The Parish of Sweet Kilmoe

    CBÉS 0287

    Page 120

    and a heart so good and true.
    Her sweet face will haunt with my native home Kilmoe
    4
    Twas from Queenstown Harbour our
    gallant ship set sail
    We had cheerful boys and cheerful girls from dear old Granuaile
    When I was forced to leave my home
    a new one to pursue
    I thought that day my heart would
    break for my native home Kilmoe
    5
    Now to conclude and finish I hope to see the day
    With parents dear and comrades boy's once more to sport and play
    My own coleen when we meet again old vows we will renew
    And will roam the paths on the
    green hillsides the parish of Sweet Kilmoe
    This poem is a very familiar one throughout the parish and is sung

  15. Song - My Inchigeela Lass

    CBÉS 0348

    Page 181

    'Twas the last I saw of my colleen breágh my Inchigeela Lass.
    VI
    I sped through Inniscarra's groves before the dawn of day.
    Took refuge in a Yankee ship that in Queenstown Harbour lay.
    The captain was a Fenian bold my safety to compass.
    I soon set sail from Granuaile and my Inchigeela Lass.
    VII
    And what became of Máirín Óg Eveleary's fairest flower.
    She droops as droops the Mayflower beneath snowy wintry showers.
    Ere Autumn's trees had shed their leaves they had laid her neath the grass.
    That winsome rogue my Máirín Óg my Inchigeela Lass.
    VIII
    Eveleary dear Eveleary far across the ocean waves.
    You hold what I prize most on the earth my Máirín's moss grown grave.
    My present habitation is in Broadway, Boston, Mass.
    But the Buacaill Ruadh is true to you My Inchigeela Lass.

  16. To the Old Tongue

    CBÉS 0450

    Page 188

    When we bartered our own we parted the barriers (sic)
    We pride in the pastimes and sports of the Gael,
    And spurn the Gaelic of learned Saint Brendan,
    We claim to be heirlooms of old Granuaile
    In the language Dhervorgil imported from London
    We're unique ! And today on the face of the globe
    Every race but our own in its language can prattle
    Shout it! Of nations we are the Niobe
    And language and freedom are sunk in the battle
    Arise! and let manhood inscribed on your brow,
    Be stamped on your souls, to go show you have Principles
    Revive the old Tongue that your fathers had, now
    And prove 'tisn't squelched, that it lives- is invincible!
    The press at your back will unearth you our lore
    And teach you like babes at the feet of maternity
    Refuse! You are slaves! You deserve to be more,
    A race of poltroons you'll remain for Eternity
    Patrick Robinson

  17. Amhrán

    “My name is Pat O'Donnell from the county Donegal ¶ For the shooting of James Carey I was tried in London town”

    CBÉS 0458

    Page 211

    I fired at him a second time and pierced him through the heart.
    I gave to him a third volley which made him soon depart.
    Mars Carey she came running down to the cabin where he lay
    And when she saw him lying in his gore
    She trembled with dismay.
    "O'Donnell you shot my husband," Mrs Carey loudly cried.
    "I shot him in my own defence, kind madam," I replied.
    The captain got me arrested and in irons firmly bound,
    And I was ekpt a prisoner till I was landed in Capetown.
    They brought me forth to London my trial for to stand,
    And the prosecuters for the crown were Carey's wife and sons.
    And now if I was a free man and to live for another year
    All traitors and informers I'd make them shake with fear.
    Like St Patrick drove the serpents from our sainted Irish ground
    I'd make them fly before me like the hare before the hounds.
    Farewell to you sweet Donegal that place where I was born.
    Unto the United States that was never known for scorn
    And to poor dear old Granuaile, her hills and valleys green.
    For never more on Erin's shore O'Donnell will be seen.

  18. Poem on Conscription During War Time by John Ryan Patrickswell County Limerick

    CBÉS 0527

    Page 033

    and patient wore from listening to Asquith's "wait and see".
    It appears we should be waiting until the day of doom.
    With martial law dictating, to supplement Home Rule.
    (VI)
    The Rule they always give us was the gibbet and the jail.
    The battering ram and oil can for the sons of Granuaile.
    The emigrant ship to take us, some foreign land to seek.
    And gunboat shell to raid us as they did in Easter week.
    (VII)
    Now use your voice in one, my boys, and shout from shore to shore.
    And prove it to the world you are Paddies evermore.
    What we have done in Flanders, let us stop to do at home.
    And we ne'er shall fight 'neath any flag unless beneath our own.
    (VIII)
    So boys remember Limerick, let it be your battle cry.
    And Easter Week in Dublin, where our gallant sons did die.
    God will be our commander, and he will lead us in the charge.
    Then we'll face the British bullets and the tyranny of Lloyd George..

  19. The Battle of Kilcumney

    CBÉS 0880

    Page 455

    1.
    'Twas in the year of '98, that time
    of blood and woe,
    When many a saxon reeled beneath
    the rebels vengeful blow.
    When Brittanias troops before them flew
    like chaff upon the gale.
    As the heard the dreadful war-cry of
    the sons of Granuaile.
    2.
    On June the six and twentieth, I've heard
    some old men say.
    The Battle of Kilcumney was fought and
    Lost that day.
    The rebels they were routed though
    the fought with right good will,
    And many a pikeman wandered that
    night upon the hill.

  20. John Mandeville

    CBÉS 0960

    Page 124

    John Mandeville
    I
    There's a pillar from the Irish cause
    A spirit from us fled
    Come mourn you gallant Irishmen
    John Mandeville is dead.
    A murmuring wail from Granuaile
    Is heard from shore to shore
    For that departed patriot
    Who died in Tullamore.. Granie Maol.
    II
    In a fair downtrodden Irish cause
    He spoke up like a man
    To gain reduction in our rent
    For little spoils of land
    He proved himself successful
    To the ones the ground did till
    And the King's town tenants long to bless
    The bones of Mandeville
    III
    For a speech he made at Mitchel's town