I just came across this old recording of my dad’s but I call him it too, Uncle Dicky. This must have been recorded in the late 70s or early eighties. It is lovely to hear his glorious voice again. you can hear the moaning of the old tape recorder. Dicky never sang at shindigs, he always recited things.
This poem talks about a skirmish that happened in our local town, Moynalty. at Salford plain in 1921 around this time of the year. It involved local rebels and the Black and Tans. A truly hellish time here in Ireland. but captured here in a very local way. by a man who lived his love for his native island.
© Mattieg Gilsenan
from facebook Mattieg Gilsenan