
Quest for Liberty 2024 is number two in a trilogy of journeys.
The Journey of the Ulster Muse has been presented as a stage show in theatres in Northern Ireland in 2023. It traces the origins and the journey of the Muse - from ancient times, through history to the present day and beyond.
Journey number three is an exploration in the understanding of life in the natural world – beyond the mundane of the material world - Beyond The Moss and Beyond the Mountain. This will be released during 2024.
All three journeys are interconnected and will come together in the old-fashioned hard-copy book - along with music, songs and poems on CD format. The music will not be available to download digitally, via Spotify, or any other global outfit connected to the global corporate music industry.
My personal quest for freedom began at birth, as it does for everybody. By the time I was in my mid teens it became evident to me that my main purpose for being on this planet was to follow the road to freedom, The education system failed to teach me what I wanted to learn. I have been on a voyage of discovery ever since. Everyone who has embarked on their personal road to freedom will be aware of the many difficulties, challenges and pitfalls that are inevitable along the way. The powers-that-be don't want the pesky people traversing roads they don't have control over.
In our lifetimes we may never get to experience the ultimate true freedom we seek to find. That journey though – that quest for freedom, is a marvel in itself. I am so glad to still be on that road – especially in these times when an attempt is being made to turn our planet into a prison.
There are 20 tracks on the Quest For Liberty 2024 Album - some created and recorded since the Lockdowns of March 2020, along with earlier creations and recordings that have much relevance to the current state of affairs. Some have been recorded in a professional studio with professional recording engineer, David McClean, and some have been solo efforts recorded at home. I must say a big thank you to band members and fellow musicians who have contributed to this project.
Much of the content of this album addresses the issues currently attacking our freedoms and human rights due to globalist control over governments, wars, money, information, education, food, energy, and property. Each track has a story of introduction which is included in written form along with the CD disc. For me, the story is just as important as the music.
Music however is more important now than ever as music allow us to escape their new world order of things. Music and creative expression has always allowed us to do this.- right back to ancient times' In the 21st Century it still offers hope of escape back to the free world.
At this time it is crucial that we remain hopeful - that we each consider how we can use our personal skills to adapt to the Fourth Industrial Revolution. I have also been been busy developing a vegetable garden for the past three years.
With access to information so seriously restricted, mainstream media's delivery of their news so distorted, surveillance so intense and travel made increasingly difficult – it is now crucially important for like-minded people to get together to exchange ideas and discuss how skills and services can best be shared within communities. The sharing of music and all the other creative art forms can be a significant addition to such gatherings. This is one of my main objectives for this album. I have several musician friends and artistic colleagues who are with me on this and I hope this album will inspire others to get their artistic creations out there and on to the road towards freedom and liberty.
Those of us who understand have arrived via various means. The bible, dystopian novels, naturally inquisitive minds that question authority, or perhaps just events since March 2020, have encouraged us to research and ponder. I have a wee bit of all of that - so no hope for me of ever waking up some morning and discovering it was all just a bad dream.
There are those who remain totally oblivious – as well as those who do fully understand and are very happy to remain obedient and compliant as they reap benefits of wealth, security and enhanced position in the System.
There also those so busy making ends meet, who have no easy access to alternative information and news, who's gut instincts tell them something is not right. It is my hope that my wee effort in this album will encourage at least a few of these people to seek and pursue alternative information.
I also hope that this album will offer some comfort to those who are wise to what's happening - but are without empathy and support from family, friends or colleagues, and feel they are on their own.
We are at a time when dystopian novels and biblical prophecy are coming to fruition - a time when those who speak out against global authority are silenced, cancelled, ostracized and worse.
No promises of global gold or other wordly benefits will ever change my stance. No amount of silencing, cancelling, coercion, threat of imprisonment or threat of violence could cause me to capitulate and comply.
Where Have All The Rockers Gone?
In the initial version of this song I also inquired where others have gone to as well. But as the answer was always the same I decided to keep the recording brief. Included were rebels who rebelled the whole system, all things orthodox and all things inside the box – hippies who stood against corporate greed and Earth destruction - and bandits who once robbed the banks and now work for the big banks instead.
It is perhaps unfair to mention only those listed above as people in all walks of life, in all work sectors have been bought, conditioned, compromised, seduced and/or coerced into the System. When most journalists, musicians and creative writers across the planet, however, can no longer see the trees for the forest, then surely that tells us the people of this planet are in big bother? They were once-upon-a-time renowned for being initiators of social and political change.
Where have all the rockers gone
Where have they all gone?
In the free world of Rock n Roll
They swore they'd never sell their soul
Rock n Roll was revolution
Their Rockin in the free world big solution
But most got bought by government
By Big Bank Establishment
By big global corporation
The ones who own and run our nation.
Where have all the journalists gone
Where have they all gone?
They once had independent views
They might even challenge global news
They would probe and investigate
And initiate free debate.
No Whiskey In The Jar [Moonshine In The Jar]
When trying to figure out how and why our world is currently in the state it is in, it is best to first examine the root cause – the money. Everything is related to those who control the money – the fiat money, the phoney money.
This song was originally written around the time of the global economic crash of 2008. It was also relevant around the time of the EU Referendum. It is even more relevant right now.
As I was going over life's great big scary mountain
I met the fat-cat bankers, all their money they were countin'
With their friends in the media and their corporate advisors
I said stand and deliver for youse are the boul deceivers.
With me ring dum dey do dum de dah
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o
No whiskey in the jar. [There's moonshine in the jar - last Chorus]
Well with my trusty laptop I just took their money
And stuck in in my pocket for it looked a pretty penny
But I knew it was all wrong as soon as I got to thinkin'
For their money it was boggin' their money it was stinkin'.
I went home to my chamber for to take my slumber
I dreamt a crazy dream for sure it was no wonder.
But my friends they did betray me, they rung their politician
And toul them that my dream could start some revolution.
It was early in the mornin' before I riz to journey
Up comes the Establishment with their own wee private army
They looks in my computer and sez I was not clever
They'd evidence enough to lock me up for ever.
If anyone can save me, it's my sisters and my brothers
If we'd all get together we could stand by one an other
We could tell them where to stuff it, where they would not think it funny
We could tell them where to go with all their phoney money.
There's moonshine in the jar and moonshine in the car.
On the Road to Freedom.
This original version of this song song was written sometime ago, in 2017 I think, and was on The Willie Drennan Wired Up Again Album. This was a collaboration with blues rock guitarist, David McClean. This slight variation of the original was recorded at the time of the Lockdown protests at Belfast City Hall, 2021/22.. In 2024 we're still on the Road To Freedom and we've been joined by many others. But for now we seem to be in the darkest glen part.
We’re on the road, we're on the road
We're on the road to freedom now
So shed your heavy load and join us on the road
On the road to freedom now.
To find the road to freedom you take the trail
Where some folks weep and some folks wail
Then take the long winding lane
To feel the wrath and feel the pain.
All roads to freedom are not the same
You might cross Sorrow you might catch Blame
But once you make it round the final bend
It’s all the same freedom in the end.
Just like the fox who roams at night
Across the fields in pale moonlight
She loves to follow freedom’s way
Down her own freedom road
She love’s to stray.
And she knows that road with danger is fraught
She knows by dawn she might get shot
And if she never makes it round the final bend
It’s still the same freedom in the end.
That road goes up the highest hill
To view the world and feel the thrill
Then out across the seven seas
To feel the world in the breeze.
But first it’s down the darkest glen
When you’re out of there you don’t know when
But once you make it round the final bend
You will feel freedom in the end.
Open the Gate
Written during Lockdown in 2020. For most of us the gates have been opened – for now.
Open the gate and let me out
Get me to the world all round about
Open the gate and set me free
So I can play some rhapsody
Open the gate and let me out
Get me to the world all round about
Open the gate and set me free
So I can play some rhapsody.
When is it all ever going to stop?
Seems to me it's gone over the top
I'm afraid this is my suspicion
But don't ask me I'm just a musician.
There's folk shut in and shops shut down
Masquerade balls everyday downtown
Seems dumb to me and getting dumber
But then I am just a Lambeg drummer.
As if other illness never mattered
The economy all shot and shattered
More lockdown would surely blow it?
But what do I know sure I'm just a poet.
You may think I am a ranting raver
A delinquent chronic misbehaver
But I'm just a fiddler and a fluter
A fifer and whistle tooter.
The Whole Wide World's Gone Mad
Written during Lockdown in 2020. The world's not any saner in 2024.
The whole wide world's gone mad
The whole wide world's gone mad
It's birlin roon upside doon
The whole wide world's gone mad.
