The Wolfe Tones, an Irish rebel music band, incorporate elements of Irish traditional music in their songs. They take their name from the Irish rebel and patriot Theobald Wolfe Tone, one of the leaders of the Irish Rebellion of 1798, with the double entendre of a wolf tone - a spurious sound that can affect instruments of the violin family.
The origins of the group date back to August 1963, where three neighbouring children from the Dublin suburb of Inchicore, brothers Brian and Derek Warfield and Noel Nagle had been musical friends. They were later joined by Tommy Byrne whom they met when playing at an open air festival (a Fleadh Cheoil) in Elphin, County Roscommon in 1964.This subsequently led to the three friends playing at Fleadh Cheoil and music festivals around Ireland.
In 1989, a contract was signed by band leader, Derek Warfield, signing rights to an American distributor. The contents of this contract were apparently misrepresented to the other members of the band, resulting in a clause that prevented them from recording. Unable to reverse this agreement, they continued to tour albeit without any new material.
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave,
And wildly around it the winter winds rave;
Small shelter I ween are the ruined walls there
When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare.
Once I lay on that sod it lies over Wolfe Tone
And thought how he perished in prison alone,
His friends unavenged and his country unfreed
"Oh, bitter," I said, "is the patriots meed.
"For in him the heart of a woman combined
With heroic spirit and a governing mind
A martyr for Ireland, his grave has no stone
His name sheldom named, and his virtues unknown."
I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band who came into the home of the dead;
They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone,
And they stopped when they came to the grave of Wolfe Tone.
There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave,
And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave,
And children who thought me hard-hearted, for they
On that sanctified sod were forbidden to play.
But the old man, who saw I was mourning there, said:
"We come, sir, to weep where young Wolfe Tone is laid,
And we're going to raise him a monument, too
A plain one, yet fit for the loyal and true."
My heart overflowed, and I clasped his old hand,
And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his band:
"Sweet, sweet tis to find that such faith can remain
In the cause and the man so long vanquished and slain."
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave,
And freely around it let winter winds rave
Far better they suit him the ruin and gloom