Victory at Lawrence

No work, no work, and the future bleak and grey,
Posters in our town appeared showing Lawrence USA,
Woolen mills and bags of gold, a chance we could not ignore.
From Europe we all sailed away – bound for New England’s shore.

Come with me now to Lawrence in the year of nineteen twelve,
These back to back damp tenements house many like ourselves,
And early in the icy dawn hear the factory whistles blow,
And me and my wife and our eldest girl – to the woolen mills must go.

We can’t afford warm overcoats, so meagre is our pay,
In the greatest woolen centre of – the mighty USA.

We workers wrote to William Wood to tell of our distress,
And the answer that he gave us was to pay us even less.
“Short pay! Short pay!” the Polish women weavers all cried,
As they left their looms and went downstairs, walked out side by side.

When we opened up our envelopes and found they’d cut our wage,
We Italians ran from room to room, you’d never seen such rage!
We stopped the motors, tore the cloth and cut the belts with knives,
By the end of that day there were ten thousand out on strike.

Next day the Poles, Italians too,
Belgian weavers in their wooden shoes,
Armenians, Turks, Gentiles and Jews
Met at the City Hall.

And the speakers ranted, raged and roared
In languages I never heard before
‘Til smiling Joe Ettor took the floor
And spoke in my native tongue.

“I’m here to counsel and advise,
To win a strike you must be organised,
Four members each you will provide
From fourteen nationalities.”

When Ettor spoke, he seemed to glow
Like a beacon shining on a dark night, oh,
How the workers loved you, smiling Joe!

But Father Riley was so irate,
He told the Irish “Don’t participate!
The poor must learn to endure their fate.”

The Governor sent the militia.
Two thousand men were deployed.
They beat our pregnant women,
And they stabbed a young Syrian boy.

“You khaki thugs on horseback,
With your bayonets and your guns,
You arrogant Harvard puppies,
See what you have done!”

On Common Street they shot and killed
Poor Anna LoPizzo.
They arrested our brave leaders,
Giovannitti and smiling Joe.

They laid the blame upon them
Though they were three miles away.
A policeman pulled that trigger,
My wife saw it, plain as day!

The anger that we mourners felt
I scarcely can relate.
As we carried poor Anna’s coffin
To the cemetery gates.

Where Father Riley blocked our way
With a frown on his pious face;
And he says “You cannot bury her
In this holy place.”

Well, Big Bill Haywood came in on a train,
Our excitement we could not contain,
When we heard his fog-horn voice proclaim:

“Fellow workers don’t forget,
To the mill owners’ great regret,
You can’t weave cloth with a bayonet!”

And Gurley Flynn, the bosses’ nightmare,
With her Irish eyes and her coal black hair –
She says “This is class warfare!”

We stood together nine long weeks,
And the bosses gave in.
We assembled on the Common,
Men, children and women.

Where thirty thousand voted
To end this bloody feud,
And we sang The Internationale
In every tongue we knew.

Well, Joe Ettor and Giovannitti,
They were tried for murder in the first degree,
And the jury found them “Not guilty.”

So Sammy Gompers and your A.F. of L.,
You can take Johnny Golden and go to hell.
Craft unionism has an ugly smell.

No one knew, and no one cared,
How the unskilled foreign worker fared,
‘Til the I.W.W. double-dared!

Fellow workers, never forget,
We are the ones that toil and sweat,
And we have not spoken – yet!


Farewell to Ballymoney

Courting is a pleasure between my love and I
I’ll go down to yon low valley where she’ll meet me by and by
I’ll go down to yon low valley where stands my heart’s delight
And it’s with you lovely Molly I will spend ‘til broad daylight

Coming home from church last Sunday, my love she passed me by
I could tell her mind was changing by the roving of her eye
I could tell her mind was changing to a man of high degree
Oh Molly, dearest Molly, your love has wounded me

I went up to my true love with a bottle in my hand
Saying ‘Drink of this dear Molly, our courtship ne’er will stand
Saying ‘Drink of this dear Molly, let the bottle and glass flow free
For ten guineas lies in wagers that married we ne’er will be’