Got lost in a dream the other day
Out o'er the fields and far away
Down through the glen and o'er the mountain
Drinking Adam's ale straight from the fountain
Heard the waves lap upon the shore
Just sea and sky who could ask for more
But lost in the dream I lost my thought
Lost in the dream I clean forgot
The whole wide world's gone mad.
As the universitee and the TV
Rewrite their own historee
It's no longer all just black and white
When right was not wrong and wrong was not right
Now as anti-Fascist means the same
As Fascist – who do we blame?
It will never be the same as it used to be
Till you blow up your TV to be free
For the whole wide world's gone mad.
They have me and you trained what to do
When China sends a brand new flu
They try control what we see and hear
To fill our heads all full of fear
It's all upside down and inside out
Makes you want to yell and scream and shout
It's all just like some very bad dream
Makes you want to yell and shout and scream
The whole wide world's gone mad.
Got lost in a dream the other day
Out o'er the fields and far away
Down through the glen and o'er the mountain
Drinking Adam's ale straight from the fountain
Heard the waves lap upon the shore
Just sea and sky who could ask for more
But lost in the dream I lost my thought
Lost in the dream I clean forgot
The whole wide world's gone mad.
Over the Hills And Far Away
It is me singing on this but written and composed by David McClean. It's not just me who has had notions of escaping to some place far, far away beyond the madness. That place is just in our dream state at the moment - but it's a start. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the famous Russian writer who was sent to the Gulag for daring to share bad thoughts, in a personal letter to a friend, about the tyrannical Joseph Stalin - was able to survive imprisonment from 1945 to 1953 by escaping to sunshine and open green countryside - in his creative imagination. We should all endeavour to master that art.
Hey ho away we go over the hills and far away
Hey ho away we go over the hills and far away
Heard about a land that's far away
Take you more than a year and a day
Heard about a place where the wild wind blows
What will we do there nobody knows
Heard about a place where spirits run free
Sounds like a land for you and me
Up to the mountains down to the glen
When will we get there we don't know when
Sing us a song that's old and clear
Sung by a man for a thousand year
Heard by the rocks and the wind and the rain
Far far away and back again
Come to the land of the brave and the true
Loved by the many but seen by the few
Come to the place that's pure and free
Sounds like the land for you and me.
Fishing – Ever Since The World Begun
One of the travesties of globalisation is the centralised control and destruction of our food industry by the globalist corporations - in other words the control and destruction of our food supply. They have gradually been taking control of all prime farmland land and the seas. This song was inspired by a video clip I watched where a fisherman, from a long line of English traditional fishermen, lamented that his young son would probably not be allowed to carry on the family tradition.
My daddy was a fisherman, my grandad was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Ever since the world begun, ever since the world begun
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Plaice and pollock and coley and cod, mackeral, bass and skate,
Herrings and haddock and hake and sole, in abundance for your plate.
Down by the dock we'd smoke and cure all the extra fish we caught,
They come from the town and all around and all our fish they bought.
Then big boats came from far away to plunder off our shore,
They wrecked the seabed and left fish for dead and come back to plunder more.
My daddy was a fisherman, my granda was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
All the bureaucracy and all the greed made my daddy weep and wail,
He says I fear for you my only son, no fishing boat you'll sail.
My daddy was a fisherman, my grandad was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Ever since the world begun, ever since the world begun
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Farewell to the Far-off Land
During the Lockdowns many folk wondered when they would ever see loved ones again – who lived in far-off lands. In previous times it was common for folk to emigrate to far-off lands and pine for their loved ones and for the sights, sounds and smells of their homeland. Most of them never got the opportunity to travel back to their homeland during their lifetime. The Lockdowns gave us a taste for what that was like and what it can be like again if and when more permanent globalist travel bans are inflicted upon us common folk.
Took off to roam out o'er the foam
Far away from my native home
Took off to roam out o'er the sea
To the land they call Land of the Free
I left behind my sweetheart true
To sail out o'er the ocean blue
And left my parents to wail and weep
To sail out o'er the ocean deep.
Don't tell me now I'll never return
To hear the water run in the burn
Nor hear sweet music in the breeze
By the oak and ash and willow trees.
Don't tell me now I'll never again
Sail back o'er the raging main
To never no more smell the earth
In the far-off land of my birth.
Folkybilly Rock n Roll
This song written in 2017, addresses the fact that the globalised Music Industry has called the shots for many years now. They determine what gets played on the airwaves and who gets to be part of their system. Only the complicit need apply.
Folkybilly, not to be confused with folkabilly, is an attempt at creating a variant of other genres that would never get acknowledged by the Music Industry authorities. To date it has worked.
You can dance all night when the moon is shining bright
Folkybilly Rock n Roll
You can dance all night when the moon is shining bright
So good for your soul
Folkybilly RocknRoll, so good for your soul
Folkybilly RocknRoll, so good for your soul.
They say this song is just a curse and the tune is ten times worse
They say the beat would drive you mad, that makes us all oh so glad.
Folkybilly RocknRoll, so good for your soul
Folkybilly RocknRoll, so good for your soul.
Their music they would make you hear. They blast it in your ear
They would tell you how to dance. You like different? - here's your chance.
Different Road
Written in 2018
Down Different Road you should always go
It goes to and fro and you never know
No, you never know where it might end
It goes up and down and round the bend.
Down Different Road they beat a big drum
They play loud guitar till the Kingdom Come
They do the Lambeg Boogie to Rock n' Roll Blues
So bring along your dancing shoes.
Never take the road they tell you take
Never take their road for Heaven's sake
They say their road is straight and it is clean
It's safe and sure like it's always been
Down their road, they say, there are no fears
But it just might drive you to your tears
It's save they say if you do what your told
It's not for the brave, not for the bold.
Never heed what they tell you on TV
Never heed what you see on BBC
If they tell you it's right it's probably wrong
So just you sing your different song.
Sing out loud like the rooster crowed
As you dance along your Different Road
When you turn down right on Different Street
All the Different people you will meet.
Belfast Smart City
Belfast, like the City of London and Leeds, is a World Economic Forum Smart City. This means Belfast will be ahead of the game when it comes to all things designated Smart by the WEF - including artificial intelligence, mass-surveillance, high velocity 5G/6G and Digital ID linked to personal bank accounts.
I get the impression that most folk who live in Belfast don't know they are in a Smart City - and among those who do know, some think that's a good thing.
Belfast all Smart Smart
Could lose its soul and heart and all
All Smart Smart Smart Smart
Is not very smart at all.
Smart Belfast could lose its soul
As Klaus Schwab takes control
Of Belfast heart an all
Not very smart at all at all
Never heed new Smart Alecs
All talkin new Smart Bollicks
In wee world of their own on new Smart phone.
In 15 minute new Smart Zone.
New Smart subservience
Smart watch surveillance
Artificial Intelligence
Artificial Independence
5G high frequency
CBDC, Digital ID
Smart reality on your settee
As they watch you watch Smart TV.
Belfast all Smart Smart
Could lose its soul and heart and all
All Smart Smart Smart Smart
Is not very smart at all.
The People of Belfast – spoken word.
The story of Belfast is not drastically different from the story of port cities across the British Isles. A significant difference however is the extent of internal divisions that have been inflicted upon the people of this city. The spirit of humanity always finds a way to see beyond the manipulations of the powers-that-be. That spirit is being tested once again.
Beneath the hills, by the sandy ford where the river met the Lough, a settlement was formed as people arrived from across the sea.
That small settlement was a hamlet, then a village, then a town thriving on the fruits of sea and land.
The 2nd Industrial Revolution saw folk flock from Belfast's hinterland to join the mechanical revolution - a city was born.
The people of the city of Belfast formed a tight-knit independent community – yet co-reliant upon each other for survival, mutual support and bonding.
The people had their differences, divisions and struggles, but the strength and warmth within the Belfast heart and soul saw them through.
WW1 tested like never before as few homes in the terraced-row escaped the knock on the door from the telegram man dressed in black - the moment parents learned their son would never return from the war on some far-off shore.
In WW2 the foreign foe blitzed the city - killing one thousand people, temporarily displacing a hundred thousand more as the city was flattened by Nazi bombs.
And later in that century the troubles divided the people. Peace Walls were built – which weren't really walls of peace at all, but walls that demarcated zones of division.
But still the sprit of the people won the day as the walls of division, like walls of Jericho, like walls of Berlin, came tumbling down.
And in today's new world new challenges of the New-Age will see new attempts to disrupt harmony and create brand new virtual walls of division.
As the new foe, from beyond and within, invades under cover of darkness, to try divide and conquer the people once more.
Virtual brown envelopes, stuffed with virtual global gold get passed around to secure support for their 4th Industrial Revolution - while others remain oblivious to what's going on.
But the warmth and strength within the hearts of the people of Belfast will always be there, as in days of yore,
The ancient passion for freedom is inherited – the call of freedom still heard loud and clear,
still held secure within the spirit of the People of Belfast.
