The term "halan" means "calends," or first of the month, and "tow" means "garland". In the town of Helston, Cornwall, May 8 is called Furry Day (the Feast of St. Michael), and a procession is held each year. Early in the morning, a group of revellers would rise early in the morning, gather green boughs, and dance through the city streets. The revellers themselves were referred to as Hal-an-Tow. In recent times, the celebration consists of a kind of snake dance through the streets-and even in the front door of some residences and out the back. The "Take the scorn?" verse is not from the Helston tradition. It comes from Shakespeare's As You Like It.
Since man was first created His works have been debated We have celebrated The coming of the Spring
Chorus: Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble O We were up long before the day O To welcome in the summer, To welcome in the May O The summer is a-coming in And winter’s gone away O
Take the scorn to wear the horn It was the crest when you was born Your father’s father wore it And your father wore it too
Robin Hood and Little John Have both gone to the fair O And we will to the merry green wood To hunt the buck and hare O
God bless Aunt Mary Moyses And all her power and might O And send us peace to England Send peace by day and night O
Lui Collins: "This song is based on a true story told to Fred when he was touring in Australia. The lyrics stick very close to the story as told until the last verse. Fred himself introduced the idea of the black woman coming to the funeral, allowing her to give voice to a concept that would never have occurred to the family at the time. As Fred told it to me, the story was passed down in the family, and everyone would exclaim what a tragedy it was that the child didn't dare pass the Aboriginal village to go for help. It was not until after many many retellings that it even occurred to anyone to suggest that Guinevere might have gone TO the Aboriginals themselves for aid."
My grandmother was born in 1900 On a farm in New South Wales She wed a dairyman Who liked to raise a pint of ale The first child came when she was twenty Five more babes in seven years That first daughter was my mother They called her Guinevere
Little Gwen would play beneath the willow “Yes the queen would like some tea” Helped with chores that never ended Tried to mind tried to please Sometimes she heard the music Wild and strange in the summer night “They’re dirty people” warned her mother “Never go near their campfire light”
Chorus: Stay away from the camp of the blackfellas Little white girls have disappeared They drink and dance when the moon is red Better never let ’em see your golden hair”
Came the winter of ’27 So cold the milk froze in the pail Her mum hung the nappies by the hearth Her dad in town for a round of ale A spark leapt from the fire that night Wrapped her mother in a gown of flame Flailing dancing in a frenzy Falling down in voiceless pain Stillness and the stench of burning Then so soft ’twas like a ghost “Fetch the Cunninghams” she whispered “Bring me aid or I am lost” The Cunningham house was not two miles away And they the nearest whites Past the camp of the Aboriginals Past the demons of the night
“I will run to save my mother I must go now I must fly” Still she heard her mother’s tales Of the Devil’s drums and the evil eye Her mother’s breathing ever fainter Gwen frozen in her fright Seven hours till dawn she waited For the safety of the light Now she runs till her feet are bleeding To the house upon the hill Now comes the doctor’s wagon speeding To her mother cold and still
They laid her down in the Nowra graveyard From the Bible read a verse Children sent to aunts and uncles Some to Melbourne some to Perth Gwen packed her canvas satchel could not hold the salt tears back Turned to leave her home forever Faced a woman gnarled and black “Child our hearts are heavy Grieving for your loss We live so close by you Why did you not come to us? We have salves to heal the burning We have herbs to stop the pain We could have helped had we but known To make your mother whole again”
Duren's legal given name was maybe Barbara Ann Goldblatt? She died in 2017 and there's a 2006 book about her by John McFadden. Griselda was the name of her sister. Cammy Kaynor: "The Holy Modal Rounders made it popular, but I first heard it at Pinewoods in 1977. Greg Boardman was lying on his back, I think drunk out of his gourd, in a little cabin at Pinewoods, playing it on his concertina and singing, and I just fell in love with that song in that moment. And he and I and Bob Childs, and Michael Havey, we started the Minotaur Morris ... and we got the name Minotaur Morris Men because John Dexter called us "a bunch of riderless horses" when we were dancing. John Dexter was teaching a class in Ducklington [the first time it had been taught in America] and he had called us a bunch of riderless horses which spawned the name."
