My Inbox held a special treat - news of the new album by a special Voice in my life - Kevin Rowland.
Now for my grandson's musical edification I play 'C'mon Eileen' to show the kind of place related to me - hanging out at the corner shop 1970's with me mates...
"Take Me Home Again Kathleen" is Mum's favourite because of her name, but after finally hearing all the lyrics I hope she won't get too maudlin...Kevin's version doesn't stray from the sentimental/end of the night/Irish coffee/Celtic dreaming our Mum enjoyed.
AS A REBEL Kid BRUMMIE watching the BBC News at 9 when Mum was carousing, I was SIDING WITH the under-dog IRISH REPUBLICANS. The then Government censored the voice of the Irish leaders. I was 10 and wasn't amused by No.10!
It had been a shock to find my family tree had so many Scots/Irish kin employed by the British Government!
Thanks to the Dexy's I now have a song to feel the Celtic Irish heritage from my mother, and the lives of my
IRISH CATHOLIC SOLDIERS FOR THE BRITISH EMPIRE. 1870
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| 3rd GF James Fegan regiment |
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| For Millennia the flat grasslands have attracted Celtic warriors, Soldiers, and Horses. St. Brigid aquired a gift of land for a monastery from the King of Leinster
"Army Brats"
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| Great Great Grandmother Catherine Fegan daughter to James Fagan and Margaret Healy. |
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Flemingstown |
The Curragh of Kildare had always been picked for the training of warriors and horses.
Naas was founded, according to Bardic tradition, by Lewy of the Long Hand, and from the earliest times was an important centre. It was for almost seven centuries the seat of the Kings of Leinster. The last King to reside here was Cearbhall who died in AD904, St Patrick visited Naas in AD448 and baptised King Dunling’s children at the well at Oldtown, near the town.(Kildare Local History)
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| The Curragh racecourse Little did my Mum know her links when she put on her bets! |
Apparently this traditional folk song called The Curragh of Kildare is sang every year just before the Irish Derby is run. Punters on the course do it, punters in Irish pubs around the world do it. Now the Dexy's are doing it!
Catherine's father James was a Royal Irish Fusilier. To join up meant earning a regular wage and food for his growing family - after growing up through the Famine years. Her mother may well have considered this Red Coat, a catch!
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| Royal Irish Fusiliers |
http://christymoore.com
trad/arr: Christy Moore
"I gleaned this song from The P.W. Joyce collection in 1964.Donal Lunny and I arranged this song into its present shape.The original was written by Scotlands poet laureate Robbie Burns.It tells the story of a young Scottish woman whose lover is away soldiering for the Queen in the Curragh of Kildare.She decides to present herself for recruitment disguised as a young fellow.We never get to hear the outcome. Certainly a good case for a sequel. " Christy Moore
CURRAGH OF KILDARE
The winter it has passed
And the summer's come at last
The small birds are singing in the trees
And their little hearts are glad
Ah, but mine is very sad
Since my true love is far away from me.
And straight I will repair
To the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I'll finds tidings of my dear
The rose upon the briar
By the water's running clear
Brings joy to the linnet and the bee
And their little hearts are blessed
But mine can know no rest
Since my true love is far away from me.
A livery I'll wear
And I'll comb back my hair
And in velvet so green I will appear
And straight I will repair
To the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I'll find tidings of my dear.
Aye and cannot it remove
I pity the pain that you endure
For experience lets me know
That your hearts are filled with woe
It's a woe that no mortal can cure.
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| REDCOAT ANCESTOR JAMES FEGAN ROYAL DUBLIN FUSILIERS 1870 |
The Other Women on the Curragh:
"The soldiers called them ‘wrens’ because their homes looked like nests. There were ten nests in total, each one stitched into a dense strip of gorse just a few hundred metres from the entrance to the army camp. They measured no more than nine foot long and seven foot broad. The roof, if you could call it that, stood just 4½ foot high. There was no window, no chimney. But the walls were impressive, 20 foot thick in places, a closely compacted mesh of bog earth and gorse branches. "A Curragh Wren story
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