By Tim Flynn

The Croppy Boy, McCafferty, 2 SAS and James Joyce appear to have very little in common at first glance. Yet all are linked by the same Irish melody and by a single recurring theme: betrayal. From a rebel abandoned by his family, to a young patriot deceived by a false priest, to a soldier who became a betrayer himself, these stories reveal how one traditional air became a meditation on trust, loyalty and loss.

Betrayal sits at the heart of some of the greatest songs in the Irish tradition. It appears in different forms, wears different faces, and emerges from different historical moments, yet it remains the thread connecting a family of ballads associated with the old air Cailín Óg a Stór. Over more than two centuries, that melody has carried stories of rebels, soldiers, victims and perpetrators, each confronting the consequences of broken trust and shattered loyalties. The individuals change, the settings change, and the political causes change, but the underlying drama remains strikingly constant. These songs ask what happens when faith in another person, institution or ideal is misplaced. Their appeal lies not simply in their historical significance but in their understanding of human vulnerability. Long after the events that inspired them have passed into history, the truths they express remain recognisable.

I only fully appreciated this while rereading James Joyce's Ulysses. Like many lovers of Irish folk music, I had long known the traditional Croppy Boy. Yet when I followed Joyce's references in the "Sirens" episode, I discovered he was invoking a different song altogether. The Croppy Boy that haunted Joyce's imagination was not the young rebel betrayed by his family, but the youth deceived by a false priest in Carroll Malone's nineteenth-century ballad. Following that trail revealed a sequence of interconnected stories in which betrayal repeatedly changes its form. What initially appeared to be separate works gradually began to resemble variations on a single theme. Each song approached betrayal from a different direction while preserving the same emotional core. Together they form a conversation that extends across generations.

From the rebel abandoned by his own kin, to the young patriot trapped by a disguised officer, to the soldier who becomes a betrayer himself, each version uses the same melody to examine loyalty, authority and moral responsibility. By the time Joyce encountered the song, it had become far more than a ballad of rebellion. It had evolved into a meditation on one of the most enduring realities of human experience. The emotional landscape had expanded beyond the politics of any particular era. Questions of trust and betrayal proved far more durable than questions of governments or military campaigns. This explains why the songs continue to attract listeners who know little about the historical events that inspired them. They remain compelling because the human dilemmas at their centre never grow old.

The Air That Carried the Stories

Before there was a Croppy Boy, there was Cailín Óg a Stór ("Young Girl, My Treasure"), one of the best-known melodies in the Irish tradition. The air predates the songs that would later become attached to it and proved adaptable. Like many traditional tunes, it could carry stories of love, death, rebellion and regret without losing its force. The melody possesses an unusual quality. It is mournful without becoming sentimental and dignified without becoming triumphant. That balance made it the perfect vehicle for stories that resist easy heroics. Unlike martial tunes that celebrate victory, Cailín Óg a Stór invites reflection upon loss. It encourages listeners to think about consequences rather than achievements. The melody became the common thread linking some of the finest ballads in the Irish tradition.

Its endurance demonstrates one of the strengths of folk music. A melody may survive long after the circumstances that first inspired it have vanished. New generations inherit the tune and reshape it to fit their own experiences and concerns. In the case of Cailín Óg a Stór, successive generations repeatedly chose stories concerned with loyalty, authority and betrayal. That shared emphasis is unlikely to be accidental. The character of the music lends itself naturally to stories that explore disappointment and loss. Over time, the tune became almost inseparable from narratives of trust broken and hopes destroyed. The melody serves not merely as accompaniment but as a bridge connecting otherwise very different stories.

The Traditional Croppy Boy: Betrayed by His Own

In traditional folk circles, the older Wexford ballad remains the version of The Croppy Boy most commonly encountered. Unlike many rebel songs, its emotional centre is not British oppression but personal abandonment. The young rebel is condemned to die, but the true tragedy lies not in the sentence itself. It lies in the collapse of the relationships that once gave his life meaning. The song approaches political conflict through its impact on ordinary lives. Rather than focusing on battlefield exploits or nationalist rhetoric, it concentrates on family, community and belonging. That choice gives the ballad a depth that many political songs never achieve.

As he is led towards execution, the Croppy Boy encounters people who should stand by him. Instead, they turn away. A relative betrays him for reward money. Familiar faces refuse support. Most devastatingly, his father publicly disowns him. The rebel loses more than his freedom. He loses his place within the family and community that shaped him. Only his mother remains loyal, lamenting him as he walks towards death. Every encounter deepens his isolation and reinforces the certainty of his fate. By the time he reaches the gallows, emotional abandonment has become as significant as physical punishment.

That final image remains one of the defining moments of Irish folk music. The British authorities may hold the rope, but they are not the principal villains of the piece. The deepest wound is inflicted by those closest to him. The song recognises a truth often absent from political music: conflict does not merely divide nations. It divides families. The Croppy Boy is destroyed not simply by political defeat but by isolation and rejection. His tragedy stems as much from human relationships as from military power. In that respect, the song remains modern in its psychological insight.

