The first of England's overseas possessions to break away, Ireland in the mid 19^th century was a land still recovering from the depredations of the Great Famine. The Protestant Ascendancy owned all the best land and the Catholic Irish were politically and economically oppressed. Hundreds of thousands boarded the 'coffin ships' and emigrated to America. Thousands more were transported to Australia for the pettiest of crimes such as poaching a rabbit from the local landowner's estate. One more avenue of escape was open and that was to 'take the King's shilling'; join the army. When a man enlisted he was traditionally given a shilling as a bounty. The nickname for a shilling was a 'bob', so the Kerry recruit tells the recruiting sergeant to 'slip the bob in me fist' as an acknowledgment of his desire to join the colors. So many Irishmen took the King's (or Queen's during most of the 19^th century) shilling that a disproportionate number of British Army soldiers, especially in the infantry,  came from Ireland. They served in both Irish based regiments such as the Connaught Rangers and in British based regiments always hungry for new recruits. 
      With a fearsome reputation for drinking, looting, brawling and desertion they were flogged accordingly and often. They  were also great fighters and it is hard to see how the British could have taken, pacified and policed their empire without the help of the likes of the Kerry recruit whose tale is told in the song at left. 

At the age of nineteen, I was diggin' the land 
With me brogues on me feet and me spade in me hand. 
Says I to meself, "What a pity to see 
Such a fine Kerry lad footing turf in Tralee." 
Chorus:
To me Kerry-I-Ah, fa lal deral lay,
Kerry-I-Ah, fa lal deral lay. 

So I buttered me brogues and shook hands with me spade 
Went off to the fair like a dashing young blade. 
A sergeant come up and said "Would ye enlist?" 
"Sure, sergeant," says I, "Slip the bob in me fist". 
Chorus:

Then up came a captain, a man of great fame, 
Who straightways enquires me country and name; 
Well, I told him before as I'd tell him again 
That me father and mother were both Kerrymen. 
Chorus:

Well the first thing they gave me it was a red coat 
With a lump of black leather to tie 'round me throat. 
The next thing they gave me --- I said "What is that?" 
"Sure, man, a cockade for to stick in yer hat!" 
Chorus:

The next thing they gave me they called it a horse 
With a saddle and bridle, me two legs across. 
Well, I gave 'er the whip and I gave 'er the steel 
And, Oh Holy Mother! She went like an eel. 
Chorus:

The next thing they gave me, they called it a gun, 
So under the trigger I settled me thumb. 
The gun it belched fire, and vomited smoke 
And gave me poor shoulder the Divil's own stroke. 
Chorus:

The next place they took us was down to the sea, 
Aboard a great warship, bound for the Crimee, 
Three sticks in the middle, all covered with sheet 
She walked on the water without any feet. 
Chorus:

We reached Balaclava all safe and all sound, 
And tired and weary we lay on the ground. 
Next morning at daybreak a bugle did call, 
And served us a breakfast of powder and ball. 
Chorus

We whipped them at Alma and at Inkerman 
But the Russians they foiled us along the Redan. 
While scaling a rampart meself lost an eye 
And a great Russian bullet ran away with me thigh. 
Chorus:

All dyin' and bleedin' I lay on the ground, 
With  arms, legs and feet all scattered around. 
Says I to meself, "If me father was nigh 
He would bury me, sure, just for fear I might die." 
Chorus:

But a surgeon come up and he soon staunched the blood, 
And he gave me an elegant leg made of wood; 
And they gave me a medal and tenpence a day 
Contented with Sheelagh I live on half-pay. 
Chorus:

Now that was the story my grandfather told, 
As he sat by the fire all withered and old. 
"Remember," said he, "that the Irish fight well, 
But the Russian artillery's hotter than Hell." 
Chorus: 

The Assault on the Redan

Detail from a wood-block engraving by W. Sheeres after J. H. Nicholson's "Scaling the Parapet of the Redan," originally published in the "Illustrated Times" of September 29, 1855. It purports to show the assault of September 8^th. 
This glorious image of massed ranks of immaculately-uniformed infantry charging the Redan is wholly fictional. On the 8th September the majority of the bare-headed, shabby, and demoralized British troops refused to follow their officers into the Redan; they turned and ran.