The Storyteller

We sat around the open fire the burning peat did glow And he struck a match and lit his pipe a yarn about to grow And he took us back way back in time before the Black and Tan When he was coming to his prime a young and powerful man. He took us back to his young years back to the curfew time When to be caught out after dark was punishable crime He lived through World war 1 and 2 he told of what he see The unhappiness that war can bring the man made misery. He took us back way back the years prior to the motor car To the days of horse drawn vehicles before the first World War He told of how hard people worked and of the hardships they did endure And happiness was common then though many were quite poor. He told about the haunted homes that families fled in fright And i had nightmares of strange things, strange voices in the night And breaking glass and rattling doors, weird laugh and piercing scream And i often awoke in tears to find it a bad dream. A greyhound and hare coursing man and i remember well We hung on to his every word he had great yarns to tell He'd been a hunter all his life since he was a school going boy And he knew the countryside around and where a hare might lie. He took us back to his young days back to the long ago And none better to tell a yarn than old 'Mick Connie O' We sat around the open fire the burning peat did glow And he struck a match and lit his pipe ' a yarn about to grow'.