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Song For The Mira.

Song For The Mira.

Lyrics: Canadian singer/songwriter guitarist, and music historian Allister MacGillivray.
Vocals: Canadian retired country, pop music and 4 Grammy Award singer Anne Murray.

Anne Murray.

“Song for the Mira” was written in 1973. The “Mira” isn’t a person or a made up place-name for the lyric and video shown hereunder; it’s the actual Mira River in Cape Breton Island, at the eastern end of the Canadian province of Nova Scotia, and by extension the easy-going river communities along its banks.

Song For The Mira.

Song For The Mira.

Out on the Mira on warm afternoons,
Old men go fishing with black line and spoons,
And if they catch nothing they never complain,
I wish I was with them again.
As boys in their boats call to girls on the shore,
Teasing the one that they dearly adore,
And into the evening the courting begins,
I wish I was with them again.
Can you imagine a piece of the universe,
More fit for princes and kings?
I’ll trade you ten of your cities,
For Marion Bridge and the pleasure it brings.
Out on the Mira on soft summer nights,
Bonfires blaze to the children’s delight,
They dance ’round the flames singing songs with their friends,
And I wish I was with them again.
Can you imagine a piece of the universe,
More fit for princes and kings?
I’ll trade you ten of your cities,
For Marion Bridge and the pleasure it brings.
Now I’ll conclude with a “wish you go well”
Sweet be your dreams, and your happiness swell,
I’ll leave you here, for my journey begins,
I’m going to be with them,
Going to be with them,
I’m going to be with them again.
Can you imagine a piece of the universe,
More fit for princes and kings?
I’ll trade you ten of your cities,
For Marion Bridge and the pleasure it brings.
Can you imagine a piece of the universe,
More fit for princes and kings?
I’ll trade you ten of your cities,
For Marion Bridge and the pleasure it brings.

END.


I’m Just A Country Boy.

I’m Just A Country Boy.

Songwriters: American folk singer, guitarist, producer and songwriter, the late Fred Hellerman (1927-2016) and American lyricist, librettist, singer, songwriter and director, the late Marshall Barer (1923-1998).
Vocals: American country music singer, songwriter, and 2010 inductee into the Country Music Hall of Fame, the late Don Williams (1939-2017).

The Late Don Williams.

One of the gentlest country No. 1s of the late ’70s – ‘I’m Just a Country Boy’, – a 1977 hit from that era.

I’m Just A Country Boy.

I ain’t gonna marry in the fall.
Ain’t gonna marry in the spring,
‘Cause I’m in love with a pretty little girl,
Who wears a diamond ring.
And I’m just a country boy,
Money have I none,
But I’ve got silver in the stars,
And gold in the mornin’ sun.
Gold in the mornin’ sun.
Never gonna kiss the ruby red lips,
Of the prettiest girl in town.
Never gonna ask her if she’d marry me,
I know she’d turn me down.
‘Cause I’m just a country boy,
Money have I none,
But I’ve got silver in the stars,
And gold in the mornin’ sun.
Gold in the mornin’ sun.
I never could afford a store bought ring,
With a sparklin’ diamond stone.
All I could afford is a lovin’ heart,
The only one I own.
‘Cause I’m just a country boy,
Money have I none,
But I’ve got silver in the stars,
And gold in the mornin’ sun.
Gold in the mornin’ sun
.

END.

A Song For A Sunday.

‘Why Me ?’

Lyrics and Vocals: American singer, Song writer, Musician and Actor the late Kris Kristofferson. (1936–2024).

The Late Kris Kristofferson.

Kris Kristofferson’s gospel-leaning country classic ‘Why Me ?’ feels less like a performance and more like a plainspoken prayer. Released as a single in March 1973 from the album “Jesus Was a Capricorn“, it became the biggest solo hit of his career, topping Billboard’s Hot Country Songs in July 1973.
Kristofferson later linked it to a moment at a church service when the preacher asked, ‘Is anybody feeling lost?’, and his hand went up. So, with that honesty at the heart of it, here’s ‘Why Me ?’.

