Mick Hartley

A surprisingly common name for women in songs, Maggie, but not usually in a complimentary way. It's not a particularly feminine name, I suppose; not like Susie, or Jenny, or Sally. Those hard gs. Margaret Thatcher was our Prime Minister for a number of years: Maggie Thatcher on the other hand was a witch, a harridan, and an implacable enemy of the working class.
"Margaret, there are a number of us who think that perhaps, er, for the benefit of the party, you might consider, well, um…stepping down."
"Maggie Maggie Maggie, Out Out Out."

There's that famous Liverpool ditty about prostitute Maggie May which the Beatles jokingly covered on Let It Be. There's Rod Stewart's classic Maggie May – definitely one of his finer moments – which no doubt owed something to the earlier song. "The morning sun when it's in your face really shows your age": he would never have sung that about Jenny May.

And of course there's Maggie's Farm: one of the highlights of Dylan going electric at Newport.

But there is a different Maggie: the beautiful old Irish song. I hadn't heard of it till I was looking for Richard and Linda Thompson's "Withered and Died", found this version by Eleanor Shanley, and checked out what else she sang:

Now, sadly for my nearest and dearest, I can't get it out of my head.