Category: songs

Nancy Kerr 2014

 

Loosely based on the account of the 1593 meeting of Irish pirate queen Grace O’Malley and Queen Elizabeth I. O’Malley was petitioning the Queen for release of her children by an overzealous governor and according to legend carried herself in that meeting with the dignity of a queen meeting an equal, refusing to bow or accept the title of countess. The song was written as part of The Elizabethan Session, commissioned by Folk by the Oak and the English Folk Dance and Song Society.

https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/broadside

https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/broadside

Keep your land you gentry of England, France and Spain For there’s nothing like dominion of the water From the rocky coast of Kerry to the bloody Spanish Main It’s the best thing you can ever teach your daughter Chorus: Broadside to broadside, two captains collide Queen of the spheres and queen of the tide Regalia and rebellion go sailing side by side Haul away, sister, haul away Plunder men for treasure, and never heed their blows For there’s nothing given freely to a woman Be generous to friendship and lavish to your foes Then pirate queens may share the seas in common For blows will make you weary and marriage make a slave You’d be better on the sea like brave O’Malley And when that gallant vessel goes a rolling on the wave Be sure you’re on the deck not in the galley

 

 

John Krumm 1990s

 

Ann Percival

http://ellisnasqc.quickconnect.to/as/sharing/w8B3S30x/L011c2ljL0FubiBQZXJjaXZhbCBBbmQgVGhlIERhbmNlIENhbXAgQ2hvaXIvSGVhciBVcyBTaW5nLzE0IEJ1ZmZhbG8gR2FwLm1wMw==

Part 1: Buffalo Gap, Buffalo Gap, Down in West Virginia, Me and my gal, and my gal’s pap, we’re going down to Buffalo Gap Part 2: Fiddle play that sweet country tune, just like you know my yearning heart For the place that I’ll be going to soon, going down to Buffalo Gap Part 3: So swing, balance and swing, swing until the stars shine in the heavens Promenade her home, never to roam, how could I ever leave this place?

 

 

trad 

 

A cotton-screwing shanty from black southern workers compressing cotton in the hold of sailing vessels to fit more in. ‘Shinbone Al'(ley) is in St George, Bermuda. To be ‘bully’ was to be legless drunk, and being left “in the alley” by your crewmates means that you concluded your shore leave before they were ready to carry you back to the ship. Cecil Sharp collected it and many other shanties in 1914 from John Short a.k.a. Yankee Jack (1839-1933) of Watchet, Somerset. Short spent over fifty years working in sailing boats, much of his younger days in deep-water ships, sailing all around the world as a shantyman.

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/bully-in-the-alley

https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/bully-in-the-alley

Chorus Help me Bob, I’m bully in the alley, Wey hey, Bully in the alley. Help me Bob, I’m bully in the alley, Bully down in Shinbone al. Sally is a girl that I loved dearly, Wey hey, Bully in the alley. Sally is the girl that I spliced nearly, Bully down in Shinbone al. For seven long years I courted Sally, All She did was dilly and dally, I left my Sal, I went a-sailing Signed on a big ship, I went a-whaling If ever I get back, I’ll marry Sally,ÿ Have six kids and live in Shinbone alley,ÿ I thought I heard the old man saying,ÿ One more pull and we’re belaying,

 

 

Edwin Hubbell Chapin 1839

 

Edward Hubbell Chapin was a well known Universalist clergyman from Boston. He studied law at Tufts University, but was ordained as a Universalist in 1838. He published the poem “The Ocean-Buried” in the Southern Literary Messsenger in 1839. About 4 months after publication of the poem the steamboat “Lexington” caught fire and sank sending 140 people to the bottom of Long Island Sound. Chapin used his poem as a outline for a sermon on the burning of the ship and the tragedy of folks consigned to unmarked watery graves. He preached on the topic at least twice in 1840 and the sermon was included in a book he published in 1846.