People of Belfast - the music.
A wee tune to celebrate the warmth and strength within the hearts of the people of Belfast.
Boyne Water /Battle Cry of Munster
For people who live on the island of Ireland, or indeed anywhere in the British Isles, a good place to start trying to understand historic and present-day wars, is to examine the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. The battlefield at the Boyne was right beside Newgrange and other ancient megalithic sites. There is much more to this battle than the history books tell us. But that's another story for another day. The Boyne Water is a well known tune in the Orange tradition. I'm not too sure of the origins of the Battle Cry of Munster but I do know that the two tunes are very similar. I also know, from experience, that when I play the Boyne Water along with traditional Irish musicians from Munster playing the Battle Cry of Munster, something other than battle cries can be experienced. When the tune/tunes are shared and played without lyrics, other than lilting in the traditional mouthh music style, the result is primal passion that's a far cry from being in battle mode. The sharing of music in this way offers hope of seeing beyond historic division and conflict so that we can understand the present.
Christmas Eve in No Man's Land
From my Christmastime Album of 2021
Young British soldiers in their trenches faced young German soldiers, in their trenches, across No Man's Land .
World War One had already ravaged and savaged. Many lay wounded, many lay dead on both sides
.
Young sons, sons of mothers and fathers, grandsons of grandfathers and grandmothers, brothers of sisters - and lovers with sweethearts and young wives -some were even young fathers of newborns , all off to an early grave in far-off fields.
In a world gone mad. In a Hell upon the Earth,.
But Christmastime is Christmastime.
Yes Christmastime is Christmastime.
Young German lads sang:
Stille nacht, heilige nacht
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
While young English lads sang:
Silent night. Holy night
All is calm all is bright.
Different language, same tune
Different language, same song
Different language, same Christmas message.
Young soldiers from both trenches left their weapons behind as they rise up out of their trenches - out to meet and greet the enemy in the middle of the barren, No Mans Land of mutual anguish and death. Out to meet other young men who were determined to kill each other before the other killed them. In a momentary response to an ancient call of liberty from within ,in a spontaneous blip of instinctual courage.
Gifts were exchanged, photographs were taken, a football was playfully kicked back and forth in the spirit of all that is good about humanity.
And both sides took time to bury their dead.
By Boxing Day both sets of young soldiers were back under the control of their masters. Back to the reality of what war was meant to be about. It was back to the sheer insanity and sheer savagery of war. Back to bombs and bullets. Back to inhumanity.
Young dissenters in their moment of sanity and light, who had defiantly challenged the whole point of what war and social division was all about, were put back in their place.
There were no more Christmas truces for the duration of WW1. And not too many, if any, anywhere ever since.
At Christmastime 2021 the Earth - the Earth divided within nations, divided within communities, once again needs young dissenters to arise from out of the New-Age global trenches of division, in defiance
of their globalist masters.
Parcel Of Rogues.
Rabbie Burns, the Immortal Bard, wrote his political song about an earlier time in Scottish history. He was taking a swipe at the Scottish ruling classes who he reckoned were bought and sold for English gold. That was the situation as he saw it at the time – at that time the City of London already owned the gold, owned the money, owned the establishment and owned the conflicts, divisions and wars.
I have taken a wee bit of poetic license and altered a word or two to connect it to the present. I have been studying the life and works of Burns from the age of fifteen and I am totally certain he would approve. The sentiments of the song are just as important now as they were back then. Perhaps even more important in this day and age as folk today are being bought and sold for tyrant's gold on a global scale.
What force or guille could not subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages.
The tyrant's steel we could disdain
Secure in valour's station
The tyrant's gold has been our bane
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
Oh wud that I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us
In my heid I hear the auld yins say
I hear what it is they tell us
By pith and power til my last hour
I'll mak this declaration
We're bought and sold for tyrant's gold
Such a parcel o rogues in a nation.
Tam Madole
This wee Ulster Scotch ditty goes back to the days of the Ulster Scotch Folk Orchestra 2000 – 2008. When I first recorded this song folk often said to me that not everybody wanted to be like Tam Madole. This included members of my own band. I am thinking now though that surely everybody – at least everybody who is listening to this album – does want to be like the free independent man who can has no bank account, who doesn't believe everything the establishment tells him, who can feed his family from his own produce and can drink clear water from out of his own well?
Chorus
Tam Madole, Tam Madole, Tam Madole
Everybody want tae be like Tam Madole
Like Tam Madole, just like Tam Madole
Everybody wants tae be - Just like Tam Madole.
Tam Madole he whussles an he sings
He aye taaks aboot the finer things
He taaks aboot life an love an joy
The folk aa sez he's some boy
Tam Madole lives just ower the hill -
Rins a wee farm and rins a wee still
Tam Madole he disnae care
He's free like the birds up in the air
Tam Madole never heeds aa he's toul
For he is cannae, thran an bowl
A man o independent mine
He aye reads atween lines.
Tam Madole he has nae bank account
A wheen o pun unner his bed nae big amount
Tam Madole he disnae care
Never gien a penny tae Tony Blair
Tam Madole has aye prootas for his plate
A cock at cras an a pigeon on the gate
He's aye fit tae feed hissel
Drinks clear water fae oot his ain well.
Tam Madole whiussels an he sings
He aye taaks aboot the finer things
He goes didley diddely dee didley diddely dum
As he blaaters awa on a great big drum.
Tam Madole they sez he kens the Lord
A wee bird, que he, gien him the word
His maker he'll meet nae fear ava
He's gan tae heaven when he gets the caa.
Tan Madole danners the fiels an burns
Follies the water as it wimples an turns
Doon the glen richt tae sea
Where he sails aff tae be aye free.
Stand Up and Sing
The original version of this song was written many years ago. It's still as relevant as ever. The message is simple.
Stand up and sing. stand up and sing. Stand up and sing, stand up and sing. [ Chorus]
Like the lark on the wing Get up and do your thing Let's hear the rafters ring.
Stand and sing.
As you saunter along Let them hear your song Tell them you belong.
Where you stand and sing.
As they gather round you And try to confound you And try to surround you.
Stand and sing.
They'll tell you black is white They'll tell you day is night They' ll tell you wrong is right.
Stand and sing.
They've been out to get you. They'll wish they never met you They'll wish they'd never let you
Stand and sing.
When they shove you around Just stand your ground Tell them we're glory bound
Stand and sing.
Like the breeze in the bushes Like the river that rushes The gentle tide that hushes.
Stand up and sing.
Like the morning choir. That cheers the dawning hour. Sing your songs afar
Stand and sing.
Back To The Free World
Written in 2023. They might get to our body but not our soul.
Back to the free world you and me
Back to the real world to be free
Back to the free world, you and I
We hear the call, we hear the cry.
The road to freedom we know it well
It's the road that goes beyond their Hell
It's the road that sees beyond it all
We hear the cry, we hear the call.
It's back now to the call of wonder
Beyond the lightning and the thunder
Back to the call of the wild
Back to the cry of the child.
Beyond all the fear and all the battle
All the uproar and all the rattle
Beyond the sea back to the stream
Beyond the mountain, back to the dream.
Our dream's for real, like reality
It is for real like eternity
It sees beyond indoctrination
Beyond their manipulation.
They can't stop us now with chains of fear
The call of freedom is loud and clear
They can't stop us now with their control
Might get to our body but not our soul.
The road to freedom we know it well
It's the road that goes beyond their hell
It's the road that sees beyond it all
We hear the cry, we hear the call.
Liberty 2024
Once again I've taken advantage of the mighty work of Rabbie Burns to highlight how the patterns of history repeat - from ancient times to the present day. I have obviously taken Burns' Scots Wha Hae Wi Wallace Bled - which references struggles for liberty in 1314 and connected it to current quests for liberty in 2024. - for people all over Planet Earth.
Wars and conflicts have forever been created by those who seek to divide and conquer for purpose of expanding their personal wealth and power. The two world wars of the 20th Century and the current wars in Ukraine/Russia and Israel/Palestine are classic examples of contrived wars. As in historic battles they seem totally futile and yet the unfortunate people in the battle zones feel they have no choice but to fight to defend their liberty.
The only way to avoid such futile wars is for the majority of all people to understand they are been conned, coerced and manipulated – to understand that their real enemy is not other people but the evil cabal who want to control all people. We all need to know and understand the enemy.
Liberty 2024 is not a call to arms but a call to understand that we are currently being used in the same way as our forebears have been used. This time round it is different in that it is on a global scale. Nation states,communities and families have been systematically divided, used and abused all across the planet. In our quest for liberty in 2024 we must respect and find the courage of our forebears who fought and died for our rights and freedoms. We must demand a return to the true democracy that they stood for. We can achieve this by understanding the enemy – by never complying or capitulating to their outrageous mandates and manipulations - by educating others who have yet to realise the reality of our times. This is the way to avoid slavery to the System and World War 3. If we fail to do this then, regrettably, the only choice left could be to find the courage and conviction to do what our forebears felt compelled to do.
