Na Píobairí Uilleann

Chairman, NPU

An Píobaire

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7 1 20 20110224 “How close is the resemblance,” remarked Mr. Jenkins, “between the Irish and Scotch pi- brochs. I remember” – and he was about to proceed with, I have no doubt, some interesting reminiscence or remark, which would have adorned my projected Guide Book, and of which I should have monopolized the credit, had not Gandsey run his right hand up the pipe, with Tir – a – lee – ra – tir – a – lee – ra – lee – boom. “Come, Gandsey,” said I, “another tune, if you please – but something with a history to it.” “I’ll give you , sir,” said Gandsey, “the lamen- tation for ‘Myles the slasher,’ a real ould air of Erin.” (Here Gandsey played the melody, No. 3.) 20 “And now,” said I, when he had concluded, “now for the history.” “Why, you see, sir,” said Gandsey, placing the pipes at rest upon his left knee, “why, you see, sir, Myles the slasher was an O’Reilly – and if he was, he was like every one of the same name, fond of Erin, for she was his country. Well, sir, when the bloody Cromwellian wars were going on, you see, Myles the slasher headed his clan, and died like a brave commander, defending the bridge of Finea, in the County Cavan, against that robbing and murdering thief of the world, Cromwell. ’Twas a fine death he had; and ’tis as fine a tune that I’ve played for you, sir, to keep his memory up among the people, as can be, in my opinion. But if he did die all covered with wounds, ’twas on the flat of his back that Myles

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2011-02-24T00:00:00

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