Nightingale: Bury Me Not in the Deep Deep Sea

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxJOTiSWJ5g

Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! The words came faint and mournfully, Form the pallid lips of a youth, who lay On the cabin couch, where, day by day, He had wasted and pined, til o’er his brow The death shade had slowly passed–and now, When the land and his fond-loved home were nigh, They gathered around him to see him die. “Bury me not in the deep deep sea, Where the billowy shroud will roll over me– Where no light can break through the dark cold wave, And no sunbeam rest sweetly upon my grave. ‘It boots not’ I know I have oft been told ‘Where the body shall lie when the heart is cold’– Yet grant ye, oh! grant ye this boon to me, Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! “For in fancy I’ve listened to well known words– The free, wild wind, and the song of birds– I have thought of home, of cot and bower, And of scenes that I loved in childhood’s hour. I have ever hoped to be laid, when I died, In the church-yard there on the green hill side– By the bones of my fathers my grave should be– Bury me not in the deep, deep sea! “Let my death slumber be where a mother’s prayer And a sister’s tears can be blended there. Oh! ’twill be sweet, ere the heart’s throb is o’er, To know when its fountain shall gush no more, That those it so fondly has yearned for will come To plant the first wild-flowers of spring on my tomb. Let me lie where the loved-ones can weep over me– Bury me not in the deep, deep sea. “And there is another–her tears would be shed For him who lay far in an ocean-bed. In hours that it pains me to think of now, She hath twined these locks and kissed this brow– In the hair she hath wreathed shall the sea-snake hiss? The brow she hath pressed shall the cold wave kiss?– For the sake of that bright one who waits for me, Bury me not in the deep, deep sea. “She hath been in my dreams.” His voice failed there. They gave no heed to his dying prayer. *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ *ÿ ÿ * They have lowered him slow o’er the vessel’s side– Above him hath closed the solemn tide. Where do dip her wing the wild fowl rests– Where the blue waves dance with their foamy crests– Where the billows bound and the winds sport free– They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea.

 

 

trad 

 

This song was popular in England and North America, but only noted occasionally elsewhere in Britain. It also appeared on a number of broadsides, from about the 1820s onwards, where it was often called Cookey’s Courtship, or Cupboard Love, and the story changes little from version to version.

Spiers & Boden: https://spiersboden.bandcamp.com/track/butter-cheese-all

https://spiersboden.bandcamp.com/track/butter-cheese-all

Well now you’ve called on me to sing, I’ll see what I can do, And when that I have finished it I’ll call on one of you. Well now you’ve called on me to sing I’ll see what I can do, And when that I have finished it, ? I’ll call on one of you. ? Now, the first time I went a-courting, well I’ll tell you the reason why, It was to a jolly old cook because my wants she did supply. She fed me on the best roast beef and plenty of mince pies, And whenever that I was hungry ? My wants she did supply. ? So one day I went to see her and she asked me in to tea, She said, “The missus and master’s out, we’ll have a jolly spree.” So I went into the parlour my own true love to please And into one pocket she’s rammed some butter ? And into the other some cheese. ? Now after supper was over, and I could eat no more, Oh Lord, to my surprise when a knock comes to the door. So I looked around for a place to hide but that I did not know. So it’s up the old chimney I did creep, ? As black as any old crow. ? Now, the fire it being rather warm, it began to scorch my knees, Likewise to melt my butter and likewise to toast my cheese, And every drop dropped in the fire, a terrible place was there. And the master swore as in his poor old house ? That the Devil himself was there. ? So it’s way up on the roof he climbed for to drive old Harry out, He began to pour cold water down what put me to a rout. And it’s down the old chimney I did creep and into the street did crawl, I was forced to ramble as fast as I could ? With my butter and cheese and all. ?

 

 

Alex Sturbaum 

 

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/by-the-door

https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/by-the-door

Sam and I knew by October that the hard times were in store We’d had such a sorry harvest and the baby newly born The winter came in screaming far too bitter and too soon The first storm took a yearling, the second might spell doom The neighbors gave all that they could, but they hadn’t much to spare We were never free from hunger, we were never free from fear It got cold, and it got colder, trees would shatter from inside But the night the wind brought voices was the only night that we cried Chorus: ÿWe all have heard the stories that the old-timers tell ÿNever eat the food they give you and beware the sound of bells ÿAnd you must never make a bargain, thus we’ve all been warned before ÿBut I hear the baby crying and my cloak hangs by the door We hung on through December, but outside the snow grew deep And the quiet words of winter whispered ever in my sleep Sam pretended not to hear them and I tried to do the same But they promised our salvation and asked nothing but my name On a silent winter’s evening in this lonely churchyard ground Twelve times over through the snowfall I can hear the old bell sound And I shiver for a moment and my voice sounds weak and frail As I say to what might hear me: “I have come to make a deal.”

 

 

trad 

 

Published in 1812 in a collection by John Bell. Byker Hill and Walker Shore are former coal mines near Newcastle upon Tyne. Elsie Marley is a well-known Northumbrian dance. Geordie Charlton was apparently a local character and has an identical mention in a sea shanty as having a pig that did a dance when he hit it with a shovel.

Young Tradition: The Young Tradition – Byker Hill (Oberlin 1968)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=seA6KTNjUoY

If I had another penny I would have another gill, I would make the piper play the bonny lass of Byker Hill Chorus Byker Hill and Walker Shore, collier lads for ever more (2x) The pitman and the keelman trim They drink bumble made from gin. Then to dance they do begin To the tune of Elsie Marley When first I went down to the dirt I had no cowl nor no pitshirt. Now I’ve gotten two or three Walker Pit’s done well by me Geordie Charlton, he had a pig, He hit it with a shovel and it danced a jig. All the way to Walker Shore To the tune of Elsie Marley The poor coal cutter gets two shillings The deputy get half a crown And the overman gets five and sixpence That’s just for riding up and down

 

 

The Young’uns 2018

Told through the words of 16 year-old Stockton-born Johnny Longstaff who was one of an estimated 100,000 people who defied the police to stand in solidarity with the Jewish people of London's East End, blocking the route of a British Union of Fascists march on October 4, 1936.

