Lyrics: Dutch composer and lyricist Werner Theunissen of the 70s Dutch country music band ‘Pussycat’. Vocals:‘Pussycat’ singers Toni Willé, Marianne Veldpaus and Betty Dragstra.
Mississippi.
Where you can hear a country song from far, And someone play the honky-tonk guitar. Where all the lights will go out one by one, The people join the song and the wind takes it away. Where the Mississippi rolls down to the sea, And lovers found the place they’d like to be. How many times before the song was ending? Love and understanding everywhere around. Mississippi, I’ll remember you. Whenever I should go away, I’ll be longing for the day, That I will be in Greenville again. Mississippi, You’ll be on my mind. Every time I hear this song, Mississippi roll along, Until the end of time. Now the country song forever lost its soul, When the guitar player turned to rock ‘n’ roll, And every time when summer nights are fallin’, I will always be callin’, dreams of yesterday. Mississippi, I’ll remember you. Whenever I should go away, I’ll be longing for the day, That I will be in Greenville again. Mississippi, You’ll be on my mind. Every time I hear this song, Mississippi roll along, Until the end of time. Every time I hear this song, Mississippi roll along, Until the end of time. END
Vocals: American contemporary Christian music singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and author, David Crowder. Lyrics: Canadian contemporary Christian music (CCM) artist, songwriter Matt Maher; worship leader American songwriter and producer Ben Glover and vocalist David Crowder,
Come As You Are.
Come out of sadness from wherever you’ve been, Come broken hearted, let rescue begin. Come find your mercy, oh, sinner come kneel, Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal. So lay down your burdens, lay down your shame. All who are broken, lift up your face. Oh, wanderer come home, you’re not too far. Lay down your hurt, lay down your heart, Come as you are. There’s hope for the hopeless and all those who’ve strayed, Come sit at the table, come taste the grace. There’s rest for the weary, rest that endures, Earth has no sorrow, that heaven can’t cure. So lay down your burdens, lay down your shame. All who are broken, lift up your face. Oh, wanderer come home, you’re not too far. Lay down your hurt, lay down your heart, come as you are, Come as you are, fall in his arms, Come as you are. There’s joy for the mourning, oh, sinner be still, Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal, Earth has no sorrow that heaven can’t heal. So lay down your burdens, lay down your shame, All who are broken, lift up your face. Oh, wanderer come home, you’re not too far. Lay down your hurt, lay down your heart, come as you are, Come as you are.
Long ago, when we spoke of education we talked about the 3 Rs: reading, writing and arithmetic. Nowadays we strive for something better- the 3 As: arts, academics and athletics. Here in Thurles we are extremely fortunate to have outstanding schools that all champion the 3 As.
The summer holidays are here for almost everyone. Our students are graduating to new classes, schools and contexts and the song hereunder entitled “Time of Our Lives” sung by Tyrone Wells, captures the feelings of joy and sadness our graduating students often feel, as they look forward to their future; but must say fair well to the security of their past and the wonderful 3As education they received.
We wish the graduating students of the Class of 2024 every success for their future endeavours.
Time Of Our Lives.
Vocals: American singer-songwriter Tyrone Wells. Lyrics: American musician, singer-songwriter and record producer Tim Myers.
Time Of Our Lives.
This is where the chapter ends. A new one now begins, Time has come for letting go, The hardest part is when you know, All of these years, when we were here, are ending, But I’ll always remember.
[Chorus] We have had the time of our lives, And now the page is turned, The stories we will write. We have had the time of our lives, And I will not forget the faces left behind. It’s hard to walk away from the best of days, But if it has to end, I’m glad you have been my friend, In the time of our lives.
Where the water meets the land, There is shifting in the sand. Like the tide that ebbs and flows, Memories will come and go. All of these years, when we were here, are ending, But I’ll always remember.
[Repeat Chorus]
We say goodbye, we hold on tight, To these memories that never die. We say goodbye, we hold on tight, To these memories that never die.
[Repeat Chorus]
I’m glad you have been my friend, In the time of our lives.
Vocals: Lionel Brockman Richie Jr, who celebrated his 75th birthday yesterday, (born June 20th, 1949) Lyrics: American singer, songwriter, record producer and television personality, Lionel Richie.
Stuck on you.
Stuck on you, I’ve got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can’t lose. Guess I’m on my way. Needed a friend, And the way I feel now I guess I’ll be with you ’til the end. Guess I’m on my way, Mighty glad you stayed. Stuck on you, Been a fool too long I guess it’s time for me to come on home. Guess I’m on my way. So hard to see, That a woman like you could wait around for a man like me. Guess I’m on my way, Mighty glad you stayed. Oh, I’m leaving on that midnight train tomorrow, And I know just where I’m going. I’ve packed up my troubles and I’ve thrown them all away, ‘Cause this time little darling I’m coming home to stay. I’m stuck on you. I’ve got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can’t lose. Guess I’m on my way. Needed a friend, And the way I feel now I guess I’ll be with you ’til the end. Guess I’m on my way. I’m mighty glad you stayed.
