It was in the year of twenty-one,
All in the month of May,
Some of our noble [Flying] Column boys,
Were strolling on their way,
They came from Mass that morning,
Their souls were now secure,
But little they thought that they'd be shot,
In the Valley of Knockanure.
On a bridge near Gortaglanna,
Those boys a rest did take,
They were waiting a dispatch to say,
What moves they were to make,
With feelings strong to move along,
To make themselves secure,
But it fell to their lot that day to be caught,
In the Valley of Knockanure.
Now when those boys were capatured,
They were beaten black and blue,
Into the lorries they were thrown,
Alas, what could they do?
They dare not ask for mercy now,
But they prayed they might endure,
Their suffering for their motherland,
In the Valley of Knockanure.
What woe and grief to parents came,
That night when the tale was told,
In every house they knelt and prayed,
Along the River Gale,
For those gallant boys who gave their lives,
Our freedom to secure,
And relieve Con Dee, that wounded lay,
In the Valley of Knockanure.
Near an ancient fort those boys were shot,
And there their bodies lay,
Till Ireland's sons a tomb should raise,
To them some future day,
So pray the Lord might grant them rest,
Their souls with Him secure,
For a martyr's death those heroes met,
In the Valley of Knockanure.
Those heroes names I'll now relate,
Who were captured on that day,
Paddy Walsh and Jerry Lyons,
And Dalton from Athea,
Con Dee from Ballylongford,
He surprised the Tans for sure,
When he made that dash for liberty,
From the Valley of Knockanure.
8 сен 2024
