Comhaltas Archive

A Boy of Barr na SraideSigerson Clifford, the Dublin-basedwriter and storyteller from Caherciveen'sBarr na Sraide, was buried acrossthe Water at Kilavarnogue in January.He died at his home in SilchesterPark , Glenageary, on New Year's morningas he prepared breakfast for hiswife , Marie.His end was unexpected but he wasprepared - he had requested that hisbody be brought back to be buriedamong his own people, amid the briarsand bushes at Kilavarnogue , a cemeterywhich had been closed for some years.And his own people gave him a sendoffworthy of the man who began hislife in Top Street, the place which inspiredone of his most famous pieces ofwriting. The Boys of Ban na Sniide.This ballad was sung by Ted Casey asthe funeral Mass concluded in theO'Connell Memorial Church inCaherciveen.Three verses of another of his famouspieces of work, 'I Am Kerry;', wererecited at the graveside by Angela McAllen and June O'Connor of PresentationConvent School.Sean O'Shea, who acted in SigersonClifford's first play, 'The Policeman'sParadise', when it was produced in theirnative town at the time when Mr.Clifford was manager of the localLabour Exchange, delivered an orationat the graveside.By way of introduction, Sean O'Sheaquoted from a poem by Sigerson, thename the name that Eddie Clifford used(it was his mother's maiden name) aftertaking up the pen of the poet, balladmaker, dramatist and short story writer.The town looks on the mountainand the mountain on the sea,But waking time or sleeping time'tis there I'd rather be."Today it is no longer waking timebut a long, long sleeping time for Sigerson,prideful son of Iveragh, sterlingfriend and above all a wonderfulhusband and father." said Mr. O'Shea."On occasions like this we are reluctantto intrude on family grief,except to endeavour to solace it in someinadequate fashion with the methods ofour appreciation. And appreciate Sigersonwe did as a fine artist of words whowas born there among us in Caherciveen,who sang the praises of this areaso that all Ireland came to know of it."He was a fine personality with arare gift. Whenever men foregather ingentle revelry some one will call forsilence so that a singer yet unborn shallrelive in location the adventures of theBoys of Barr na Sraide who hunted forthe wran. And when All-Ireland timecomes around again- if Kerry areengaged- we shall relive in location theadventures of long ago of a band of lads;who, at the fall of night, boarded thathonoured train of legend, The GhostTrain to Croke Park."It's eerie whistle will continue toring down the years before us. And noone hearing the rooks returning a.t eventidebut will recall the sound of therooks of Nano, one of his very fineplays."But there is a far finer reserve ofgenius attaching to Sigerson Clifford, asBryan MacMahon has pointed out, thanthese ballads, splendid though they are,indicate. He collected his best poemsunder the title of 'Ballads of a Bogman'.These were far more than these barbedballads - they were pure poetrycouched in brilliant terms."Our sorrow today is mingled withpride - pride that a son of Iveragh setdown in words the life that was livedhere among us and which, thoughalmost vanished, has left an importantresidue behind."In mortal terms, Sigerson Cliffordhas died, but in terms of wistful pridefulmemory he will continue to live in thehearts and minds of the people."Leaba imeasc na naomh go raibhaige agus suairnhneas siorrai da anamgh!geal."Sean O'Shea then recited a sonnetwritten by Listowel's John B. Keane inmemory of his friend and mentor.Oh Sigerson, Oh Sigerson,Your songs will live while rivers run,Sweet gentle soul whose very layShines with the lightness of the day.Here you lie where you longed to be,Beneath the hill beside the sea,Where all your boyhood years weregreenAnd golden whins did grace thescene.Where white gulls mewing filled theair,And smaller birds sang elsewhere,Where willows wave their leafywandsWe've closed your eyes and crossedyour hands,And never while the winds blow free ,Shall your sweet soul forgotten be.Eamonn Clifford was born in Cork in1913 but grew up, went to school andstarted work in Caherciveen, where hisfather and grandfather (Con fromCaragh Bridge) worked as tailors in TopStreet.But there was no indication that thetime was nigh when his friends would befolding the earth of Iveragh around hismortal remains, in accordance with hisown wishes:Oh lay me down in that old townBetween the hills and the sea.(The Kerryman)HUNTING THE 'WRAN' INSOUTH KERRYo the town it climbs the mountain andlooks upon the sea,At sleeping time or waking 'tis there I'dlike to be,To walk again those kindly streets, theplace my life began,Where the Boys of Ban ns Sraide wenthunting for the wran.With cudgels stout we roamed about tohunt the dreoilin,We searched for birds in every furzefrom Letter to Dooneen,We sang for joy beneath the sky, lifeheld no print or plan,And we Boys in Barr na Sniide huntingfor the wran.And when the hills were bleeding andthe rifles were aflame,To the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxonstranger came ;But the men who dared the Auzies andfought the Black and TanWere once the Boys in Ban na Sr3idehunting for the wran. .And here's a health to them tonight, thelads who laughed with meBy the groves of Carhan River or theslopes of Beenatee:John Dawly and Batt Andy, the SheehaSheehans Con and Dan,21