The Turf o' Tullamore

According to family legend, my great-great grandfather, George Convy, brought a piece of sod from the homeland when he emigrated from Ireland in 1866. Now and then, when he was feeling particularly homesick, he would take it out and have a good cry.

The Irish, who fled their country by the thousands, did not have a word for "emigrate" -- instead, they used the word for "exile," which struck me as sad and poignant. 

In this song, The Turf o' Tullamore, I pay tribute to my Irish ancestors, who came from Tullamore, Ireland, to make a new life in St Louis, MO, -- and who occasionally grieved for their homeland.

In celebration of Saint Patrick's Day, the song is available as a free download on our website - hop on over and help yourself. 

Click here: Still Married website.

The Turf o' Tullamore

words and music © Erin Coombs Friedman


Into the West – land of the free
In freedom will I e’er a stranger be
So up the stairs I climb
Open up the trunk and find
The piece of home I carried ‘cross the sea

chorus:

Weeping o’er The Turf o’ Tullamore
Exiles both – the Irish sod and I
The Turf o’ Tullamore
Will know my bones forevermore
Sweeten my grave when I
Lay down to die


For my sons, I made a pledge
They’ll not beg the Crown for daily bread
There’s days I understand
The promise in this promised land
And days I fill my glass with my regrets

chorus

When I take my final rest
Lay the Turf o’ Tullamore upon my breast
And it’s sweet - the dream I’ll dream
Home to Erin’s fields of green
By the Shannon’s holy waters, I’ll be blessed

chorus