Valentia Long Ago

The verses below were composed by Thomas J. Smyth of Knightstown, Valentia Island. Although probably written without an air, in more recent times the air to the verse of the song ‘The little skillet pot’ has been used. He emigrated to the United States sometime in the first half of the 20th Century. He was a close relative of journalist and poet Liam MacGabhann (1908–1979) also from Valentia, who penned the following lines about his native home in 1932:

‘VALENTIA. I can hear the wild music of river and fall. But the breezes are bearing a soft, gentle call. It's calling me home, 'tis sweet singing stream. That flows thro’ the woodland of lovely Glanleam. Ah, my heart is nigh breaking with longing and pain. Dear home! Will you comfort your exile again? In dawning's clear brightness, in evening's soft gloam.’ There's no place on earth like my own Island home.’

It is clear from their writings that they both shared a love of the beauty and features of their native home, Valentia Island. The picture of Island life is beautifully captured in the lines below. There are a number of versions of this song in the Binneas Collection with slight variations. The names of the boats in verse six are also named as the ‘Daisy’ and the ‘Kerry’ in another copy. This song was donated to the Binneas Project by local historian Michael Lyne, Valentia. He has done much to preserve the history of the Island and was instrumental in the publications An t-Oileánach, ‘The Voices of Valentia’.

Source: An t-Oileánach, ‘The Voices of Valentia’ (1972-73), Kerryman (2nd January-1965 p.9)

Did you ever take a ramble when the moon was riding high,

And rest a little while in Mary’s Bower?

Did you stroll up to the Quarry when the clouds were in the sky,

And watch the golden sunset from Gortgower?

Did you climb the Geokaun hillside on a calm and sunny day,

To watch the gannets diving down below,

And the women of Dohilla in the meadows, making hay?

I did that in old Valentia long ago.

I remember old Jer Murphy with the Wren on Stephen’s Day,

For a mug of ale he’d dance the Tally-Ho.

Or to climb the monkey tree to Jolly’s sad dismay,

That’s the way ‘twas in Valentia long ago.

Did you see the little fishing boats go out to Dingle Bay,

In the evening as the night began to fall?

Did you see them returning just about the break of day,

And bringing in their catches big and small?

Did you mind those Peel and Arklow boats, becalmed for half a day,

And the “bumming boats” go out to give a tow,

For bring their catches homeward lest the curers lose their pay,

That’s the way ‘twas in Valentia long ago.

Have you witnessed those regattas that were held in days of yore?

And the stalwart men well qualified to row,

‘Bonny Daisy’ and ‘Up Kerry’, trying to even up the score,

In the harbour of old Valentia long ago?

Did you hear the lamentation and the caoining in the gale,

As the families in hopeful prayer would yearn,

Till the dawn brought only sorrow and again the tragic tale,

Of a missing boat that never would return.

With us a way of life it is, though Neptune make his claim,

And the challenge must be faced in calm or blow;

For our little island things are very much the same,

As they were in old Valentia long ago.