It was drawing near the Christmas time and foggy was the day,
When we received an order at the Cope in Ballybofey,
To carry out provisions all along the Glenties line,
And to dispatch these orders, the boys did waste no time.

Well, we loaded the old Garaford and now it was no fun,
We had bacon on for Kelly's, we had onions on for Quinn.
A coil of rope for Fintown Cope, some pots and frying pans,
And a chest of tea for Miss Gildea and mousetraps for Downstrands.

We had barley, rice and sugar, we had salt and Indian meal.
We had soap, starch, blue and flour, we had pans for Inniskeel.
We had snuff pipes and tobacco and peaches for Miss Boyle,
We had cigarettes and matches, wine pills and castor oil.

We started up the Garaford and started on the reel,
Young Charlie he was flagman, and John was at the wheel.
Sure the noise she made, 'twould wake the dead, it was heard for miles around,
And the grinding of that engine, sure it fairly shook the town.

When we got as far as Welshtown, she began to boil,
You wouldn't have seen us in the smoke when we reached Charlie Coyle's.
She was shooting like a rocket and the rain began to teem,
Well, you wouldn't have known if we were goin' by petrol or by steam!

When we got as far as Letterbrick, sure something gave a crack.
We soon discovered that it was a spring gone at the back.
We loaded up to start again when Charlie he looked out,
Ah, the two front wheels were on the rim and then the lights went out.

When we got as far as Glenties, we had got sore abuse,
The brakes, they weren't acting and the steering it was loose,
The petrol tank was leaking and the valves were burned out,
And the oul' radiator it was running like a spout.

When we got as far as Ardara, the night was wearing on.
A lot already shouting out a Happy Christmas John,
Then we forgot our troubles and treated them like a joke,
Till going half way up the street, the driving shaft it broke.

Now friends, don't be laughing for if you'd been in our shoes,
If you had Fr. Matthews' medal, it would start you on the booze.
There's not a bloomin' garage but she's been in for repairs,
If her maker is in heaven now it isn't through my prayers.

Now fare you well old Garaford, I'm bidding you goodbye,
And the next man to drive you I wish him every joy.
For when you're scrapped in Dublin, I often will recall
All the days and nights that I spent with you in the wilds of Donegal.

By Willie Gillespie