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18 Wheels and no Roses - cover

 

Gardai is generally pronounced ‘gar-dee’, and is the plural form of ‘Garda’. ‘An Garda Síochána’ (na hÉireann) are the Irish Police, or ‘the polis’ in vernacular. It translates as ‘The Guardians of the Peace (of Ireland). And Erin is the Anglicised spelling often found for Éireann – Ireland. Now, there’s some mixed geography in this, for the Garry-boys are really Limerick. And here’s a word or two I offered for DANNY THE DANCER, for DANNY’s not far from the tune of the Garryowen, and this piece talks of the Garry-bhoys:

The Garryowen is an old Irish quickstep going back to the 1680s. In time it became the official Gallop of the Seventh Cavalry under Custer, and to this day it’s the Official Tune of the First Cavalry. The name’s not quite what it may seem. It’s a compound of ‘garrai’ – the Irish for ‘garden’, and eoian – the Irish form of John, and pronounced O-in or Oh-en. In fact, you’ll find King John’s Gardens at the bottom of the hill in Limerick town. And there’s many a madness the young folk used to get up to there. The local lads would tear the knockers from doors, and wring the necks of geese. Soon the fame of the ‘Garryowen boys’ spread far and wide.

But in time the ‘Garry-bhoys’ (for in Scotland and Ireland both, ‘bhoy’ is closer to a young tough or thug than it is the simpler ‘boy’) got to more than a broken door knocker or three, and mayhap there’s more dead than a goose or so to their name. For Limerick was once (and still may be for all my knowing) called Switch-City, for the knives even its children carried of a Saturday night. But what city there is here (Sraid Uí Chonaill is O’Connell Street, and Stephen’s Green is Faiche Stiabhna, the Georgian Square city centre public park) is Dublin. And the uilleann are the Irish bag-pipes all Ireland over, but you say it as ɪlən, or ‘i’ (as in ‘sit’) l (as in ‘love’) a (as in ‘ago’) n – so ‘ilan’. And, for those who may not know,  the Liffy is a river that runs through Dublin, and Guiness (the real kind, and not the kind they let the English have) is supposed to be made with the pure Liffy water. So ‘the Liffy’ is the black stuff, and it’s no’ Oil that means :-).

Oh – and a half-crown? That was once two shillings and sixpence in English money. And the Irish often took the English coin – for there’s little else they thought na Sasanaigh had worth having, unless it was their heart’s blood running in the street for some. And the rights of that, or the wrongs either, is not mine to say.

 

Walkin' Home

So I took me out a walkin’
In a dream I had last night
To a place I’ve never been me
Though I sometimes wish I might
An’ my dreamin’ feet, they took me
Cork an’ Kerry, an’ Kildare,
But the Erin that they found me
Made me wish I wasn’t there

An’ the Gardai an’ the Garry-bhoys,
They’re tearin’ up the town
An’ there’s Mary on the corner
An’ she’s yours for half-a-crown
It’s none the land I wish I knew
The Green Isle’s lost away
An’ there’s no’ a pipe or fiddle song
From here to Judging Day

So I set again to walkin’
Walked the dream right out my feet
An’ it’s here it was I found me
On the Sraid Uí Chonaill beat
An’ I wrapped dream Dublin round me
While I washed the Liffy down
An’ I reached for Erin in me
But the Liffy’s all I found

An’ the Gardai an’ the Garry-bhoys,
They’re tearin’ up the town
An’ there’s Mary on the corner
An’ she’s yours for half-a-crown
It’s none the land I wish I knew
The Green Isle’s lost away
An’ there’s no’ a pipe or fiddle song
From here to Judging Day

Then I felt the mornin’ callin’
An’ I woke in Stephen’s Green
On a cold and ragged corner
But I knew I wasn’t seen
For the people hurried by me
An’ there’s none as saw me lie
While the Green Isle’s tears were cryin’,
Fallin’ down from Erin’s sky

An’ the Gardai an’ the Garry-bhoys
They all can kiss my arse
An’ I’ll find my own fair Mary
The next corner that I pass
Then I’ll keep my dream feet walkin’
‘Till I find my Erin land
An’ the one I’ve got I’ll give you
With the back of my own hand
For somewhere there’s a wind blow
An’ the wind has uilleann song
An’ somewhere there’s a fiddle
An’ that fiddle’s playin’ strong
I can hear an old tin whistle
I can hear a dancin’ shoe
But the Gardai an’ the Garry-bhoys
They’ve never heard the tune

The Gardai an’ the Garry-bhoys,
Was tearin’ up the town...