drangan on line

drangan in tipperary



on the 20th of march a life came to an end
we all lost a great neighbour a father brother , friend
willie dalton from shangarry
a man held in high esteem
passed away this morning in the middle of a dream
A man with golden glasses
and hair once black as coal
at every social gathering he was the life and soul.
He had a little honda 50which he rode to the shop
and when he met you in the village he'd always shout and stop.
Well how's it goin' young lad have you any news for me?
the next time you're passin' my way call in and have the tea.
A great dad he was to Michael and to his nephew Jim
who'll miss Willie from each dawning day till darkness falls again.
He loved to play the 25 , go coursing in Crohane,
after catching hares
he'd say his prayers a deeply religious man.
This is my little summary
of a man with a heart of gold, when God made you Willie Dalton
He surely broke the mould
Davy Fitzgerald

Kenny,s Shop

When we were young, we went to school St Patricks was it's name
before ,at lunch and afterwards we'd play a football game.
Then if we were hungry or even for a treat
we'd go to Kennys sweet shop in the middle of the street .
There was Jim Elaine and Catherine
there was Eileen and young John
they served every child and adult at the foot of Sliabh na mBan
as after mass on sundays you could hear our pounding feet as we made our way to kennys in the middle of our street.
They sold Kojak pops and Lucky Lumps and Fizzle Sticks and bars
the older lads bought 99s and sat out in their cars
Jack Hickey Jim Doyle Mick Whalen were the older boys you'd meet
outside Jim Kennys sweet shop in the middle of our street.
There was Barbara and Finola , the McCormacks Maeve and Ann
Marie Horan Rose and Joey from the famous Molloy clan
the Sullivans and Moloneys who all the boys thought sweet
would all meet up in Kennys in the middle of our street
.But now we've all grown up and gone to the four corners of the earth
but lately i returned once more to the place name of our birth
the saddest thing i noticed when my friends i went to meet
was alas there was no Kennys in the middle of the street.
Life it keeps on changing a lot have come and gone
new kids now walk the footpaths at the foot of Sliabh na mBan
i hopethey'll also have fond memories as we do when we meet
of another shop like Kennys in the middle of our street.
Dave Fitzgerald

Memories of Home

.On the Newline late at night a road with no street light
two chaps one young one old they made their way
as i walked along with pride Tommy Cummins by my side
then who should we meet but Neddy Shea
We stopped at Josie Thornes wall had a drop of something small
smoked a woodbine then we had a chat
then Tommy said goodnight go home lads and sleep tight
or we'll wake Josie and we can't be havin' that
Laharts house was next it stood out and looked the best
of all the houses that were on the way
and the next house on the road was our own humble abode
though none of us still live in it today
Then on to Johnny Readdys a man both fine and steady
as nice a man as you could wish to see
then Dermot and Stattia shur sometimes he would ate ya
and son Kevin who mended our tv
On then to Paddy Duggan who farmed like a good 'un

next Tommy Clancy Drangans quite man
i sat on Billy Clancys palin' with George and Michael Whalen
and talked about some life changing plan
Then on to Billy o Dwyer where we sat beside the fire
and talked of hurlin' matches that are gone
and up to Ellie Croke and Katie Lee who were very fond of me
two fine ladies from the foot of Sliabh na mBan
Then down Cormacks boreen me and my brother Ian
to where brother Jack used go to work each day
we'd ask Johnny where was Ned and he'd say above in bed
so we'd hit for Maggie Ahessys on our way
Out over the ditches and straight on in to Fitz's
Jimmy Babe and eldest son called John
then into Tom AND Kitty Hall where we were sure to have a ball
get lemonade an' maybe a cream bun
Last is Jimmy Horan but before this thing gets borin'
the Newline has almost reached it's end
but if youever felt like whinein' you could call on in to Guinan
and a sympathetic ear he'll always lend
So i'll now bid you adeiu a fond farewell to you
with memories of friends some dead and gone
even though my ties are severed my memories live forever
of our road at the foot of Sliabh na MBAN

the two travellers



“All over the world”, the traveller said,

“In my peregrination’s I’ve been;

And there’s nothing remarkable, living or dead,

But these eyes of mine have seen.

From the land of the ape and the marmoset,

To the tents of the Fellaheen”

Said the other, “ I’ll lay you an even bet

You were never in Farranalleen.”


“I’ve hunted in woods near Seringapatam,

And sailed in the Polar Seas,

I fished for a week in the Gulf of Siam

And lunched on the Chersonese.

I’ve lived in the valleys of fair Cashmere,

Under Himalay’s snowy ridge.”

Then the other impatiently said ,”See here ,

Were you ever at Laffan’s Bridge?”


“I’ve lived in the land where tobacco is grown,

In the surburbs of Santiago;

And I spent two years in Sierra Leone,

And one in Del Fuego.

I walked across Panama all in a day,

Ah me! But the road was rocky.”

The other replied , “Will you kindly say,

Were you ever at Horse -and - Jockey?”


“I’ve borne my part in a savage fray,

When I got this wound from a Lascar;

We were bound just then from Mandalay

For the Island of Madagascar,

Ah! The sun never tired of shining there,

And the trees canaries sang in,”

“What of that?” said the other, “sure I’ve a pair,

And there’s lots of them in Drangan.”


“And I’ve hunted the tigers in Turkestan,

In Australia the kangaroos;

And I lived six months as medicine man

To a tribe of the Kathmandoos.

And I’ve stood on the scene of Olympic games,

Where the Grecians showed their paces,”

The other replied, “ Now tell me, James,

Were you ever at Fethard Races?”


“Don’t talk of your hunting in Yucatan,

Or your fishing off St. Helena;

I’d rather see young fellows hunting the ‘wren’

In the hedges of Tobberaheena.

No doubt the scenes of a Swiss Canton

Have a passable sort of charm

Give me a sunset on Slievnamon

From the head at Hackett’s Farm.


“And I’d rather be strolling along the quay,

And watching the river flow,

Than growing tea with the cute Chinee,

Or mining in Mexico.

 And I wouldn’t much care for Sierra Leone,

If I hadn’t seen Killenaule,

And the man that was never in Mullinahone

Shouldn’t say he had travelled at all”





Drangan River

                       In my own beloved isle of the shamrock and daisy,
Through one of the vales of far famed Tipperary,
A rivulet flows that i love to remember,
From Tubber-daheen i can trace every quiver,
That marks the fair course of my own Drangan River.
Without place on the map that was made by the stranger,
Engraved on my heart thou endurest forever,
Tho' far away o're the billowy ocean,
I hear soft murmurings strange thy emotion
and yield thee the measure of one hearts devotion,
Yes Yes gentle stream where so'er on this planet,
I shall ever so gladly recall in in my summit,
The blessed days of boyhood, the times without measure,
Nor stained with alloy was the season of pleasure, I spent on the banks of my own Drangan River.
This poem was written by a relative of Maggie and Paddy drew who had a little shop in the village, Pierce Skehan was his name, Pat Hackett now owns the little farm,It was written in 1848, The river rises in Coadys cloughtaney and flows into the Anner All of us spent many happy years fishing for brikeens never mind swimming in Pat Slatterys pool.

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