I remember George Green, in black shiny suit and walking stick,
And Terry Foley, in an orange suit you could never call chic.
I remember Jerome McWilliams, reversing his lorry up Church Hill –
When he tried to drive up the normal way, it came to a standstill
I remember old Doctor Casey with his high hat on his head,
Revered by some he visited, to others, he brought a sense of dread.
I remember Harry Sullivan in his red convertible car
As he motored along Main Street, he beamed like a Hollywood star.
I remember Henry Canavan, repairing cars for Eddie King –
The antics of the old millionaire, and the havoc he would bring.
I remember old Jack Casey, and wonderful smells from his shop –
Tea chests, spices, dried fruit and the aroma of every drop.
I remember Owen Stankard’s as the place for us to meet,
The place where we would gather, to give ourselves a treat.
I remember all the times, when we walked around the town
Aimlessly, endlessly talking, and sometimes acting the clown.
I remember Mrs Cullen and the wonderful things she could bake;
Taste buds leaped and danced as we ate the things she would make.
I remember May King and her long blond shining hair;
I remember Pappy Mannions where we bought things to wear.
I remember Francie Faherty licking his fingers to test the wires
When he ran Clifden Powerhouse, part of Eddie King’s old empire.
I remember Jim King who drove the old Council lorry;
I remember Pat Joyce, who ran the Green Marble Quarry.
I remember John King in the Dole office at the end of town,
And Val King who lived opposite, a carpenter of some renown;
I remember Kevin Stanley, and the cows they milked every day;
I remember Percy also and his shop with its wonderful array.
I remember Crook, when he lived down in Market Street;
And his chequered roll of lino, where we tossed ‘a penny a treat’;
I remember Miss Lowery and her drapery shop;
I remember the post office where the buses used to stop.
I remember Guard Lonnergan and Sergeant Cassidy too,
And Charley the Kerryman, I can’t remember his surname, can you?
I remember the FCA, and Jack Joyce’s Hotel;
I remember how they used to train the soldiers there as well.
I remember Miss Durkin’s kindness, when we were young;
I remember Miss Burke, and the flaming of the tongue.
I remember Claire King who lived down by the ball alley;
And further up by the old Church hall, I remember dear Miss Ladley.
Written by Michael Flaherty
Full Version available in “The Way it Was”