The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #41882   Message #3379922
Posted By: Jim Carroll
22-Jul-12 - 01:23 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Go 'Way from My Window
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Go 'Way from My Window
Or - from Vaughan Williams Memorian Library album "And thet's my story...."
Jim Carroll

Francie Kennelly Miltown Malbay, Co. Clare, Ireland

There was this man and he had no land, you know, and away back that time, landless men and labourers, there was now, very little work; they used be very badly off. This feller ... man, was married and he had five or six children, but he used cut a lot of turf and bog deal and he'd be selling them with an ass and baskets, d'you see. You know what bog deal is now? It was the roots of the deal tree that stayed in the ground, maybe thousands of years ago. 'Tis hard to cut it but 'tis terrible firing.
Well, he had an ass and baskets, like, and what he'd get for dealing, an ass and baskets and two baskets was called a load, like; he'd go intae town, he'd get seven or eight old pence, like, for the two, for the load of turf or bog deal; he might get a little more for bog deal. But, you know, at that time bread was only tuppence a loaf and all that, but he was managing away anyway, he was managing away; he was keepin' the wolf from the door, says the person. But, you know, there was times then, d'you see, he'd sell this turf in Miltown and Lahinch now, and places, and Ennistymon, d'you see, he was midway between the three of them, like, he'd sell it in them towns. But there was a lot in the same racket as himself, d'you see, and there was times when 'twould get very hard to sell it; there'd be everyone trying to make a few shillings and 'twas very hard to sell it. But times like that, d'you see, he'd have to borrow a neighbour's mule and he'd have to go to Ennis. He'd bring a good load of turf to Ennis, you know, he might bring twenty bags of turf and sell it. He might get thruppence or fourpence a bag in Ennis for 'tis limestone country, you know; turf d be scarcer there than 'twould be in this side of the country, d'you see.
But when he'd be gone, d'you see, there was a man living down the road that he used borrow the mule from, d'you see. He was a bachelor and he was what's known in West Clare as a rake. You see, they might have a better name for him now with sex being taught in the schools and priests off of the altar; they might call him a sex maniac or something like that. But he would be known in West Clare as a rake, anyway. But he used to come up and all round to the feller's wife when he'd be gone, d'you see. He'd know when he'd borrow the mule that he'd be gone to Ennis, d'you see, with turf and he'd come up and look after the wife that night, d'you see.
But this night, anyway, the man had brought the mule the evening before, and car, and he filled a good load of turf anyway. He started off for Ennis but the sky opened with rain. He was gone about two or three miles anyway and 'course there was no overcoats at the time or no nothing like that; he was drowned to the skin. By God, sooner than lose his health entirely, he said he'd turn back. But he did anyway. But the rake hadn't ...the man I'm talking about hadn't arrived anyway. But he went intae bed, anyway, along with the wife, anyway; took off the old, wet clothes and threw them on the fire, threw them on the fire and he went intae bed.
But he was no length in the bed anyway, when the knock came to the window (knocks table). Of course, the wife was in terrible hot water, she was expecting this man. Well, someone belonging to her must be a poet anyway, but she had nothing to do and she had to think and think quick. The knock came to the window, anyway, (knocks table) like that, and she took up her child out of the cradle, that was about ten or eleven months, and you know yourself, when you take up a child, they cry. And she had to start... she started singing for the child. She had to make up this quick now; as I said before, someone belonging to her must be a poet.

"The wind and the rain brought your daddy home again,
Go away from the window, you big bogey-man."

'Course, the whole time the husband thought 'twas for the child she was singing. But the knock came to the window again (knocks table) and she sung it again:

"The wind and the rain brought your daddy home again
Go away from the window, you big bogey-man."

And the child crying the whole time. But that way himself, the man outside didn't ... he didn't catch on, he didn't catch on. He was knocking again (knocks table) and she had to put a few more lines to it; quick she had to do it and do it quick.

"The wind and the rain brought your daddy home again
Go away from the window, you big bogey-man.
For you are a thundering fool, go round and see your mule,
Go away from the window, you big bogey-man."

He went around and he saw the mule and he knew well there was something wrong, that the man had turned. He went home anyway. But the following night was a grand fine night and he had no trouble at all when he came up.

Recorded by Jim Carroll and Pat Mackenzie, 1987 (Tale type 1419H)
This story dates back at least to the 14th century when it was included in Boccaccio's 'Decameron'. Harry Adams' version was learned from a local entertainer who had a large repertoire of stories and recitations, while Francie Kennelly's comes from a neighbour. Mr. Adams' lack of a rhyme in the fourth line of the second verse suggests that bowdlerisation has taken place at some time.