On the fourth of October, nineteen thirty-six
I was only a lad of sixteen
But I stood beside men who were threescore and ten
And every age in between
We were dockers and teachers, busmen, engineers
And those with no jobs to do
We were women and children equal in union
Atheists, Christians, and Jews
And we had so much to lose

For with Hitler in Germany, Franco in Spain
We knew what fascism meant
So when Mosley came trouncing, denouncing the Jews
To the East End of London we went
For I’d met refugees who had fled o’er the seas
Germans, Italians, and Jews
And I knew their despair for what they’d seen there
And I couldn’t let them be abused
We had so much to lose

Now three thousand fascists, their uniforms black
Had set out to march on that day
And six thousand policemen intended to greet them
By making clear the way
But we were there ready, our nerves they were steady
One hundred thousand en masse
And we planted our feet along Cable Street
And we sang, “they shall not pass!”
We sang, “they shall not pass!”

Then all us young lads, we were sent to the side streets
To stop the police breaking through
And with swift hands we made strong barricades
Out of anything we could use
And they came to charge us, but they couldn’t barge us
With fists, batons, and hooves
With as good as we got, we withstood the lot
For we would not be moved
We would not be moved

Bridge 1: (same tune as end of verses)
And yes, there was violence, and yes, there was blood
And I saw things a lad shouldn’t see
But I’ll not regret the day I stood
And London stood with me

And when the news spread the day had been won
And Mosley was limping away
There were shouts, there were cheers There were songs, there were tears
And I hear them all to this day
And we all swore then we’d stand up again
For as long as our legs could
And that when we were gone, our daughters and sons
Would stand where we stood

Bridge 2: (same tune as end of verses)
Was the first time I’d heard two tiny words
Said by every woman and man
Now I say them still, and I always will:
No pasarán!

Dougie MacLean 1977

 

MacLean wrote the song in less than 10 minutes on a beach in Brittany, France, feeling homesick for Scotland. He said: “I was in my early 20s and had been busking around with some Irish guys. I was genuinely homesick. I’d always lived in Perthshire. I played it to the guys when I got back to the youth hostel where we were staying and that was the final straw – we all went home the next day.”

MacLean: Dougie MacLean pays tribute to Alex Salmond with Caledonia performance

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0lzYztObyk

I don’t know if you can see the changes that have come over me In these last few days I’ve been afraid that I might drift away So I’ve been telling old stories, singing songs, that make me think about where I come from That’s the reason why I seem so far away today Chorus: Let me tell you that I love you and I think about you all the time Caledonia you’re calling me and now I’m going home But if I should become a stranger you know that it would make me more than sad Caledonia’s been everything I’ve ever had I have moved and I’ve kept on moving, proved the points that I needed proving Lost the friends that I needed losing, found others on the way I have tried and I’ve kept on trying, stolen dreams, yes there’s no denying I have traveled hard sometimes with conscience flying somewhere in the wind Now I’m sitting here before the fire, the empty room the forest choir The flames that couldn’t get any higher they’ve withered now they’ve gone But I’m steady thinking, my way is clear and I know what I will do tomorrow When the hands have shaken and the kisses flow then I will disappear

 

 

Mary Garvey 1992

“Stella is a beautiful little town on the lower Columbia. The whole town was on piers when I was growing up.” Stella is a rural village near Longview, WA (1.5-2 hrs from Portland, Tacoma, and the ocean) named after Stella Packard, the daughter of a local merchant.

Mary Garvey: https://marygarvey.bandcamp.com/track/cannery-shed-stella

Chorus:
I’ve worked all my life in a cannery shed
And if I’m dying or you think I’m dead
Don’t bury my bones, just put ’em instead
In a can in the cannery shed

Now the cannery shed perches over the river
Where the winter winds blow and you freeze and you shiver
When the boss comes around I might have to give her
My opinion of the cannery shed

We chop off the heads, and we chop off the tails
Scoop out the guts, and throw ’em in the pails
Won’t get a rest till the next schooner sails
From the dock at the cannery shed

There’s no time to talk, no time to linger
You’d better move sharp or you might lose a finger
It’d turn stomach if you knew everything here’s
Been canned in the cannery shed

LaFaye he went away and he wrote me a letter
I tucked it up high in the sleeve of my sweater
And it slipped and it fell and landed in the shredder
Now it’s canned in the cannery shed

Now the cannery boy he’s a very happy fella
If he gets him a girl from the little town of Stella
I would if I could but I’m not going to tell ya
What goes on behind the cannery shed