Category: songs

C. Fox Smith 1926

"Cicely Fox Smith was an English poet known for writing maritime poetry. Smith did not follow the usual route of the minimum education and early marriage which was expected of young ladies in the Victorian era. She relished her education at Manchester's High School for Girls and allowed herself to wholeheartedly become immersed in her writing career." William Pint & Felicia Gale in 1997 adapted a tune they heard from Bob Zentz into the minor setting Alex Sturbaum uses below.

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/tryphinas-extra-hand

On the clipper ship Tryphina Swinging northward from the line
With the trade winds blowing steady And her flying kites ashine
Five and sixty days from Angier With her freight of Foochow teas
There a sailor man lay dying And the words he spoke were these:
Many years I’ve sailed this packet And I’ve come to like her well
And I’ve not much hope of heaven And I’ve not much use for hell
But if be it as they’ll let me By the great hookblock I swear
When the great Tryphina wants me Dead as living I’ll be there

Chorus:
There’ll be one more at the haliards There’ll be one more on the yard
Fisting up them thundering courses When they’re frosted good and hard
One more tallyin’ at the forebrace At the waist neck deep in foam
One more hand to sweat the tops’l’s up And sheet t’ga’ns’l’s home

It was off the Western islands When he smelled the land he died
And they laid a back the main yard And they tossed him overside
Then they squared their sheets for England Pulley haulingwith a will
But for all they thought they’d left him He sailed aboard her still
And the chaps as was his shipmates Went the way as all chaps go
and the folks as was her owners Sold the old ship long ago
But whoever owned or sold her And whoever went or came
The Tryphina’s extra hand He sailed aboard her just the same

And he never signed no articles He never drawed no pay
He never scoffed no vittles But by night as well as day
Though you’d never know his coming And you’d never see him go
He’d be always somewheres handy When it’s coming on a blow
And he’d stand by wheel at lookout And you’d kind of feel him near
Kind of see him and not see him Kind of hear him and not hear
And the funny thing about it Was you somehow couldn’t swear
But you’d know it it sure as shootin’ When the extra hand was there

And in port when all the chaps had gone Ashore to take their ease
And left the ship as lonely And as quiet as you please
Not a blessed soul aboard her But the galley cat and you
Then you’d hear a sort of something More than once I’ve heard it too
Like a feller up aloft there Puttering around amongst the gear
Lashing here another rat line Putting on a mousing there
And a-whistling old tunes over Such as shellbacks used to know
In the good old China tea trade Many, many years ago 

Ewan MacColl 1966

Written for BBC documentary about construction of the Victoria Underground Line. Verse 5 edit probably by Chris Bracken

Ewan MacColl: https://ewanmaccoll.bandcamp.com/track/the-tunnel-tigers

Hares run free on the Wicklow mountains,
Wild geese fly and foxes play;
Sporting Wicklow boys are working,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Chorus:
Up with the shields and jack it! Ram it!
Driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Lough Derg trout grow fat and lazy,
Salmon sport in Cushla bay;
Fishermen of Connemara
Are driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Below Armagh the wild ducks breeding,
Wild fowl gather ’round Loch Rea,
Sporting boys of Longford County
Are driving a tunnel through the London clay.

The curragh rots on the Achill Island,
Tourists walk on the Newport quay;
Mayo boys have all gone roving,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay.

Carlow girls are fine and handsome,
All decked out so neat and gay;
Carlow boys don’t come to court ’em
Because, did you hear, I said they all were gay

Down in the dark are the tunnel tigers
Far from the sun and the light of day;
Down in the land that the sea once buried,
They’re driving a tunnel through the London clay. 

Rosie Hodgson 2021

The Wilderness Yet: https://thewildernessyet.bandcamp.com/track/turn-the-year-round-2

Chorus:
Turn the year round, turn the year round,
The old king is dead, a new king is crowned
In ivy, in holly, in mistletoe berry and bough,
The jewels of the greenwood through cruel winter abound,
To turn the year, turn the year round!

In comes I a flash and a glance,
For if I must die I shall lead them a dance,
When be you so merry men, As when you’re hunting the wren to…

In comes I to brighten the dark,
The thrush calling nigh from your sorrows depart
What cannot be weathered When we sing together and start to…

In comes I a song bright and bold,
With red breasted coat for to keep out the cold
Leave of your grieving The robin’s receiving old souls to… 

Stan Rogers 1978

Bits and pieces, you offered
of your life I didn’t think they meant a lot or said much for you
And all the chances to follow
didn’t make a lot of sense When stacked against the choices you made

Chorus 1:
For yours was the open road.
The bitter song, the heavy load
That I couldn’t share, though the offer was there.
Every time you turned around

Now it’s not like you made out
to hang around Although you know, I made some sounds to show that I cared.
And when it looked like you heard the call,
I didn’t say a lot although I could have said much more had I dared.

