Barr Na Sraide - Top Street

One song in particular, The Boys of Barr Na Sraide, caught my attention. The song, according to Irish singer Tim Dennehy’s web site, “captures beautifully the essence of Cahersiveen nestled as it is between the mountain and sea”. Cahersiveen is an Irish town located at the Ring of Kerry. The song is based on a poem by Sigerson Clifford, who was born in Cahersiveen, and it tells the story of the boys of Barr Na Sraide – Top Street – who hunted for the wren. The poem recalls the life of his boyhood friends starting from when they were young children through to the Black and Tan period, and up to the civil war. The poem speaks of the Irish tradition of “hunting for the wran”, (wren), a small bird, on St. Stephen’s Day, December 26. Later set to music, the song has been recorded by numerous traditional and folk singers.

The title of Colm O’Donnell’s CD Farewell to Evening Dances is taken from the song The Hill of Knacknashee, another sentimental and lyrical ballad on the CD. I shamelessly copied the idea and took a line out of The Boys of Barr Na Sraide, the line that goes “And when the hills were bleeding and rifles were aflame…”, to use it as the title for my book “The Bleeding Hills“.

Through my research I found several, slightly different variations of Sigorson Clifford’s lyrics, but, regardless of what version you may find, they are nothing short of beautiful.

The Boys of Barr Na Sraide
O the town it climbs the mountain and looks upon the sea
And sleeping time or waking time ’tis there I long to be
To walk again that kindly street, the place I grew a man
With the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

With cudgels stout we roamed about to hunt for the dreoilín.
We searched for birds in every furze from Letter to Dooneen.
We sang for joy beneath the sky; life held no print or plan
And we boys in Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wran.

And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles were aflame
To the rebel homes of Kerry those Saxon strangers came
But the men who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black and Tans
Were the boys in Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

So here’s a toast to them tonight, those lads who laughed with me
By the groves of Carhan River or the slopes of Beenatee
John Dawley and Batt Andy and the Sheehans Con and Dan
And the boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran.

But now they toil on foreign soil where they have gone their way
Deep in the heart of London town or over in Broadway
And I am left to sing their deeds and to praise them while I can
Those boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wran

And when the wheel of life runs down and when peace comes over me
O lay me down in that old town between the hills and sea
I’ll take my sleep in those green fields the place my life began
Where the boys of Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wran.

Ar Sheilg an Dreoilín
An Irish translation of ‘The Boys of Barr na Sráide’ by Garry McMahon

Ó táimse i bhfad ó Éirinn is óm’ bhaile i gCiarraí
Ach is ró-bhuan é mo chuimhne ar an áit de ló is d’oích’,
An botháinín ‘nar saolaíodh mé i gCathair chaoin Saidhbhín
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.

An t-aiteann bhuí, gach tor is claí, chuardaíomar iad go cruinn
Faoi scamaill dhubha gan brón ná cumha ar lorg an éinín.
Bhí gliondar inár gcroíthe do scairteamar gan sriain
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.

Cé throid in aghaidh na Sasanaigh is ghnóthaigh clú is cáil
In aimsir na nDubhchrónach nuair a ghlaodh ar Fhianna Fáil?
B’iad na buachaillí a sheas an fód is chuir ruaig ar Sheán Buí
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.
Is ólaimís a sláinte, na laochra a bhí lem’ thaobh,
A raibh spórt is greann ar bhruach na habhann ins na coillte i measc na gcraobh,
Batt Aindí is An Dálach, sinn ar chliathán Bhinn a’ Tí
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.

Is táid anois thar sáile i bhfad, i bhfad i gcéin,
I Londain nó i Meiriceá agus mé anseo liom fhéin
Ach canfhadsa a moltaí go ceolmhar is go binn
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.

Nuair a ghlaofaidh Dia na nGlór orm chun mo chodladh deireadh buan,
Ar imeall gheal na farraige sea gheobhaidh mé mo shuan,
Is luífimíd go sítheach ann ‘sna gorta glasa mín’,
Buachaillí ó Bharr na Sráide ar sheilg an Dreoilín.