Fiddler's Green is a term believed to have originated in the 18th century. It refers to fisherman's heaven. During the passing of years, it also came to describe an idyllic spot to which an old salt could retire when he tired of sailing the seas.

How to find such a place? Well, it is said that he should walk the countryside with an oar over his shoulder. When he reaches a pretty little village within sight of the sea, and is greeted with smiles and friendly nods by everyone he sees, he puts his oar down and calls it home. He knows then that he's found Fiddler's Green. He is offered a seat in the sun outside the village inn, handed a glass of grog that refills itself every time he drains the last drop and a pipe forever smoking with fragrant tobacco. From then onwards he has nothing to do but enjoy his glass and pipe and watch the maidens dancing to the music of a fiddle on Fiddler's Green.

To me, this describes our village perfectly!

The following song written by John Connolly in 1966 provides a poetic depiction of what that heaven might be like.

Fiddler's Green by John Connolly As I roved by the dockside one evening so rare To view the still waters and take the salt air I heard an old fisherman singing this song O take me away boys me time is not long Chorus Dress me up in me oilskin and jumper No more on the docks I'll be seen Just tell me old shipmates I'm taking a trip, mates And I'll see them someday in Fiddler's Green Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell Where fishermen go when 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 Chorus The sky's always clear and there's never a gale And the fish jump on board with a flip of their tail You can lie at your leisure, there's no work to do And the skipper's below making tea for the crew Chorus And when you're in dock and the long trip is thru There's pubs and there's clubs, and there's lassies there too Now the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free And there's bottles of rum hanging from every tree Chorus I don't want a harp or a halo, not me Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea And I'll play me old squeeze box as we sail along When the wind's in the rigging to sing me this song Chorus

Listen to an MP3 recording of "Fiddler's Green"