Clann na nGael are also known as 'The Scorchers', so what and who is the Scorcher.

When football was revived in the parish in 1902 the team was captained by Jack O' Mahony. He was locally known as 'the Scorcher'. He was so called because of his hard, low, rasping shot. 'The Scorcher' was a member of a very well known and respected family that lived in Main Street West at the turn of the century. He serviced in the first World War, being seriously injured in Flanders.

Jack had two brothers, Con and Jim. Jim was also involved in the G.A.A. and many other organisations. When a branch of C.Y.M.S. was formed in Drimoleague in the 'Old School' where the parochial house now stands. Jim was for years secretary of the society and was also appointed librarian when the library was installed.

'The Scorcher' is buried in the 'old graveyard' - a small head stone marks the spot of his burial ground.

I think of thee, sweet Drimoleague, and high Street there's my home,

From brother sweet and sisters kind, away I had to roam.

To foreign land 'neath alien skies, a stranger here am I

But where ere I roam, I'm proud to own, I'm a young Drimoleague boy.

When I think of my loving schoolmates, they're now all grown up men.

And of my happy childhood days, I wish them back again

When my fond heart no troubles knew, nor danger did i see

O'er the ocean track, my thoughts fly back, Sweet Drimoleague to thee.

Ah well do I remember those Drimoleague Quarries old

And the Gallant men who worked in them, with courage stout and bold

Their names are famed in history's page for workmanship and skill

They like brothers helped each other at the crowbar and the drill.

May God be with you Meenies Grove where oft times I have been

And rambled all our wild o'er to pluck the holly green,

Likewise to Castledonovan, my thoughts do fondly stray,

Where I and my own true love spent many a Christmas day.

From my father's home in High Street, Owen Mountain can be seem,

Where the river Ilen rises and flows down to Skibbereen.

Where grows the heather green and wild and many a poteen still.

Lies hidden in the bosom of Owen's lofty hill.

James Coakley was my father's name, I'm proud to own and tell,

Twas tenderly he reared me and the neighbours knew it well

'Twas many the day he laboured hard from the village of Dreenaspeeg,

When I was young and innocent at home in Drimoleague.