Tommie Casserley - Irish Songwriter & Poet | Traditional Irish Songs & Poems

About Tommie

A songwriter, poet, and keeper of memories—Tommie Casserley captured the heart of rural Ireland and the bittersweet journey of those who left it behind. Through his songs and verses, he gave voice to the emigrant's longing, the farmer's changing world, and the timeless beauty of the Irish countryside. His words echo with nostalgia, humor, and an enduring love for the places and people that shaped him.

Margaret and Tommie Casserley

His Story

Born and raised in Elphin, County Roscommon, Tommie grew up surrounded by the landscapes and traditions that would later fill his songs. As a young man, he played drums in a showband, traveling the country and experiencing firsthand the vibrant music scene of mid-century Ireland.

In Ballaghaderreen, he met Margaret—the woman who would become his wife and lifelong companion. Together they made the journey so many Irish families made in those years, leaving Ireland for new opportunities in England. They settled first in Birmingham, then moved to Manchester, making their home in Chorlton.

Tommie and Margaret raised three children: sons Leo and Joe, and daughter Lorraine. In time, the family grew to include grandchildren—Tom, Daniel, Liam, Katie, and Emma—who brought new joy and inspiration to his writing.

Throughout his life in England, Tommie never stopped writing. He composed poems for family celebrations and quiet moments alike, always crafting verses for friends and loved ones. But it was his songs—those heartfelt pieces about the Ireland he carried with him—that became his lasting legacy, capturing the emigrant experience with authenticity and grace.

"I often dream of Ireland the isle across the sea..."

The Cottage On The Hill

One of Tommie Casserley's most beloved compositions, "The Cottage On The Hill" has been recorded by numerous Irish artists including the legendary Seamus Moore, capturing the universal Irish experience of longing for home and the places of childhood memory.

The Song

A poignant ballad about emigration and nostalgia, the song paints a vivid picture of an Irish cottage nestled in the hills—a symbol of home, family, and the life left behind. The imagery of the thatched roof, the garden gate, and the winding lane has resonated with Irish audiences worldwide.

The Legacy

Seamus Moore's powerful rendition brought the song to prominence in Irish communities across Ireland, Britain, and America. The song has become a staple at Irish gatherings, its melody and lyrics evoking the bittersweet memories of those who've journeyed far from their native hills.

"A testament to Tommie Casserley's gift for capturing the Irish soul in verse and melody"

The Poems

Written reflections on Irish life, landscape, and memory—verses that stand alone on the page, capturing moments too quiet for melody but rich in meaning.

COLLECTION

The Old Corner Shop

Do you remember the old corner shop with the name hanging over the door It's sad now to think it's a thing of the past, all go to the superstore The old corner shop had great atmosphere, you would always be served with a smile You might need a tyre for the old Raleigh bike or a gallon of paraffin oil. Sure the tea and sugar were weighed on the scales, the flour was sold by the sack Sweets they were ten for a penny and Woodbines just two pence a pack The bacon was salty but heafty, it was sliced with a big butchers knife While the man inquired 'How much do you need? it was weighed on the scales by his wife. The old corner shop was always well stocked, you name it they had it there They sold nails and screws and soles and heels for your shoes, even Brylcream to do up your hair. From the ceiling hung buckets and basins and saucepans they sold quite a few And the old chamber pots neath the counter, was discreetly kept out of view. Remember in those days the lolly was scarce but you didn't fall into despair The wee man himself used to give things on tick, then you paid when you sold at the fair. And then come the season of christmas, there was always a big shopping spree Then everyone got a bottle of port, a big brack and maybe some tea. In the big superstore you're just one other face, with no one to bid you Good Day As you push your trolley all over the place, and everyone gets in your way. When you have selected the items you need, you must stand in a queue near the door But could you put a smile on the cashier face, if you can you have charm galore. T. Casserley

The Olden Days

When people got married a long time ago, they worked very hard, sure the wages was low. There was no lovely clothes that you could admire and people washed in the bath by the fire. There was no television and no radio, If you needed a toilet, to the back yard you must go. They hadn't got carpets, the floor boards they were bare, holidays were unheard of, there was no cash to spare. People sat around the fires, where stories they were told, in those days the young had respect for the old. Young kids were safe as they played in the park and old folk could go for a walk in the dark. No Valium, no drugs and no LSD, they cured all their ailments with a good cup of tea. No vandals, no muggins, there was nothing to rob, people were rich if they had a few bob. People were happy in those days far off days, so kind and caring in so many ways. The milkman in morning would whistle and sing, a night at the pictures was a rare thing. All got their share of troubles and strife. They just had to face it, t'was the pattern of life. Now I wonder how people look back on those years, do they think of the hard times like trouble and tears or think of the homes that was so full of love, where the young and the old thanked the god above.

