Skibbereen

[ Roud 2312 ; Ballad Index PGa046 ; DT SKIBREEN ; Mudcat 30772 ; trad.]

O.J. Abbott sang Skibbereen—A Ballad of the Famine on his 1961 Folkways album Irish and British Songs From the Ottawa Valley. Edith Fowke noted:

This pathetic ballad recalls the days of the great famine in 1845, 1846, and 1847 , when a blight struck the potato crop and brought disaster to the hard-pressed Irish peasantry. The people died by tens of thousands, some from starvation and more from diseases brought on by malnutrition. Others saved their lives by emigrating to America. In three years the population of Ireland dropped from eight and a half to six and a half million.

Skibbereen, subtitled A Ballad of the Famine is given in Volume II of Herbert Hughes’ Irish County Songs (1915) as traditional in the County Tyrone. In his preface Hughes comments : “Most ballads are human (if not historical) documents, and the story told so straightforwardly in Skibbereen, for example, certainly falls into that category. Curiously enough, in outline and one or two details it resembles an actual incident recorded by a friend of mine in Kerry less than forty years ago, though there could be no connection between the two stories.

Mr. Abbott’s version is very similar to the one Hughes prints. The main variation is the addition of lines 3 and 4 in Mr. Abbott’ s second verse which may have been carried over from some other song, or may represent part of an additional verse. Between verses 5 and 6 Hughes gives this extra verse:

It’s well I do remember the year of forty-eight
When I arose with Erin’s boys to battle ’gainst the fate.
I was hunted through the mountains like a traitor to the Queen,
And that’s another reason why I left old Skibbereen.

This ballad is rare in America, although another famine song The Praties They Grow Small is fairly widely known. Mr Abbott learned it from Charles O’Connor when he worked on Skead’s farm near Hull, sixty years ago.

Joe Heaney sang Skibbereen to Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger, recorded at their home in Beckenham in 1964. This recording was included in 2000 on his Cló Iar-Chonnachta/Topic album The Road From Connemara.

Sarah Makem sang Skibbereen in an undated family recording that was included in 2011 on her Musical Traditions anthology As I Roved Out. Rod Stradling noted:

Surprisingly, this song has only 23 Roud entries, and only nine of them are from Ireland—I’m sure this doesn’t represent its true popularity. Tom Munnelly wrote of the song, in his review of the Joe Heaney CDs: “A piece of nationalistic melodrama with evictions, dying mothers and famine. No wonder it is sung throughout Ireland! Skibbereen is definitely popular with the showbands (or whatever they are called nowadays), but it is also extremely widespread in the field, and I have recorded it from Irish rural singers in every corner of the country.”

Attributed in The Irish Singers’ Own Song Book (Noonan, Boston, 1880) to Patrick Carpenter, a native of Skibbereen. Denis J. O’Donaghue Poets of Ireland (Dublin, 1912) lists Carpenter, and says he wrote for The Boston Pilot. Skibbereen was printed by the Glasgow Poet’s Box in 1875.

But Sarah has a quite different tune to the ‘usual’ one … it’s essentially the same as that usually used for the English song, The Banks of the Sweet Dundee.

Joe Heaney, Freddie McKay, and Miss Margaret Byrne are named as singers in Ireland, with only the first two having currently available CDs: Freddie McKay (MTCD200) and Joe Heaney (TSCD518D).

Tim Lyons sang Skibbereen on 1 April 1970 at the King’s Head Folk Club. This recording was included in 2012 on the Musical Traditions anthology of songs performed at that place in 1968-1970, King’s Head Folk Club. Rod Stradling’s notes basically repeat what he wrote on Sarah Makem’s album.

Vin Garbutt sang Skibbereen in 1977 on his Topic album Eston California. He noted:

Skibbereen is a song of emigration from the time of the great Irish famine of the 1840s when something like two thirds of the population of Ireland were forced to emigrate, mainly to the United States and Canada. Many an Irish family also found a new home in the working class districts of England where they found they had a lot in common with their new neighbours, especially poverty. My mother’s parents brought this song with them when they moved to England in the 1890s. It’s the story of a father answering his son on the question of why he left Ireland. The melody is not the one usually associated with Skibbereen.

Freddy McKay sang Skibbereen to Charlie Gray and Keith Summers in The Oxford Arms, Camden Town, London, in January 1985; This recording was released in 1986 on his Musical Traditions cassette Live!, and was included in 1998 on the Topic anthology A Story I’m Just About to Tell (The Voice of the People Volume 8).

Belina O’Hooley played the tune of Skibbereen in 2019 on her No Masters album Inversions. She noted:

A song about the Famine, and the impact it had on the people of Ireland. My dad would ask me not to play it in England in case of causing offence. I think it is an important song with a beautiful tune that should be heard.

