>
Oh where are your feather hats,
Your mantles rich and fine?
They all got swallowed up, me lads,
In tankards of good wine
And where are your maidenheads,
You maidens frisk and gay?
We left them in the alehouse,
We drank them clean away.
6. The Shores of the Callow - Barry Finn
Written by Frank McGrath ©
Barry Finn: Voice
A special tribute to a person who was greatly admired not only on the Eastern Seaboard, but throughout Mudcat territory.
This very apt song is included here with kind permission from his partner Justine.
(The beginning of the recording was missing from the source material)
The day is well pleased with itself on this fine summer morn
The dew beams with joy, so cheerful for sunlight's bright dawning
The wavelets' slow beat, as they lazily wash to the shallows
While my aching heart weeps, by the sad sweet shores of the Callow
In the fields and the meadows, we worked and we sported in play
We swam and we fished, by the forested shores of the bay
As children we schooled, as young adults we worked and we toiled
But my aching heart weeps, by the sad sweet shores of the Callow
I remember his hair, so neat, save the strands that fell o'er his brow
And his strong calloused hands, I long to be holding them now
His warm broad smile, to picture it spurs my grief
As my heart crumbles, as the tread on a dry autumn heath
Why does the grass grow so fine o'er the place where he fell
Why do the birds sing without a sorrowful word of him still
Why does nature trill like the sorrowful swoop of the swallow
While my aching heart weeps by the sad sweet shores of the Callow
To have known you, it was my greatest pleasure
The memory of you, it is my greatest treasure
You are now longer gone than all of your youthful years
For your ageless face I shed my aging tears
The day is well pleased with itself on this fine summer morn
The dew beams with joy so cheerful for sunlight's bright dawning
The wavelets' slow beat as they lazily wash to the shallows
While my aching heart weeps by the sad sweet shores of the Callow
7. Johnny Come Down to Hilo (Trad.) - Two Black Sheep and a Stallion
Peter Outhart (Stallion), Ron Akehurst, Martin Bartlett: Voices
(Ron leads the song.)
Ron learnt this shanty from a Scotsman in an Irish bar in Perth, Western Australia.
From the CD Crossing the Pond, recorded in Leeds by Rob Van Sante
www.myspace.com/twoblacksheepandastallion
I’ve never seen the likes since I been born
A big Barbadian with his sea-boots on
Johnny come down to Hilo
Poor old man!
Oh wake her, oh shake her,
Oh wake that girl with the blue dress on
When Johnny come down to Hilo
Poor old man!
I love a little girl from across the sea,
She’s a ‘Badian beauty and she said to me
Oh was you ever in Mobile Bay
Screwing cotton for a dollar a day
I know an old sailor, his name is Uncle Ned
He has no yarn on the top of his head
Oh have you seen the plantation boss
With his long-tailed filly and his big black hoss
So hand me down my riding cane
I’m off to see my sweetheart Jane
8. My Dearest Dear (Trad.) - bbc
Barbara (bbc): Voice
From recordings of Sheila Kay Adams & Doug Wallin
Collected in South Carolina by Cecil Sharp from Mary Sands
Recorded live at the Sandy Paton Memorial Session - NEFFA, 2010
A few days before Sandy Paton’s passing, I'd arrived home from the Swannanoa Gathering Traditional Song Week. My last chat with Sandy
focused on what I'd learned there about ballad singing from Sheila Kay Adams. Through the years of my friendship with Sandy and Caroline,
they had been gently nudging me toward traditional music. As soon as I heard of Sandy's death, I knew I wanted to learn this song
for him and sing it for Caroline. Rest in peace, my dearest dear!
