Thanks again Mick, and fear not. The land in which I live may well resound to those cries but, there is a "Soft border" between us, mercifully for you, who have never been exposed to my singing !

My dear old Grandaunt, Lizzie, lived in a tiny village, as do I, but the back "parlour" of her little village shop was the venue for regular gatherings of like minded people where traditional music and singing was the glue that bound her to her friends.
Such places were known in the countryside as "Rambling houses" because that was exactly what used to happen . People would ramble from home to her shop in the evenings and entertain themselves and each other, telling stories (gossipping even ?? !)singing and playing, mainly tin whistles and melodeons, occasionally a local fiddler would also arrive. As a child I would be allowed to stay up later , for an hour or so, on those evenings.