And if I had followed
a little ways because were friends You would have made me welcome out there.
But we both know its just as well,
’cause some can go, But some are meant to stay behind, and its always that way.

Chorus 2:
And yours is the open road.
The bitter song, the heavy load
That I’ll never share, tho’ the offer’s still there
Every time you turn around. 

Dougie MacLean 1991

Chorus:
In darkness we do what we can
In daylight we’re oblivion
Our hearts so raw and clear
Are turning away, turning away from here

On the water we have walked like the fearless child
What was fastened we’ve unlocked revealing wondrous wild
And in search of confirmation we have jumped into the fire
And scrambled with our burning feet through uncontrolled desire

There’s a well upon the hill from our ancient past
Where an age is standing still holding strong and fast
And there’s those that try to tame it and to carve it into stone
Ah but words cannot extinguish it however hard they’re thrown

On Loch Etive they have worked with their Highland dreams
By Kilcrennan they have nourished in the mountain streams
And in searching for acceptance they had given it away
Only the children of their children know the price they have to pay 

Gordon Bok 1975

Bok writes: "One of the things that provoked this song was a letter last November from a friend who had had a very difficult year and was looking for the courage to keep on plowing into it. Those times, you lift your eyes unto the hills, as they say, but the hills of Northern New England in November can be about as much comfort as a cold crowbar. You have to look ahead a bit, then, and realize that all the hills and trees and flowers will still be there come Spring, usually more permanent that your troubles. And, if your courage occasionally fails, that's ok too: nobody expects you to be as strong (or as old) as the land."

When the deer has bedded down
And the bear has gone to ground,
And the Northern goose has wondered off
To warmer bay and sound,
It’s so easy in the cold to feel
The darkness of the year
And the heart is growing lonely For the morning.

Chorus:
Oh, my Joanie, don’t you know That the stars are swinging slow,
And the seas are rolling easy As they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you, I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning Toward the morning.

Now October’s growing thin
And November’s coming home;
You’ll be thinking of the season
And the sad things that you’ve seen,
And you hear that old wind walking,
Hear him singing high and thin,
You could swear he’s out there singing Of your sorrow.

When the darkness falls around you
And the Northwind comes to blow,
And you hear him call your name out
As he walks the brittle snow:
That old wind don’t mean you trouble,
He don’t care or even know,
He’s just walking down the darkness Toward the morning.

It’s a pity you don’t know
What the little flowers know.
They can’t face the cold November,
They can’t take the wind and snow:
They put their glories all behind them,
Bow their heads and let it go,
But you know they’ll be there shining In the morning.

Now, my Joanie don’t you know
That the days are rolling slow,
And the winter’s walking easy,
As he did so long ago?
And, if that wind should come and ask you,
“Why’s my Joanie weeping so?”
Won’t you tell him that you’re weeping For the morning? 

trad 

Archie Fisher recorded in 1976 on The Man With a Rhyme, where he wrote "Part of a longer and rather flowery song about the flight to Skye of Bonnie Prince Charlie after the Jacobite defeat at Culloden, when, disguised as an old woman, the Young Pretender and Flora MacDonald deceived the redcoat sentries. The air is also known as Planxty George Brabazon."

There were twa bonnie maidens and three bonnie maidens
Come over the Minch and come over the main
Wi’ the wind for their way and the corrie for their hame
They are dearly welcome to Skye again

Chorus:
Come along, come along, wi’ yer boatie and your song
To my hi, bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maids
The nicht it is dark and the redcoat is gone
And you’re dearly welcome to Skye again

There is Flora, my honey, so neat and so bonnie
And ane that is tall and handsome withall
Put one for my queen and the other for my king
And they’re dearly welcome to Skye again

There’s a wind in the tree and a ship on the sea
To my hi bonnie maidens, my twa bonnie maids
By the sea mullet’s nest I will watch o’er the main
And you’re dearly welcome to Skye again 

trad 

The life of a shepherd is a life of great care
But my crook and dog Whitefoot I shall drive away fear

Chorus:
Twanky dillo twanky dillo, twanky dillo, dillo, dillo, dillo
And he played on his merry bagpipes made from the green willow
Green willow, green willow, green willow, willow, willow, willow
And he played on his merry bagpipes made from the green willow

