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A posting (1 November 1999) on a submarine BBS about the image shown below prompted me to do a search on the internet for any references to Fiddler's Green.
 
As an aside, the image reminds me of a controversial painting done by Paul Cadmus titled   THE FLEET's IN     (More Navy and other military image links can be found HERE. Use your "back-button" to return to this page)
 
Note: If you know of other sources, please pass 'em on. Thanks.
Sid Harrison

I FOUND THE FOLLOWING REFERENCES TO FIDDLER's GREEN
Fiddler's Green
 FIDDLER's GREEN

CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER PICTURE
This one seems to be the poem that the painting above depicts.
 
Source
 
Fiddler's Green
 
As I went a walking one evening so rare
To view the still waters and taste the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing this song
Sayin', "Take me away boys, my time is not long.
 
Chorus:
Wrap me up in me oil skins and blankets
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates,
I'm takin' a trip mates
And I'll see you someday on fiddler's green."
 
Now fiddler's green is a place I've heard tell
Where fishermen go if they don't go to hell
Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far far away.
 
Chorus:
 
Where the weather is fair and there's never a gale
Where the fish jump on board with a swish of their tail
You lie at your leisure there's no work to do
While the skipper's below makin' tea for the crew.
 
Chorus:
 
I don't need a harp nor a halo not me
Just give me a breeze and a good rollin' sea
I'll play me old squeeze box as we sail along
And the wind in the riggin' will sing me this song.
 


Chorus:
 
    The following has the related theme of the afterlife and "going to a better place",
    but lacks the seafaring nature shown in the painting.


FIDDLER'S GREEN

Imagine, if you will, a starry night in southwestern Oklahoma just after the Civil War. Nestled in the shadows of the Wichita Mountains is a battery of smoothbore cannon camped for the night. As the campfires dim and the flasks of rum and lemon empty, the conversation turns to life in the hereafter. A rugged, old chief of section is surprised to learn that all present have not heard of the special destiny of Redlegs. As the young cannoneers listen intently, he shares with them the legend of Fiddler's Green.

The chief of section explains that the souls of the departed eventually end up in heaven or hell. Heaven lies about six miles down the dusty road to eternity, and Redlegs get there by turning left at the first crossroad. From this same junction, hell is about eight or nine miles straight ahead. The road's easy to identify: it's the one paved with good intentions. A little way down the road to hell, there is a sign pointing to a trail that runs off to the right of the main road. It reads "Fiddler's Green--Artillerymen Only."
He then teaches them the following poem:
 

Half way down the trail to hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of many departed Redlegs
Camped near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green
 
Though other must go down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No Redleg ever goes to hell,
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so returns to drink again,
With friends at Fiddler's Green.



The campfires die out, and the Redlegs doze off to sleep, knowing Fiddler's Green awaits them and all their cannoncocking brethren in the life hereafter.
And here is a longer version.
 
Fiddler's Green
 
Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green,
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped
Near a good old time canteen,
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddler's Green.
 
Marching Past, straight through to Hell,
The Infantry are seen,
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marine,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddler's Green.
 
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene,
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen,
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddler's Green.
 
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge or fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddler's Green.
 
 

A reference to Fiddler's Green in a Tom Lewis song
[ More about Tom Lewis HERE - A list of lyrics to his other songs HERE ]
 
NEW YORK GIRLS
 
Traditional (Collected by Stan Hugill). Arr.: Tom Lewis
 
Shanghaied in San Francisco, we fetched-up in Bombay,
They set us afloat in a leasehold boat that steered like a bale of hay.
 
Chorus:
AWAY YOU SANTEE, MY DEAR ANNIE, OH YOU NEW YORK GIRLS
YOU LOVE US FOR OUR MONEY.
 
We know the track to Auckland, the light at the Kinsale Head,
We've crept close-hauled while the leadsman bawled the depth of the Channel bed.
 
We've panted in the tropic, while the pitch boiled-up on deck,
We saved our hides, little else besides from an ice-cold, North Sea wreck.
We know the quays of Glasgow, the boom of the lone Azores,
We've had our grub from a salt-horse tub condemned by the Navy stores.
 
We've drunk our rum in Portland, we've thrashed through the Bering Strait,
We've 'toed the mark' on a Yankee barque, with a hard-case, Down-East Mate.
We know the streets of Santos, the river at Saigon,
We've had a glass with a Chinese lass in houseboat in Canton.
 
They'll pay us off in Liverpool then after a spell ashore,
Again we'll ship on a southern trip in a week or barely more.
So - Goodbye Sal and Lucy, it's time we were afloat,
With a straw-stuffed bed, an aching head, a knife and an oilskin coat.
 
Sing: TIME FOR US TO LEAVE HER, sing: BOUND FOR THE RIO GRANDE
As the tug turns back we'll follow her track for a last long look at land.
As the purple disappears and only the blue is seen,
Commend our bones to Davy Jones, our souls to Fiddler's Green.
 
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