COPYRIGHT EDITION

NUGENT'S Bob.emian Songster

Kathleen · and Kevin

GERARD C ROFTS. Popular Irish Ballad Vocalist Photo) [Roe McMaho ..

COCKLES and

MUSSELS

I'LL SPEND MY HOLIDAYS AT INCHICORE Donegan's Daughter The Donnybrook Tram MRS. MULLIGAN, THE PRIDE OF THE COOMBE

THE OULD ORANGE FLUTE That .Income Tax Take It Bob!

THE WRECK OF THE BUG-A-BOO Good Night, Molly Darling McCarthy's Mare

ARE YOU THERE MORIARITY?

NUGENT Br CO., 4S Middle Abbey Street, DUBLIN Prin ted in Irelang P rice TWOPENCE

THE CREAM OF IRISH SONGS 1

THE ERIN'S PRIDE SONG BOOK A Collection of the most Popular Songs, Ballads, and Recitations by Irish Writers

THE ERIN'S HOPE SONG BOOK A Collection of the best Patriotic Songs,

Ballads, and Recitations

THE ERIN'S CALL SONG BOOK A Collection of Songs and Recitations in Irish and English for Concert or Ceilidh

THE ER1N'S FLAG SONG BOOK A Collection of Songs and Recitations in Irish and English for 'Home and Platform

"The Three Flowers," "My Irish Home," "That Thumble­down Shack in Athlone," "Because I Love You So,"

etc., are given in ' the last two Books; and the translations

into Irish include "Oft in the Stilly Night," "The Snowy­

Breasted Pearl," "She is Far from the Land," "The Risin' of the' Moon," etc.

Demy 8vo., Colourec;I Wr~pper, Price 3d; net. each.

NUGENT & 'CO., Publishers 45 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN

MRS. MULLIGAN, THE PR1DE OF THE COOMBE.

Revived and sung with great effect by Mr. T. Reddin in the Capitol Theatre, D~~blin, and rec01'ded on Imperial Records.

I'm a thumping fine widow, [live in a spot In Dublin, they call it the Coombe ;

My shop and my stall are both out in the street, And my palace consists of one room.

At Pat rick Street corner, for forty-six years, I've stood there, I'm telling no lie;

And while I stood there nobody would dare To say black was the white of my eye.

Chon~s. You may travel from Clare to the County Kildare,

From Drogheda right up to Macroom, And where would you see a fine widow like me,

Mrs. Mulligan, the Pride of the Coombe 1

I sell apples and oranges, nuts, and split peas, Bannanas, and sugar-stick sweet;

I sell second-hand clothes on a Saturday night, And my stall's on the floor of the street.

I sell fish on a Friday, laid out on a board, Cod fish and some beautiful ray;

I sell mackerel and herrings, Oh, herrings so sweet, That once lived in dear Dublin bay.

I have a son, Mick, who plays on the fife, He belongs to the Longford Street Band;

Chorus.

It would do your heart good to see him march ou~ When the band goes to Dollymount Strand.

In the Park, on a Sunday, I cut quite a dash, All the neighbours look on in surprise

At my new Paisley shawl and my bonnet so tall, Sure I'd dazzle the sight of your eyes.

Chorus.

2

DONEGAN'S DAUGHTER.

BY PERCY FRENCH.

'Vhen Donegan came from" the States," Himself and bis daugbter were seen

Parading tbe principal streets Of beautiful Ballyporeen.

Her cheeks were as red as a rose, Her hair 'twas a beautiful brown,

And the boys, I suppose, were as thick now as crows, All tied to the tail of her gown .

Ohorus. There were short men and long men, And weak men and strong men, And right men and wrong men,

Were all to be seen; But Donegan's daughter, From .. over the water," She gave them no quarter

In Ballyporeen.

She sang the most beautiful songs, Of the words we had never a hint,

For her fingers went hammer and tongs At a running accompanimint.

Like a dog runnin' after a rat-Such scrimmagin' never was heard,

Then down went her claws like a murtherin' cat When he leaps on the back of a bird.

Ohorus. A t every party She sang tbem all .. forte," From .. Ab! che la morte"

To .. Wearin' tbe Green ." Ob! Donegan's daughter From .. over the water," 'Twas little they taught her

In Ballyporeen.