Remember them wha never fled
Remember them oor freedom led
Remember them wha hae bled
For oor liberty.
Noo's the day an noo's the hour
See the front o battle lour
See encroach the tyrant power
Chains an slavery.
Wha wull be a traitor knave
Wha can fill a coward's grave
Wha sae base as be a slave
Let them turn an flee.
Wha for oor common law
Freedom's sword wull proudly draw?
For freedom stand noo yin an aa
For democracy.
By oppression's woes an pains
By oor young in serville chains
We shall drain oor dearest veins
But we shall be free.
See the warld ower the people's licht
Flames o freedom shinin bricht
The battle noo is for the richt
Tae hae democracy.
Ye sons o them wha never fled
Daughters o them oor freedom led
Remember them wha hae bled
For democracy.
Ye people o this yince free land
Lissen tae yer sowl's command
Remember them wha tuk their stand
For oor liberty.
-


In Lockdown 2020
Songs tunes and poems recorded during the Coronavirus Lockdown in the Spring of 2020.

The material has its roots in the Ulster-Scots cultural tradition but reaches out to the people of other countries and their identities with tracks such as:
All In The Same Boat
My Bonnie's Not Over The Ocean
Ladies of Lordship Lane
It also seeks harmony between the two distinct cultural
identities within Northern Ireland with such tracks as:
Boyne Water/Battle Cry of Munster
Londonderry/Derry, Derry/Londonderry Air
March Beyond The Myths.
This album will have the rare feature of being performed by a solo artist using a variety of instruments and duplicate vocals on multi-tracks. This reflects the situation for musicians during the Coranavirus Lockdown when they are physically separated from fellow musicians.
The plan is to to include the CD disc in a small book of short stories, song lyrics, visual art and photos in the summer of 2020 - assuming printers, publishers and recording producers are open for business. An ideal gift for visitors to Northern Ireland and for family and friends living abroad. The material will also be available online.
Review:
This album begins appropriately enough with ‘Morning in Spring 2020’, which immediately evokes the sound of a fifer walking towards and over a hill and an expectation amongst people lined along the sides of a roadway. This is a tune that listeners here in Ulster are genetically hardwired to recognise and relate to.
Overall the tone of the album is optimistic when it might easily have been otherwise, given the circumstances and songs like, ’March Beyond Myths’ echo old Scots classics like, 'Marie’s Wedding’.
Similarly positive is, ’Get tae Slemish’, in which Willie as an Ulster Scots native is able to blend landscape and language in an easy rolling way that chimes.
Willie’s work here has a timeless quality and draws up from a deep well of Ulster history.
In,’Fishing Since The World Began’, he highlights the often repetitive nature of life for ordinary hardworking people and similarly the track, ’Boynewater/Battle Cry of Munster’, initially touches on the Middle Eastern roots of much Scots and Irish music and opens into a mood piece setting a scene amongst soldiers who are not in battle at that moment but expect to be in one in the near future.
In, ’Loves but a Lassie yet./Too Young to Marry Yet.’ we have one track in which Willie has sought accompaniment on this album, from the American fiddler-Eli Bedel, and together they have produced fine fiddle playing that bridges from the Ulster hills to the Appalachian Mountains and back again.
Speaking of America, ’Londonderry Derry Air Song', with its repetition of the ’Derry Londonderry’ refrain reminded me of how the 1718 settlers from Ulster in New Hampshire had the good sense to build both a Londonderry and a Derry in close proximity to each other.
In all of this Willie looks for a new angle and in the title and lyrics of the song, My Bonnie’s Not Over the Ocean’, he transfigures the certainties of the predictable songs of yesteryear.
However it wouldn’t be a Willie Drennan album without a Lambeg and fife tune and ’One bottle more’ provides virtuoso playing by a wiry wee man who produces a drum sound that yes is exuberant, but never threatening.
Finally, ’Flutes at Braidwater Dawn’, is all panpipes effect and creative of an atmosphere wherein the,'dawn chorus' can be heard to spontaneously join in, conjuring an awakening that touches on ancient times and both loneliness and contentment.
More than any other track this one captures the spirit of Lockdown as many people have endured/enjoyed it in 2020.
Alister J McReynolds
August 2020.

Tracks on the album.
1/ Morning in Spring 2020 3.37
2/ Naethin Tae Dae 1.33
3/ March Beyond Myths 3.20
4/ Get Tae Slemish 2.28
5 / All in the Same Boat 3.26
6/ Fishing Ever Since The World Begun. 3.19
7/ Boyne Water/ Battle Cry of Munster 3.10
8/ Bonnie Kellswater 3.43.
9/ Loves But A Lassie Yet / Too Young To Marry Yet. 3.39
10/ Parcel of Rogues 3.11
11/ Fenaghy Road Saunter 1.45
12/ Londonderry Derry Air Song. 2 mins .22
13/ Ladies of Lordship Lane 2.31
14/ Ballyhoo Song 3.03
15/ Country Fiddlers/ Ballycarry Fair 1. 32
16/ Dinnae Dinnae Dinnae 1.48
17/ Bob Williamson's Flute 4.03
18/ My Bonnie's Not Over Ocean 2.01
19/ Blaater Awa on the Lambeg Drum 2.50
20/ Lambeg and Fife/ One Bottle More
21/ Jamie Always Sung 1.45
22/ Doon Through The Gloonan 2.38
23/ Slieve Gallon Braes
24/ Flutes At Braidwater Dawn. 3.30
Album lyrics and background stories.
1/ A Morning In Spring 2920
Inspired by dawn choruses during the Lockdown. I would often wake up early to play music along with the birds.
2/ Naethin Tae Dae
A light-hearted little song in Ulster-Scots that I wrote many years ago. I thought it might be approprite for some folk during Lockdown.
If you don't understand the lyrics or the moral of this song, don't worry about it.
Ay that's whit I'd dae if I'd naethin tae dae
I'd dae naethin ava if I'd naethin tae dae
Naethin ava if I'd naethin tae dae
That's whit I'd dae if I'd naethin tae dae
Naethin ava if I'd naethin tae dae.
Sa whit wud ye dae wud ye dae whit A dae?
For that's whit A'd dae A'd dae whit ye dae
Ay that's whit A'd dae A'd dae whit ye dae
Sa whit wud ye dae wud ye dae whit A dae?
For wae naethin tae dae ther's naethin tae dae
Wae naethin tae dae ther's naethin tae dae
Wae naethin tae dae ther's naethin tae dae
But lilt a wee jig if ther's naethin tae dae.
3/ Beyond The Myths.
This was first recorded on cassette in Nova Scotia, Canada in the early 1990's. It is also on my first CD album, produced in nova Scotia in 1996. it received considerable airplay on Max Ferguson's very popular radio show on CBC Radio.
Decided to re-record at this time as the ancient myths still need to be addressed in 2020.
4/Get Tae Slemish
Get tae Slemish an clim tae the tap
Yince yer gan noo dinnae stap
Yince at the tap let oot a big yell
For yer near tae heaven an far fae hell
As Patrick did in his days o yore
Gie a big hooch, gie a big roar
Stannin thonner aneath the sky
Watchin the hale wide warld
Ga passin by.
Aye sowl heth Aye, ay sowl heth aye.
Ye'll see oot ower Antrim's glen
Tae Scotlan's shore an hill an ben
Dinegal, the Sperrins an Lough Neagh,
Napolean's Neb the ither way
Ye'll see the raven on the wing
Hear the wee larks sweetly sing
Stannin thonner aneath the sky
Watchin the hale wide warld
Ga passin by.
Aye sowl heth Aye, ay sowl heth aye.
Patrick was the boy wha figured it oot
He sa the licht there was nae doot
Stannin thonner aneath the sky
Nae need ava tae wonner why
Fae the moontin tap he sung his sang
That we micht aa sing alang
Stannin thonner aneath the sky
Watchin the hale wide warld
Ga passin by.
Aye sowl heth Aye, ay sowl heth aye.
Patrick they says was some boy
Foo o life an foo o joy
Patrick, they says, was some lad
Fit tae soort the guid oot fae the bad
Ony wonner efter six lang yeir
Rinnin roon Slemish wae nae fear
Stannin thonner aneath the sky
Watchin the hale wide warld
Ga passin by.
Aye sowl heth Aye, ay sowl heth aye.
The Slemish Mountain is in the middle of County Antrim and rises up high above the Braid River Valley.