VARO with Junior Brother sang Skibbereen on their 2025 album of collaborations, The World That I Knew. They noted:

In this moving 19^th century song, brought to the project by Junior Brother, a father tells his son about the traumatic event of being evicted from his native land during the Great Hunger, and the tragic events that followed.

Different times, different contexts, but even during the madness that was the lockdown, evictions were still shamefully carried out on a regular basis.

Lyrics

Joe Heaney sings Skibbereen

“And, O father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin’s isle;
Her lofty scenes and her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild.
They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell.
O why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell?”

“And, O son I loved my native land with energy and pride,
Till a blight came over all my crops, my sheep and cattle died.
My rent and taxes were so high, I could not them redeem.
And that’s the cruel reason I left old Skibbereen.

“It’s well I do remember the year of ’98,
When I arose a Fenian to battle against our fate.
I was hunted through the mountains as a traitor to the Queen,
And that’s another reason I left old Skibbereen.

“It’s well I do remember the cold November’s day,
When the landlord and the sheriff came to drive us all away.
They set our roof ablaze afire with their demon yellow spleen.
And that’s another reason I left old Skibbereen.

“Your mother too, God rest her soul, fell on the snowy ground.
She fainted in her anguish, seeing the desolation round.
She never rose but passed away from life to mortal dream.
She found her grave in place of rest in dear old Skibbereen.

“You were only two months old and feeble was your frame.
I could not leave you with my friends, you bore your father’s name.
I wrapped you in a cöta mör at the dead of night unseen.
Then we heaved a sigh and bid goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.”

“But oh father dear, the day will come when our vengeance we will call.
When Irishmen both stout and stern will rally one and all.
I’ll be the man to lead a van beneath a flag of green
And loud and high we’ll raise the cry ‘Revenge for Skibbereen!’”

Sarah Makem sings Skibbereen

“O Father dear, I oftimes hear you speak of Erin’s isle;
Its lofty scenes, its valleys green, its mountains rude and wild.
They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell
Ah, why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell?”

“Ah, Son, I loved my native land with energy and pride
’Til a blight came over all my crops, my sheep and cattle died.
My rent and tax they were to pay but I could not them redeem,
And that’s the simple reason why I left old Skibbereen.”

“O Father dear, the day will come when vengeance on them fall
And Irish men with freedom stern will rally one and all.
I’ll be the man to lead the van beneath the flag of green,
When loud and high we’ll raise the cry ‘Revenge for Skibbereen!’”

“And you were only two years old, quite feeble was your frame;
I could not leave you with my friends, for you bore your father’s name
So I wrapped you in my coatamor at the dead of night unseen
And heaved a sigh, and bid goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.”

Tim Lyons sings Skibbereen

“O Father dear, I oftimes hear you speak of Ireland;
Its lofty scenes, its valleys green, its mountains rude and wild.
They say it is a lovely land wherein a prince might dwell.
Then why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell?”

“My Son, I loved our native land with energy and pride,
Until a blight came on my crops, and sheep and cattle died.
The rent and taxes were to pay and could not them redeem,
And that’s the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.

“It’s well I do remember that bleak December day;
The landlord and the sheriff came for to drive us all away,
They set my roof on fire with their beaming yellow spleen,
And that’s another reason why I left old Skibbereen.

“Your mother too, God rest her soul, lay on the snowy ground.
She fainted in her anguish of the desolation round.
She never rose, but went her way from life to death’s long dream
And found a quiet grave, my boy, in darling Skibbereen.

“And you were only two years old, and feeble was your frame;
I could not leave you with my friends, you bore your father’s name.
So I wrapped you in my coatamor in the dark of night unseen,
I heaved a sigh, and said goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.”

VARO sing Skibbereen

And father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin’s isle,
Her lofty scenes, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild;
I’ve heard it is a lovely land, wherein a prince might dwell,
Then why did you abandon it, the reason to me tell)

My son, I loved your native home with energy and pride
When a blight came over all my crops, and my sheep and cattle died.
The rent and taxes were to pay, and I could not them redeem,
And that’s the cruel reason I left old Skibbereen.

How well do I remember that cold December day
When the landlord and the bailiff came to drive us all away;
They set my roof on fire with their cursed English spleen
And that’s another reason I left old Skibbereen.

And you were only six months old and feeble was your frame,
I could not leave you with my friends for you bore your father’s name.
I wrapped you in my cóta mór in the dead of the night unseen;
I heaved a sigh and said goodbye to dear old Skibbereen.

Your mother too, God rest her soul, fell to the snowy ground,
Fainting in her anguishing at the desolation round.
She did not rise but passed away from life to eternal dream,
She had a quiet burial somewhere in Skibbereen.

And father dear, and the time will come we’ll answer to the call,
And Irishmen both stout and tall will rise up one and all.
I’ll be the man to lead the charge beneath a flag of green,
And loud and high we all will cry, “Revenge for Skibbereen!”