My dearest dear, the time draws near when you and I must part
And no one knows the inner grief of my poor aching heart
Or what I've suffered for your sake, the one I love so dear
I wish that I could go with you or you might tarry here
My dear old mother's hard to leave, my father's on my mind
But, for your sake, I'll go with you, I'll leave them both behind
Yes, for your sake, I'll go with you, I'll bid them fare thee well
For fear I'll ne'er see you again while here on earth I dwell
I wish your breast was made of glass: your heart I would behold
Upon it, I would write my name in letters of bright gold
Upon it, I would write my name. Believe me when I say
You are the one I'll love the best until my dying day
My dearest dear, the time draws near when you and I must part
And no one knows the inner grief of my poor aching heart
Or what I've suffered for your sake, the one I love so dear
I wish that I could go with you or you might tarry here
9. Innocent Hare - Rapunzel & Sedayne
Trad. Arr. Venereum Arvum
Rapunzel: Voice, Indian harmonium, Sedayne (Suibhne O'Piobaireachd): Voice, Black Sea fiddle (Karadeniz Kemence)
From the singing of The Copper Family, The Young Tradition and (perhaps most crucially)
John & Charlotte of Durham, with much respect and eternal cringing deference.
Recorded live in the Barley Temple, Hogmanay 2009 by way of Auld Lang Syne.
http://soundcloud.com/rapunzel-and-sedayne
http://www.myspace.com/venereumarvum
Sportsmen arouse, the morning is clear,
The larks are singing all in the air.
Go tell your sweet lover the hounds are out;
Saddle your horses, your saddles prepare,
We'll away to some cover to seek for a hare.
We've searched the woods, the groves all round,
The trial being over, the game is found.
Then off she springs, through brake she flies;
Follow, follow the musical horn,
Sing follow, hark forward, the innocent hare.
Our huntsman blows his joyful sound,
Tally ho, me boys, all over the downs.
From the woods to the valleys see how she creeps;
Follow, follow the musical horn,
Sing follow, hark forward, the innocent hare.
All along the green turf she pants for breath,
Our huntsman he shouts out for death.
Relope, relope, retiring hare;
Follow, follow the musical horn,
Sing follow, hark forward, the innocent hare.
This hare has led us a noble run,
Success to sportsmen every one.
Such a chase she has led us, four hours or more;
Wine and beer we'll drink without fear,
We'll drink a success to the innocent hare.
10. Spanish Lady (Trad.) - MtheGM
Michael Grosvenor Myer (MtheGM): Voice and guitar
http://www.youtube.com/user/mgmyer
As I walked out through Dublin City, at the hour of twelve o'clock at night
Who should I see but a Spanish lady, washing her feet by candlelight
First she washed them, then she dried them, over her shoulders a silken towel
In all my life I never did see so neat a maid about the soles.
Chorus:
She had 20, 18, 16, 14, 12, 10, 8, 6, 4, 2, none,
And she had 19, 17, 15, 13, 11, 9, 7, 5, 3 and one.
As I went out through Dublin City just as the sun began to set
Who should I see but that Spanish lady, she was catching a moth in a golden net.
Soon as she saw me straight she fled me, hoisting her petticoats over her knee.
In all my life I never did see so sweet a maid as that Spanish lady.
And as I walked back through Dublin City just as the clock struck half past eight
Who should I see but that Spanish Lady dressing her hair so trim and neat
First she brushed it, then she teased it, on her lap was a silver comb
For all my life I never did see so sweet a maid since I did roam.
So I stopped to look but the watchman passed. Said he, “Young fellow, now the hour is late.
Away with you home before I wrestle you straightway through the Bridewell gate.”
I threw a kiss to the Spanish Lady, hot as a fire of angry coals,
For in all my life I never did see such a maid so neat about the soles.
As I walked back through Dublin City just as the hour of dawn was o'er,
There I saw that Spanish lady, me being weary and footsore.
She had a heart so full of loving but none of it she had for me.
In all my life I never did know so cruel a maid as that Spanish Lady.
Now she's no match for a Paddy squaddie with her ivory comb and her shawl so fine
But she'd make a match for the Provost Marshall, him drunk on brandy and claret wine
I got a look from the Spanish lady, cold as a fire of ashy coals
In all my life I never did see so cold a maid upon my soul.
