Posts

Nancy Kerr 2010

Swan song for her 12 years living on narrowboats on the inland waterways. Their boat community was drifting away, and she was pregnant; they soon thereafter moved to Sheffield.

Nancy Kerr & James Fagan: https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/queen-of-waters

Well away my love away for we’re sailing home today,
On a boat called memory (hail home, hearts that long for the land)
Oh she’s like some Persian queen with her opal robes serene,
In the lamplight shimmering (hail home, hearts that long for the land)

Chorus:
On a blue-jay morning feathering thorny memories
Hail home, hearts have been too long away,
On a well-worn byway travelling, magpie gathering
Farewell queen of waters.

Well it’s hard to roll in mirth when your feet don’t touch the earth,
And the wolf comes hungering (hail home, hearts that long for the land)
Folly never foots the bill and we all shall pay in full,
For a life of melody (hail home, hearts that long for the land)

Well I should have sowed my corn, but I danced until the dawn,
Like an ant grasshoppering (hail home, hearts that long for the land)
Oh there must be better ways, for to keep the debts at bay,
And the whiskey trickling (hail home, hearts that long for the land)

So we’ll bid our ship adieu, there’s a mooring in the blue,
Where the gulls are gathering (hail home, hearts that long for the land)
Oh she’s like some Persian queen and her like shall ne’er be seen,
Only in our reverie (hail home, hearts that long for the land)

Andy M. Stewart 

Gentlemen it is me duty To inform you of one beauty
Though I’d ask of you a favour Not to seek her for a while
Though I own she is a creature Of character and feature
No words can paint the picture Of the Queen of all Argyll

Chorus:
And if you could have seen her there
Boys, if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile
All the roses in the garden
They bow and ask her pardon
For not one could match the beauty
Of the Queen of all Argyll

On the evening that I mentioned I passed with light intention
Through a part of our dear country Known for beauty and for style
Bein’ the place of noble thinkers Of scholars and great drinkers
But above them all for splendour Shone the Queen of all Argyll

So my lads I needs must leave you My intentions no’ to grieve you
Nor indeed would I deceive you Oh I’ll see you in a while
I must find some way to gain her To court her and attain her
I fear my heart’s in danger From the Queen of all Argyll 

trad 

Archie Fisher recorded in 1976 on The Man With a Rhyme, where he wrote "A version of 'Skipping Barefoot Through the Heather' that I learned from Belle Stewart. Each variant of this song has its own charm in melody and text." weel faur'd = well favored. Lane = alone. Yowes thegither = ewes together. Loon = lad. Lo'ed = loved.

As I roved out one fine simmer’s morn
Among lofty hills, moorlands and mountains,
It was there I spied a weel faur’d maid
As I, wi’ others, was oot a-huntin’.

No shoes nor stockings did she wear,
And neither had she cap nor feather,
But her golden hair hung in ringlets fair
And the gentle breeze blew ’round her shoulder.

I said, “Braw lassie, why roam your lane,
Why roam your lane amang the heather?”
She said, “My faither’s awa’ frae hame
And I’m herdin’ a’ his yowes thegither.”

I said, “Braw Lassie, if ye’ll be mine,
And care to lie on a bed of feather,
In silks and satins you will shine,
And you’ll be my queen amang the heather.”

She said, “Kind sir, your offer’s good,
Ah, but I’m afraid it was meant for laughter.
For I see you are some rich squire’s son
And I am but a poor shepherd’s daughter.

“But had ye been a shepherd loon
A-herdin’ yowes in yonder valley,
Or had ye been some ploughman’s son,
Wi’ a’ my heart I could hae lo’ed ye.”

Now, I’ve been to halls and I’ve been tae balls,
I’ve been to London and Balquidder,
But the bonniest lass that e’er I saw
She was herdin’ yowes amang the heather.

So we both sat down upon the plain,
We sat awhile and we talked thegither,
And we left the yowes to stray their lane
Till I lo’ed my queen amang the heather. 

Madison McLeod 2023

Written for a new tradition made up by Boss Morris of ceremonially touching the water in a spring to welcome in the spring. McLeod was out walking with partner Sam Sweeney on Selsley Common during the pandemic and saw water bubbling up from the ground, and they stuck their fingers in to see how deep it went, and then realized doing so felt like a folk tradition. The tradition and the song were meant as a joke but it proved popular as an actual folk ritual, attracting hundreds of people each year.

Oh we are merry morris folk
We gayly dance and sing
We wake from weary winter
To find the joyous spring

Chorus:
Put your finger in the spring
Put it in, put it in
Put your finger in the spring
Finger in, finger in
Put your finger in the spring
To see what the season brings

Down the secret garden path
We’ll find the hidden treasure
But only once your finger’s in
Will you know such pleasure

Tickle through the undergrowth
Until the water flows
Gently slip a digit in
And see the green leaves grow 

Alex Sturbaum 2017

"I spent nearly half a decade working in Western Washington, doing environmental restoration in the Puget Sound area. It's hard and fulfilling work, and I thought it was just as deserving of a song as whaling, mining, logging, and other hard labor I've spent years singing about. Scotch broom is a plant that is well loved in the music of Scotland, but it's a pernicious invasive species out here."