Come won’t you walk with me, Griselda, Wearing your dress that moonlight shines through. I am a sad and lonely boy, Since your mother said I couldn’t see you.
Chorus: Slipping through the woods in the dark of the night, Calling to the moon up yonder: Oh lady moon, won’t you shine your silver light, And lead me to my Griselda.
Do you recall last night, Griselda, Learning the lessons Nature taught us? Watching the fish jump in the lake; [splash!] It was lovely till your mother caught us.
Moon flower vine upon on your window Gives me a foothold for my climbing. I got a rowboat on the lake; [splash!] Moon is out and all the stars are shining.
I got a jug of wine Griselda. Why should you waste your time in sorrow? Hold out your hand and have no fear; If we’re caught, I’ll marry you tomorrow.
Chorus: Don’t mind people grinnin’ in your face (x2) Oh just bear this in mind A true friend is hard to find Don’t mind people grinnin’ in your face
You know your mother will talk about you Your sisters and brothers too You tell ’em how you’re trying to live, oh Lord And they’ll talk about you still Oh, just bear this in mind…
You know they’ll jump you up and down They’ll carry you round and round As soon as your back is turned, Lord They’ll be trying to cut you down Oh, just bear this in mind…
Tawney wrote this melancholy song before he left the Royal Navy. He'd served since he was 15. The title The Grey Funnel Line is an euphemism for the Navy, equating the colour of its funnels with those of company emblems found on commercial shipping lines (e.g. the Blue Funnel Line or the Black Ball Line). The first line of the chorus is inspired by the shanty One More Day. Part of verse 2 taken from a Lomax transcription from an enslaved woman named Dink. He said about verse 3 "It was a long time before I began writing down the words of my songs; my theory was that if they weren't memorable enough to stay in my own head, then they weren't likely to stay in other people's." He had consequently forgotten this verse but not before Lou Killen recorded it, learned it, and reshared it with Tawney in 1964.
Don’t mind the rain or the rolling sea, The weary night never worries me. But the hardest time in sailor’s day Is to watch the sun as it dies away.
Chorus: It’s one more day on the Grey Funnel Line.
The finest ship that sailed the sea Is still a prison for the likes of me. But give me wings like Noah’s dove, I’d fly up harbour to the girl I love.
There was a time my heart was free Like a floating spar on the open sea But now the spar is washed ashore It comes to rest at my real love’s door.
Every time I gaze behind the screws Makes me long for old Peter’s shoes I’d walk right down that silver lane And take my love in my arms again.
Oh Lord, if dreams were only real, I’d have my hands on that wooden wheel. And with all my heart I’d turn her round And tell the boys that we’re homeward bound.
I’ll pass the time like some machine Until blue water turns to green. Then I’ll dance on down that walk ashore And sail the Grey Funnel Line no more.
In most of the versions collected from oral sources, the song opens up giving a date for the events that it describes (usually between 1823 and 1853). However, the song is actually older than this and a form of it was published as a ballad before 1725. I learned this from Bodega and Gallimaufry.
Chorus: Greenland is a hell of a place, it’s a land that’s never green Where there’s ice and snow and the whale fishes blow And the daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys And the daylight’s seldom seen
In Eighteen hundred and sixty-four on June the 13th day Our gallant ship her anchor weighed And for Greenland sailed away, brave boys And for Greenland sailed away
Our lookout in the cross tree stood with a spyglass in his hand “There’s a whale, there’s a whale, there’s a bloody great whale And she blows on every span”
Well our captain he stood on the quarterdeck The ice was in his eye “Overhaul, overhaul, let your davits tackles fall And you’ll put your boats in the sea”
The harpoon struck and the line played out and she made a flourish with her tail And the boat capsized and ten men were drowned And we did not catch that whale
Now the losing of that hundred barrel whale, it grieves our captain sore But the losing of those ten brave men, It grieves me ten times more
Chorus: Don’t turn to look on the green hills of Antrim Fermanagh’s behind you, it’s time to move on Look onwards tae Glasgow and all your tomorrows The future lies there and it’s waiting for you As the green crosses over to meet with the blue
And what was the sense when the wee ones were cryin’ The cries of the hungry no sense to remain No prayer could recover a sister, a brother So farewell to Fermanagh the prayin’ is done
The land that you leave has had too many martyrs And too many lives that have perished in vain And too many boats slipping out from its harbours With cargoes that never came homewards again
If the wings of the eagle could carry you over To the land of the prairie then surely you’d fly But an ocean so wide and a far distant country So far from your own land is no place to die
Gullane is longtime songwriter of the Tannahill Weavers.