It’s that time of year again and pretty soon we shall be meeting our townspeople who now reside in distant places; from London to Manchester, from New York to Houston Texas; some absent for nigh on 50 years or more. No sooner will we lay eyes upon them, then we’ll ask: “When are you going back?” and that’s the essential difference between an exile’s holiday and that of the unknown tourist from abroad.
My first memory of emigration was as a boy in the 1950s, going up from the Watery Mall to the railway station in Thurles, to meet my uncles, aunts and cousins, all coming back home for a couple of weeks. One of the reasons, at seven or eight years of age, I enjoyed their coming was because they were such lovely people; decent, down to earth plain souls, who had worked hard in order to be able to return for their holidays.
Old picture of Thurles Railway Station
They, during scarce times, would bring home comics, like Rupert Bear and give me chocolate and money for the pictures in Delahunty’s Cinema down the middle Mall (“The Wan Below) or McGrath’s Capitol Cinema (“The Wan Above”) or that spin in a motor car that they would hire out some days, to go to Holycross Abbey, to Killarney, or to visit my relatives in Co. Cavan.
The car was a scarce enough commodity in Thurles in the hungry days of the 1950’s. This was a world with no television, only that radio with the dry and wet battery we had purchased up in Donoghue’s electrical shop on Friar Street. But there was the Sunday ‘Coordeek’ (from the Irish ‘cuirdeach, meaning a house visitation) in my uncle Mick’s house in Fontenoy Terrace, where Mick, who worked on the Council, played the accordion and songs such as “Moon Behind The Hill“, “The Rose of Arranmore“, “Irene, Goodnight, Irene“, etc. I can clearly picture my father; John Joe Ryan (and a bed in Heaven to him, as the old folks say), in his white shirt, peaked cap and dark trousers, leaning up against the kitchen door in my uncle Pakie’s House in Cabra Terrace, Thurles, singing his perennially favourite party piece, “The Rose of Mooncoin“. It was only on my father’s death that I realised why I had hummed that Kilkenny hurling anthem every morning for years. My uncle, Danny who lived in Caterham, Surrey, UK and worked with British Rail, used to bring all the suitcases up to nearby Cabra Terrace from the station on a fine strong ‘High Nelly’, bicycle belonging to my father. It was a ritual he insisted upon. No taxis then for Danny Boy who, like his brother, Tommy in Caterham, was also an ex RAF man.
Then, for all, a quick visit to Bowes’ bar to quench the thirst caused by those hot summer days, after the train journey, before facing into the re-unions at home. I remember the joyful laughter and camaraderie and the rousing music of those days quite vividly still and the trips hither and yon in the leather upholstered motor car. I thought my uncles and aunts must have been all millionaires, and that England must be a great country entirely. But whatever envy I might have had in that respect, soon faded on the night before my relatives departed for England once more.
On the night of that “American Wake” we would be up above in Leahy’s Field not far from the Thurles Clonmel railway line, where kids put pennies on the railway tracks to be flattened by the wheels of the trains approaching from under Cabra Bridge. I recall my uncle Danny, a bit of a joker, always trying to get some folks not in the know about it, grabbing with their fists the electric wire fence for keeping the cattle in their place. But not on that particular evening, when a terrible loneliness would descend like a mist on the rich hay-scented fields, as I would sit on the wooden plank spanning the cart and hold the reins of ‘Jenny the Jennet’(pronounced jinnit), which I used to drive up and down from Cabra Terrace to Leahy’s Field.
It’s strange how some of the most defining moments of my life featured a field, and even on his death bed in 1990, my father lifted his eyes from the pillow of his bed in the Hospital of the Assumption, in Thurles, towards Semple Stadium and said quietly: “They’re all over in the field now”, Being himself an old Sarsfields hurler, ex hurley- maker and an ex steward, that field meant a lot to him.
Up in Leahy’s field, which was, at that moment in eternity, my whole world. I felt like bursting into tears at the terrible unfairness of the end of this wonderful idyll. I would miss my aunts and uncles and cousins. I would not really know why until many years later. Emigration, for those who did not wish to go, was definitely an evil and in all the homes of the terraces, roads, streets, avenues in Thurles and all over this land, there are similar bittersweet memories of our dearest summer visitors. But our hearts are in a hurry again for their coming and please God, come next summer God will be in his heaven sure as water runs and grass will grow. There will be dust on the roads again … and we will look forward to meeting our Ould Townies, the Real Ould Stock, once more. END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
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