From the top of Slemish, on a clear day, you can see for miles and miles -
Scotland's shore and hills and bens.
The local belief is that the young Patrick grew up in Roman Britain: specifically in Scotland. He was captured by Irish raiders and sold to local chieftain, Big Milyuk, who's fort was on the Skerry Mountain, across the Braid River Valley from Slemish Mountain. 'Skerry ' is an old Norse word meaning big rock.
He was a slave boy who tended a swine herd , or a sheep herd according to some, around Slemish for six years before escaping. Life couldn't have been too bad around Slemish if it took him six years before he decided to explore new pastures. After a period in Gaul [France] he returned to Britain before heading back to Ireland, as a missionary, to try save the souls of the wild pagans of Ulster.
This song was previously recorded by The Ulster Scots Folk Orchestra as 'Ay Sowl Heth Ay'.
Ay Sowl, heth aye simply means yes indeed, yes indeed.
Napolean's Neb or Napolean's Nose is a local name for Cave Hill that overlooks Belfast.
The last verse didn't make it on to this version but I have included the words in smaller print anyway.
5/ All In The Same Boat
It all begun a long time ago when folk would sail to and fro.
They'd sail to the east and sail to the west and now and again take a wee rest.
And some folk today they travel afar when they go for a sail in their motor car
And some folk at night they take their trip when they sail to the moon in their space ship.
Chorus:
All in the same boat, all in the same boat
In the bus and the train and big aeroplane
We're in the same boat.
As you go walking down the street, some rare folk you're bound to meet
As you go walking up the hill, there's more rare folk even more still
And some of these folk have the bad habit of being wile thran or being wile crabbit
Some they will scowl and some they will gloat, the worst of it is they're in our same boat.
Don't matter your colour, religion or creed, the same red blood you're bound to bleed
Don't matter if you dig with your left or your right, the battle of life you're bound to fight
Don't matter if your boat is an ocean liner, a wee row-boat or something less finer
Don't matter if your boat is a luxury yacht or if a wee canoe is all you have got.
Oh it's great to be sailing along, all together as we sing the same song
All together in life's ocean afloat, it's just great until there's a hole in the boat.
When the hole's in the boat and it all starts to sink, all hell breaks lose and you've got to think
Do you just stand around baling out water, or do you abandon ship for it really don't matter.
6/ Fishing Ever Since The World Begun
My daddy was a fisherman, my grandad was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Ever since the world begun, ever since the world begun
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
Plaice and pollock and coley and cod, mackeral, bass and skate,
Herrings and haddock and hake and sole, in abundance for your plate.
Down by the dock we'd smoke and cure all the extra fish we caught,
They come from the town and all around and all our fish they bought.
Then the big boats from far away to plunder off our shore,
They wrecked the seabed and left fish for dead and come back to plunder more.
My daddy was a fisherman, my granda was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
All the bureaucracy and all the greed made my daddy weep and wail,
He says I fear for you my only son, no fishing boat you'll sail.
My daddy was a fisherman, my granda was a fisherman and he was a fisherman's son
A family of fishermen and they say we've been fishing ever since the world begun.
This song was inspired by a short video I watched on social media where an English fisherman was lamenting that his son would not be able to carry on the family tradition: unless drastic action was taken to prevent foreign fishing boats from further plundering of their traditional fishing grounds
My personal link to the fishing industry is indirect: I simply love eating seafood and have done since I was a child. My family bought fresh fish once a week, on Fridays, from the fishmongers. This goes back to the time when all Irish Catholics didn't eat meat on Fridays and ate fish instead. We were not Catholics but my mother reckoned the best day to buy the freshest fish was on a Friday when the fishmongers were freshly stocked to serve the Catholics.
As a bonus on occasions the herring man would come around our street shouting” Herns Alive! Herns Alive!. As children we mostly played outside in those days and when we heard the shouts of the herring man from the neighbouring street we all rushed indoors in excitement to inform our mothers. The older children were immediately sent back out with tanners and threepenny bits; plates, bowls or buckets, depending on the family size, to meet the herring man. The rest of the day was spent in exciting anticipation of the evening meal.
The first time I experienced the herring man he came on a bicycle with the herrings in a large basket in front of his bike. After that he came in a small van. At the time I didn't give much thought to where the herring man came from: I was just interested in eating the herrings. In later years though I often wondered if he had actually rode his push-bike from the nearest fishing village which was fifteen miles away. That must have been very challenging indeed, especially riding up the hills with such a heavy load in the front basket. But they were a hardier breed back then.
Another strong childhood memory that helps explain my love for the fruits de la mer relates to picturesque Portrush on the North Antrim Coast. My father made a caravan, back before caravans were popular and long before they were mass-produced in far-off places. He mostly parked it in Portrush, which back then had a significant harbour with a significant fishing fleet.
On several occasions my father woke me and my older brother up at the crack of dawn to head down to the harbour to buy fresh fish. Sometimes we would watch from a distance as the fishing boats approached and by the time they docked in the harbour a crowd would be gathered around to purchase fish from the fresh catch. Customers standing on the pier reached buckets and other assorted containers to the fishermen in their boats. Containers were filled and money exchanged.
Fish was in abundance back then: a traditional local industry still seemed to be in a healthy sustainable condition.
In my adult life I have lived on the coasts of several places: Cape Cod, California, Mexico, Texas, Greece, France, Spain, Holland. I even worked in a fish market in Cape Cod for a while and got to sample every type of seafood available on the North American Atlantic Coast. Fish and seafood products in all those always seemed to be still in abundance.
That was before arriving in Nova Scotia in the Canadian Maritimes. I got there just in time to have just missed the collapse of the family fishing industry in the Bay of Fundy. That was in 1986. Local fishermen seemed unified in blaming the policies of the Canadian Federal Government in far-off Ottawa for the demise of the fish stocks. At that point I feared the EU, or at least the EEC as it was called back then,were applying the very same policies of short-term greed over long-term preservation of stocks. Turns out I was right.
This song is dedicated to those spirited campaigners in the British fishing industry: currently engaged in a last-ditch battle to preserve traditional fishing grounds and stocks.
7/ The Boyne Water/Battle Cry of Munster
This is the one tune with two names. I heard the Boyne Water as a child and learned to play it on a flute as a teenager. It is the air of an Orange song that celebrates the victory of King William at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. I first heard the tune played as The Battle Cry of Munster by Sharon Carroll on her Irish harp. It was soft, gentle and beautiful. A far cry from the passionate Boyne Water march version. Both versions have there time and place.
The Boyne Water was also once commonly played at a slower pace on fifes to accompany Lambeg drums. It is in this setting that I approach the tune on this album. There are no words as such, just the traditional lilting to accompany the flutes, drums and fiddles.
It is just an ancient air, just a tune, just a piece of music. I hope the spirit of it can be appreciated by everyone who listens.
8/ Bonnie Kellswater.
The Kellswater River rises in the Antrim Hills from the confluence of Douglas Burn and the Glenwhirry River. It meets the River Maine after it has absorbed the Braidwater and together they flow on through Lough Neagh to connect with the mighty River Bann on its way to the Atlantic Ocean.
Bonnie Kellswater was a common song locally when I was growing up. Several variations of the song have been passed down in the oral tradition.
One version included a verse at the end, sung in a different melody, celebrating the Cuckoo which was once a regular summer visitor. I heard this version from Lena Lynn, nee Fullerton, of William Street Ballymena who got it from her Aunt Bella of Kells. I treat this verse as a second chorus, along with the 'Here's a health unto you Bonnie Kellswater' verse.
I must also give a mention the late Dougie Conway, fiddler and singer from Ballymena, who first encouraged me to sing this song with a lilting tempo. That was how it was sung in his family's tradition.
Here's a health unto you bonnie Kellswater
For it's there you'll get the pleasures of life.
It's there you'll get the fishin and a fowlin
And a bonny wee lass for your wife.
In the hills and the glens and low valleys
Where grows the saftest o linen sae fine
An the fluers are aa drookin wae honey
There lives Martha a true love o mine.
Lovely Martha your the first girl that I coorted
Your the yin put my heart in a snare
Your red rosy cheeks I do admire
Your lily white skin and broon hair.
Some say that Kellswater rins muddy
I'm afraid she will never rin clear
But nightly as I come her for tae study
I am minnit o them that's naw here.
O the cuckoo is a bonnie bird, she sings as she flies
She brings us glad tidings and tells us nae lies
She drinks o Kellswater until her voice sounds clear
And she never cries cuckoo, til the spring o the year.
9/ My Love's But A Lassie/ Too Young To Marry Yet.