For that reason, the traditional ballad possesses a remarkable humanity. There are no battlefield heroics and no stirring calls to arms. There is simply a lonely young man abandoned at the moment he most needs loyalty. The result is a rebel song that continues to resonate. Its focus on private grief rather than public glory is precisely what allows it to speak across generations. Listeners need not know anything about the 1798 Rebellion to understand its emotional stakes. The song succeeds because it treats betrayal not as a political concept, but as a personal experience.

Carroll Malone's Croppy Boy: Betrayed by Church and State

In 1845, William B. McBurney, writing under the pseudonym Carroll Malone, transformed the Croppy Boy into one of the best-known figures in Irish literary balladry. His version retained the tragic fate of the young rebel but shifted the source of betrayal dramatically. Instead of family treachery, the Croppy Boy becomes the victim of deception by authority itself. The change was significant because it moved the story from the private sphere into the public one. The betrayal was no longer confined to relatives and neighbours. It now involved institutions that claimed moral and political authority over society. In doing so, Malone created a ballad that was both personal and political.

On his way to join the insurgents, the young man enters a church seeking confession before battle. There he kneels before a cloaked figure he believes to be Father Green and pours out his conscience. The scene radiates trust. The church promises sanctuary from violence, and confession is assumed to be sacred. The Croppy Boy believes he has found safety before stepping into danger. Everything in the setting encourages both the protagonist and the audience to lower their guard. The atmosphere is one of solemnity and faith. That sense of security makes the betrayal that follows all the more devastating.

The story then takes a dramatic turn. The figure in the confessional is not a priest but a yeomanry captain hiding from rebel forces. Having listened to the youth reveal his loyalties, the officer throws off the disguise and arrests him. The rebel's trust becomes the instrument of his destruction. The betrayal is immediate and irreversible. A place intended for forgiveness becomes a trap. The very ritual designed to offer comfort instead delivers the young man into the hands of the state. Few Irish ballads use trust so effectively as a narrative device. The revelation continues to define the ballad.

The betrayal here is more than personal. Religious sanctuary is corrupted by political power. The confessional becomes a trap. State authority invades sacred space. Once again, the tragedy is driven not by military defeat but by trust betrayed. The listener remembers the kneeling young man far longer than the victorious officer. Like the traditional Croppy Boy, he remains compelling because he is vulnerable. Beneath the politics lies a human tragedy that continues to resonate with readers and listeners.

McCafferty: The Betrayer

The next major song associated with Cailín Óg a Stór introduces a reversal. In McCafferty, the central figure is no longer the betrayed. He is the betrayer. That shift alters the moral structure of the story. The audience is no longer asked to sympathise exclusively with a victim. Instead, it is invited to consider the motivations of a man who knowingly violates the obligations placed upon him. The result is a more morally ambiguous narrative. It also demonstrates how adaptable the melody had become. The same tune that carried stories of victimhood and suffering could also carry stories of guilt and responsibility.

The ballad recounts the true story of Private Patrick McCaffery, an Irish soldier in the British Army stationed at Fulwood Barracks near Preston. Following disciplinary action over what now appears a relatively minor offence, McCaffery loaded his rifle and fired at his superior officers. The single shot killed both Colonel Crofton and Captain Hanham. He was later tried, convicted and hanged at Kirkdale Gaol in Liverpool in January 1862. The case quickly entered popular folklore. Ballad singers transformed the incident into a cautionary tale about authority and resentment. In doing so, they ensured that the story would survive long after the details of the trial faded from public memory. The song gave the event a life of its own.

The song invites sympathy for McCafferty. He is portrayed as a young soldier crushed beneath military discipline and authority. Yet unlike either Croppy Boy, he is not the victim of betrayal. He is the man who betrays. Armies depend upon trust, discipline and obedience. Whatever grievances he possessed, the moment he raised his rifle against his officers he crossed a moral line that neither Croppy Boy ever approaches. The listener may understand his frustration. Understanding, however, is not the same as absolution. That tension sits at the centre of the ballad.

That ambiguity distinguishes the song from both Croppy Boy ballads. McCafferty has genuine grievances, yet he commits an undeniable crime. The ballad neither entirely excuses him nor wholly condemns him. Instead, it forces its audience to wrestle with questions about authority, justice and responsibility. Such questions have ensured the song's continuing appeal long after the original events passed into history. Unlike the Croppy Boy songs, which invite sympathy for the betrayed, McCafferty demands reflection upon the obligations owed by the individual to a larger institution. It is therefore a fitting companion piece to the Croppy Boy tradition rather than a departure from it.

The ballad later acquired a life far beyond the circumstances of 1862. It became embedded in military folklore and developed a well-known association with the 2nd Special Air Service. Operating in small teams behind enemy lines, SAS soldiers cultivated a culture that prized initiative, self-reliance and individual judgement. It is perhaps unsurprising that a song exploring tensions between authority, loyalty and conscience found an audience among some of Britain's most unconventional soldiers. The connection to Irish folk culture extended beyond McCafferty itself. One of the regiment's most celebrated commanders, Major Roy Farran, often operated under the alias "Paddy McGinty", borrowed from the popular Irish comic song. Such was the secrecy surrounding wartime special operations that his Distinguished Service Order was officially gazetted under the name Major Patrick McGinty. The image is striking: an elite commando formation drawing on both the songs and folklore of the Irish tradition.

