> Folk Music > Songs > Spancil Hill

Spancil Hill

[ Roud 22062 ; DT SPNLHL ; Mudcat 48023 ; Michael Considine]

Christy Moore sang Spancil Hill in 1972 on his Trailer album Prosperous. He noted:

This song really invokes strongly a mood which some might say sentimental but I think that a people who had to uproot their lives and cross the seas to who knows what, can be allowed a little nostalgia.

Patsy Flynn sang Spancil Hill to Keith Summers in Tommy Tinneny’s home in Newtownbutler, Co Fermanagh, on 9 August 1980. This recording was included in 2014 on the Musical Traditions anthology of traditional songs from around Lough Erne’s shore collected by Keith Summers in 1977-1983, I Pray You Pay Attention. Rod Stradling noted:

Spancil Hill is a song written in a traditional Irish folk style by Michael Considine. It bemoans the plight of the Irish immigrants who so longed for home from their new lives in America, many of whom went to California with the Gold Rush. This song is sung by a man who longs for his home in Spancil Hill, his friends and the love he left there. All the characters and places in this song are real. (Spancil Hill is on the road between Ennis and Tulla.)

Considine was born around 1850 and emigrated to the USA from Spancil Hill at around 1870. He stayed in Boston for two years or so before moving to California. At the age of 23, he suffered from ill health for a long time and, knowing he hadn’t long to live, he wrote the poem Spancil Hill to be sent home in remembrance of his love.

O’Hooley & Tidow sang Spancil Hill in 2010 on their No Masters album Silent June. Heidi Tidow noted:

On 23 June each year, a major horse fair takes place at Spancil Hill, a crossroads near Ennis, County Clare. The song, taught by Belinda’s dad Seamus, describes the plight of the Irish immigrants, many of whom went to America with the Gold Rush yet yearned for home, friends and love. Many of mine and Belinda’s relatives left Ireland for better lives.

The Haar sang Spancil Hill on their 2025 album The Lost Day.

Lyrics

Patsy Flynn sings Spancil Hill

Last night as I lay dreaming
Of happy days gone by,
My mind being bent on rambling,
To Ireland I did fly.
I stepped on board a vision
And I travelled with a will.
Ah, the first place that I anchored was
At the cross at Spancil Hill.

It being the twenty-third of June,
The day before the fair,
When Ireland’s sons and daughters
They all assemble there,
The young, the old, the brave and the bold,
Their duties to fulfil,
At the parish church of Looney
One mile from Spancil Hill.

I visited my neighbours
To see if they were well;
The young ones are all dead and gone,
The young ones turning grey.
I met the tailor Quigley,
He’s as bold as ever still.
Sure, he used to make my britches
When I lived on Spancil Hill.

I paid a flying visit
To my first and only love.
She’s as fair as any jewel,
And as gentle as a dove.
She threw her arms around me
Saying, “Johnny, I love you still.”
Ah, she’s Ned the farmer’s daughter,
And the pride of Spancil Hill.

I kissed her and caressed her
As I did in days of yore.
“Ah, Johnny, you’re only joking,
As many’s a time before.”
The cock he crew in the morning,
He crew both loud and shrill.
I awoke in California,
Far far from Spancil Hill.

O’Hooley & Tidow sing Spancil Hill

Last night as I lay dreaming
Of pleasant days gone by
My mind been bent on rambling
To Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision
And followed with the wind
When next I came to anchor
At the cross of Spancil Hill

It been the twenty-third of June
The day before the fair
When Ireland’s sons and daughters
In crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave and the bold
Their journeys to fulfil
There was jovial conversation
At the cross of Spancil Hill

I went to see my neighbours
To hear what they might say
But the old ones were all dead and gone
The young ones turning grey
I met the with the tailor Quigley
He’s as bald as ever still
He used to make me britches
When I lived in Spancil Hill

I paid a flying visit
To my one and only love
She’s as white as any lily
She’s as gentle as the dove
And she threw her arms around me
Saying, “Johnny I love you still”
She’s Nell the farmer’s daughter
And the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I hugged and kissed her
As in the days of yore
But she said, “Johnny you’re only joking
As many’s the time before”
And the cock he crew in the morning
He crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California
Many miles from Spancil Hill