3

The Geraghtys gave a big dance, The girls were all ribbons and tapes,

But Miss Donegan gave tbem no chance With her perfectly wonderful shapes.

And when sbe was takin' the floor With a high-steppin' bachelor boy,

The rest of us scowled in the doorway and growled That'twas him we would surely destroy.

Ohorns. There was kissin' and squeezin' And coaxin' and teasin', And sure 'tis in reason

Such things should be seen; But Donegan's daughter From" over the water," 'Twas sbe made tbe slaughter

J n Ballyporeen.

Comin' home we were crossiu' a stream, I thought to beleaguer the belle ;

A struggle, a kiss, and a scream, Then into the river we fell.

To me, who can swim like a trout, 'Twas only a triflin' reverse,

But when she came out, faith tbere wasn't much doubt

She was cbanged very much for tbe worse.

Ohonts. She'd bail' like a nigger, She'd no sort of figure, Ber waist and bel' wig

Were no more to be seen . Oh! Donegan's daugh ter From" nnder the water," Two pins would bave bought her

In B allyporeen !

(By kind permission of Joseph Williams, Ltd ., London , publishers of the copyright music setting by- HOllston ColJinsoD.)

4

I'LL SPEND MY HOLIDAYS AT INCHICORE.

WRIT1'EN AND COMPOSED BY SEAN O'BEIRNE, B.A.

There's a certain spot, I'm told, That is neither hot nor cold,

It's a place where you will never find a bore; It is quite beyond compare, And by jingo people stare

If you say you've never been to Inchicore. There the lovers love to spoon Out beneath the silv'ry moon,

Though in fancy up above the stars they soat· ; And each holds the other's hand As they listen to the band

Which plays upon the pier at Inchicore.

Chorus. So I'm saving up to go to Inchicore, I shall spend my holidays at Inchicore.

Though the journey's rather long, Still it beats the Continong,

And it 's not so far away is Inchicore.

There they've nothing else to do Save to sit and bill and coo,

Like the turtle doves that never, never roar; You can hear the lobsters sneeze As they bask beneath the trees

On the boulevards they've got at Inchicore. There are mountains on the border, And they've plenty more on order,

That will beautify the city more and more ; And visitors, they say, Can get fresh air twice a day

From the Board of Works' supply at Inchicore.

5

Ohorus. So I'm saving up to go to Inchicore, I shall spend my holid!J,Ys at Inchicore,

You can see the sea for miles And the cats upon the tiles

If you've got an opera-glass at Inchicore.

Now, I've little more to ·say, Though if only I'd my way

I could keep on singing rubbish more and more ; There are lovely mountain streams Where Italians sell ice-creams

To the aristocracy of Inchicore. It's the grandest place I've seen, And they say Lord Aberdeen

J s gone to live there since his other job is o'er; And though Yankees love to talk Of Chicago and New Yawk,

They wouldn't if they'd been to InchicGre.

OhoT7£s. So I'm saving up to go to Inchicore, I shall spend my holidays at Inchicore,

There the view is simply grand, You can see the Promised Land-

Since the Black-and-Tans are gone from Inchicore.

If I was a lady I'd drive to the play, An' I'd look through me opera. glass and say: .. I've seen this silly revue before, The leading lady's an awful bore; Let's all get up when she start's her song, An' go an' eat cakes in a resterong." Then a powder puff on me nose I'd dah, An' drive off home in a taxi cab, If I was a lad v-but then I'm not, A pass to the gallery's all I've got.. ,

-Percy French.

6 '

THE OOLD ORANGE FLUTE.

Sung with g1'eat applause by Ge1"al'd C1'Ojts,

In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon, Where many a ruction myself had a han' in, Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade, And all of us thought him a stout Orange bbde. On the Twelfth of July, as it yearly did como, Bob played on the flute to the sound of the dmm; You may talk of your harp, your piano, or lute, But nothing could sound like the ould Orange flute.

But this treacherous scoundrel he took us all iu, For he married a Papish called Bridget M'Ginn ; Turned Papish himself, and forsook the ould cause That gave us our freedom, religion, and laws. Now, the boys in the town land made some noise upon it, And Bob had to fly to the province of Connacht. He flew with his, wife and fixings to boot, And along with tbe otbers the ould Orange flute.