‘Why Me ?’

Why me Lord, what have I ever done,
To deserve even one,
Of the pleasures I’ve known.
Tell me Lord, what did I ever do,
That was worth loving You,
Or the kindness You’ve shown.
Lord, help me Jesus, I’ve wasted it,
So help me Jesus, I know what I am,
But now that I know that I’ve needed You,
So Help me Jesus, my soul’s in Your hand.
Try me Lord, if You think there’s a way,
I can try to repay,
All I’ve taken from You.
Maybe Lord, I can show someone else,
What I’ve been through myself,
On my way back to You.
Lord, help me Jesus, I’ve wasted it,
So help me Jesus, I know what I am.
But now that I know that I’ve needed You,
So help me Jesus, my soul’s in Your hand.
Lord, help me Jesus, I’ve wasted it,
So help me Jesus, I know what I am.
But now that I know that I’ve needed You,
So help me Jesus, my soul’s in Your hand.
Jesus, my soul’s in Your hand.


END.

Thurles Showcases Civic “Aftercare”.

  • A “Pedestrian Walkway” Returns to the Wild.
  • Tarmac, Trolleys, Plastic Bags and Trampled Trees.
  • Double Ditch Obliterated, Then Abandoned.

Please first see the video immediately hereunder before preparing yourself to weep.

Now may I suggest you quickly grab a box of tissues.

Once upon a time, there was a place in rural Thurles, Co. Tipperary that had the cheek to be historic. They called it “The Double Ditch”; a raised path built through wet ground, faced with limestone, and rooted in the grim practicality of the once Great Famine, (1846-1849), to keep people working, to keep families alive, to keep feet dry enough to move. Yes, same was a civic scar, but an honest one, and a rare thing to be found in modern Ireland; a piece of lived history, a public walkway you could still walk on.

A recent abandoned attempt at cleaning the area.

Naturally, this could not be tolerated. So it became “connected”, “improved”, “enhanced”, “brought forward”, (whatever soothing verb local councillors, the local Municipal District Administrator and her officials would prefer), until all of it were “totally and wantonly obliterated”, its ancient hedgerows removed and the route flattened under heavy machinery, without so much as the courtesy of admitting what was being lost to the residents of our struggling town.
Then, after much denial of its existence, with a straight face that would even shame a Victorian undertaker, it reappeared in planning language as being a “paved, pedestrian, walking route along a historical walking path”, despite being described by local councillors and politicians as not paved at all, before being levelled and left with only a temporary skin of tarmacadam.

And now we arrive at the masterpiece of their planning – “The Aftercare”.

Because nothing says “community amenity” like building a walkway and then abandoning it to rot, as if maintenance were an optional lifestyle choice, like decaf or seatbelts. The grand vision, a safe walking route on Mill Road, Thurles, tied into wider footpath plans, presented as “overdue” and “necessary”.
The execution, however, appears to have followed the classic local-government model; do the ceremony; pour the tarmac; maximise the photo credit, then disappear vanishing into the mist.

So the area has now again begun its return to nature, that sacred Irish policy position otherwise known as “leaving it in a hape”.
First came the willow saplings, same thrusting up through the tarmac like a botanical middle finger to uninterested municipal district officials, while rooting themselves into every crack that sheer neglect has kindly widened for them.
Then arrived the briars and brambles, years of Autumn’s leaves, nettles and rank grass, all working in quiet co-operation like they’ve been awarded the contract. Soon enough, the walkway becomes less of a public route and more of a living demonstration of what happens when you build infrastructure with no real future plan to mind it, other than personal glorification.

And the litter, ah, the litter; not the dainty odd sweet-wrapper sort. No, this is the full rural-civic anthology, large plastic bags flapping like distressed flags; tyres slumped in the verge; broken wire fencing sagging like exhausted excuses. The occasional supermarket trolleys, thoughtfully dumped to ensure nobody confuses the place for cared-for land. If you’re lucky, a washing machine or two, because why wouldn’t you add white goods to a heritage corridor?

