Paddy Downey’s voyage to the Skelligs

This song, written in the vernacular, has a flavour of the tradition of the Skellig lists. It differs in two important areas however. Firstly, it is written in the first person, and secondly, the only person in the song open to ridicule is the protagonist himself.

Members of the community of marriageable age who had not married by the start of the Lenten period could find themselves included on a Skellig list’. These humorous lists were composed anonymously and would be recited and sung locally. Bachelors and spinsters could find themselves matched with another unmarried person in the community no matter how absurd the match. As Lent traditionally began ten days later on the Skelligs than on the mainland, the opportunity to get married was in theory extended. The verses were an encouragement to the couples to travel to the Skellig Michael on Shrove Tuesday to wed.  It is not known whether anyone availed of this facility.

The reference to ‘Pat Flaherty’ in the penultimate and final verse is referring to a brand of whiskey.

To the Skelligs! Bedad an’ tis often I did,

afore I had sinse an’ got married to bid.

‘Tis a place where the single do pay for their sins,

be climbin’ the bowldhers an’ barkin their shins.

An’ clingin’ like crows to the shky-sewpin rocks,

In their bare footed legs uthout bluchers or socks;

‘Tis a wild rocky island far off in the Wesht,’

An’ I hear ‘tis in jogrify ‘long ‘it the resht.

Will I tell you about wan quare voije that I had?

A terrible journey intirely, bedad!

‘Tis an’ long:- but be jay I remember it now,

‘Twas the year Conny Cud got the kick from the cow.

Faith, that winther was windy an’ wet an’ sevare,

An’ lan’lords an agints had dhruv people quare;

Wid the docthors an’ potkerrias getting’ great call,

The Shrove pasht away ‘thout a marriage at all.

Well that Shrove Tuesday mornin’ I ‘woke in the bed,

Wid a comical doldhrum inside in my head;

An’ me appetite gone, an’ me feet like the shtones,

And a sort in all-over-ness ketchin’ me bones;

“Yerra Paddy!” sez I, “you’ll be havin’ the hin,

Af you don’t look alive an’ get whisky or gin!”

So I leps out o’ bed and shticks on me good clothes

An’ away for Peg Donoghue’s shanty I goes.

I met Darby Dunne there an’ shortly bedad,

Me pockets was thinikin’ me fingers was mad.

Wid the pipe an’ the glass, an’ a fire an’ a chair,

Af the house fell atop o’ me I didn’t care.

But I said wid meself when the day was wore late,

That I’d take a walk home for a morsel to ate.

“Carry this bottle home wid you, Daddy” sez Peg,

“Tis the besht you could take, broken up wid an egg,

Sure avic, you might get a raylaps in the night,

An’ this is the shtuff-eight-an’-six-puns-that’s right,

Be the time I was done wid a cake iv mixed bread,

A plate iv biled turnips an’ half a pig’s head;

An’ a bun an’ a good cup iv Lippintons tay,

An’ a small little tashte iv the bottle-be jay.

I was feeling as airy an’ light as a midge,

An’ off wid me out for a sthroll to the Bridge.

Where many a jolly oul’ evening’ I had,

An’ herself, the dear craythur, she lived there bedad

‘Twas froshty that evenin’ but lovely an’ fine,

Wid the shtars in a blaze, jesht beginin to shine;

An’ the moon from the top o’ Crognhane peepin’ down,

As round an’ as bright as a new half-a-crown.

The road to the bridge was a couple iv mile,

An’ as I washnt runnin’ it tuk me some while.

The night was so bright as the day, but be cripes,

‘Twas all I could do to keep out iv the gripes.

Wid a drop from the bottle jest now an’agin,

To keep up me sperrits an’ frighten the “hin”!

I was never before in a humour so grand,

Me sowl bit I felt like a king iv the land;

Or a conkerin’ hayro, in musther an’ pride,

Wid the goold iv the world to offer his bride.

I was laughing an’ singin’ an’ cryin’ like a kid,

An’ Dhramin’ bright dhrames iv me footur wid Bid.

An’ the world, begob ‘twas a new world intire,

All glorin’ an’ grand in some sthrange sort iv fire!

You wouldn’t give in to ‘t-faix you might be right,

But a wandherful miracle happened that night.

For there be the bridge on the water did float,

A crowd on the deck iv a purty big boat.

“Hurry on, Paddy Downey, you himb!” sez the mate,

“ We wor waitin’ for you an’ I dhread we’ll be late!”

“Hurry on, hurry on, Paddy Downey achree”

Sez bid, “ for you’re comin’ to Skelligs wid me”

So I scrumbled on board an’ we floated down sthrame,

Wid singin’ an’ music as sweet as a dhrame;

The music an’ ridin’ soon pit me to shleep,

‘Till we pasht be Cromane an’ wor out in the deep.

An’ the rabbits wor laughin’ at us at Inch Pint,

That looked like a fwhale wid his nose out iv jint.

Thin I dozhed off agin, an’ the next time I woke,

The high rocks iv Skelligs right over us broke.

In terrible pinnickles ruggety high,

An’ what did I see there above near the shky.

Bit another baranach collogin’ wid Bid,

An’ if iver a man felt like murther I did.

An’ I heerd her sweet wice callin over the say,

“Climb up Paddy Downey an’carry me way”!

Thin I started to climb but to tell you the truth,

The hart in me buzzom was up in mooth;

Betune shlippin an’ clingin an’ crawlin up shlow.

Wid the deep roarin water invitin’ below.

Whin I’d be near the top I would shliddher agin,

Into dark yawnin’ caves that would swally me in,

An’ thin I’d hear Bid callin’ over the say,

“Hurry up Paddy Downey, an’ carry me ‘way!”

Thin frantick agin I would rise at the call,

An’ agin scramble up till I shliddher an’ fall.

Faix that was me pinnance the long blessed night,

Till the moon was gone down in the say out iv sight;

An’ I hadn’t a nail on me fingers or toes,

An’ the big periwinkles all over me clothes.

At lasht I fell down where the big wathers roar,

I gev a great screech an remembered no more.

Don’t ax me, aweenach, what way I got back,

I suppose I was tired an’ fell down in me thrack.

For two peelers found me in grey iv the dawn,

Ashleep in the dyke, near Culloty’s lawn.

As shtiff as a poker – they thought I was dead,

An’ an empty ‘Pat Flaherty’ ondher me head.

They marched me away to the law-breakers bunk,

An’ the week comin’ on I was fined for bein’ dhrunk.

Faix it washn’t no dhrame for me hands wor all sore,

An’ me shins wor all black an’ me throuser was tore.

Well anyway, b’y ‘twas the lasht voije I med,

But the “hin” kem along an’ she left me half dead.

An’ I kep’ “Paddy Flaherty” out iv the fight,

For I got a big ‘surface’ iv fwhishky that night.

At Aisther I wint wid me throubles to Bid,

An’ the two if us wint an’ got married- we did!

Composed anonymously, February 1925