The Waters that flow ‘round Valentia

This song was collected from the composer Johnny Murphy of Valentia Island for the 1997 Valentia review. It was previously published in the periodical ‘An tOileánach 1972, p.77.

The song eloquently describes the simple joys of boyhood, the transition to manhood and the reality of emigration and changing times. Johnny Pon who is mentioned in the eighth verse refers to John Patrick O’Neill, who was a fish merchant. He would send fish to America packed into barrels. After the Second World War the ‘Beet campaign’ was initiated as a means of providing seasonal work in England. This is referred to in the eleventh verse.  Many of the migrant workers stayed in England and found other employment in the building trade. Many never returned to their homeland.

By the waters that flow around Valentia,

There’s one spot of fame and renown,

That catches the eye from the quarry,

As you gaze up the river to town.

When we grew up into manhood,

And fishing got into our heads,

Out the lighthouse at six every evening,

There was never a word about bed.

Our boat she was one of the old ones,

She never saw any smart paint,

She was tarred from the keel to the gunwale,

But still bore the name of a saint.

To see us lie there at the anchor,

And everything there up to date.

You may not believe when I tell you,

She was built in the year ninety eight.

We rowed her along nice and gramhar,

‘till we came to the slopes of Colloo,

We there took our oars off the water,

And decided on what we should do.

We then steered a course to the North-West,

‘till we nearly lost sight of the land,

Bray head far away in the distance,

Ceann Glass on the Coonana strand.

We had shot just one hour before darkness,

And then we started to haul,

The first fish we hauled was a conger,

The most troublesome fish of them all.

The second we hauled was a halibut,

To us it appeared nothing strange,

For it was not our first time being lucky,

To shoot on a halibut range.

We hauled away out in the darkness,

With turbot and brill sure galore,

And the very next place you will find us,

Inside Johnny Pon’s famous store.

When ever we ‘subbed’ it was a fiver,

Whenever we ‘subbed’ sure at all,

For anything less than a fiver,

To us would appear mighty small.

We always kept cider and whiskey,

In bottles from E.J.O’Neill,

There was always a ‘cead mile failte’,

At the point from ould Mother O’Neill.

But there’s two of our crew gone to England,

To toil day and night at the beet,

Sure nobody here would begrudge them,

You all know that sugar is sweet.

But now that the fishing is over,

And Spaniards are cleaning our shore,

[The Spaniards are fishing to near]

I’ll bid you adieu for the present,

I’m off for a strange land next year.