In the city of Glasgow ’twas long in the cards If you lived near the river you’d work in the yards The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes Were the muckle great cranes that reached up to the skies
Chorus: Where we built the great ships of iron and steel The Lizzies, the Mary, we built them right here We built the great ships, the pride of the sea But now there is nae work for me And who would believe that we built the great ships?
At the end of the forties apprenticed was I To the cream of the welders by the name of MacKay “You’ve two ears and one mouth so listen, don’t lip And I’ll show you young lads how we build the great ships.”
At the end of the sixties, the whole thing just died We had marches and work-ins, my god how we tried There was no need for highly skilled craftsmen like me They build ships for damn all in Japan and Koree
There’s scarcely a ship now and blessed few men As the river runs silent through Silicon Glen For an old clapped out welder you’ll not get much thanks Now there’s fish in the river and chips on its banks
John Faulkner wrote in 1969: "Almost without exception, the popular ballads about Napoleon Bonaparte display a marked degree of sympathy towards him. This is particularly significant in view of the fact that the barrage of anti-Bonaparte propaganda had reached an hysterical peak in the period that this song comes from. It is possible however, that the British commoner, shackled with Poor Laws and subjected to the oppressive onslaught of the Industrial Revolution, viewed Old Boney as a potential liberator."
It was over that wild beaten track a friend of that bold, bold Bonaparte Did pace the sands and the lofty rocks of St Helena’s shore, The wind blew in a hurricane, the lightning flash around did dart, Seagulls were a-shrieking and the waves around did roar. Ah hush, rude winds, the stranger cried, while I range the spot Where alas the gallant hero did his weary eyelids close. But while his valiant limbs do rest, his name will never be forgot. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Oh England he cried why did you persecute that hero bold? Much better had you slain him on the plains of Waterloo. Napoleon he was a friend to heroes all, both young and old, He caused the money for to fly wherever he did go. Plans were arranging night and day, this bold commander to betray, He said, I’ll go to Moscow and there I’ll ease my woes. And if fortune shine without delay, then all the world shall me obey, This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
As the thousands then did rise to conquer Moscow by surprise, He led his troops across the Alps oppressed by frost and snow, And being near the Russian land, he then began to open his eyes, For Moscow was a-blazing and the men drove to and fro. Napoleon dauntless viewed the plain he wept in anguish at the same, He cried, Retreat me gallant men, our time it swiftly goes. Ah thousands died in that retreat, some were forced their horses forced to eat. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
At Waterloo his men they fought, commanded by this Bonaparte, Attended by Field Marshall Ney, and he was bribed by gold. When Blcher led the Prussians in, it nearly broke Napoleon’s heart. He cried, my thirty thousand men are slain, and I am sold. He viewed the plains and cried, tis lost, twas then his favourite charger crossed, The plains were in confusion with blood and dying woes. The bunch of roses did advance and boldly entered into France. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Oh, this Bonaparte was plann’d to be a prisoner across the sea, The rocks of St Helena, oh, it was his final spot. And as a prisoner there to be till death did end his misery. His son soon followed to the tomb: it was an awful plot. And long enough have they been dead, the blast of war is ’round us spread, And may our shipping float again to face the daring foes. And now my boys when honour calls we’ll boldly mount those wooden walls. This grand conversation on Napoleon arose.
Chorus: They hang the man and flog the woman Who steals the goose from off the common But leave the greater villain loose Who steals the common from off the goose
The law demands that we atone When we take things we do not own But leaves the lords and ladies fine Who take things that are yours and mine
The poor and wretched don’t escape If they conspire the law to break This must be so but they endure Those who conspire to make the law
The law condemns the man or woman Who steals the goose from off the common And geese will still a common lack Until they go, and steal it back