I've wandered north and I've wandered south from Stoney Batter up to Patrick's Close
Down and around by the Gloucester Diamond and back by Napper Tandy's house
Old age has laid its hands on me as cold as a night from pole to pole
But where is the lovely Spanish lady, so neat and sweet about the soles?
To me whack to me toor a loor a lady, whack to me toor a loor a lay
11. Lindy - Will Fly
Unknown composer – probably traditional
Will Fly: Mandolin, tenor guitar and guitar
"Lindy" was recorded in 1929 by the Proximity String Quartet, with various string instruments - featuring mandolin -
and harmony vocals. There is an older version from 1905 by the Edison Male Quartette called "By The Watermelon Vine".
The tune is probably much earlier than 1905 - from the minstrel as far as I can tell. My version is instrumental,
on mandolin, tenor guitar and guitar.
www.mjra.net/WillFly
12. Stand and Deliver - henryclem
Written by Henry Clements © 1993, 2006
Henry Clements (henryclem): Voice
“One thing about writing mostly about the past is that it doesn't go out of date.”
From the Album Shades of the Past (2006)
www.myspace.com/henryclements
You say you stand for progress
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for justice
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for honour
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for freedom
but you don't fool me
You say you stand for progress
but you don't fool me
not when you're turning back the clock
to eighteen ninety-three
when health and education
are not for the likes of me;
you say you stand for progress
but you don't fool me
You say you stand for justice
but you don't fool me
not when you choose your victims
in the cause of policy
you've dispossessed the nation
so that markets can be free
you say you stand for justice
but you don't fool me
You say you stand for honour
but you don't fool me
not when you choose your battles
out of such hypocrisy
if Iraq did not have oil wells,
would you fight to set it free?
you say you stand for honour
but you don't fool me
You say you stand for freedom
but you don't fool me
not when you play the jailer
and you've thrown away the key
condemning countless thousands
to the chains of poverty
you say you stand for freedom
but you don't fool me
You say you stand for progress
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for justice
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for honour
but you don't fool me
you say you stand for freedom
but you don't fool me
13. No, My Love, Not I (When Fishes Fly) - My guru always said
Trad., arr. Mary Humphreys
Hilary Ward (My guru always said): Voice
Collected by Cecil Sharpe in 1904 and recorded at Herga Folk Club in 2010.
In my opinion there should be a final verse where the nasty young man receives his comeuppance!
www.hilaryward.co.uk
CHORUS:
For when fishes fly and swallows die, young men will prove true
There's a herb in my father's garden and some do call it rue.
As I walked out one morning, it was in the month of May.
There I met a fair young maid a-gathering of sweet may.
I asked of her to bed with me, I'd marry her by and by
And all the answer she gave of me was, "Oh, no, my love, not I”.
So we walked and we talked together till at length we did agree
To sit down on a mossy bank beneath a shady tree.
The blackbird and the sweet song thrush flew in and out the bush,
And the song they sang in chorus was "Oh, no, my love, not I”.
Now twenty weeks being over, she grew thick about the waist.
This poor girl she grew pale and wan. Her stays they wouldn't lace.
Her gown it wouldn't pin and her apron strings won't tie,
And she rued the day she said to him, "Oh no, my love, not I”.
So she wrote a letter to her true love to come immediately.
But the answer that he sent to her was "No, my love, not I.
Supposing I should come to you, on me they'd put the blame.
My parents would be angry and my friends would me disdain.
"Now the very best thing that I can advise you for to do
Is to take your baby on your back. A-begging you should go,
And when that you grow weary, you can sit you down and cry,
And think on the day you said to me, 'Oh no, my love, not I'”.
14. Battle of Ossipee - Barbara Shaw
Written by Frank and Barbara Shaw © 2009
Barbara Shaw: Rhythm guitar, tenor vocals, bass, Frank Shaw: Banjo, lead vocals, Jim Sherlock: Lead guitar
This song was co-written by Frank and Barbara Shaw at their campsite in the pouring rain at the Ossipee Bluegrass Festival
in Maine on 7/25/2009. They were longing to go home and feeling burdened by the weather and circumstances,
resulting in a song that summons up the mood of a dying colonial soldier dreaming of home.