There’s some do court in earnest while others court in fun
But I can court the old sweetheart and bring the new one
I can tell her loving stories ‘til I get her mind at ease
And as soon as she has her back turned on me, I am courting whoe’er I please

Never court a sweetheart with the dark and the roving eye
Oh kiss her and embrace her, but don’t tell the reason why
Oh kiss her and embrace her ‘til you get her heart to yield
For a faint hearted soldier never gained the battle field

To the town of Ballymoney and the County Antrim too
Likewise my dearest Molly I will bid you now adieu
Amerikay lies far away, it’s a land I will go see
May all bad luck attend the lad that parted my love and me


Moorlough Shore

Last night I went to see my love
To hear what she might say
To see if she might pity me before I go away
She says: I love a sailorboy he is the lad I do adore
So take this for your answer now and trouble me no more

Maybe your sailor he is lost while crossing the wide main
Or he has found another love and he’ll never come back again
Well if my sailor boy is lost no other will I take
Through lonesome shades and valleys I will wonder for his safe

Our ship she lies in water pond all ready to set sail
May kind providence be stone on us and finding a pleasant gail
O if I had ten thousand pounds or that much more in store
I would give it all to the girl I love that dwells near the Moorlough Shore

Farewell onto you Antrims groves likewise to the bleaching green
Where the limnin’ web lies pure and white beside young crystal trees
Where many happy hours I have spend but now alas they’re all lost
Since the girl I love has vanished me far far from the Moorlough Shore

Many thanks to Jochanai Doffkowitz for the lyrics.

The Girl from Cushendun

Come all you young and dashing blades and a warning take by me,
And never put much confidence in any wee girl you see,
If to me you’ll lend an ear before my song is done,
I’ll tell you of a bonny wee lass that came from Cushendun

It was at the Ballycastle Fair it being the Lammas Time,
When farming folk are in good cheer and the harvest is enshrined,
On female throng I gazed upon until I spied this one,
Dismounting from a farmers cart that had come from Cushendun

Well I boldly stepped right up to her and I helped her to alight,
She gave to me a flashing smile by heaven all seemed right,
Our glances met her vision passed and round my heart was spun,
A web of love that bound me fast was the girl from Cushendun

I met her later as by chance and she yielded me her hand,
And in the middle of the dance I entered fairy land,
On twinkling toes my spirits rose and the jig has scarce begun,
Well I seemed to soar on music’s wings with the girl from Cushendun

When the dance was done we both sat down & I asked her name and place
I praised the pattern of her gown and the fairness of her face,
She gave her sunny curls a shake and a cloud passed o’er the sun,
Says she my name is Missus Ross and I come from Cushendun

Its glad to meet and sad to part its years ago and yet,
The memory of an old sweetheart is harder to forget,
Although my face is lined with care and the sands of time near done,
I mind the Ballycastle fair and the girl from Cushendun
Yes I mind the Ballycastle fair and the girl from Cushendun
~ Andy Irvine

Many thanks to Shay for submitting the lyrics to this fine song.

John Barlow

There was a lady lived in the West
And she was dressed in green
And she’s leaned over her father’s castle wall
To watch the ships sail in.

What is wrong with you her father he did say
You look so pale and wan
O have you any sore sickness
Or yet been sleeping with a man.

I have not had any sore sickness
But I’m in love with a young man
And the only thing that breaks my heart
Is what keeps my darling so long?

Is he a Lord or a Squire or a Duke
Or a man of noted fame
Or is he one of my serving men
That’s lately come out of Spain?

He is not a Lord, or a Squire or a Duke
Nor a man of noted fame
But he is young John from the isle of Man
And I think he is a fine young man.

O, send him down, the saucy clown
O, send him down onto me
For if he is thinking to gain my daughter’s hand
He must leave this country.

O father dear now don’t be severe
And don’t be cruel onto me
For if you banish young John Barlow
You will get no good of me.

But the King he has sent for his merry, merry men
And his merry men thirty and three
And instead of young John been the very first one
The very last one came he.

