Paul Brady – Arthur McBride

Sheet music available here.

Lyrics:

Oh me and me cousin one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walkin’ down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it bein’ on Christmas mornin’.
Out for recreation we went on a tramp
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp
For the day bein’ pleasant and charmin’.

“Good mornin’, good mornin’,” the Sergeant did cry
“And the same to you gentlemen,” we did reply
Intendin’ no harm but meant to pass by
For it bein’ on Christmas mornin’.
“But,” says he, “my fine fellows, if you will enlist
It’s ten guineas in gold I will slip in your fist
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust
And drink the King’s health in the mornin’.”

“For a soldier he leads a very fine life
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife
And always lives pleasant and charmin’.
And a soldier he always is decent and clean
In the finest of clothin’ he’s constantly seen
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean
And sup on thin gruel in the mornin’.”

“Well,” says Arthur, “I wouldn’t be proud of your clothes
For you’ve only the lend of them as I suppose
And you dare not change them one night for you know
If you do you’ll be flogged in the mornin’.
And although that we are single and free
We take great delight in our own company
And we have no desire strange faces to see
Although that your offers are charmin’.”

“And we have no desire to take your advance
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance
For you would have no scruples for to send us to France
Where we would get shot without warnin’.”

“Oh no,” says the Sergeant, “I’ll have no such chat
And I neither will take it from spalpeen or brat
For if you insult me with one other word
I’ll cut off your heads in the mornin’.”
And then Arthur and I we soon drew our hods
And we scarce gave them time for to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their heads
And bade them take that as fair warning.

And their trusty of rapiers that hung by their side
We flung them as far as we could in the tide
“Now take them out devils,” cried Arthur McBride
“And temper their edge in the mornin’.”
And the little wee drummer we flattened his pow
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to row
And bade it a tedious returning.

And we havin’ no money paid them off in cracks
And we paid no respect to their two bloody backs
For we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks
And left them for dead in the mornin’.
And so to conclude and to finish disputes
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp in the mornin’.

Oh me and me cousin one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walkin’ down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it bein’ on Christmas mornin’.

• No warning had been given to any civilians before the soldiers opened fire
• None of the soldiers fired in response to attacks by petrol bombers or stone throwers
• Some of those killed or injured were clearly fleeing or going to help those injured or dying
• None of the casualties was posing a threat or doing anything that would justify their shooting
• Many of the soldiers lied about their actions
• The events of Bloody Sunday were not premeditated
• Northern Ireland’s Deputy First Minister Martin McGuinness, Sinn Fein, was present at the time of the violence and “probably armed with a sub-machine gun” but did not engage in “any activity that provided any of the soldiers with any justification for opening fire”

The inquiry ran for 12 years at an ultimate expense of £195M. Its findings have been widely greeted positively.

What I post today is not directly connected but certainly not unrelated: a debate — I use the term loosely — between Fintan O’Toole of the Irish Times and members of the Wolfe Tones, an Irish rebel music band who have enjoyed a long, successful career. Fintan contends their music and their style of performing are inherently racist and filled with hate-speech, while the Wolfe Tones assert that… Well, that Fintan is lacking a sense of humour, that his knowledge of the history of The Troubles is lacking and that he shouldn’t be able to consider himself Irish.

While even after having watched it countless times, to me it is completely obvious who wins this farce of a “debate”, the Youtube comments tell a different story:

In any event, here is the “debate”, in full:

On Ar Stáitse, remastered recordings of old concerts in Ireland are shown. I watched the Andy Irvine one and was absolutely blown away. This is Irish trad at its very best. Here it is in 4 parts, with my (probably slightly inaccurate) translations of the Irish that appears during the video.

• This show was first shown on RTÉ in 1976.
• Andy was born in London in 1942.
• He learned classical guitar under Julian Bream but when he was 15 years old, he heard Lonnie Donnegan and set up a skiffle band himself!
• He went regularly to O’Donoghues pub in Dublin in the 60s, where he met Ronnie Drew, Luke Kelly and Johnny Moynihan, amongst others.

• In 1966 Andy set up “Sweeney’s Men” with Johnny Moynihan and Joe Dolan from Galway. The name was a reference to the old pagan God, Suíbhne.
• With “Sweeney’s Men” he had big hits with “Old Maid In The Garrett” and “The Waxie’s Dargle”.

• In 1972 Christy Moore released his second album. Playing with him were Andy, Dónal Lunny and Liam Óg Ó Floinn. “Prosperous” was the name of the album and out of it grew the band “Planxty”.
• For a period in the mid 70s Andy was a member of two groups at the same time: Dé Danann and as a duo with Paul Brady.

• Eventually, in 1979, Andy released his first solo album, “Rainy Sundays… Windy Dreams”.
• Amongst the other groups which Andy was central in were “Mosaic” and “Patrick Street” which have released two albums since 1997.
• Lots more information available at www.andyirvine.com

…with another London winter looming and my lease running out, I decided I needed a change. Within days, I had arranged a sublet on a cheap apartment in Berlin and found a friend gracious enough to give my boxes basement space.

After this article, which is definitely worth the read if you haven’t come across it before, there wasn’t a peep out of her, and I’d become suspicious that she’d perhaps fallen prey to Berlin’s wilder side and been checked into a mental institution. Thankfully, that was just my imagination running riot, and she’s back today with another article:

Six months on, I’m in the throes of a full-blown crush and like all newly besotted people, I’m kind of insufferable. On a bad day, I’ll argue that Berlin is woven from a blend of cashmere and unicorn milk known to solve nine out of 10 Middle Eastern crises and eliminate e-mail spam.

Apparently, the shower in her profoundly beautiful apartment was going on the blink. She writes of the German work ethic:

… Ten minutes later, a plumber phoned and told me he was terribly sorry, but it would not be possible for him to attend to my situation until perhaps 3pm. At that point, it was noon.

And of the unique reaction to the world-wide downturn that Berlin has taken:

A recent article in Der Spiegel online confirmed what I guessed already; the recession is not hitting Berlin in the same way it is affecting the rest of the world. With jobs not there to be lost, and consumerism already scaled back, Berlin appears to be practically immune to the black panic gripping the rest of the world.

Or, as one gallery owner quoted in the Der Spiegel piece puts it: “Berlin is now the only place in the world you can go where everyone isn’t depressed. In this evolutionary cycle, they’re perfectly adapted for survival.”

Clearly, much credit must go to the quality of Berlin’s social services (high) and its price of living (low) but increasingly, I wonder whether some tiny, seemingly trivial differences may, in fact, be the opposable thumbs of city evolution.

Thanks to John for bringing this new article to my attention!

Classy stuff. You don’t find a great night like this on the continent, I tell ye.

More of the same here.

The humour was often surreal. During the days of rationing in the “Emergency”,  as the second World War was officially known in this State, Myles suggested that the dative case or “tuiseal tabharthach” in Irish be sacrificed as an unnecessary luxury.

The second article, printed in the Independent, is a short, humourous, satirical piece, lampooning the current Taoiseach and RTÉ‘s handling of the “picturegate” affair, when it seemed as if the Taoiseach’s office was dictating to the national broadcaster what it could and could not cover on the news.