The tale of Ireland is a tragic one
We know the many troubles it’s been through
The warlike men with axes, guns and spears
The Vikings down to Cromwell and his crew

But then there came a hidden enemy
In eighteen forty seven if I’m right
It came along in silence, mockingly
From nowhere came the cruel potato blight

This new attack the others did eclipse
To emigrate the folks salvation lay
The people climbed aboard the coffin ships
Which sailed to take them to Amerikay

But wait some heard of yet another land
And not so very far across the sea
In Jersey maybe they could lend a hand
To build a harbour paid most handsomely

Some lads packed and sadly hugged their mother
Set off by foot to finally reach the port
And with their final pennies bought a ticket
‘Take us to Jersey’ was their only thought

And so when they arrived at Jersey docks
Off they were sent to Verclut’s shantytown
To blast and lift the heavy granite blocks
From early morn until the sun went down

And in the night while all the locals slept
A penny whistle sounded notes forlorn
As they lay down to rest and quietly wept
And prayed their families lived to see the dawn

Each morning they would rise unwillingly
Their weary bones to drag all through the day
The works proceeded only grudgingly
The lads relieved to still receive their pay

And then one day the building work just stopped
Maybe you know just how the story goes
The harbour lads just went off home to Ireland
I think a couple may have stayed, who knows

Today we happily drive down to St Catherine
And stroll along the breakwater so slow
Perhaps next time you’ll spare a thought for Ireland
And those gallant lads who built it long ago