An old traditional tune with different names. I learnt it on fiddle as My Love's But A Lassie Yet. It is an old Scottish tune collected by Rabbie Burns which went out to North America where it took on various names including Too Young To Marry Yet. This is name that American fiddler, Eli Bedel called it when he came visit a couple of years ago from Ohio. In this track Eli plays fiddle with me and is the only other musician on this album. The reason being that when Eli was here we played several tunes together in my kitchen and recorded them on my wee Pocket Studio recording unit. We just recorded them on single tracks as I didn't know how to work the Pocket Studio properly at the time. As they were on my machine I selected one and added drums and mandolin tracks. Eli is a brilliant young fiddler, banjo player and singer. Check out his music on Facebook.
10/ Parcel Of Rogues.
Another one from Rabbie Burns. The Immortal Bard wrote his political song about an earlier time in Scottish history. He was taking a swipe at the Scottish ruling classes who he reckoned were bought and sold for English gold. That was the situation as he saw it at the time. I have taken a wee bit of poetic license and altered a word or two to make it relative for the modern age. I have been studying the life and works of Burns from the age of fifteen and I am totally certain he would approve. The sentiments of the song are just as important now as they were back then. Perhaps even more important in this day and age as folk today are being bought and sold for tyrant's gold on a global scale.
What force or guille we could not subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages
The tyrant's steel we could disdain
Secure in valour's station
The tyrant's gold has been our bane
Such a parcel of rogues
In a nation
Oh wud that I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us
In my heid I hear the auld yins say
I hear what it is they tell us
By pith and power til my last hour
I'll mak this declaration
We're bought and sold for tyrant's gold
Such a parcel o rogues in a nation.
11/ Fenaghy Road Saunter
I composed this wee tune when I heard the story of how the 13 year old James Perry would walk home after fife lessons and play his fife the whole way to his home.
Fife tunes to accompany Lambeg drums are played at a slower pace to the the style of drumming. The tempo of this tune reflects that.
James Perrry was born in Bridgend, County Antrim in 1906 and died in1985 .He was a very well known fiddler, flute player and fifer in the Mid Antrim area.
The wee poem below tells the story. James Perry's daughter, Ray Weir has pointed out to me that his fife teacher was his cousin, Jock Leckey. Not his Uncle Jock as stated in the poem. Just goes to prove, you can't believe everything you read in poems.
James, the young fifer
Fifed all the way home
The big drum rhythms going through his head.
As slow and steady he sauntered
In time to those rhythms
That were in his head.
His mother
Stood on her doorstep
She could hear him from afar
As she patiently awaited his return.
A distant shrill at first
From the two miles along the road
But she knew her son was on his way.
Few other sounds to be heard in the dusky gloamin'
Just a few birds in their bushes singing along
Before resting for the night.
Few cars on the Fenaghy Road in those days
From Cullybackey to Bridgend.
No mobile phones back in those days
But the communication
was steadfast and sure
Back in those Days.
Louder and louder sounded the fife
As slowly and steady
Still he sauntered
Nearer and nearer to his home.
The new tunes learned
From his Uncle Jock
Before being embraced by his mother.
12/ Londonderry Derry/Derry Londonderry Air Song.
Across hills and glens where strains of harp have of-times strayed
Where fiddles and pipes and flutes and drums have played
From Mountains of Mourne to Donegal and Banks of Foyle
To Caledonia beyond the Sea of Moyle.
Let's hear it now for the lovely Derry
The Londonderry oh ever so fair
The Londonderry Derry, Derry Londonderry
Derry Londonderry, Londonderry Derry Air.
This is a song about a tune that most people call Danny Boy. That is because Danny Boy was the most famous song, of many, that have been set to this ancient beautiful air. An air that has been played historically by musicians across Ireland and Scotland. The tune has officially been known as the Londonderry Air since the early 19th Century when it was first notated by Jane Ross of Limavady. It was subsequently published under the title of the Londonderry Air as Jane Ross lived in County Londonderry.
When playing this tune in performances I would usually explain why this tune was called the Londonderry Air. I later learned that in the 1970's some musicians were recording the tune as The Derry Air. An understandable enough thing to do in Northern Ireland where identity, symbols and labels are everything. If you are not from Northern Ireland I suggest you don't even try to understand this.
In a gallant effort to keep everybody happy – even though my parents told me over and over again that I would never ever be able to do that – I decided to introduce the tune as the Londonderry/Derry Air. That seemed to work okay for a while but then somebody asked me why I didn't call it the Derry, Londonderry Air instead of the Londonderry, Derry Air. For those of you who understand Northern Ireland you will understand the thinking behind this. So in my determination to keep everybody happy I am now calling it the Londonderry, Derry - Derry, Londonderry Air.
I do hope you understand. If not I hope you enjoy the song regardless. It could come close to making most people here near enough happy or it might upset nearly everybody. I will soon find out.
13/ The Ladies of Lordship Lane
This is dedicated to two special ladies who live in Lordship Lane, East Dulwich, London.
14/ The Ballyhoo Song
If you weren't so Ballymena with yer Ballymoney
You'd get a Ballycastle for your Ballyholme
There's a ballyhoo near yer bally everywhere
Yer bally here and yer Ballyclare.
When you go for a danner in the north of Antrim
You can Ballybogie till yer Ballyrashane
Ballybogie, Ballintoy, Portbalintrae
Ballybogie down Giant's Causeway.
If yer Ballyholme is in the County down
You will Ballynoe all the ballyhoo
When ye meet yer man the Ballywalter
You will Ballyhay a Ballylesson.
Have you ever been to the bally Bilfawst
Did you ever Ballyhackamore
Did you meet yer man the Ballymurphy
Or have you never even Ballybeen.
If ye cannae Ballycarry ye'd better Ballyhide
Cannae go Ballysloe you might never Ballymore
It's Ballyduff if you Ballybrack
When you're Ballyknockan yer Ballybunion.
In 2018 I was guiding and entertaining a group of hikers who were spending a week walking the hills and coastline of County Antrim. This was organised by Freewheeling Adventures of Nova Scotia. It was their first time in Northern Ireland and they had lots of questions to ask the natives about Northern Irish peculiarities.
One such question was, “ why are so many places were called bally something and what does that mean.”? I explained bally was an old Irish Gaelic word for settlement and literally means town of, townland of or home of. I recited the apparently nonsensical line I heard as a child: “If you weren't so Ballymena with your Ballymoney ye'd get a Ballycastle for yer Ballyholme”.
I tried to explain that in this case the word bally could also mean anything you wanted it to mean, or nothing at all, and that in modern English ballyhoo refers to a lot of nonsense or fuss.
The Canadian hikers didn't really understand the point of it all but nevertheless they were intrigued enough to create a wee song around it all. They came up with a few fun lines and the Freewheeling tour guide, Adrian House, set it to music. Adrian happened to be a very accomplished singer -songwriter from Newfoundland.
I later developed the idea into The Ballyhoo Song by adding a few verses and expanding the melody.The end-result is a comprehensive story that addresses the complexity of language in Northern Ireland. There is Old English. Modern English, Irish Gaelic, Ulster Scots and local variations of all those forms of speech. There is also dialect, slang and rhyme that hints at alternative meaning.
It all does make some sort of sense, to me, and contains some profound insight within. Although I accept that only people in Northern Ireland who are familiar with all the various forms of local language will totally get it straight away. Northern Ireland is full of folk who are multi lingual and they don't even know it.
The place names are mostly from counties Antrim and Down, or Belfast – pronounced Bilfawst in Ulster Scots. In the last verse however I threw in a few colourful ballys from other parts of Ireland to allow more depth of meaning for the story.
The initial verse (chorus) actually refers to the fact that the people of the Ballymena area are considered to be thrifty with their money as a result of their historic Scottish connection. This has been often exaggerated to suggest that Ballymena folk are tight with their money, stingy and even greedy to the point of being mean. Of course there is absolutely no justification for this as Ballymena folk are actually very generous and kind by nature. What it is: if you are from Ballymena you have naturally inherited a profound comprehension of fiscal management - and that is something completely different. It has been said that Ballymena children learn to count before they can walk. Of course this is just nonsense: a load of ballyhoo, but is probably related to spurious tales of children not been given shoes and socks until they were able to count all their toes.
A few notes for those who are not Northern Irish multilinguists.
When a place name starts with with bally it has a capital B. When bally does not have a capital B it refers to something else. I hope that is clear.
Ballybilfawst is the same place as Belfast. It's just pronounced different.
In Northern Irish lingo the expression “yer man” does not necessarily mean that the man being referred to is your man.
15/ Country Fiddlers/ Ballycarry Fair
From the poems of John Clifford
The air is the same as used by Rabbie Burns for his 'Green Grow The Rashes O'. Also used by James Orr, the Bard of Ballycarry, for his ballad entitled the Balycarry Fair.
