Category: songs

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.

 

 

Banjo Paterson 1902

Cathy O’Sullivan 1996

Artesian water is subsurface aquifer under pressure such that when tapped by a surface well, the natural pressure alone pushes the water to the surface. The Australian outback has a big artesian aquifer. Banjo Paterson is the same poet who wrote Waltzing Matilda.

Penny Davies & Roger Ilott: Song of the Artesian Water (words Banjo Paterson, music Cathy O’Sullivan)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tv4RweFAlJY

Now the stock have started dying, for the Lord has sent a drought; But we’re sick of prayers and Providence, we’re going to do without; With the derricks up above us and the solid earth below, We are waiting at the lever for the word to let her go. We’ll get it from the devil deeper down. Chorus: Sinking down, deeper down, oh, we’ll sink it deeper down (x2) But the shaft has started caving and the sinking’s very slow, And the yellow rods are bending in the water down below, And the tubes are always jamming, and they can’t be made to shift Till we nearly burst the engine with a forty horse-power lift. While the stubborn drill is ramming deeper down. If we fail to get the water, then it’s ruin to the squatter, For the drought is on the station and the weather’s growing hotter, But there’s no artesian water, though we’ve passed three thousand feet, And the contract price is growing, and the boss is nearly beat. But we’re bound to get the water deeper down. But it must be down beneath us, and it’s down we’ve got to go, Though she’s bumping on the solid rock four thousand feet below. And it’s time they heard us knocking on the roof of Satan’s dwellin’; But we’ll get artesian water if we cave the roof of hell in, Oh! we’ll get artesian water deeper down. But it’s hark! the whistle’s blowing with a wild, exultant blast, And the boys are madly cheering, for they’ve struck the flow at last; And it’s rushing up the tubing from four thousand feet below, Till it spouts above the casing in a million-gallon flow. It is flowing, ever flowing, further down.

 

 

Robert Burns 1788

 

Singing more than the first verse and chorus may be inadvisable in most contexts. The final three verses here are from The Sacred Harp in Plenary 162, written by Isaac Watts in 1709, set to this tune called there “Plenary” by A.C. Clark in 1839. Auld Lang Syne started being sung to its familiar tune in 1799.

Tim Eriksen: https://timeriksen.bandcamp.com/track/song-of-the-old-folks-auld-lang-syne (my favorite New Years Eve tradition every year is to listen to this such that the exciting part happens at the stroke of midnight)

https://timeriksen.bandcamp.com/track/song-of-the-old-folks-auld-lang-syne

Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne? Chorus For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne. And surely you’ll buy your pint cup! and surely I’ll buy mine! And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne. We twa hae run about the braes, and pou’d the gowans fine; But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, sin’ auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar’d sin’ auld lang syne. And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere! and gie’s a hand o’ thine! And we’ll tak’ a right gude-willie waught, for auld lang syne. Hark! from the tombs of doleful sound, Mine ears, attend the cry, Ye living men, come view the ground, Where you must shortly lie. “Princes, this clay must be your bed, In spite of all your tow’rs; The tall, the wise, the rev’rend head, Must lie as low as ours.” Great God! Is this our certain doom? And are we still secure? Still walking downward to the tomb, And yet prepared no more!

 

 

Dickie Shannon 1952

 

Dubliners: Luke Kelly The Auld Triangle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aa7birRBmNM

A hungry feeling Came o’er me stealingÿ And the mice were squealing In my prison cellÿ Chorus And the old triangle Went jingle jangleÿ All along the banks Of the Royal Canalÿ To begin the morning The warder’s bawlingÿ “Get out of bed And clean up your cell”ÿ On a fine spring evening The lag lay dreamingÿ The seagulls wheeling High above the wall The screw was peeping The lag was sleepingÿ While he lay weeping For his girl Salÿ The wind was rising And the day decliningÿ As I lay pining In my prison cellÿ The day was dying And the wind was sighingÿ As I lay crying In my prison cell

 

 

Robert Burns 1789

 

About the aftermath of the Jacobite Rising of 1745. A version was published by Robert Burns in 1789. Whigs may be considered the forerunners of the Liberals and many blamed them for selling out Scotland’s crown, identity and heritage. Written well after the events it commemorates, it is not a genuine Jacobite song, as is the case with many others now considered in the “classic canon of Jacobite songs”, most of which were songs “composed in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but were passed off as contemporary products of the Jacobite risings.”