At chapel on Sundays to atone for his p~tst deeds, He'd say Pater and Aves, and counted his brown beads, <rill , after some time, at the priest's own desire, He went with that ould flute to play in the choir. He went with that ould flute to play in the loft, But the instrument shivered and sighed, and then coughed; When he blew it and fingered it made a strange noise, "'or the flute would play only the" Protestant Boys."

Bob jumped and he started and got in a flutter, And he put the ould flute in the bless'd holy water; He thought that it might now make some other sound, 'When he blew it again it played "Croppies Lie Down! " And all he did whistle, and finger, and blow, , rro play Papish music he found it .. no go;" " Kick the Pope," "The Boyhe Water," and such like 'twould

sound, But 011e Papish squeak in it couldn't be found.

7

At a council of priests that was held the next da y They decided to banish the ould flu te away; As they couldn't knock heresy out of its head, They bought Bob another to play in its stead. So the ould flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic, It was fastened and burned at the stake as heretic. While the flames roared around it they heard a strange noise, 'Twas the ould flu te still whistlin' the" Protestant Boys"!

THE DON NYBROOK 'rRAM.

Air: "Ri too7"i l i l lay." (At an annnal meeting of the Dnblin Tramways Company, a share­

holder suggested first class accommodation for Pembroke passengers on the Donnybrook trams. This inspired t he follow ing skit .)

The mark of good breeding, tbe sign of high birth , May differ in various parts of the eartb ; So here in dear Dublin I pause for a while To inquire wbat is reaUy the test in good style. Take a tram to the east, to the north, south, or west , And tbe way folk behave is an excellent test ; But I think you'll observe tbat in case of a cram They never move up on a Donnybrook tram.

Take a tram to Clonskea, to Clonta rf, Terenure, Of a seat of some kind you are fa irly secure; No lady need ever stand up in a car That is filled with the creme de Ja creme of Rathgar. But haughty patricians who rent an abode On tbe this or the tbat or the some other road Resent such expressions as " Shove up there, ma'a.m.­T,hey never do tbat on the Donnybrook tram .

Take a tram on a Sunday to join the gay band Who sniff the sea breezes on Sandymount strand ; Is that bouncing young beauty to hang by a strap, No, by janey, you give her a seat on your lap! And though till tbat moment you never have met, You take it for granted you're in the same set. "Rosanna MuJlaly, sit closer to Sam " -You never hear tbat on the Donnybrook tram,

8

ARE YOU THERE, MORIARITY?

(New Version.)

By LOUIS A. TIERNEY.

S1tng. with immense s1tccess by Gerard C1·ofts.

Whin first I kern to Dublin town, To good onr Ballagh-clee,

I wint direct, wud head erect, For to join the D.M.G.

Me ponderous feet woke Revin Street, I marched on proud and free;

For well I knew they could not do Wudout Moriarity.

Chonts.

I'm a well-known bobby of the stalwart squad , I belong to the D.M.G. ;

And the ladies cry as I pass by, " Are you there, Moriarity? "

The sergeant looked me up and down And down an' up and thin,

Wud a kindly smile on his honest dial, He sthroked his rugged chin.

Then as be took the .station book, " Yer name, avic? " said he;

And out I stuck me chest like a duck, An' said I, "Moriarity!"

Cborus.

9

The ladies, too, I very soon knew War smitten wan an' all;

And beneath my spell they quickly fell, I held them in me thrall.

I'd a rale film face, an' such charm an'such guce, They thought an' dhreamt of me;

And when I'd pass near I could hear quite clear: .. Oh, I love Moriarity ! "

The childher loved to have me near, For I cared not a sthraw whin they

U sed sing that stuff about Harvey Duff In their own most engagin' way.

Chorus.

Whin some wee maid from her ma had strayed, She'd surely be found by me;

For over she'd run: .. Ah! hello, oul' son, Aren't '00 Moriarity?"

Chorus.

Bog Latin I could speak in less than a week, And in wan case they all got a shock,

When I hurled a junk iv a quid pro nunc, Aluminium post propter hoc.

A habeus corpus or an aqua fortis, Assinorum, cockleorum-ah, me!

Yerra! whin I'd take the floor the Crier used roar: " Silence! Here's Guard Moriarity! "

Chorus.

