The Hounds of Filemore

(Ballad of a Drag-hunt)

This song was composed by Thade Bowler and was collected in the 1930’s from his nephew Mr. Patrick O’Reardon of Caherciveen. The author of the ballad was a schoolmaster and sportsman and died at an advanced age a few years prior to this song being collected. He was a tenant of Daniel O’Connell’s estate at Carhan, and it is said that as a boy he frequently took part in the local drag-hunt with the liberator himself. In the song Truman was said to come from Tureen. This is locally considered to be an error and meant to read Dooneen.

Herbert Hughes, Irish country songs Vol. IV

You lads and lasses gay, and you with sporting faces,

If you live until next year, you will ne’er forget thee races.

Such races we will have without bridle, whip or saddle,

And none of you will say that it’s all a fiddle faddle.

Oh, Filemore you’re the place, for merry sport and singing,

And the chief among them all is the charming beagle hunting.

A drag-hunt we will have, swift horses and fine riders,

Gentlemen there will be, for to wield their swords and sabres,

If a single man should fall, we will all feel very sorry,

For a sign it is most sure, that year he will not marry.

Oh, Filemore you’re the place, for merry sport and singing,

And the chief among them all is the charming beagle hunting.

Around the course we’ll go, to see who’ll rouse the echo,

From Carhan woods above, to the mountains of Kimego,

Kenmare will hear the shock, and Dingle will awaken,

Killorglin will resound, and Valentia will be shaken.

Oh, Filemore you’re the place, for merry sport and singing,

And the chief among them all is the charming beagle hunting.

Comely struck it first, there was Rattler Thade the Weaver,

Small Truman from Dooneen, and Tanner was their leader;

Juno Coffey of Coars, Likewise Juno Foley;

Juno Lynch indeed, were three Juno’s full of glory.

Oh, Filemore you’re the place, for merry sport and singing,

And the chief among them all is the charming beagle hunting.

And now the hunt is over, the sun is nearly setting,

Into the town we’ll go as tired our limbs are getting,

In tap rooms we will sit, call for porter, ale and whiskey,

Then homeward we will go, with spirits light and frisky.

Oh, Filemore you’re the place, for merry sport and singing,

And the chief among them all is the charming beagle hunting.

The author of the following curious verse, which is included on a handwritten copy of the song in the

Binneas collection is unknown.

*Our day’s hunt’s now all over, I forgot to praise my ‘Drummer’

He is the pride of all our hounds, and without him they are nothing.

He keeps on the tally-ho, sure he’d never lose a fathom,

He’d hunt a hare or doe, when all the rest are lagging