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/pulling-broom

It was on one winter morning clear
We loaded up and packed our gear
We lit out at the break of day
We were pulling broom up Concrete way

Chorus:
And it’s one more day,
of the smell of earth and woodsmoke
One more day,
pulling broom

The Scotch broom fields grew thick and wide
River roaring on the other side
Get up, buddy, no time to sleep
For the broom grows high and the roots run deep

Little owl calling in the Doug fir trees
As the grey dawn wakes us from our ease
In the morning sun we’re on the road
With a big iron bar and a heavy load

The Northwest rain comes pouring down
So hard you feel like you might drown
So you bend your backs and you pull together
And hope like hell for better weather

Now the burn pile’s stacked and the fire’s died down
And before too long we’ll be homeward bound
Come sundown we’ll be on our way
With an aching back and a full week’s pay 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1838

Martin Simpson wrote in 1993 that this tune was composed by Lotus Dickey of Indiana. Pete Sutherland probably learned it directly from Dickey and brought it to New England.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Chorus:
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait. 

Keith Marsden 1985

Based on the life of Marsden's friend Henry Atkinson, who started work in the mill at fourteen years of age, and worked his way up to becoming Mill Manager. Shortly after his retirement he died of emphysema which he had contracted, as it says in the chorus, 'I passed my time in the dust and grime'.

Fifty years man & boy have I worked the mills, though I never could stand the place.
But I got to the top by my own bootstraps, and not ‘cos they liked my face.
And I made a good life for my child and wife, I’d respect from my fellow men.
But the gaffer’s giving me the gold watch next week and he’ll never see me again.

Chorus:
Prospect, Providence, Perseverance, Albert, Valley and Crank.
I passed my time in the dust and grime, with never a word of thanks.
Oh, the wages were low and the hours were long, and the gaffers was hard, lads, hard.
But the last time’s coming, thank God, coming soon, when I’ll walk up the damned mill yard.

There’ll be no more sweating on a seek-oil dam through the heat of a summer’s day.
There’ll be no more choking on the rag’ole dust, there’ll be no more fratching for pay.
There’ll be no more trying to mend a clapped -out loom, where the noise makes you climb the walls.
There’ll be no more measuring the gaffer’s boots by the seat of your overalls.

There’ll be no more bawling of a weaver out when a piece makes the menders grieve.
“Oh, my shuttles were all cracked so I’d too many traps, and the weft wasn’t fit to weave”.
Then the spinner finds fault with the willyer’s blend, who says that his rags were too cheap.
And the blame gets passed right down the line, till the gaffer goes and kicks the sheep.

Though the pension’s small I’ve a bit put by that’ll do for the wife and me,
And there’ll be enough spare for the odd glass of beer and a few days by the sea.
And I’ll roll a few woods and I’ll still find time for the jobs that I used to shirk.
I’ll have so much on that I’ll wonder then, how I ever found time to work.

Though the pension’s low still the prices rise, my wife’s going out of her mind,
And I’m no longer sure what it’s all been for, the year long, lifelong grind.
And I’d dust so long that my lungs have gone, and I cannot get my breath.
I can’t laugh or talk or even walk, and I long for the peace of death. 

Nancy Kerr 

Nancy Kerr: https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/the-priests-garden

In the heart of the holy city, where the seeds of our shadows are sewn, sewn
I was walking all in the priest’s garden, and I met a sweet child all alone, lone
I met a sweet child all alone

The hard rain it blew all around him til the black earth was riven with cares, cares
And roses were bending and breaking. “Oh the ravens have stolen my prayers”
he said “Oh the ravens have stolen my prayers”

“I was sailing my own little rowboat with my cross and my bible and beads, beads
It was built by my father and mother, and the name of that boat it was creed, creed
And the name of that boat it was creed”

Well a stream it flowed out of the village where the willows they weep by the ford, ford
And that stream it grew into a river and the name of that river was Lord, Lord
And the name of that river was Lord

And that river flowed into the valley, and that valley flowed into a cave, cave
At the heart of that cave was an altar, and the name on the altar was saved, saved
And the name on the altar was saved

But the raven is wary and wily for he covets our shadows in shame, shame
And he’s wearing the rose of the holy and he’ll dare you to mention his name, name
He’ll dare you to mention his name

Dark roses they bloom in his garden and the roots they are fed upon fears, fears
Though he preaches of penance and pardon, all the petals are covered in tears, tears
All the petals are covered in tears

I will pull down those brambles and briars where they grow from below and above, bove
I will build a gate out of this garden, and the name on that gate shall be love, love
And the name on that gate shall be love 

trad

Edith Gawler & Bennett Konesni

Prettiest little girl in the county-o
My mama & papa both said so

Chorus (x2):
I’m gonna love her in the mornin’
I’m gonna love her in the evenin’

Prettiest little girl in the county-o All dressed up in calico

Prettiest little girl in the county-o I walked right up and told her so

Swing ’em like you love ’em Boys, you ain’t above ’em

Prettiest little girl on Shelter Isle, oh that Edith makes me smile 

Phil Ochs 1963

While composing the song, Ochs told his sister Sonny that he was writing "the greatest song I'll ever write". Notably, anti-gay activist Anita Bryant was among those who covered the song, about which Ochs was amused.

Come and take a walk with me through this green and growing land
Walk through the meadows and the mountains and the sand
Walk through the valleys and the rivers and the plains
Walk through the sun and walk through the rain

Chorus:
Here is a land full of power and glory
Beauty that words cannot recall
Oh our power shall rest on the strength of our freedom
Glory shall rest on us all, on us all

From Colorado, Kansas, and the Carolinas too
Virginia and Alaska, from the old to the new
Texas and Ohio and the California shore
Tell me who could ask for more?

But we’re only as rich as the poorest of the poor
Only as free as a padlocked prison door
Only as strong as our love for this land
Only as tall as we stand

Now again our land is troubled by men who have to hate
They twist away our freedom and they twist away our fate
Fear is their weapon and “treason” is their cry
We can stop ’em if we try!