He entered the room young John Barlow
And the clothes that he wore were of silk
And his two blue eyes like the morning sky
And his skin was as white as milk.

It’s no wonder the King he did say
My daughter’s in love with thee
For had I been a woman as I am a man
My bedfellow you would have been.

Will you wed my daughter he said
Will you take her by the hand
And will you wed my daughter he said
And be Lord over all my land?

O, I will wed your daughter he said
But she’s no match for me
For every pound she can count down
I can count thirty and three.

He’s mounted her on a milk white steed
Himself on a dapple grey
And he’s made her a Lady of as much land
As she could ride in a long summer’s day.

Hi mate !

Just wanted you to know that John Barlow was recorded on a Lp, called “Patris” (Homeland) by the Greek band, “Apodimi Compania”, on Brunswick Recordings 0010, 1990, Melbourne, Australia. Andy plays Bouzouki and sings. Manoli Galiatsos plays the Oud and George Galiatsos plays the Guitar.

Andy told me that he had learnt the song from Robert Cinnamond of Co, Antrim, who would not recognise it if he heard it now !!!!!!!

George Galiatsos

Many thanks to George for getting in touch. What a gent.

The Ranger’s Command

Come all of you cowboys all over this land,
I’ll teach you the law of the Ranger’s Command:
To hold a six shooter, and never to run
As long as there’s bullets in both of your guns.

I met a fair maiden whose name I don’t know;
I asked her to the roundup with me would she go;
She said she’d go with me to the cold roundup,
And drink that hard liquor from the cold, bitter cup.

We started for the canyon in the fall of the year
Expecting to get there with a herd of fat steer;
And the rustlers broke on us in the dead hours of night;
She ‘rose from her warm bed, a battle to fight.

She ‘rose from her warm bed with a gun in each hand,
Said: Come all of you cowboys and fight for your land,
Come all of you cowboys and don’t ever run
As long as there’s bullets in both of your guns.

by Woody Guthrie

© Copyright 1963 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc. & TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc. (BMI)

As yet unrecorded by Andy Irvine played live.

General Munroe

My name is George Campbell, my age is sixteen
I joined the united men to fight for the green
And manys the battle I did undergo
When commanded by that hero old General Munroe

Were you at the battle of Ballinahinch
When the people oppressed, rose up in defence
And Munroe took the mountains, his men took the field
And they fought for three hours and never did yield

Munroe being weary and in need of some sleep
Gave a woman ten guineas, his secret to keep
But she got the money, the divil tempted her so
And she sent for the army and surrendered Munroe

well The army, they came and surrounded them all
He thought to escape but he could not at all
And they marched him to Lisburn without more delay
And they hung our poor hero the very same day

Were you at the farm when the cavalry came there
How the horses did caper and prance in the rear
And the traitor being with them as you may all know
It was out of a haystack they hauled poor Munroe

In came Munroe’s Sister she was well dressed in green
She’d a sword by her side that was long, sharp and keen
Three cheers she did give and way she did go
Saying I’ll have revenge for my brother Monroe

Munroe being taken and lead to the tree
says farewell to my comrades where soever they may be
There’s one thing that grieves me and it’s parting them so
So farewell to that hero old general Munroe


Originally recorded for inclusion on Andy’s ‘Rainy Sundays, Windy Dreams’ album, this song didn’t make the final mix. It was subsequently featured on ‘High Kings of Tara’, a compilation album of different artists released by Tara Records in 1980.

Henry Munroe (1758 – 1798) was the only son of a presbyterian tradesman of Scottish descent who settled at Lisburn, County Down. Henry entered the linen business about 1788, and in 1795, joined the United Irishmen with the view of promoting the cause of catholic emancipation and parliamentary reform. He was leader of the County Down insurgents in the 1798 rebellion. After initial success at Saintfield, he was defeated at the Battle of Ballinahinch. He sought refuge in a farmhouse but was betrayed. He as hanged in Lisburn on thirteenth of June, 1798.


Facing the Chair

I came to this land in 1908
and I thought it the land of the free,
but I very soon saw the rich had one law
and another for people like me.

