The graphic novel Gone to Amerikay, which took Derek McCulloch and I nearly three years to finish, is now in the can and off to the printer.
Music is an important element of Gone to Amerikay. If you want to learn about and experience more Irish music, visit the Comhaltas Traditional Music Archives.
The Comhaltas Traditional Music Archive comprises the recordings, documents and images collected by Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann during our 50 years of promoting Irish music and culture.
Our Archive is housed and curated within a network of Regional Resource Centres, with local specialists on hand to catalogue the unique music of each area. You are very welcome to visit any of the Centres and sign up for your account. Read more about the history and holdings of the Comhaltas Archive here:
The archives are available in both English and Irish language.
As I roved out one morning fair, so early I strayed,
It being all in the month of June the birds sang in the shade.
The sun shone down right merrily and billowing with pride
Where primroses and daisies grow down the Blackwater-side.
I had not gone but half a mile when there by chance I spied
Two lovers talking as they walked down by the Blackwater-side.
And as he held her in his arms these words to her did say:
‘When I am in Amerikay I’ll be true to my Irish maid.’
‘This when you are in Amerikay those Yankee girls you’ll find,
And you’ll have sweethearts all your own more pleasing to your mind.
Do not forget the promises and the vows to me you made,
Oh stay at home, love, and do not roam from your bonnie Irish maid.’
‘This when I’m in Amerikay those Yankee girl I’ll see
But they have to be very handsome to remind my love of thee,
There’s not a bloom in yonder grove nor a leaf in cry
My love’s gone to Amerikay and quite forsaken me.
I went on the church last Sunday, my love he passed me by,
I knew his mind was changing by the roving of his eye.
I knew his mind was altering to a girl of high degree,
Oh Willie, lovely Willie, your love has wounded me
Last night I lay in my bed, so sick and sad was I,
I called all for a napkin around my head to tie.
Was he as much in love as I, then perhaps I’d mend again,
O love it is a killing thing, did you ever feel the pain?
I wish I was a butterfly, I’d to fly to my love’s nest,
I wish I was a linnet, I would sing my love to rest.
And I wish I was a nightingale, I would sing my song so clear,
I would sing it all for you, false love, whom once I loved so dear.
