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(Belfast Born, Bred And Buttered By Joe Graham)

Chapter Eighteen

Songs Of The Mill

Oh, my name is Rosie Mullan, I’m a doffer in the Mill.

My boyfriend doesn’t know it, And I hope he never will

For if he gets to know it, He will drop me on the spot,

And that would never do, Because I love him a hell of a lot.

The ends are broke, the flyers are scrapped. The Yarn is hawked away.

Aul Lizzie blows the whistle, You can hear the doffers say,

There goes the bloody whistle, And you never get a stand,

Sure you would be better of in the Union, Or in McNamara’s Band


I’m a dacent wee girl Maggie Walsh is my name,

I was born in the Loney, the Falls Road, the same.

Sure I went over Millfield, and the Peelers were there,

They put their hand on my shoulder and then called a car.

It was early next morning about ten o’clock,

Before Judge McCarthy I was placed in the Dock.

He put on his eye glass and to me he did say,

“Is it you Maggie Walsh, that’s before me this day,

If it had been your first time,

Sure you might have got free,

But this is the third time on the books I can see.

One month I will give you, you’ll be out of the way,

For shouting “Home Rule on St Patrick’s Day!”

Sure the warder comes in and he opens your cell,

“Roll up yer aul blankets and empty yer poes,

And right about turn to the bone yard you go.!