53. Kilkelly/Leaving

Kilkelly ©Peter Jones, Some Sweet Music (BMI); Leaving ©Jimmy Keane, Cappal Beag Music (BMI)

The first time I heard Kilkelly, I was struck by its emotional power and authenticity. Unlike the nostalgic and sentimental ditties of the Irish vaudeville era, Kilkelly was grounded in the tragic historical events of the nineteenth century. It had a reality and rawness not usually found in songs.

Peter Jones, the song’s composer, came across a bunch of old letters that had survived in his family across several generations, probably sitting in some dusty old attic all that time. The letters were written to his great-great-grandfather, John Hunt, who had immigrated to America from the village of Kilkelly, in County Mayo, in the west of Ireland. They span a number of years, from shortly after the potato famine to almost the turn of the century, and chronicle the family throughout that period. It is a genuine slice of history, and the sense of the loss and separation felt by these Irish emigrants is palpable. Although the story is sad, it is not cloying or sentimental, and it captures the reality of those tragic times in a way that few songs ever have.

The potato famine of 1845-1847 resulted in the deaths of over a million Irish men, women, and children. It also started a massive wave of emigration from Ireland. Subsequent failures of the potato crop over the next few decades made sure that exodus continued. Between 1845 and the turn of the century, an estimated five million people left Ireland, most journeying to America. Many Irish-Americans have told me that their forbearers who had left Ireland never wanted to speak about it. It is hard to blame them when all they had to remember was hunger and hardship. The vaudeville-era songwriters were aware of this and wrote many sentimental songs that idealized the old country. While some of these songs were hugely popular with the Irish Diaspora and also in Ireland, many of the native Irish found them hard to stomach. They created a sentimental, idyllic past that to many people, folksingers in particular, came across as inauthentic or kitsch.

Over a singing career spanning thirty years, the response I received to Kilkelly far exceeded that of any other song in my repertoire. I recorded it, with Jimmy Keane and Mick Moloney, on a television series called Bringing It All Back Home, and, subsequently, it became the title track of that trio’s second album. Over the next few years, I received scores of letters and emails about it. The story is almost always the same. People hear the song and are moved by it. They call the radio or television station to find out who sang it, and then contact me to tell me how much it meant to them. Several people, who heard it while driving, have told me that they became so emotional they had to pull off the road or sit in their driveway until they could compose themselves.

Sad songs, in general, can be a two-edged sword for a performer. It is ironic that the better a sad song is received, the more difficult it is to follow. It is hard to climb out of the emotional trough and bring the audience back to a lighter mood. Another problem is that people hearing sad, emotional songs for the first time may be greatly moved, but those who have heard the song many times before may not be ready to hear it again. This kind of ambivalence can put singers in an awkward position. So for that reason, I used the song sparingly, over the years. Sometimes before a show, someone would beg me not to sing Kilkelly because it was too sad and made them cry, while others would ask to hear it because they loved it, a testament to the power of the song. It must be particularly difficult for those who have recently lost a loved one or are having family difficulties. At first, I almost shied away from learning it because it I was so sad but I ultimately felt compelled to sing it because it was so real.

The great accordionist, Jimmy Keane, added to the poignancy of the arrangement by punctuating some of the verses with his reworked, slowed down version of the reel, Ships Are Sailing, from Francis O’Neill’s Music of Ireland (1903). He thought it was appropriate since Francis O’Neill also emigrated to America in 1860. I think it added a cinematic quality to the track and gave listeners a chance to more fully absorb the storyline. I can honestly say that I never encountered another song that packs such an emotional punch. Kudos to Peter Jones for so exceptionally capturing such a compelling slice of history in song form.

Lyrics:

KILKELLY / LEAVING

Kilkelly ©Peter Jones, Some Sweet Music (BMI)¹
Leaving ©Jimmy Keane, Cappal Beag Music (BMI)

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 60, my dear and loving son John
Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara,
So good as to write these words down.
Your brothers have all gone to find work in England,
The house is so empty and sad
The crop of potatoes is sorely infected,
A third to a half of them bad.
And your sister Brigid and Patrick O'Donnell
Are going to be married in June.
Your mother says not to work on the railroad
And be sure to come on home soon.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 70, my dear and loving son John
Hello to your Missus and to your four children,
May they grow healthy and strong.
Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble,
I suppose that he never will learn.
Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of
And now we have nothing to burn.
And Brigid is happy, you named a child for her
You know she's got six of her own.
You say you found work, but you don't say what kind Or when you will be coming home.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 80, dear Michael and John, my sons
I'm sorry to give you the very sad news
That your dear old mother has gone.
We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly,
Your brothers and Brigid were there.
You don't have to worry, she died very quickly,
Remember her in your prayers.
And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning,
With money he's sure to buy land
For the crop has been poor and the people
Are selling at any price that they can.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 90, my dear and loving son John
I suppose that I must be close on eighty,
It's thirty years since you're gone.
Because of all of the money you send me,
I'm still living out on my own.
Michael has built himself a fine house
And Brigid's daughters have grown.
And thank you for sending your family picture,
They're lovely young women and men.
You say that you might even come for a visit,
What joy to see you again.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 92, my dear brother John
I'm sorry that I didn't write sooner to tell you that father passed on.
He was living with Brigid, she says he was cheerful
And healthy right down to the end.
Ah, you should have seen him play with the grandchildren
Of Pat McNamara, your friend.
And we buried him alongside of mother,
Down at the Kilkelly churchyard.
He was a strong and a feisty old man,
Considering his life was so hard.
And it's funny the way he kept talking about you,
He called for you in the end.
Oh, why don't you think about coming to visit,
We'd all love to see you again.

1. PRODUCTION INFORMATION
Robbie O’Connell—Guitar and vocal
Pat Broaders: Harmony vocal
Jimmy Keane: Accordion
Kathleen Keane: Whistle
Produced by Jimmy Keane; Recorded at Cedar House
Sound and Mastering; New London, New Hampshire in 1996; Engineered by: Gerry Putnam.