James Joyce and the Universalisation of Betrayal

It was while rereading James Joyce's Ulysses that the connection between these songs became clear. In the celebrated "Sirens" episode, Ben Dollard performs The Croppy Boy in Dublin's Ormond Hotel. Significantly, Joyce chooses Carroll Malone's version of the ballad rather than the older Wexford song. The choice was likely deliberate. The false-priest narrative offered him something more than a patriotic lament. It provided a framework through which he could explore betrayal. By incorporating the song into one of the most musically structured episodes of the novel, Joyce elevated it from folk memory to literary symbol.

As Dollard sings, the story resonates throughout the inner life of Leopold Bloom. On one level, the ballad mirrors Bloom's isolation. Surrounded by companions, he nevertheless remains emotionally alone. On another, the false priest echoes the atmosphere of deception surrounding Molly Bloom's affair with Blazes Boylan. The young rebel enters the confessional trusting the person before him. Bloom, meanwhile, finds himself trapped within a marriage in which trust has already been broken. Although the circumstances are entirely different, the emotional structure is remarkably similar. Joyce uses the ballad to connect public history with private experience.

The song also speaks to one of the deepest sorrows in Bloom's life. The execution of the young rebel echoes his grief for Rudy, the son who died in infancy. Throughout Ulysses, Bloom is haunted by absence, by futures that never came to pass and by relationships that can never be restored. The doomed Croppy Boy becomes another reminder of loss and irretrievable possibility. The connection is subtle but powerful. Both figures embody interrupted futures and lives shaped by forces beyond their control. Through such associations, Joyce broadens the significance of the ballad far beyond its original setting.

Yet Joyce pushes the ballad beyond personal tragedy. Like much of Ulysses, the episode is also interested in the way history shapes consciousness. The Croppy Boy represents a recurring pattern within Irish history: the idealistic young man sacrificed in the name of causes larger than himself. Joyce recognised both the emotional power and the danger of such narratives. He understood why stories of martyrdom continued to captivate Irish audiences, while remaining wary of the tendency to romanticise defeat. The result is neither celebration nor condemnation. It is something more subtle. Joyce invites readers to think critically while still feeling the force of the story.

What Joyce saw in The Croppy Boy was what links all the songs discussed here. Whether the betrayal comes from family, church, state, military authority or the protagonist himself, the emotional wound remains recognisably human. The circumstances change. The pain does not. That insight allows Joyce to transform a specific Irish ballad into a reflection on trust and disappointment. In doing so, he identifies the deeper connection that links all of these narratives together. Betrayal may take different forms, but its consequences remain remarkably consistent across generations.

Conclusion

Viewed separately, the traditional Croppy Boy, Carroll Malone's Croppy Boy, McCafferty and the traditions of 2 SAS belong to very different worlds. One emerges from the trauma of the 1798 Rebellion. Another belongs to the literary nationalism of the nineteenth century. A third is rooted in the barrack rooms of the British Army. The fourth became part of the folklore of one of the most famous special forces units of the Second World War. Each story emerged from a different historical context. Each addressed a different audience. Yet all are connected by the same melody and the same recurring question: what happens when trust fails?

The traditional Croppy Boy is betrayed by family. Malone's Croppy Boy is betrayed by church and state. McCafferty becomes the betrayer, turning violence against the institution to which he belongs. Even the enduring appeal of McCafferty within 2 SAS points towards the same tension between loyalty, authority and individual conscience. The forms change, but the drama remains constant. Relationships are tested. Trust is broken. Individuals are forced to confront the consequences. That pattern explains why the stories continue to resonate despite their age.

That is why these stories continue to resonate long after the political circumstances that produced them have passed into history. Their significance does not lie solely in nationalism, military tradition or literary reputation. It lies in their understanding of human vulnerability. The deepest wounds are rarely inflicted by strangers. They come from family, faith, comrades, institutions and lovers. They come from those in whom we place our trust.

Carried across generations by the air Cailín Óg a Stór, these songs endure because they address experiences recognised in every age. Across two centuries, the melody changed, the stories changed and the betrayers changed. The tragedy did not.

About the Author

TS Flynn is an Irish-Australian writer and commentator whose work focuses on Irish history, public policy, governance, and the Irish diaspora. His writing explores the intersection of history, culture, literature, and political memory, with a particular interest in the stories and traditions that continue to shape Irish identity across the world.

Hashtags

#TheCroppyBoy #McCafferty #JamesJoyce #Ulysses #IrishHistory #IrishLiterature #IrishMusic #IrishFolklore #1798Rebellion #Wexford #FolkMusic #BalladTradition #IrishDiaspora #JoyceStudies #TSFlynn #IrishCulture #HistoryAndLiterature #Betrayal