Well, times were depressed and the money was hard
and I peddled my fish by the sea,
where the pilgrims of old fleeing from persecution
landed and thought themselves free.

Ch.: Goodbye to you, my brave comrades,
goodbye to you, Suosso’s Lane,
goodbye to North Plymouth,
goodbye Boston Harbour,
I’ll never see you again.

The department of justice was (rambling up) reds
and one day on the sidewalk below
Salsedo was found lying crushed on the ground
and they said he fell out of a high storey window.
And two payroll guards were shot down and killed
at the height of this anti-Red scare
and the (powers that be?) arrested Sacco and me
and now we are facing the chair.

Well, our jury, God help us, what chance did they have,
when the cruel judge called us low breed.
He was heard to declare: “They should get the chair,
they’re Reds and what more do you need?”
And for 7 long years we languished in jail,
while appeals for a retrial were made,
and the Madeiros’ confession it made no impression
on judge Webster Thayer’s crusade.
No Well, a dog, that kills chicken you wouldn’t convict
on the evidence, judge, that you’ve heard,
but you showed no concern while these two witches burn(ed)
for preaching the dangerous word.
And your governments, judge, differ only in (mean)
to victimise, trick, and repress.
And a change of error, and a change of evil
is taken by many as progress.

If these things hadn’t happened we might have lived out our lives
conversing with scornful men,
we might have died alone, unmarked, unknown,
failures again and again.
But our death and our pain will not be in vain,
and your crimes they will never be (blurred).
Oh, what makes you think as you stand on the brink
that you’ll always be ruling this world.

Written by Andy Irvine

“Facing the Chair”, Andy’s composition about Sacco and Vanzetti.

William Taylor

William Taylor was a brisk young sailor
Full of heart and full of play
’til he did his mind uncover
To a youthful lady gay

Four and twenty British sailors
Met him on the king’s highway
As he went for to be married
Pressed he was and sent away

Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae
Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae

Sailor’s clothing she put on
And she went onboard a man-o-war
Her pretty little fingers long and slender
They were smeared with pitch and tar

On that ship there was a battle
She amongst the rest did fight
The wind blew off her silver buttons
Breasts were bared all snowy white

Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae
Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae

When the captain did discover
He said “Fair maid, what brought you here?”
“Sir, I’m seeking William Taylor.
Pressed he was by you last year!”

If you rise up in the morning
Early at the break of day
There you’ll spy young William Taylor
Walking with his lady gay

Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae
Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae

She rose early in the morning
Early at the break of day
There she spied young William Taylor
Walking with his lady gay

She procured a pair of pistols
On the ground where she did stand
There she shot poor William Taylor
And the lady at his right hand

Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae
Folleri-de-dom, de- daerai diddero
Folleri-de-dom, domme daerai dae


William Taylor” is an old ballad. It was a popular street song in the first half of the 18th century.

Several versions exist, but the story of the song concerns a young couple due to be wed. On the morning of the wedding, the groom William Taylor (Billy in some versions) is pressed into service. The bride searches for him, disguising herself as a man to become a soldier or sailor. When her true gender is revealed (usually in an incident involving accidental exposure of her breasts), the captain points her in the direction of her beloved, but mentions that he now has a new suitor. When she finds him, she shoots him and his new bride. In some versions, she is then rewarded by the captain with command of her own ship.

Raoul Wallenberg



Written by Andy Irvine

“Raoul Wallenberg was a Swede who volunteered to take on the might of the SS in 1944 and save the Jews of Budapest from Eichmann and The Final Solution. Under the guise of being a diplomat in the legation, he issued Swedish passports, set up safe houses under the protection of the neutral Swedish flag and intercepted the death trains and marches. He is considered responsible for saving thousands of Jews from the horrors of Auschwitz.

When the Soviet army entered Budapest in 1945 however, they didn’t believe his story and took him to Moscow. The rest is clouded in mystery; the Russians still maintain he died shortly afterwards but the number of people reporting an acient Swede in various prison camps in the Gulag system – right up to the early 1980’s – cannot easily be discounted. There remains a possibility that he may be alive” Andy – Rude Awakening linear notes.