Tom Creamer – Lahard
Fr. Dan Gallogly interviewed Tom Creamer of Lahard, Ballinamore when Tom was 84 years old and only days before Tom passed away. We are left with a lovely store of songs that paint a picture of Ballinamore and political happenings in nearby Newtowngore and Swanlinbar.
Newtowngore Song
Ye Catholics all both great and small,
I hope ye will draw near,
And likewise pay attention
Unto those few lines I’ve here,
Concerning bloody Orangemen,
How they called out their corps
To hold their celebrations
At the village of Newtowngore.
On the twelfth day of July, my boys,
Nineteen-and thirty one,
They meant to hold their meeting
And march in 4,000 strong.
But the gallant boys of Leitrim,
They turned out by the score,
And soon upset their meeting
At the village of Newtowngore.
In Newtowngore that morning,
It was a glorious sight. The Gaels they marched in order,
‘neath the Orange green and white.
And surrounded the Orange platform,
And soon razed it to the floor,
And captured poor King Billy’s head
At the village of Newtowngore.
And above that fallen debris
It was glorious to be seen,
Floating high up to the sky
Was the Orange white and green.
We gave three rousing cheers
Then for Connaught ever more.
And the Orange clan away they ran
From the village of Newtowngore.
We had men from Killaneen,
Fenagh, Ardrum, and Drumbeigh,
From Dereen, Clogher, Cavan,
To join us in the fray;
From Garadice, Aughawillion,
Curragcluhan, and Dromod,
They were all there and did their share
At the village of Newtowngore
We also had them from Aughavas and Mohill too
They were there from Drumbad, Curraghnawall and Kiltyhugh,
From Meenaghill and Callowhill, Cloverhill and Ballinamore,
All joined our ranks to drive those swanks
From the village of Newtowngore.
Away to hell or to Connaught
Was their cry of long ago,
Oh! But not to hell, But, Connaught,
Did those poor Papists go.
And in Connaught now and ever
Will their descendants be, galore
To rout the Orange rabble
From the village of Newtowngore.
So to conclude and make an end,
Give ear to what I say.
The Orange men were well prepared
To have a glorious day.
Without further talk we stopped their walk
As our grand sires did of yore,
And we gave them a touch of Ardrum Hill
At the village of Newtowngore.
The Church at Swanlinbar
“In the year 1870 the landlord planned to pull down the Church at Swanlinbar, and the people of the town and district sent out couriers to rouse the men of Leitrim, Cavan and Fermanagh to come and save it. there was a great response. Every man in the surrounding districts of the three counties (excepting Glan) turned out armed with pikes, scythes, hatchets, pitchforks and shovels. When the landlord saw the opposition he quickly changed his mind. Evictions were in full swing at the time and the crowbar brigade was at work all over the country.
People say the song was made by a man named Thomas McGoldrick who lived near Swanlinbar.”
Ye gentle muses I pray excuse me
For my intrusion on learning’s wing,
Inspire my genius, ye bards and sages
My country’s praises, I mean to sing,
Tradition mentions without contradiction
How blessed Saint Patrick, he was sent o’er
By Pope Celestine to improve a vineyard
Called Inis Org or the virgin shore.
And like St. Peter who when his master told him
To feed His lambs and His flocks to keep.
He ranged the desert, the vale, the mountain,
And the briny ocean for the straying sheep.
He consecrated three hundred bishops,
Drove snakes and serpents from our Saintly Isle,
And told the people that the church would suffer
Much persecution till the end of time.
So it came to pass as the Saint predicted,
For Satan’s power, as we are told,
Is still as great as when tempting Judas
To sell our Saviour for the sake of gold.
The fallen angels are still impatient,
Though driven from Heaven for raising war;
Of late they have tempted their earthly bailiff
To seize the Temple of Swanlinbar.
Shall not retard or lead her astray,
So we are obliged to stand up and guard her
Let earthly landlords say what they may.
on the 10th of August 1870 the night before,
When Grania’s sons they were all alarmed
From Lisnaskea unto Ballinamore.
You shall be guided by the morning star;
Now is the time to repulse the stranger
And save the chapel of Swanlinbar.”
From Cavan hills and Fermanagh gay,
Saying, ” Where is the offspring of the stranger
And ranged in order, in septs and clans.
I heard one chieftain say to another
”Where are our brethren from unfaithful Glan?”
You once wore laurels, though now a slave;
Your sons of old around the hills of Macken
Would lose their lives or their
Chapel save.
To face the tyrant and make him yield
Their cheers re-echoed the heavenly regions
As they manoeuvered in Curry’s field;
A hundred thousand they exceeded far,
All paying homage to the Star of Europe,
the Catholic Curate of Swanlinbar.
Or the poet Virgil of ancient time,
I would feel unable to set forth the praises
(Rev. Peter Whelan P.P.)
So fill your glasses with rum and gin.
And drink a health to our friend Montgomery
Noble Maguire, and Bennison.
That never were guilty of crime or wrong
And the Ballinamore boys won’t be forgotten
It’s no lie to call them old Grania’s sons.