Well if ever my sheep go astray on the plain
Why my little dog Whitefoot it’ll fetch em again

Well if ever I meet with the old shepherd’s horse
I shall cut off his tail clean up to his harness

And if ever I meet with the old shepherd’s daughter
I shall block up the hole where she do draw water 

trad 

 

Mainly Norfolk: “collected only twice in South-West England both in 1908: from the singing of Mr. R. Bryant of Cowley, near Exeter, and from the singing of Ellen Carter of Cheddar Cliffs, Somerset.” Finest Kind wrote “This song comes to Ian via our good friend and frequent inspiration, Louis Killen, who in turn credits Cyril Tawney for finding it in the Baring-Gould collection from the south-west of England. It is a gorgeous and unmistakably English melody, coupled with a quite contemporary view on courtship and marriage, incongruously expressed in words only a Victorian could conceive.”

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/april-morning

https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/april-morning

‘Twas on one April morning, just as the sun was rising, ‘Twas on one April morning I heard the small birds sing. They were singing Lovely Nancy For love it is a fancy, So sweet were the notes that I heard the small birds sing. Young men are false and full of all deceiving Young men are false and seldom do prove true, For they’re roving and they’re ranging And their minds are always changing For they’re thinking for to find out some pretty girl that’s new. O if I had but my own heart in keeping, O if I had but my own heart back again. Close in my bosom I would lock it up for ever, And it should wander never so far from me again. Why would you spend all your long time in courting? Why would you spend all your long time again? For I don’t intend to marry, I’d rather longer tarry, So young man don’t you spend all your long time in vain.

 

 

Alex Sturbaum 2017

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/union-pacific

When first unto this country I was twenty years of age
Seeking for adventure and for glory
I crossed the broad Atlantic, and upon the landing stage
I vowed that there would be a life here for me

Now I knew no life but farming and the shovel and the plow
I did intend to leave so far behind me
For my blood had poured on down into that hard and stony ground
And I vowed no more that in the fields you’d find me

In New York town the work was scarce and every door was barred
And more poured through the harbor every morning
My back was strong, my shoulders broad, my hands were rough and hard
But tighter grew my belt with each new dawning

So with my last Yankee dollar I took passage on a train
And lit out west in search of better times
I landed in Wyoming, where it’s first I heard the name
Of Durant and the Union Pacific railroad line

Chorus:
And it’s bad luck to the barons and the bosses on the line
For they’ll break a workman’s body and they’ll rob him of his time
They’ll say the pay is decent, but I tell you boys, it’s true
You can only break so many stones before the stones break you (x2)

Now the Union Pacific was to be a grand affair
And stretch from California to Missouri
There were hands aplenty needed, and they said the pay was fair
And of it they spun such a lovely story

Mr. Durant had a plan, they said, to build a great railway
That would stretch from sea to sea across this land
I hired on that morning and they sent me out that day
With crowbar, pick, and shovel in my hands

We drove the spikes and laid the rails and leveled out the ground
With pick and hammer, dynamite, and all
We slept in tents where cold winds blew with high and mournful sound
And woke at dawn to hear the foreman’s call

And then, one fateful morning when our payday came again
Not a man received his thirty or his five
There’s none of us will work for free among the railroad men
And the word that spread all up and down the rails was “organize”

We held a meeting in the camp and spoke of our demands
Better wages, better hours, and the like
We swore Durant would listen if together we could stand
And if he didn’t, we would call a strike

Next day we called the foreman and we told him then and there
We would not work until we saw our pay
The foreman he turned scarlet and began to curse and swear
Then turned upon his heels and marched away

That night we woke to thunder all around our canvas walls
And all around were screams and rifle fire
We saw the men in masks take aim and saw our workmates fall
And screamed and ran as bodies piled higher

We had built a railroad bridge a week or so before
That stretched full fifty feet into the air
Back to the bridge the leaders of our little strike they bore
And without a trial hung the union organizers there

We woke up in the morning to a sun of bloody red
And counted six good men who’d rise no longer
We cursed the name of Durant as we tended to our dead
And buried them before the light grew stronger

The foreman came back to us as the gloaming turned to day
Said “boys, you’d best get back to work this time”
We’d nowhere else to go and we would starve without our pay
And with heavy hearts we went back on the line

Now the years have passed with blood and sweat and I am nearly free
For the golden spike tomorrow will be driven
I’ll leave this cruel country and its farce of liberty
And for my labor may I be forgiven

For liberty and freedom they are notions grand and fine
But many men who went out west to find them
Lie buried underneath the Union Pacific line
For no crime but speaking out against the tyrants who would bind them