This song is planned for inclusion on a 2011 ShoreGrass album. Barbara did the recording and mixing at home.
www.shoregrass.com
Under Maine pines where no sun shines
Far away from home
Rain is falling, home is calling
Feeling so alone.
(Chorus)
Soon the dawn will bring tomorrow
Maybe then to go
Where the heart lies under warm skies
Where the home fires glow.
Comes the dawn to guide the spirit
Angels lead the way
Voices singing, can you hear it?
Nearly home today.
Battle over, weary rover
Win or lose or die
Peaceful rest, forever blessed
Under God’s blue sky.
15. Bogie’s Bonnie Belle (Trad.) - Dick Miles
A Bothy Ballad from Aberdeenshire.
Dick Miles (Good Soldier Schweik): Voice, concertina
The Feeing market was an annual event where farmworkers were hired for the forthcoming year. This is one of the loveliest songs
to emerge from the Bothy tradition. The concertina arrangement is based around the beautiful melody.
www.dickmiles.com
As I come down through Huntley town one morning for to fee
Oh I met Bogie of Carnieside and with him I did agree
To work his two best horses and cart and harrow and plough
For of any kind of farm work I very well could do
Now Bogie had a daughter, her name was Isabelle
Oh the lily of the valley and the primrose of the dell
Oft times she went out walking and asked me for her guide
Down by the banks of Cairnie to watch the small fish glide
I threw my arms around her waist, off her feet did slide
Oh and there she lay contented by the burn of Cairnieside
When three months they were scarcely past the lassie lost her bloom
Oh all the red drained from her face and oft times she did swoon
Nine months they were past and gone, the lassie bore a son
Oh I was quickly sent for to see what should be done
They said that I should marry her but oh that would not do
Saying you’re no match for the bonnie belle, oh and she’s no match for you
But now she’s married a tinker lad who comes from Huntley Town
Sells pots and pans and paraffin lamps and he scours the country round
Oh maybe she’s got a better match, old Bogie cannot tell
So it’s fare thee well to Huntley side and Bogie’s Bonnie Belle
16. From My Window - Ann Mayo Muir
Written by Ann Mayo Muir © 2007 (BMI)
Ann Mayo Muir (Mudinyoureye): Voice, baritone ukulele
Note to the listener: Folk songs grow and change. I now prefer to have the tree called "you" instead of "it" and "she" etc.
I hope you will try making this change when you sing it and feel the difference.
www.annmayomuir.com
From my window I can see
The majestic ancient tree.
Although I was only three
It filled me with delight.
Its branches always looked so high
as they swept a clear blue sky.
It made me feel I'd like to fly
Above it like a kite.
I used to think it such a lark
To peel her pretty painted bark
I know she glowed bright in the dark
As I slept at night.
I'd often put my arms around
Listening to her tree heart pound.
Oh, it was a lovely sound,
All my troubles took flight.
My memory of her lingers long
Remembering her leafy song
That stays with me although I've gone
Too far from her sight.
She's my treasure more than gold,
One that can't be bought or sold.
When my life story's all been told
Into the night she'll guide my flight
With her lovely Sycamore Song.
17. Maple Sweet - Allison Aldrich
Written by P. B. Fisk, published in “The Palm” by C.M Wyman, printed by G.H Tilden Company, Keene, NH, 1870
Allison Aldrich (AllisonA(Animaterra)): Voice and keyboard, Hunt Smith: Fiddle, voice
Hunt and I have done the research, and can finally vouch with authority that this is the dorkiest song ever sung.
