The Hills of Filemore

This song was transcribed from a recording of Tady O’Sullivan, Killurley East. It is thought to have been composed by huntsman Poundín Sugrue, a shoemaker in Cahersiveen. The Kerry beagle ‘An Pocadán Ciarraíoch’ is an ancient breed, believed to date back to the 16th century and was originally bred as a stag hound. Differing from the Irish wolfhound which is essentially a sight-hunter, the Kerry beagle primarily hunts by scent rather than sight and may actually be the oldest native Irish breed. The genetic lineage of this breed is thought to be a Celtic hound going back probably to the time of the first Celtic settlements in Ireland, and through breeding experiments with other hounds from the continent resulted in producing a very efficient hunting dog. It is generally assumed that the dog referred to as ‘gadhar’ in Old Irish texts may be the direct ancestor of the modern day Kerry hound. The name ‘beagle’ curiously enough is thought to be derived from the Irish word ‘beag’. Many Irish emigrants took the Kerry beagle with them to the Americas and the dog became a foundation breed in the developments of ‘Coonhounds’. There are a number of songs in the Binneas Collection connected with various styles of hunting in the area, for example fowling, drag hunting, hare and fox hunting, and hunting with horse and hound. Some of the songs are still sung to this day, for example,  ‘The Cahersiveen Beagles’ and ‘The Filemore Hounds’. The song below is less well known.

Source: Matt Joe O’Neill (Private Collection)

Air: Similar to ‘The road from Killorglin to Caherciveen’

Around the hills of Filemore the horns they did blow,

To the famed hills of Gurrane are sportsmen did go.

To meet the bold sportsmen from the parish all o’er,

For none knew that sport better than the boys of Filemore.

And when we arrived they were all standing there,

So we took to the green fields in search of a hare,

We did not go far when Pats gave a call,

And away goes the hare and the hounds in full fall.

When she got to the heather she tried them to shun,

But our hounds never missed one range were she’d run,

They came well packed when going over the hill,

But they had set themselves this pussy to kill.

And away through the valley and down by Coomlea,

Then by the great Aoine ‘twas a grand sight to see,

With our dogs all abreast and the big mountain hare,

And the sweet charming music it rang through the air.

Then back through the wild slough that lies near Tooreen,

And over the shoulder that sees down Raheen.

They now for the hill top to try them once more,

 But it was the last sight ‘round the plains of Filemore.

Then as they trailed on to where pussín did lie,

 She sprang to her feet to bid them goodbye,

Their music it ceased and her cry we could hear,

Saying “bad look to the one who brought so many dogs here.”

Last night as I lay content in the Glen,

It was little I thought of dogs or of men,

For when going home at clear break of day,

I could hear the long horn that Mickey did play.

Now that I am dying the sport is all done,

 No more through the green fields of Coars I will run,

Or feed in Lisbawn on the long winter’s night,

And go home to my bed when it’s breaking daylight.

I blame but one huntsman for bringing them here,

He’s been at the same game for many long year,

Every Thursday and Sunday he never gives o’er,

With his pack of strange dogs ‘round the hills of Filemore.