“What shall we wind up with?” Dan would ask at the close of the lesson, and as often as not Martin would say: “You must sing ‘Timmie.’”
This was “Timmie,” and it had a tune something like the chorus to “Father O’Flynn.”
O Timmie my brother,
Best son of our mother,
Our labour it prospers, the mowing is done;
A holiday take you,
The loss it won’t break you,
A day’s never lost if a holiday’s won.
We’ll go with clean faces
To see the horse races,