Whin me work is done an' me coarse is run, An' I've walked on me last, long beat;

An' to heaven's shore I quickly soar, St. Peter up there I'll meet.

Sure I hope he'll say, in a kindly way, " Is it there, Tim, yerself I see?

Your reward you've won for work well done, Flap your wings, Moriarity ! "

Chorus.

10

KATHLEEN AND KEVIN.

(A Revised Version.)

At Glendalough lived a young saint, In odour of sanctity dwelling,

An old- ,ashioned odour, which now We seldom or never are smelling.

He lived in a hole in the wall A life of ferocious austerity,

He suffered from bile and from gall, And on women he looked with asperity.

Ri fol, di 101101, di 101 lay, Ri fol, di 101 101, di 101 la di, etc.

'The saint went a-fishing one day, To catch some kind of a trout, sir;

And Kathleen came strollin' that way, Just to see what the saint was about, sir .

.. You're a mighty fine fisher," says Kate, " 'Tis yourself that knows well how to hook 'em;

But when you have landed them nate, Sure you'd want a young woman to cook 'em."

Ri fol, di 101101, etc.

'Said the saint, " I am serious inclined, I intend taking orders for life, dear."

." Yerra marry," says Kate, "and you'll find You'll get orders enough from your wife, dear."

.. You can never be flesh of my flesh," Said the saint, with an anchorite groan , sir .

. " I can see that myself," answered Kate, "I can only be bone of'your bone, sir."

Ri fol, di 101 101, etc.

« Get out of my sight! " said the saint, "You know I'm a man of great piety;

And my character I wouldn't taint To be seen in such doubtful society."

11

But the damsel she didu 't give in , And when he went home to his rockery,

Sure Kathleen was sittin' within, And she polishin' up his our crockery.

Ri fol,' di 101 101, etc.

He gave her a terrible shove ( If the Gardai had only just caught him I),

He threw her right into the lake, And straight she sank down to the bottom.

And ever since then it is said Tbat her ghost walks abroad on the river ;

The saint never lifted his head , For he died of the could water shiver.

Ri fol, di 101 101, etc .

THAT lNCOME TAX.

Air-" Those Evening Bells."

That Income Tax ! that Income Tax! How every clause my poor brain racks. How dear was that sweet time to me, Ere first I heard of Schedule D.

Tbose untaxed joys are passed away, And many a heart that then was ga.y I s sleeping 'neath the turf in packs, And cares not for the Income Tax.

And so 'twill be when I am gone, That Minister will still tax on; And other bards shall sad ly ax. " Why not repeal the r ncome Tax? "

'Tis only the quare ones are over the sod, For the good and the gifted are gltthered to God.

12

WRECK OF THE BUG-A-BOO.

BY J. P. ROONEY.

Recorded by )J[r. '1'. Reddin on Imperial Records.

Come all you tender-Learted blokes and listen unto me-I'll tell you of the dangers I have passed upon the briny sea! Many's the hardships I have seen and dangers I went through Since I shipped as cook and steward on board of the Bug-a-boo.

'l'he day when first I joined her she lay in J ames' Street canal, She looked so tall and trim, forget her shape I never shall. The captain wore a white straw hat, knee-breeches and body-

coat so blue-He would have made a splendid fi gure-head to ol'l1ament the

Bug-a-boo!

We soon weighed anchor and set sail to plough the raging surf; We were bound for the Bog of Alien to get a load of turf. We sn,iled all day until we passed the Richmond Barracks so

true-The Dublins fired a royal salute (of bricks) at the captain of

the Bug-n,-boo !

We sailed three days , a storm arose, the sea ran mountains hiNh·

The lightning flash ed, the thunder rolled, and rent the dark­red sky;

The second mate gave orders for us our sails to clue, While the captain in the cabin was smoking in his bed, set fire

to the Bug-a-boo ! .

When tbe captain found what he had done, he loud for help did shout;

He bawled up through the chimney-pot for the helmsman to put it out.

The helmsman being fas t asleep, and to hi s post untrue, The fire got so far in the middle of the turf he couldn't save

the Bug-a-boo !

13

We were four thousand miles from land, in latitude fifty-four; The fire it burned so hard that night it couldn't burn no more! The captain gave orders to lower the boats and try to save

the crew-One thousand sods of tud and eleven thousand herrings went

to blazes in the Bug-a-boo !