But the true flourish, the one that should make even the most hardened press-release writer blush, is how the site has been used as a stage for virtue, and then as a bin for its consequences.

In spring 2025, the area beside ‘Dun Muileann‘ on Mill Road, Thurles, became part of the One Hundred Million Trees planting push, funded locally by Allied Irish Banks’ Thurles branch, with students and the odd idle volunteer turning up to plant a dense mini-forest, using the Miyawaki Method; the whole point being fast-growing biodiversity and a carbon sink. The public reporting around it speaks of over two thousand native saplings planted at the site, a serious effort, and no small gesture of community buy-in.

And then, in the sort of anticlimax Ireland has successfully perfected; those young trees are left in a space now allowed to slide into total disorder, where over the past number of months horses are permitted to trample through the plantings that were meant to be protected long enough to establish themselves. A “green space”, promised and photographed, now reduced to a patch of scruff and horse manure, where the only thing thriving is the evidence of nobody being responsible.

That’s the moral of it, really, the fetish for the new, paired with the total inability to mind what’s then built.

Because it takes a special kind of civic arrogance to first flatten a famine-era landmark that once, literally, put bread into mouths, and then to shrug at the basic upkeep required to stop the replacement from becoming an overgrown dumping lane.

We are told, endlessly, about “heritage”, “biodiversity”, “active travel”, “community”. The words are always there; the maintenance however rarely is.

And so the Double Ditch, the real one, survives mostly as an idea: something that mattered, that was walkable, that carried memory in its stones. What’s left on the ground is the modern tribute: tarmac, blocked drains, weeds, rubbish, bent fencing, and the quiet certainty that nobody, supposedly in authority, will be held to account for any of it.

On behalf of myself, I offer my sincere apologies to Thurles Branch of AIB; (Sponsors), to Mr Richard Mulcahy (Co-founder of the 100MT Project initiative) and to all those students who enthusiastically and eagerly took part in last April’s planting.
Hopefully some of the trampled saplings will continue to survive, after all horse dung is a nutrient-rich organic fertilizer and soil conditioner.

The Waste Continues.

You Seldom Come See Me Any More.

You Seldom Come See Me Any More.

Lyrics and Vocals: Irish singer, songwriter and entertainer of the country and Irish genre Johnny McEvoy.

Johnny McEvoy.

The song hereunder “You Seldom Come to See Me Anymore” sees Johnny McEvoy at his best: warm, gentle, and heartbreakingly direct, where a few simple lines say what a whole argument never could. It was even one of the nearest he came to breaking the UK charts, helped along by strong record sales in the North of Ireland. So if you know it, sing it, and if you don’t, you’ll certainly feel it.

You Seldom Come See Me Any More.

You Seldom Come See Me Any More.

What’s your hurry, can’t you stay and pass an hour away?
And we’ll sit and dream awhile by candlelight.
For when the long day’s over, that’s the time I fear the most,
When I hear your footsteps fade into the night.
You’re restless, tell me why there’s a teardrop in your eye,
And I’ve seen it there a hundred times before.
And I know you’re going to leave me and it always breaks my heart,
For you seldom come to see me any more.
I well recall that day when my ship it sailed away,
To a far off distant land across the sea,
Where a cruel war was raging, where time was standing still,
And blind hatred was the order of the day.
You’re restless, tell me why there’s a teardrop in your eye,
And I’ve seen it there a hundred times before,
And I know you’re going to leave me and it always breaks my heart,
For you seldom come to see me any more.
Now I know it can’t be fair for a soldier’s wife to hear,
How he helped to keep his country proud and free,
And no bronze nor fancy ribbons can ever heal the pain,
When he comes back half the man he used to be.
You’re restless, tell me why there’s a teardrop in your eye,
And I’ve seen it there a hundred times before,
And I know you’re going to leave me and it always breaks my heart,
For you seldom come to see me any more.
You seldom come to see me any more.

END.