Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets,
No more on the docks I’ll be seen,
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates,
And I’ll see you someday on Fiddlers Green.That was a pretty tune. I ain’t ever heard it before,” commented Benton once the song had come to an end and the small group of men had taken out their pipes and tobacco pouches.
The idea of Fiddler’s Green is based on the maritime myth of an after-life of a paradise for seamen, which was popular in the nineteenth century, where there is perpetual merriment, music, and dancing. The origins of this myth are not entirely clear, but some scholars suggest that it may have been inspired by the Greek myth of the Elysian Fields, a paradise for the dead. A mythical afterlife similar to Heaven, Fiddler’s Green was said to be a place of bliss and happiness in which fiddle music was played for all eternity. One of the first mentions of the legend was in 1856 in Frederick Marryat’s novel The Dog Friend. The myth is thought to have developed from every seaman’s desire to be on dry land in a tavern that never closes, where beer and other alcohol flow freely. Fiddler’s Green as an eternal resting place has been featured in many books, poems and songs since the 19th Century.
The idea was popularized in a folk song by the English folk singer John Conolly, later made even more well-known by the Dubliners on their Plain and Simple album in 1973.
Fiddler’s Green
As I roved by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the salt waters and take in the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Oh, take me away boys me time is not long
[chorus]
Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets
No more on the docks
I’ll be seen Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates
And I’ll see you someday on Fiddlers Green
Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I’ve heard tell
Where the fishermen go if they don’t go to hell
Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away
Now when you’re in dock and the long trip is through
There’s pubs and there’s clubs and there’s lassies there too
And the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free
And there’s bottles of rum growing on every tree.
Where the skies are all clear and there’s never a gale
And the fish jump on board with one swish on their tail
Where you lie at your leisure, there’s no work to do
And the skipper’s below making tea for the crew
Now I don’t want a harp nor a halo, not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea
I’ll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along
With the wind in the riggin’ to sing me a song