TAKE IT, BOB! I'm a jolly old miller, Bob Bell is my name, And in my own village I'm well known to fame; I've a wife and a daughter, a dear little lass, I'm fond of them both and I'm fond of a glass. Some say too fond, well perhaps that may be, I try to keep sober, and am as you see; But when I'm inclined to refuse drink a day, I'm certain to fancy I heal' my mill say:

Ohon~s. Take it, Bob, take it, Bob, take it, Bob, take it, Bob!

That's what I fancy my mill says to me; Take it, Bob, take it, Bob, never forsake it, Bob!

Take it, Bob, take it, 'tis better than tea!

Now I dreamt t'other night that Bob Bell was no more, That I died at the age of three score and four; And I heard people saying that drink did its worst, And though I was dead I was dying of thirst! A bottle of brandy quite close I could see, 'Twas meant for the mourners, it wasn't for me; And though on my bed still and silent I lay, In the distance distinct I could hear my mill say :

Chorus. Now I'm only up here on a bit of a spree, My wife thinks it's business, betwixt you and me ; And you know the old proverb that never deceives, Cl What the eye never sees, the heart never grieves." I must toddle away, so good-bye to you all, The next time I come I will give you a call. Don't ask me to drink when I'm going away, Or I'm certain to fancy I hear my mill say:

Chorus.

14

M'CARTHY'S MARE.

S1tn(J ~n the Dublin Gate Theatre R eview by Geral'd Crofts, ATt O'M~trnaghan, and Robert Hennessy.

We st'arted for the fair , With spirits light and hearty,

Behind M'Cartby's mare, Oh, it was a lively party!

You never saw such value, boys, Such fun we bad tbat day !

It was a roaring racket, But the mare she ran away!

Chorus. Off she went, off she went,

Bedad I wasn't worth a cent, The seat was just as hard as flint

Behind M'Ca.rthy's mare! " Hold her in!" 1f'Carthy cried;

" Stop her!" says M'Hugh, I thought I'd shake to pieces

.As along the road we flew! Me head was spinning like a top,

Me heart was in despair, Tbe devil himself was in the wheels

Behind M'Carthy's mare!

. M'Cartby held the reins, And M;urphy held M'eartby;

Whiskey filled their brains, And made tbem wild and hearty.

Moloney tumbled off behind, .\nc1 on the road be lay,

We offered him assistance, But the mare she ran away.

Chorus.

15

Oh! me dacent coat was tore, M e hat was left behind me;

I rattled and I swore, And 1 thought the dust would blind me.

In holes and ditches went the wheels­Oh, murder, such a day I

I thought I 'd never live to tell Of the mare that ran away.

COCKLES AND MUSSELS.

In Dublin's fair city, Where the girls are so pretty,

Chorus.

I first set my eyes on sweet Mollie Malone. She wheeled her wheel-barrow, Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!

Chorus. Alive, alive, oh, Alive, alive, oh,

Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh !

She was a fishmonger, But sure it was no wonder,

For so were her father and mother before; And they both wheeled their barrow, Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh! Chorus .

• She died of a fever, And none could relieve her,

And that was the end of sweet Mollie Malone. But her ghost wheels her harrow Through streets broad a nd narrow,

Crying cockles and mussels, a.live, alive oh ! Chorus.

16

GOOD-NIGHT, MOLLY DARLING.

RecoTded and Sung in} Gerard Crofts , with musical settinlJ by Joseph M. Crofts.

I've come for to bid you good-night, Molly dear, And a blessing to leave at your door,

For I see there's a light in your window, Which tells me you're wakin', asthore.

The snow is fast falling around me, And making the green fields look white,

But, oh, if it snowed ten times harder, I'd wish you, my darling, good-night.

Good-night, Good-night,

Good-night, Molly darling, good-night!

And if from your slumbers you waken, Just look from your window above,

And you'll see the footprints I've been makin', Which tell of the boy that you love,

I'll wrap my coat closely around me, With my heart full of joy and delight,

And I'll speed to my own little cabin, But I'll wish you, my darling, good-night.

