An Irish Emigrant in Possession of a Tin Whistle

I’m an Irish emigrant in possession of a tin whistle and little or no musical talents. Not a good combo, you may be thinking and you’d be right. But for the sake of my half Irish-half German offspring, I decided a few years ago I had to introduce a bit of the auld fiddle-dee-dee, for culture’s sake. How hard can it be to learn a tune or two? A reel or a jig or … whatever it is you play on the Feadog.

So here we are three years after I bought my tin whistle at Dublin Airport, letting on to be a tourist, and I can play an almost recognisable Frere Jacques. I make a reasonable attempt at Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But my finest work is Baa Baa Black Sheep. 

Number Two, tired of listening to me make attempts at Oro Se Do Bhaite Bhaile, even once tried to sing along to Baa Baa Black Sheep. We didn’t quite make it to the end though. Laughter replaced his musical accompaniment on my hearing his version of the lyrics:
“One for the gangster,
And one for the lame.”

Perhaps if I worked in “rain” into the final line we could make an Oirish fiddle-dee-dee version of it.

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