The 1959 All Ireland final

Kerry versus Galway

The autumn leaves are falling fast on lone Lough Corrib’s side,

On far Valentia’s rocks and sands so quietly laps the tide.

So still the air, so fine the day, no people can I see,

Yet high among the mighty hills, the browsing blackfaced bleat.

Where are those hardy highland men? They’ve goneto Dublin town,

As to Clontarf in days of old, they went from West and South,

When Kelly reigned o’er Galway’s plains, O’Connell and O’Shea,

Were lords of wild South Kerry glens and Coffey by the lakes.

McMahon too, that famous name once linked with brave king Brian,

And where would you find better blood than that of Mick O’Dwyer,

McCauliffe, Sheehys, fighting men and the gallant Murphy’s too,

This Kerry team will raise some dust before the game is through.

It was beneath the Cusack stand brave Kerry took the field,

Oh! How our hearts beat high with joy to see the gold and green,

We checked our numbers on the list as blazed the sun on high,

It was jerome two and Seamus nine and fifteen Tadghie Lyne

O’Heir’s voice is hoarse with joy, the game is on he screams,

Long may he live, our broadcast king, to action flash the teams,

The sun and wind in Kerry’s eyes, John Dowling doesn’t care,

For in just a flash two points he snaps, like bullets through the air.

A Galway goal by Ivers tall  made our kerry hearts feel sore,

But Dan McCauliffe shot a point to level up once more,

Two minor scores by Purcell and Kerry lagged behind,

But Dan McCauliffe cut it down and Tadghie got  a point.

‘Twas five all round and then the ground grew quiet for half-time rest,

John Culloty now you’re free from glare, ‘tis well you stood the test,

When the ball came tumbling from the sun, it was only one got by,

The only one in all that game with danger ever high.

McCauliffe’s goal soon shook the net, and O’Dwyer sent o’er a point,

And Farrell parted from the ball to wave the green on high,

A Purcell point sure what is that, when McMahon gets the ball,

For at thirty yards the green flag waves, ‘tis sixteen seven all.

The cup is won, the day is done, the bonfires soon ill blaze

O’er hill and glen from Scartaglin through Waterville and Kenmare,

Two proud men walk across Croke Park with Mick O’Connell’s men.

‘Tis John Joe Sheehy’s silvery haired, and Dr. Eamonn O’Sullivan

This song was composed by a nun from Monaghan and was collected from Mary Horgan (Waterville)