Few poets have been so loved by the ordinary people as W.F. Marshall,"The Bard of Tyrone" His verses about his native county- it's mountains and woods,it's plaintive old bachelors and love-sick girls,it's laughter and vigor,are known and cherished by an older generation, many of whom can be relied upon to recite "Me an'me Da" "Sarah Ann" or "Our Son" as the occasion demands.
"The Bard" the Rev. William Forbes Marshall BA. LLB. DD. MRIA. was born Bill Marshall in Drumragh ,Omagh, County Tyrone on the 8th May 1888. His father was principle teacher in Sixmilecross National School where Bill received his early education. One of his most loved poems is "Me an'me Da" also sometimes subtitled "Livin in Drumlister" It is written in the local Tyrone dialect so we have given you an "English" translation! Me an me Da By W.F. Marshall I’m livin in Drumlister An I’m getting very oul I have to wear an Indian bag To save me from the coul. Theres deil a man in this townlan Wos claner raired nor me, But I’m livin in Drumlister In clabber tae the knee. Me Da lived up in Carmin, An kep a sarvint boy. His second wife was very sharp, He birried her with joy. Now she wos thin,her name was Flynn She come from Cullentra, An if me shirts a clatty shirt The man to blames me Da. Consarnin weemin sure it wos A constant word of his, Keep well away from them thats thin Their tempers aisy riz. Well,I knowed two I thought wud do But still I had me fears, So I skiffled back an forrit Between the two,for years. Wee Margit had no fortune, But two rosy cheeks wud plaze. The farm o lan was Bridgets, But she tuk the pock disayse. An Margit she was very wee, An Bridget she was stout. But her face was like a goal door, With the boults pult out. I’ll tell no lie on Margit She thought the worl of me. An tell the truth me heart wud lep The sight of her to see. But I wos slow, ye surely know The raison of it now, If I left her home from Carmin Mr Da wud rise a row. So I swithered back an forrit Till Margit got a man. A fella come from Mullaslin An left me jist the wan. I mind the day she went away, I hid wan strucken hour, An cursed the wasp from Cullentra That made me Da so sour. But cryin cures no trouble, To Bridget I went back, An faced her for it that night week Fornenst her own turf stack I axed her there,an spoke her fair, The handy wife shed make me, I talked about the lan that joined -Begob! She wudnae take me. So Im livin in Drumlister An Im getting very oul I creep tae Carmin wanst a month To try an save me sowl The deil a man in this townlan Wos claner raired nor me, And Im dying in Drumlister In clabber to the knee. English translation from Tyrone speak of Me an me Da Me and my father By W.F. Marshall. I am living in Drumlister And I’m getting very old I have to wear a potato bag To keep me from the cold There’s not a man in this townland Was cleaner reared than me But I’m living in Drumlister In cow dung to the knee. My father lived in Carmin And kept a servant boy His second wife was very sharp He buried her with joy Now she was thin, her name was Flynn She came from Cullentra And if my shirts a dirty shirt The man to blames my Da Concerning woman, sure it was A constant word of his Keep well away from them thats thin Their tempers easy rise Well I knew two, I thought would do But still I had my fears So I kiffled back and forward Between the two, for years Wee Margaret had no fortune But two rosy cheeks would please The farm of land was Bridgets But she took cowpox desease And Margaret she was very wee And Bridget she was stout But her face was like a jail door With the bolts pulled out I will tell no lie bout Margaret She thought the world of me And tell the truth my heart would leap The sight of her to see But I was slow, you surely know The reason for it now If I left her home from Carmin My Da would rise a row So I swithered back and forward Until Margaret got a man A fellow came from Mullaslin And left me just the one I recall the day she went away I hid one strucken hour And I cursed the wasp from Cullentra Who had made my Da so sour But crying cures no trouble To Bridget I went back And faced her for it that night week Beside her own turf stack I asked her there and spoke her fair The handy wife shed make me I talked about our land that joined Begob! She would not take me. So I’m living in Drumlister And I’m getting very old I creep to Carmin once a month In an attempt to save my soul. Theres not a man in this townland Who was cleaner reared than me But I’m dying in Drumlister In cow dung to the knee.
_______________________________________________ UlsterAncestry@cotyrone.com UlsterAncestry Mailing List Searchable Archives: https://email@example.com/ http://lists.cotyrone.com/mailman/listinfo/ulsterancestry Website: https://cotyrone.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/CoTyroneIrelandGenealogy/