The First Train to Achill

It was tattie time in Scotland in eighteen ninety-four
When Achill folk would take the boat to Ayrshire once more
For weeks before from door to door the gaffers went around
To gather squads for Scotland; for the bothies they were bound

They stepped on board the hooker Victory, for she was Achill’s pride
John Healy was the skipper, who’s fame was far and wide
And as they sailed into the bay, their friends upon the shore
Bade them farewell but never thought that they would meet no more

Near Westport Quay around midday, they spied the Glasgow steamer
As word went ‘round she’d ran aground they all made haste to see her
From fore and aft though tightly packed they all rushed to one side
And by the lashing of the sail, they were thrown into the tide.

The tragic sight that followed was pitiful to behold
The frantic struggling in the sea would make your blood run cold
The shrieks, the groans, the cries, the moans of mother, child and wife
And every man with spirit swam to save a neighbour’s life

When O’Malley saw the danger quickly to their aid he flew
By launching out a small boat began the prompt rescue
He and his crew from the water drew full many a grateful hand
‘Til his laden boat could scarcely float to the safety of the land

God bless you brave O’Malley; let every Christian pray
Long life to you and your gallant crew on the waters of Clew Bay
By your great speed to those in need you rescued seventy-five
But thirty-two, no fault to you alas did not survive

On the first train into Achill came the bodies of the drowned
They were met by stricken mourners who thronged at Achill Sound
Behind coffined carts with heavy hearts the funeral slowly wound
To a communal grave beside the wave in Kildownet’s holy ground

Achill o’er from shore to shore at this loss will ever mourn
To their fine sons and daughters who from their midst were torn
To the thirty-two we bid adieu as we will meet no more
And many a family is weeping now along the Atlantic shore

The Last Train to Achill
But like the Irish down the ages, this cruel blow they did withstand
The caoining and the healing they worked slowly hand in hand
With the passing years smiles, mingled with óchón ‘s Mhuire ‘s trua
But still preying on the minds of all was the Prophecy of Brian Rua


On the nineteenth of September in the year of thirty seven
The heart of every Achill soul once more with grief was riven
From Kirkintilloch came the news that was so cruel to ponder
In a Bothy fire ten island boys were burned to a cinder


The last train into Achill brought the coffins of the mourned
Ó’ Cearbháin’s Prophecy now fulfilled which had been cruelly spurned
The black flags lined the route again as the funeral proceeded
To a communal resting place once more in the graveyard of Kildownet


Now the means by which we still survive is the Spirit of the Gael
In the wake of Kirkintillock they subsidised the emigrant’s fare
Survivors of the Victory were fined in court next day
For plucking beasoms from the mountain-side to sweep their cabin floors of clay


Now to conclude this doleful lay of rock and sail and fire
Say a prayer for all who struggled there when conditions they were dire
Near Michael Davitt’s swinging bridge he was our Mayo Land League founder
The old railway station to this day stands as a stark reminder.