The Ballad of the Bog

This song paints a very picturesque image of days spent in the bog footing turf and the characters involved. The composer prefers to remain anonymous.  The complete version of the song appeared in the book ‘Ballinskelligs Remembered’ Volume 2, compiled by Finbar Bracken, Mícheál Leidhin and Dessy Cronin.

We footed turf in Killoluaig, ten bob a floor for Bob,

The days were long and our backs were short, tailor made for the job.

We crossed the hill at early morn. The Red Army marching down.

We worked all day till evening late, each hour for half a crown.

Bob's legs stepped long and long and long, as he measured out eight spades,

"Shut up you hoor and foot it high" the answer always came.

And when one floor was footed out, we moved on inch by inch.

There was no time for throwing clods and you footing Moran's trench.

With two floors footed straight and high, and the evening sun growing dim,

We packed our bags and with weary limbs we climbed the hill again.

With the two O'Sheas from Fermoyle, John Sugrue from Boulbreac,

O'Connell Mick from Emlaghmore, from the Castle O'Connell John.

With Christy, Johnny, Mike and Dan from Treeneragh Cross they came.

With the Briens from Pound they'd foot a trench in hailstones, rain or gale.

Paul Sullivan, PJ and Denis Shea and that strapping man Joe Murt,

With Jimmy Donoghue and Dek, those mighty men from port.

The Letter crew had only two, Tom Sugrue and O'Neill,

With Frankie Donoghue on his own who footed on his knees.

From Aughatubrid, Maurice Hayes, was quick and sharp of wit.

The Valentia boys made lots of noise but they could no more foot than knit.

He came on foot a long, long man; the years had weighed him down,

He played us music during lunch, God rest you Patie Pound.

The Grandfield lads from Ahanboy, a team of high renown.

While another man would be drawing his breath, they'd foot from here to town.

A tractor crock named Jer John Thade, with steering held by a nail,

With Pats McGill behind the wheel, she travelled like a gale.

With Willie Grandfield at the reek as cool as any judge.

If bogs and tractors were on fire sure Willie wouldn't budge.

Corcoran John from Capawee and mighty Driscoll Dan,

They talked all day of oars and boats and rowed up and down the bog.

And on Sunday night with pay in hand we headed for the town.

To grace once more the ballroom floor and discuss the week put down.

We travelled east to Inchabui, with Paddy Beag Cournane,

The tinker clan at Kenneigh Cross, remember us at morn.

For Joe C Keating in Ballard we reeked the turf again,

And in the evening clear from Ardcost near, you could hear “Come on my men”

Those days are o’er, to return no more. No footing now is done,

They turn it now with pikes and hooks and no nothing of our fun.

But when we travel back to Keefes and talk of days of yore,

We’ll salute you Bob as we pass your bogs, and shout “Foot it high you hoor”.

Anon