Good-night, . I M . Good-night: .

o~\O'C'la IJSic ood-llIght, Molly darling, good-llIght ! ~ RECEIVED :?-c,/, .. '. ___ _

1 2 MAY 20" f~ LIFE'S A BUMPER. 2...'1. \ q 1- " .~ Life's a bumper, filled by fate,

~~'" ~i;< Let us guests enjoy the treat;

&.:. _______ ~fe • Nor, like silly mortals, pass ~ ~ Life, as 'twere but half a gla.ss.

Let this scene with joy be crown'd, Let the glee and catch go round; All the sweets of life combine, Mirth and music, love and wine.

NUGENT'S SONG PUBLICATIO,NS

SOME PRESS OPINIONS. " Viator, " in " The Standard" (Dublin), writes :

Messrs. Nugent & Company publish a rare variety of song sheets. It is good to know that the ballad sheet tradition is flourishing still, and that the sheets are printed in Ireland. I never forgave some fh'ms for printing our songs ovel'sea, although I came neal' doing so when I found in a London-printed Irish song sheet this Cockney misprint in "The West's Asleep" :

"When fleet as deer the MORMONS ran Through Curlieu ~ s Pass anc1 An1rahan." \

'You never will find such misprints as that in Nugent & Company's-song books. Will iam Roouey was a colleague of Denis Devereux, the compiler of these song

sheets. Rooney was a youth with the h eart of a hero. His father was a Dublin' man who knew literally thousands of Irish a irs, and Rooney made the best possible use of his paternal traclition. Many of his songs are in the Nugent sheets.

Perhaps few of ArthUl' Griffith 's admirers knew that he, that stern controver­sialist and economic Cato, coulc1 turn a comic ballad in the drollest traditional manner. Some of his parodies appear in the soug books and sheets before me ; if I mistake not, they are those which are signed by the pen -name of "Shanganagh."

" Ireland's Own" writes : With the long nights of winter closing in upon us, visions come before the

minc1 of happy groups of boys and girls aronnd the fireside whiling away the h ours with song and recitation. It is an old Irish custom, whose ~'oots' stretch back through the centuries to the earliest dawn of history; an(l to it Ireland can largely trace the origin of its proud l'eputation as a Land of Song. ' •

The custom is still honoured in many parts of the country, and, thanks to the public-spirited enterprise of Messrs. Nugent &ICO., a fine range of racy song books and song sheets at prices ranging from the humble penny to th e modest sixpence is now available. They are all our own. They catch the native spirit in all its moods-serious and sentimental,light-hearted and , gay, pensive ftnd patriotic­auc1 should serve a worthy purpose in acting as an antidote to the inane and often vulgar trash in this line imported into Ireland.

The" Dundalk Examiner" writes: A fine selection of booklets contftining Irish songs and recitations is published

by the firm of Nugent & Co. The range of publications covers patriotic, humorous and sentimental ballad and songs, and the prices bring the booklets within the reach of all. It is satisfactory to notice that, without exception, the whole series of song b~oks h as been printed in Ireland. ,"

The" Enniscorthy 'Echo " writes: The" Free and Easy," " Grave and Gay," "Odds and Ends," and ". Favourite

Song Books," published by Messrs. Nugent & Co. are remarkable value at ,2d . . each. Othel' songs and recitations are given in Erin's Hope, Pl'ide, Flag, and

Call Song Books and ll'ish Song Sheets (3d. and Id.). Scores of popu,lal' songs ' and ballads (including operatic selections and many in the Irish language) are included, and the publicatiou,s should have a very big sale.

~

Nugent & CO" Publishers, 45 ~id . Abbey St., Dublin

HEAR HOW SONGS SHOULD BE SUNG-----

, •

Mrs. Mulligan (The Pride of the Coombe).

The Wreck of the Bug-a-Boo. The Cruise of the Calabar. The Finglas Road, Comedy Reci­

tation. Tread on the Tail of me Coat. The Stone Outside Dan Murphy's

Door. Dawn on the Coast of Ireland. Mick McGilligan's Daughter. St. Patrick's Day in Exile. Liffey Lyrics and Dublin Ditties.

H ERE are Irish Songs and ' Sketches, the only char­

acter studies of th eir kind on gramophone records, recorded by Dublin 's most popular actor­manager, ML T. C, R eddin. , You must hear them to get the real pleasure of listening to ballads and sketches of our native land.

Price

only 1'3 Double: Sided

ALL SUN G BY

TONY REDDIN, on

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