1 • RAMBLIN' THE MOORS

"Come along, sweetheart, together we'll go,
To see the first primrose beneath a hedgerow.
There's a world outside Cheetham Hill you've never seen,
And a moor full of flowers, all yellow and green"

Ramblin' the moors, ramblin the moors,
That was their passion, that was their cause,
From Buxton to Hayfield to Chinley and all,
When they were courting, out ramblin the moors.

They'd rise early Sunday, come rain or come shine,
Ride the Forty-Two bus to the end of the line.
With the Renold Chain Rambling Club, Alice and Joe,
Out on the moors, a-ramblin' would go.

Ramblin' the moors, ramblin the moors,
That was their passion, that was their cause.
You can say what you like about Heaven and all,
Alice and Joe found it ramblin' the moors.

In the second-hand bookshop On Wellington Road,
Cynthia and Wendy and Alice and Joe,
Looking through dusty brown bookshelves for hours,
For faded old volumes on foxes and flowers.

Ramblin' the moors, ramblin the moors,
When Joe could get time off during the war,
With the kids, out to Chinley, away from it all,
Alice and Joe went a-ramblin the moors.

An age and an ocean away from those days,
With nurses and needles and hospital trays,
Alice is drifting away from us all,
And I think when she died she was hearing Joe call:

"Come along, sweetheart, together we'll go,
To see the first primrose beneath a hedgerow
There's a world outside Cheetham Hill you've never seen,
And a moor full of flowers, all yellow and green"

Ramblin' the moors, ramblin the moors,
That was their passion, that was their cause.
You can say what you like about Heaven and all,
Alice and Joe found it ramblin' the moors.
You can say what you like about Heaven and all,
Alice and Joe found it ramblin' the moors.

©1993 by Stephen R. Dulson and Georgiana Hennessy
Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar: Steve Dulson
Bass & Alto Recorder: Laurel Twomey
Vocals: Dan Dwyer & Karen Curry 

2 • THE RED HAIRED MAN'S WIFE

Ye muses divine, combine, and lend me your aid,
To pen these few lines, for I fear that my heart is betrayed, By a woman most fair who was dearer to me than my life,
But from me she is flown, and is known as the red-haired man's wife

A letter I'd send by a friend down to the sea shore,
To let her understand I'm the man that does her adore,
And if she'd leave that slave, I would willingly forfeit my life,
And she'd live like a lady, and ne'er be the red-haired man's wife.

Ah! Remember the day that I gave unto you my true heart.
And you solemnly swore that no more we ever would part,
But your mind's like the ocean, each notion has taken her flight,
And has left me alone to grieve for the red haired man's wife.

I straight made my way the next day through a shady green grove,
And crossed purling streams where the wild birds mostly do rove.
Thence I was conveyed to where Nature does boast of her pride,
And I stood all amazed, and I gazed on the red-haired man's wife.

I offered a favour, and sealed it with my own hand.
She answered and said, "Would you lead me to break the command?
Therefore, please be easy, since Nature has caused so much strife.
I am given away, and will stay as the red-haired man's wife."

Traditional

Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar: Barry Fisher & Bruce Boyer
Bass Recorder: Laurel Twomey
Harp: Karen Curry
Vocal: Dan Dwyer

7 • THE SAILOR IS HOME

It seems I've been sailing for ten thousand years,
In five hundred lifetimes, I've not been this near.
Whenever I hear the waves breaking on shore,
I find myself dreaming blue ocean once more.

But the sun on the quarter is drying me out.
The foul weather gear is all flapping about.
There's a fine smell of breakfast from the galley below.
The coast is in sight, a few hours to go.

All is forgiven; lie warm in the sun,
Chalk out the talley, the sailor is home.
All is forgiven; lie warm in the sun,
Chalk out the talley, the sailor is home.

The wind that so scared you when you were a boy,
Still knocks over tall ships as if they were toys.
You've seen some things that you'd like to forget,
But come about Argus, it's not your time yet.

Ah, the bums and the layabouts all hangin' around,
They lean on the railings in old harbor towns.
Stove hatches, torn sails, the ship's had her fill,
Stories are starting, you're grist for their mill.

All is forgiven, the storm is all done,
Pour us another, the sailor is home.
All is forgiven, the storm is all done,
Pour us another, the sailor is home.