16/ Dinnae Dinnae Dinnae
Dinnae let ocht ava get tae ye
Dinnae get aa het up
If ye let ocht ava get tae ye
It niver wull let up
Dinnae lay doon in the muck an the glar
Dinnae lay doon in the sheuch
For if yer lay doon in the muck an the glar
A doot hi yer getting er reuch.
Dinnae let big boadies dunt ye
Dinnae let them push ye aroon
For if ye let big boadies dunt ye
They'll dunt ye til yer doon
Dinnae let them waak aa ower ye
Dinnae let them dae ther thing
If they try tae waak aa ower ye
Jist lep ye up an sing.
Dinnae heed aa folk tell ye
On thon TV
Dinnae heed aa folk tell ye
On B.B.C
Never heed aa they tell ye
Never heed ocht ava
Never heed aa folk tell ye
Jist lissen tae yer da.
This is an old song of mine that has not been previously recorded. I originally introduced it as a father's words of wisdom to his child. It was inspired by the fact that when I was a wean my parents and other older family members continually provided me with words of sound advice. They were particularly enthusiastic about advising me on things that I should not do. They would say, “ Dinnae dae this, dinnae dae that an whitever ye dae, niver, iver dae thon ever again”.
The first verse relates to the fact that they would often advise me that when things went wrong, as evidently they would at times, I should simply pick myself up, get over it and get on with life. The message was that if I would ever let things get to me it would surely only ever get worse.
Similarly the second verse relates to their warning to never let anyone intimidate me or bully me. It was clear that this was not only in the physical sense but it related to all those in positions of power who inevitably would abuse their power on a regular basis. Never acquiesce or bow down in subservience to any of them was the message.
Last, but not least, was the advice to never necessarily believe everything everybody tells me. It was stressed how important it was to understand that experts and people in positions of power and influence were not necessarily always right about everything all the time. This clearly applied to the media, educators, doctors, specialists: experts of all sorts and even ministers in church. Yes, even on rare occasions it was possible the minister in the kirk would not necessarily be telling you always the right thing at all times.
It clearly applied to anybody who was trying to sell anything at all at any time. And all this before “critical thinking” was a thing.
It was all sound advice that I fully comprehended and embraced. But even with all that it is possible, for even me, to lift my eye of the ball and have momentary lapses.
Second hand car salesmen automatically qualify for inclusion in the list of types who should not automatically be believed. Just before the Big Lockdown I bought a second hand car in a hurry. I took the salesman at his word and of course my momentary lapse proved costly.
This it why this song is so important to me. I clearly need to keep reminding myself on a regular basis not to necessarily believe everything folk tell me. This rule of thumb is as important now as it was when I was a wean.
17/ Bob Williamson's Flute
This song is better known as The Ould Orange Flute. I decided to call it Bob Williamson's Flute instead. The basic story is of how Bob Williamson married a Catholic even though he played his Orange flute on the Twelfth of July as it yearly did come. And when the boys in the townland made some noise about it Bob fled with his wife to the Province of Connaught. All was fine until the local priest encouraged Bob to play his flute in the Mass at chapel on Sundays. But the only tune he could ever get out of the ould Orange flute was the Protestant Boys and such like. In the last verse of the song the priests decide to ceremoniously burn the Orange flute at the stake as a heretic. They bought Bob another flute to play in the chapel instead. The last few lines of the song go on to explain however that as the Orange flute was engulfed in flames and smoke they could still here it playing the Protestant Boys, defiantly til the end.
As a child I was always curious about the meanings of songs and my main concern with this one was: what ever happened to poor Bob Williamson? I got the bit about the defiance of the Orange flute but nobody ever seemed to know what happened to poor Bob. Did he ever manage to make it back to Ulster or was he condemned to Connaught till his dying day? Were the ashes of his flute scattered on his grave? Did he have a bunch of weans? Are there now lots of Williamsons living in Connaught? Do they all play flutes? Can they play the Protestant Boys? If anyone knows the answers to the above please let me know.
So, I decided to leave out the last verse of this song and just focus on the fate of the man and not the flute. This song is of course was meant to be humorous. Not certain who wrote it but it might have been Richard Hayward in the early part of the 20th Century. It has been sung mostly by folk from the Unionist community but has also been recorded by such famous Irish musicians as the Dubliners, the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Maken.They are not Unionists or Protestants: just musicians who like a bit of crack. Everybody needs to be able to laugh at themselves especially in this day and age of political correctness where it is all too easy to offend somebody when no offence is meant.
I decided to record this song during the Lockdown after I heard the story of what happened in a chapel in Lisnaskea, County Fermanagh. Canon Jimmy McPhillips, the now quite well known Canon Jimmy McPhillips, was delivering an online Mass to his congregation during the lockdown. In early May I think it was. At the end of the video he pressed a button to play some sacred music to conclude the Mass, but instead the chapel was filled with the not so sacred sound of an Orange marching band playing The Sash. The priest said “Sorry, I picked the wrong one. Sorry about that. It's a bit early for that isn't it?” He then pressed another button and something more suitable played as he left the scene.
The video immediately went viral – out to the far side of the world and back. Everyone, Protestants and Catholics, had a laugh. Some thought at first the priest had genuinely made a mistake or else somebody had played a trick on him. But no, Canon Jimmy McPhilips obviously has a sense of humour and knew what he was doing. Brilliant. This humorous incident then sparked a debate on social media about the origins of The Ould Orange Flute and that in turn inspired me to record the song.
As well as the humour this song also allows for examination of what the Twelfth of July was all about. I grew up in the country and didn't really begin to understand there was some sort of difference between Catholics and Protestants until I moved into the town when I was eight years old. It was in early July and the street I was living in celebrated the Twelfth with an Orange arch, bunting and union jack flags. I made new Protestant and Catholic friends that summer and didn't really understand there was some sort of difference until we all went to school at the start of September. We didn't all go to the same school but after school hours it didn't make any difference. Didn't seem to make much difference for the adults in the street either. The Catholics would sometimes ridicule the Protestants for celebrating King Billy crossing the Boyne three centuries previous. It all seemed to be just friendly banter and on the 12th morning some of the Catholic families would put out chairs and even settees in front to their homes as they didn't want anybody standing in front of their house: blocking their view when the parade would pass.
There was one story I remember from those days. A neighbour lady, Mrs Patterson, had a large painting of King Billy Crossing the Boyne on her living room wall. One day she went out for an errand up the town and when she returned King Billy was gone and a large photo of the Pope had taken his spot on the wall. Well most people didn't bother locking their doors in those days and neighbours would often pop in and out.
My parents owned a wee corner shop. A very busy place as most of the street seemed to a lot of their shopping in there. So the first thing Mrs Patterson did upon discovery of horrific incident came into our shop to inform my mother. She pretended to be enraged and vowed dire consequences for the culprit when she found out who did it. The most likely culprit was a Catholic friend, Arthur McDonald who strenuously denied this at first, of course. For a few days everyone talked about and laughed about the disappearance of Mrs Patterson's King Billy. It was of course all sorted in the end and Billy and the Pope returned to their natural environments. The key thing here is everyone in the street, including Mrs Patterson, got into the humour and banter of it all.
My father was not an Orangeman even though his father had been. A common mantra of my father was “join nothin'”. Still, my family thoroughly enjoyed the Twelfth traditions and festivities and as a child I was intrigued with the history of The Battle of the Boyne and the Siege of Derry, and I loved the music. And I still do. So it was a natural thing for me as a teenager to join a flute band where I learned to play a musical instrument and got to share the traditional music with other young people. I certainly was not motivated by wanting to upset my Catholic friends and neighbours. I suppose Bob Willamson hadn't been either.
This is not to take away from the fact that once the tragic and futile 'Troubles' kicked off, around 1970, Northern Ireland descended into a land of division, distrust and hatred. It is worthwhile though to reflect on the fact that it wasn't always like that. In recent times there have certainly been huge moves towards reconciliation and perhaps the story of Bob Williamson and his Ould Orange Flute can be appreciated and enjoyed by everyone once again. Well nearly everyone. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
Like Bob Williamson I play a version of the Protestant Boys at the end of the song. This version is in the setting that would have played on the fife to accompany the Lambeg drums. It is normally played as a jig of course.
18/ My Bonnie's Not Over The Ocean
Whatever happened to this world we live in
Whatever happened to this world so free
Whatever happened to this world we live in
Can anyone explain it to me.
My Bonnie's Not over the ocean
She's not even over the sea
She's right there jus over the river
But thegither we can never be.
Inspired by fact that so many people were separated from family and close friends during the Lockdown.