Old Blind Dogs: Awa’ Whigs Awa’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uv2ooL2adpg

Chorus Awa’ Whigs, awa’! Awa’ Whigs, awa’! Ye’re but a pack o’ traitor louns, Ye’ll do nae gude at a’. Our thrissles flourish’d fresh and fair, And bonie bloom’d our roses; But Whigs cam’ like a frost in June, An’ wither’d a’ our posies. Our ancient crown’s fa’en in the dust- Deil blin’ them wi’ the stoure o’t! An’ write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o’t. Our sad decay in church and state Surpasses my descriving: The Whigs cam’ o’er us for a curse, An’ we hae done wi’ thriving. Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, But we may see him wauken: Gude help the day when royal heads Are hunted like a maukin!

 

 

Jez Lowe 1985

 

Lowe tells the story that he had a mental block once during a performance and had to think on his feet. He made up the verse about the stripy jumper as he went along and preferred it to the original.

https://jezlowe.bandcamp.com/track/back-in-durham-gaol-2

https://jezlowe.bandcamp.com/track/back-in-durham-gaol-2

I’m a poor man, as honest as they come, I never was a thief until they caught me. And the judge, he said, he swore me hands were red, No matter how I plead, they find me guilty. There was no bail, off to Durham jail, I went, no nothing now could save me, Calamities, they always come in threes, And that’s how many months it was they gave me. Chorus (x2) And no never in the live long day, You’ll not find me back in Durham jail. ‘Twas a gray day when first I went astray, The devil take the man that came to tempt me. “Cause in no time, me life was one of crime, And now you see the trouble that it’s got me. Well there’s four bare walls at which to stare, Me board and me lodgings are all paid for, You can’t see the turnin’ of the key, To hear the turnin’ back is all you wait for. Oh but sad to say, here I am to stay, With only iron bars around to lean on. I get a cold bath to dampen down me wrath- Though it’s barely just a month ago I had one. God knows, I need a suit o’ clothes, You’d think they could’ve found a one to fit me. Me boots would be fine if they were both a nine, I’m walkin’ like a fall o’ stones has hit me. And I’m sure that me mother’s heart would break, To see me in a state of such repentance. I’m glad she’s not around to see -ÿ And I’ll be out before she finishes her sentence. The sun will shine, I’ll leave it all behind, Once more I’ll be a name and not a number, Out of the gate on the narrow and the straight; I hope they let me keep the stripy jumper.

 

 

Sir Alan Patrick Herbert 1931

 

Minor rewriting by Alex Ellis to make it less xenophobic

Oh blessed be the Briton, his beef and his beer And all the good waters that keep him in cheer But blessed beyond cattle and blessed beyond kegs Is the brave British breakfast of bacon and eggs Chorus 1 (alternating) Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs Sing bacon, sweet bacon, crisp bacon and eggs Thus armed and thus engined, well-shaven and gay We leap to our labors and conquer the day While paltry pale countries as meager as moles Must crawl through the morning on coffee and rolls Chorus 2 (alternating) Coffee and rolls, coffee and rolls Sing coffee, black coffee, vile coffee and rolls What wonder the Frenchman, blown out with new bread Gesticulates oft and is light in the head Our perfect control of our arms and our legs We owe to our ballast of bacon and eggs What wonder that Fortune our people embrace Her loveliest laurels bedecked round our face While sorrow is heaped upon Prussians and Poles Who shame the glad morning with coffee and rolls What wonder the Russian looks redly because Our England, old England, is just as it was We’d fight to the finish, we’d drink to the dregs And dare to be Daniels on bacon and eggs The pale Europeans who fleetingly munch Too little at breakfast, too freely at lunch Sit sated in cafes, incapable souls And go to the devil on coffee and rolls Oh breakfast, oh breakfast, the meal of my heart Bring sausage, bring porridge, bring fish for a start Bring mushrooms and kidneys and partridges’ legs But let the foundation be bacon and eggs

 

 

Sheldon Currie 1964

 

Currie wrote the song while homesick, and then based the 1976 short story “The Glace Bay Miners’ Museum” on it, which was adapted into the film “Margaret’s Museum”.

