Ma's old hut

A typical hut in Springtown Camp

This old Hut we used to live in was made of corrugated tin
Needed some painting and some paper on the wall
And the rattle on the roof was like the sound of hob-nailed boots
Especially when the rain and hailstones fall
It seems so long ago to Springtown we did go
We left Lizzie’s house in Derry’s old Bogside
In Springtown we did find huts the Yankees left behind
And we squatted there and got back all our pride

Chorus
She’s a father and a mother a sister and a brother
She’s a friend when life is tough and you’re alone
She’s a preacher and a teacher, she’s a shoulder to cry on
And all she did, she did it on her own

All the neighbors came out looking when Ma did the Sunday cooking
And many a hungry mouth would share our table
Down the road was Farmer Bob and his orchard we would rob
And we’d buy his big brown eggs when we were able
It was a hard life in the camp, where the huts were cold and damp
But there wasn’t any use in our complaining
We had real simple goals pushed newspaper in the holes
To keep the water out when it was raining

Chorus

At the factory they did toil making shirts by the river Foyle
And many a night Ma had to bring work home
It was really no mean feat, trying to make sure ends would meet
But she fed us all and I never heard her moan
Now the years have long passed by, she’s living in New York, NY
We think of bygone days of cold and damp
We were poor but happy there, ‘twas a life beyond compare
In the bad old good old days in Springtown Camp

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Goodbye tillies Factory