19/ Blaater Awa on the Lambeg Drum
It aa begun in tha Gairden O Eden
Wae Adam blatterin til he wus bleedin
He drumt awa on a steecht fig leaf
Til it driv poor Eve baith daft an deef
An sum folk noo are aa jist tha same
An Adam's the boy wha is tae blame
When ye hear yins blaaterin aff in the nicht
Blaaterin awa wae aa ther micht
Blaater awa on the Lambeg drum
Blatter fae noo til the kingdom cum
Its writ in aa tha buiks o lore
Ooryins blaatert in days o yore
Tha Young Patrick stuck up on Slemish moontin
Scunnert wae sheep he was meant tae be coontin
Driv tae tears near begunnin tae dote
Til he fun oot whit ye cud dae wae the skin o a goat
He drumt for love and drumt for joy
Ulster's pride thon drummer boy
Folk hear tha music Young Patrick made
For miles an miles aroon tha Braid.
At tha Boyne they says it wus sum sicht
Big drums gien James sic a fricht
At he says tae hissel he'd be better ta flit
Ower tae France an A doot he's ther yet.
Noo if thangs hud turnt oot tha ither wye aboot
It'd a been wile bad ther is nae doot
Sa blessins ontae thon Wulliam's boys
Wha riz tha big roar an riz tha big noise.
Fae aroon Armagh tae tha Portydown
Ye'll be fit tae hear tha great big soun
Roon Tannragee an tha Markethill
Lambeg drums aye dunner stil
Fae Portglenone tae ayont Broughshane
Fae Conner tae Clough tae Ball rashane
When yer oot an aboot an hear tha big roar
Blaater alang like in days o yore.
The playing of the Lambeg drum is an Ulster tradition and is seldom heard outside of Northern Ireland. It is named after the village of Lambeg in County Antrim. There are two traditional styles of playing. “Time” drumming is when fifes, in the higher octave, accompany structured Lambeg rhythms. This style can be heard in parades. The second style is “ match” drumming: for competitions to determine who has the best drum. It is all about the drum but of course it takes a skilled drummer in this style to bring out the ultimate tone and pitch that the judges seek.
What I do is different. The roots of what I play is in the fife and “time” drumming style of mid-Antrim: an exceptionally rich musical heritage which is preserved and commonly practised to the present day.
On stage, the tone of the drums I play have to be less sharp and have a deeper and fuller sound: especially for indoor concerts. This is achieved by having a slightly heavier goat skin and by not tightening the drums to the extent that is necessary to win a drumming match nowadays. This actually makes the drum sound louder while not be piercing on the ear for audience members who are close to the stage.
To make the Lambeg appeal to concert audiences the performance has to be delivered with energy and passion. It is crucially all about the audience, about connecting with the audience: as is the case with all forms of live performance.
A small minority of cultural purists take exception to the fact that I occasionally “dance” or “ birl and twirl” or “lep aboot” while playing the Lambeg drum on stage. I accept this is not normal and is most certainly breaking with tradition. Although Lambeg rhythms to me always seemed conducive to dancing.
As a boy of around 12 years of age I remember watching in awe as a group of about 8 to 10 older teenage girls spontaneously danced with passion as Lambegs and fifes paraded over Harryville Bridge in Ballymena. The impromptu, unstructured fusion of traditional social country dancing and rock and roll all looked perfectly fitting to me. Mind you I haven't witnessed anything quite like it since, I must say. Which is too bad.
But for me the moving of the body while playing a drum has just seemed natural ever since: even if your drum is massive and very heavy. It helps you feel the rhythms and enjoy the emotion and the passion. In turn the audience gets to feel the pleasure as well. I encourage other Lambeg drummers to at least try it. Life is too short to miss out on such simple pleasures. It gets the heart pumping and the blood rushing through your veins. Has to to good for you: in moderate doses.
There may well be those who do not appreciate the lyrics of this Lambeg song. They may think it makes a mockery of a rich cultural tradition. On the contrary the opposite has been the plan. Enjoying the crack and not taking ourselves too seriously has long been an established trait in Ulster culture. Hopefully we are not losing all that too rapidly.
20/ Lambeg and Fife/ One Bottle More.
For this recording I played the Lambeg inside my open barn and recorded from an upstairs bedroom window on the other side of my back yard. Originally I didn't think I was going to be able to record the Lambeg at all on my mini Pocket Studio recording unit. It wasn't built to cope with such decibels at close range. Worked not too bad I think.
I then recorded a fife tune over the top, and a bass drum, just to be different. The tune is an old Mid Antrim fifing classic, One Bottle More. It was very common among fifers when I was growing up and one of the many fifing tunes that often crossed over into the local fiddle music as well. As a teenager I was bombarded with fifing tunes along with fiddle tunes and marching band tunes. As I learned mostly by ear many of the tunes I only half-learned but One Bottle More was one of the tunes that stuck out and I eventually learned it so that I could play it on my own from memory. For this I need to think two people: My uncle Bertie Templeton, who played this tune on fife, tin whistle, accordion and banjolin. I must also give credit to master musician Ashley Ford who I first met when I was home on holiday in the late 1980's. I was living in Canada at the time. I took a cassette recording of Ashley playing fifing tunes back to Canada with me and, as a result, One Bottle More was one of those tunes that got wedged into the music compartment of my brain. So thank you Ashley Ford and Bertie Templeton for this tune.
This 19th Century tune has previously recorded by me as part of a fifing medley on the Ulster Scots Folk Orchestra CD, Endangered Species, 2001.
21 Jamie Always Sung.
When Jamie sung the rafters rung and Lylehill Church did reel
His voice it rang a clarion clang just like a cannon's peel.
The choir sang loud and all the crowd took up the holy strain
But Jamie's ball ris over all, tempestuously plain.
Ah wide did he his wild voice fling, promiscuous and free
But despite the fact he could not sing, while all the more sang he
With clamorous clang and resonant bang, his thunders round he flung
He could not sing a single thing, but Jamie always sung.
This poem is from the collection of William McKinney (1832-1917). His extensive collections of poems, stories and artefacts are on display at the Sentry Hill Museum in Newtownabbey. Prior to the opening of the museum in 2005 I was engaged by Newtownabbey Borough Council to recite some the poems for the audio section of the museum. This poem stuck out for me for some reason. Must be some thing to do with Jamie's spirit, attitude and defiance.
Following this I actually got to recite the poem from the pulpit of Lylehill Presbyterian Church as part of the Dander With Drennan TV Series. This church in Templepatrick was where Jamie sung over a hundred years earlier.
For this recording I have added a wee song version of the poem. Dedicating to the memory of Jamie of course
22/ Doon Through The Gloonan
My mother often told stories of her bicycle rides, as a teenager to the village of Ahoghill from her home on the Killybeg Moss Road - three miles there and three miles back. She worked in a shop in the village and attended church choir practices. She often met local characters along the quiet country roads: she yelled "yo ho"! and waved to workers in the fields as she went doon throughThe Gloonan. They yelled and waved back. One young local lad often made a point of being out on the road when she would be riding home. That stopped when my father stared courting her and rode on his bicycle towards Ahoghill to meet her and accompany her home. I thought all that deserved a tune.
23/ Slieve Gallon Braes
As I went a-walking one morning in May
To view your fair valleys and mountains so gay
I was thinking o your flowers all going to decay
That bloom around ye bonny, bonny Slieve Gallon Braes
As oft in the morning with my dog and my gun
I'd wander these mountains for joy and for fun
But these days are now all over and I'm going far away
So farewell unto ye bonny, bonny, Slieve Gallon Braes
And as oft in the evening with the sun in the west
I'd rove hand in hand with the one I loved best
But the joys of youth are vanished and I can no longer stay
So farewell unto ye bonny, bonny, Slieve Gallon Braes.
Sure my name's James McGarvey and I hope you'll understand
In the townland of Derrygernard I owned a farm of land
But the rent was so high and the tax I could not pay
Whis causes me to wander from you Slieve Gallon Braes.
This is one of my favourite songs of emigration. It is believed to to have been written by James McGarvey who emigrated to Canada in the early 19th Century. I can't find any details of where in Canada this talented song writer moved to but it is believed he is related to the McGarvey family who are buried in the Presbyterian graveyard in Moneymore. Slieve Gallon Braes are close to Moneymore in south eastern County Londonderry. During the Lockdown I thought it was very relevant to connect the emotions and pain of those who felt the need to emigrate in days gone by, in the knowledge that they would never see loved ones and friends ever again, with the pain felt by many who were also separated from their loved ones during Lockdown.
24/ Flutes at Braidwater Dawn
Spring 2020, during the Lockdown was an exceptional time which will be mostly remembered as a time of hardship. But it was also exceptional for the peace and calm that it offered: with few cars on the roads and no aeroplanes in the sky. The songbirds seemed to sing louder and longer than they had ever done before. Some of my recording was done outside my rural home near the River Braid. Songbirds, roosters and the sounds of the river often integrated me into their dawn chorus.