Down on the farm

While travelling through Ireland on a fine summers day, You'd think you'd see farmers out saving the day. With pitforks and rakes, making cocks by the score, But now they have balers, that happens no more. Now they don't grow potatoes, they just don't want to know It's off to the big store the housewife will go. She will park her wee mini, if she can find a space, Hasn't Ireland become a mighty great place? You could travel half of Ireland and never see a cake, For not many housewives have a clue how to bake. And you'll not find a churn, whenever you go, Sure there's no room to store them in the new bungalow. Nor will you find a housewife out milking a cow, On a three legged stool, wiping sweat from her brow. No she'll set a few bottles when she visits the town, But first she must change from her silk dressing gown. Man himself, he plays golf with a few of his mates, Sure herself left from Shannon for a month in the states. O, the farmers of Ireland have money to burn, We're just poor relations, when ever we return. Now you won't find a housewife on the bog footing turf, Sure her nails would get ruined and her back would get rough. The barrow and slane, never more will be seen, The turf is now cut with a mobile machine. My God what a change since I was a lad, A donkey and cart, was all some farmers had. And the hens and the chickens all around the front door, And herself sold the eggs for a few bob and a scare. Yes things they were bad, could they really get worse, Was emigration a blessing, or was it a curse? We left in our thousands, employment to find, Things got really good for the few left behind.

LOOKING BACK

My days at Lisacul N S are still clear in my mind And I know that this reunion will bring back years long left behind. To meet once more my old school pals, alas some can't be there It's sad to think they've passed away, for them we'll kneel in prayer. The inside of the old school house, in my mind it is so clear And the times I trod the dusty roads, with pals I still hold dear. The turf fire burning in the grate, the fireplace so black The cold winter mornings, the privy out the back. Now hygiene wasn't of the best, the sanitation crude The summer air it mingled with the aroma of Jeyes fluid. At lunch time there was nought to do, we hung around the yard The teachers they were very strict, they brought the cane down hard. But 'twas there we learned to read and write, to multiply and add When my school days were over, I can't say I was sad. Now some went on to higher schools and many got degrees Their parents had the ready cash to pay their college fees. For many not so fortunate, at fourteen 'twas the gate But with one option open, we were forced to emigrate. And now once more we return home, to relive our childhood days I suppose that they were happy once, in so very many ways Deserted now stands Curragh school, no sounds of laughter there, No fires burning in the grate, the walls all cold and bare. Past pupils now returning home, will they stand there and gaze At the old school now so silent, where they spent their childhood days. With the celebrations over, I'll be once more on my way In my heart there'll be a yearning to return for good one day. To live again among my friends, where life is never dull Once more I'll have to say farewell to my native Lisacul.

There's Nothing The Matter With Me

There's nothing the matter with me, I'm healthy as can be. I've arthritis in both knees and when I talk, I talk with a wheeze. My pulse is low and my blood is thin but I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in. I've arch supports on both my feet or I wouldn't be able to be on the street. Sleep is denied me night after night but every morning I feel alright. My memory's failing, my hearts in a spin but I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in. My moral is this, as my tale I unfold, that for you and me who are growing old, it's better to say I'm fine with a grin, than to let folks know the shape we are in. How do I know my youth is all spent, well my get up and go, has got up and went. But I really don't mind when I think with a grin, all of the grand places my get up has been. Old age is golden, I oft heard it said, but sometimes I wonder as I get into bed. With my ears in the drawer and my teeth in a cup, my eyes on the table until I wake up. As sleep overtakes me I say to myself is there anything else I should leave on the shelf. When I was young my slippers were red, I could kick my heels right over my head. When I was older my slippers were blue, but still I could dance the whole night through. Now I am old my slippers are black, I walk to shops and puff my way back. I get up each morning and dust off my wits, pick up the paper and read the obits. If my name is still missing, I know I'm not dead, so I have a good breakfast and go back to bed. T. Casserley

The Album

A complete collection of Tommie Casserley's musical journey through Irish life, love, and landscape.

♪

The Thoughts of Tommie Casserley

Complete Album

From "Thoughts of an Exile" to "The Cottage On The Hill," experience the full collection in one beautiful album. Perfect for anyone who loves traditional Irish music with heartfelt lyrics.

COMING SOON

Album release date to be announced

What to expect: Complete album of songs, Physical CDs and digital downloads will both be available.

Preview the Music

Listen to a one-minute preview of selected songs. Full album coming soon.

Cottage On The Hill

The iconic homestead nestled in Irish hills. Recorded by Seamus Moore and many other artists, here we have a new version for you to listen to.

THE THOUGHTS OF TOMMIE CASSERLEY

About Tommie

His Story

The Cottage On The Hill

The Song

The Legacy

The Poems

The Old Corner Shop

The Olden Days

Down on the farm

LOOKING BACK

There's Nothing The Matter With Me

The Album

The Thoughts of Tommie Casserley

Preview the Music

Cottage On The Hill

Thoughts of an Exile

My Lovely Shannon Shore

My Native Home

Lovely Ballaghaderreen

The Little Old Thatched Cabin

My Native Carlow

My Roscommon Rose

My Beautiful Cailín

A Roving Irish Lad

A Roscommon Man's Dream

The Fiddler

The Old Village Hall

A Special Dad

I Want To Go Home

Memories

Join Our Community

Full Songs

Community

Updates