Jess & Rich Arrowsmith: The Ballad of Charlie David

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boUmfEuD7XA

My brother was a miner, his name was Charlie Dave, He spent his young life laughing, and digging out his grave. Chorus Oh Charlie David he was big, and Charlie Dave was strong, And Charlie Dave was two feet wide, and almost six feet long. When Charlie David was sixteen, he learned to chew and spit, He went one day with Grandpa, and went to work in the pit.ÿ When Charlie David was sixteen, he met his Maggie June, On day shift weeks they met at eight, on back shift weeks at noon. When Charlie David was sixteen, he said to June “Let’s wed” Maggie June was so surprised, she fell right out of bed. When Charlie David was sixteen, June had a little boy, Maggie June was not surprised, and Charlie jumped for joy. When Charlie David was sixteen, the roof fell on his head, His laughing mouth was filled with clay, now Charlie David is dead.

 

 

Paul Wilson 1982

 

“Written about the ancient Bampton Fair in Devon, once a very important pony-trading event but largely taken over by a funfair by the time he visited in the 1970s. The song includes examples of Romani speech including “grai” for horse.” Bampton Fair has been happening since 1258 on the last Thursday of October, though now it is more of a “fun fair” or “pony fair” than its traditional horse-trading focus.

Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/bampton-fair

https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/bampton-fair

Are you going to Bampton Fair? Get your beer down Bob, we’re moving Are you going to Bampton Fair, boy? We’ll go to the fair like we’ve always done Get in the car and give it a run Get a few friends and have some fun Down at the Bampton Fair, boy, down at the Bampton Fair Who did you see at the Bampton Fair? Young ones, old ones, me and you Travellers, farmers, visitors too They even had a TV crew Down at the Bampton Fair? What did you buy at the Bampton Fair? A crockery set that has no cups A brand new shirt that has no cuffs A bloomin’ old grai that has no puff Down at the Bampton Fair? What did you drink at the Bampton Fair? Twenty-one pints and one for me head A scotch or a brandy or a port instead All served up in a muddy old shed Down at the Bampton Fair? What did you get at the Bampton Fair? Two black eyes and a broken nose I caught a cold and I damn near froze A bump on the head and I tore me clothes Down at the Bampton Fair? Will you go next year to Bampton Fair? If the pubs are open and the beer is free If the landlord says “It’s all on me” If I can’t think of anywhere else to be I’ll go to Bampton Fair, boy, go to the Bampton Fair

 

 

Les Rice 1948

 

Rice was an apple grower in Newburgh, New York, one-time president of the Ulster County chapter of the Farmers Union, and was introduced by Pete Seeger at a hootenanny not long after writing the song.

Pete Seeger: Banks of Marble

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKhvT5B0IeE

I’ve traveled round this country From shore to shining shore It really made me wonder The things I heard and saw. I saw the weary farmer Plowing sod and loam l heard the auction hammer A knocking down his home Chorus But the banks are made of marble With a guard at every door And the vaults are stuffed with silver That the farmer sweated for l saw the seaman standing Idly by the shore l heard the bosses saying Got no work for you no more I saw the weary miner Scrubbing coal dust from his back I heard his children cryin Got no coal to heat the shack I’ve seen the people working Throughout this mighty land l prayed we’d get together And together make a stand Final Chorus Then we’d own those banks of marble With a guard at every door And we’d share those vaults of silver That we have sweated for