Christy Moore/Wally Page


I crossed the River Liffey bridge and went on up the town

By Coffey’s clock twas plain to see how time was moving on

Past Neeson’s and John Johnson’s, Tommy Tougher’s and Keadeen

How’s it going said Paddy Dolan, game ball said Skinner Behan


The morning hooter called the workers to the factory line

To weave the bales of sisal into rope and binder twine

Beneath the weeping ash I heard Jack Lawlor’s anvil ring

Back down the town in Cummins’s heard John McCormack Sing


From Hawkfield and Kilbelin, Chinatown and Rosy’s Lane

Scattered round the world we dreamt of coming home again

From the Rocks of Sydney Harbour, the Bronx and Birmingham

To the Sandy Hills, the Seven Springs, The waters of the Fen


Walking down the Moorefield Road my father tellin me

Of the Corbally eviction back in 1953

The story of Clongorey, the hunger and despair

Gone but not forgotten in the history of Kildare


To stand upon the Gibbet Rath I walked along the Plains

By Donnelly’s Hollow heard the keening of the Curragh Wrens

Black & Tans in The Barracks as young rebels crossed the fields

From the back lanes and the boreens came Sheahans and O’Neills


Here comes Darky Prendergast and Mrs Charlie Weld

The Halfords and  The Edderys, the Brabazons and the Bells

The Owners and The Trainers, stallions and brood mares

Fillies, colts and yearlings on the gallops of Kildare


The Roo, The Goo and Gandy, every nickname brings a smile

Tell Fid, Conks and Corney I’ll be home in a little while

As the sun goes down behind the Town we’ll gather on the strand

Dance to Jimmy Dunny’s orchestra, Tom Wilmot’s Ceili band




I grew up in Co. Kildare between 1945 and 1963. Early images of Newbridge remain crystal clear in my mind. Since then it has expanded tenfold and is now a dormitory town to the nation’s capital. I have tried to write a song about a place that still exists, if only in my mind. It’s an old song that was written recently.