My friends take me down to the docks now and then,
And I always expect to see Andy again,
Then I start to remember `mid the hubbub and shouts,
The last time I saw the Argus sail out.

The black flag at masthead for all ships to see,
The padre, the piper, the burial at sea,
Flowers on the water, what once was a man,
All bets are off now, the sailor is home.

All is forgiven as we stand `neath the sun,
And lift up our glasses the sailor is home.
All is forgiven, the game lost and won,
Turn your back, walk away, the sailor is home.

©1992 by Jessie E. Kelly & Stephen R. Dulson

Fiddle & Mandolin: Brad Moore
Guitar: Steve Dulson
Bass Recorder & Whistle: Laurel Twomey
Hammered Dulcimer: June McIntire
Harp: Karen Curry
Vocals: Dan Dwyer & Karen Curry 

3 • SOUTH WIND

South Wind of the gentle rain,
You banish winter weather.
Bring salmon to the pool again,
The bees among the heather.

If Northwards now you mean to blow,
As you rustle soft above me,
Godspeed be with you as you go,
With a kiss for those that love me.

From South I come with velvet breeze,
My word all Nature blesses.
I melt the snow, and strew the leaves,
With flowers and warm caresses.

I'll help you to dispel your woes,
With joy I'll take your greeting,
And bear it to your loved Mayo,
Upon my wings so fleeting.

My Connacht, famed for wine and play,
So leal, so gay, so loving,
Here's my fond kiss I send today,
Upon the wind in its roving.

These Munster folks are good and kind,
Right royally they treat me,
But this land I'd gladly leave behind,
If your Connacht pipes would greet me.

Traditional

Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar: Steve Dulson
Alto Recorder: Laurel Twomey
Hammered Dulcimer: June McIntire
Button Accordion: Al Missbrenner
Vocals: Dan Dwyer & Karen Curry

4 • TAKE ME AWAY

I want to go by the ocean's great shore,
And sail on a boat wild and free,
Raise her white sails to capture the wind,
Yes, that's where I'm longing to be.

Take me away on a ship on the sea,
Run with the wind at our back,
Sail to an island that's green and fair,
And promise we'll never come back.

Too many people and too many things,
Call me away from the sea.
I want to go where there's blue sky above,
And swell, and a freshening breeze.

Long sandy beaches and rocky shores,
Are waiting out there for me.
How many years of my life must slip past,
Before I can go there and see.

©1995 by Karen Curry

Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar: Steve Dulson
Mandolin & Bass Recorder: Laurel Twomey
Vocals: Dan Dwyer & Karen Curry

5 • FAREWELL / THE STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN

Near Bannbridge Town in the County Down,
One morning last July,
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen,
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet,
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair,
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself,
For to see I was really there.

From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay,
And from Galway to Dublin Town,
No maid I've seen like the brown colleen,
That I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
And I looked with a feeling rare,
And I says, says I, to a passerby,
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and with pride says he,
"That's the gem of old Ireland's crown,
Sweet Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann,
She's the Star of the County Down."

Well, I've travelled a bit, but I never was hit,
Since my rovin' career began,
But fair and square I surrendered there,
To the charms of young Rosie McCann.
I'd a heart to let, and no tenant yet,
Though I've searched countryside and town.
Straight in she went, and I'll ask no rent,
From the Star of the County Down.

At the Crossroads Fair, she'll be surely there,
So I'll dress in my Sunday clothes,
With my shoes shone bright, and my hat cocked right,
For a smile from the nut-brown rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke,
Though my plow turn a rust-colored brown,
'Til a smiling bride by my own fireside,
Sits the Star of the County Down.

Traditional

Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar: Steve Dulson
Alto Recorder/Whistle: Laurel Twomey
Hammered Dulcimer: June McIntire
Harp: Karen Curry
Vocals: Dan Dwyer & Karen Curry

11 • JESSICA'S POLKA / KESH JIG

© Mick Hanly / Traditional

Fiddle: Brad Moore
Guitar & Appalachian Dulcimer: Steve Dulson
Bodhran: Michele Dulson
Whistle & Recorder: Laurel Twomey
Hammered Dulcimer: June McIntire