KILKELLY

KILKELLY NOTE: This hobby home recording is a tribute cover only, done under fair use and no monetary gain from the posting of it is involved. No copyright infringement is intended. Yers Trooly first encountered this song being sung by Robbie O'Connell when the old Ceilidh Cowboys were billed at the first Reno Celtic Celebration alongside Robbie and his uncles, the Clancy Brothers. The song was truly haunting, and a few years later the "Me, Myself & I" lads made a few experimental wall-of-sound recordings--forget dynamics--engineered by GalPal Gail Muldrow at her studio. MM&I has rummaged through the attic archives once again and dug up our original recording--one of "our" first, and perhaps still Yers Trooly's personal fav'rit. Song origin: Thirty years ago or so, a chap named Peter Jones discovered in his parents' attic a collection of century-old letters sent by his great-great-great grandfather to his son who had emigrated from Kilkelly, Kilmovee Parish, County Mayo, to work on the American railroads. The old man could neither read nor write and, as was the village custom in those days, dictated his missives to the schoolmaster who jotted them down more or less as follows. Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 60, my dear and loving son John Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara's so good As to write these words down. Your brothers have all gone to find work in England, The house is so empty and sad The crop of potatoes is sorely infected, A third to a half of them bad. And your sister Brigid and Patrick O'Donnell Are going to be married in June. Your mother says not to work on the railroad And be sure to come on home soon. Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 70, my dear and loving son John Hello to your Mrs and to your 4 children, May they grow healthy and strong. Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble, I guess that he never will learn. Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of And now we have nothing to burn. Brigid is happy, you named a child for her Although she's got six of her own. You say you found work, but you don't say What kind or when you will be coming home. Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 80, dear Michael and John, my sons I'm sorry to give you the very sad news That your dear old mother has gone. We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly, Your brothers and Brigid were there. You don't have to worry, she died very quickly, Remember her in your prayers. And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning, With money he's sure to buy land For the crop has been poor and the people Are selling for any price that they can. Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 90, my dear and loving son John I suppose that I must be close on to eighty, It's been thirty years since you're gone. Because of all of the money you send me, I'm still living out on my own. Michael has built himself a fine house And Brigid's daughters have grown. Thank you for sending your family picture, They're lovely young women and men. You say that you might even come for a visit, What joy to see you again. Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 92, my dear brother John I'm sorry that I didn't write sooner to tell you that father passed on. He was living with Brigid, she says he was cheerful And healthy right down to the end. Ah, you should have seen him playing with The grandchildren of Pat McNamara, your friend. We buried him alongside of mother, Down at the Kilkelly churchyard. He was a strong and a feisty old man, Considering his life was so hard. And it's funny the way he kept talking about you, He called for you at the end. Oh, why don't you think about coming to visit, We'd all love to see you again.