It’s a hit here in New Hampshire, especially at the end of our long, cold winter. Maple sugaring time keeps New Englanders sane.
www.huntandallison.net
When you see the vapor pillar lick the forest and the sky,
You may know the days of sugar making then are drawing nigh;
Frosty night and sunny day make the maple pulses play,
Till congested with its sweetness, it delights to bleed away.
CHORUS:
Oh! Bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble goes the pan,
Furnish sweeter music for the season if you can,
See the golden billows, watch their ebb and flow.
Sweetest joys indeed, we sugar makers know.
When you see the farmer trudging with his dripping buckets home,
You may know the days of sugar making then have fully come.
As the fragrant odors pour through the open kitchen door,
How the eager children rally, ever loudly calling: "More!" (CHORUS)
Do you say you don't believe it? Take a saucer and a spoon,
Though you're sour as a lemon, you'll be sweeter very soon!
Until everyone you meet, if at home or on the street,
Will be half a mind to bite you, for you look so very sweet! (CHORUS)
18. Westmoreland - Tootler
Trad publ. Playford: "The Dancing Master", 1686, arr. Geoff Walker
Geoff Walker (Tootler): Flute and MIDI programming
This lovely tune comes from the 7th (1686) Edition of Playford's Dancing Master; it also appeared in 18th-century collections.
I first heard it on a recording by the York Waits. It is included in the EFDSS tunebook “Hardcore English”
http://soundcloud.com/tootlingeoff
19. From the North - bradfordian
Words by C. Fox Smith, Tune by Gary and Vera Aspey ©
Barrie Mathers (bradfordian): Voice
A poem by Cicely Fox Smith who lived her childhood around Manchester and its suburbs. It was put to music by Gary and Vera Aspey
who recorded it in 1975 on their LP titled From The North. Used with their kind permission.
I wish't I was in Lancashire, huntin' o' the hare
All across the wide moorlands an' the hollows brown an' bare,
Hearkenin' to the good hounds' cry, hearkenin' to the horn,
Far away in Lancashire on a windy morn.
I wish't I was in Lancashire along o' folks I know,
Rangin' o'er the countryside in all the winds that blow
As they blew when I was yet a lad, in the place where I was born,
Far away in Lancashire on a good huntin' morn.
There's gradely hounds in Lancashire, as such there always were:
There's gradely hills in Lancashire as how they're bleak an' bare:
There's jannock lads in Lancashire, and that I tell you true,
An' I wish't I was in Lancashire all the day through!
(repeat first verse)
20. Wayfarin’ Stranger (Trad.) - olddude
Dan O'Connell (olddude): Voice and guitar
One of my favourite old folk songs.
I am a poor wayfarin stranger, traveling through this world below
There is no sickness, no toil or danger, in that fair land for which I go
Going home to see my mother, going home no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan, I'm only going over home
I know dark clouds will hover o'er me, I know the path is rough and steep
But golden fields lay out before me, weary eyes no more will weep
Going home to see my father, said he'll meet me when I go
I'm only going over Jordan, only going over home
Going home to see my mother, going home no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan, I'm only going over home
21. Redwing Blackbird - maeve
Written by Holly R. Torsey © 2009. Used with permission
maeve: Voice, Wood panel yurt: Acoustics
Blackbird, blackbird, singing in the spring
On cattail green you perch and cling.
In brilliant blue of sky your song flies high, oh!
Redwing blackbird, singing in the spring.
Blackbird, blackbird, let your joy take wing!
Rejoice in what the day shall bring,
For every bird and flower will have its hour, oh!
Redwing blackbird, let your joy take wing.
Blackbird, blackbird, let the morning ring
With throbbing notes you skyward fling!
The holy sun is nigh in holy sky, oh!
Redwing blackbird, let the morning ring!
Blackbird, blackbird, lift your voice and sing
As winter now gives way to spring.
In cattails build your nest; let birds be blessed, oh!
Redwing blackbird, let the morning ring.
22. Chendie’s Meat Loaf Blues - rich-joy
Written by Paul Lawler © 1996
Richenda Bridge (rich-joy): Vocals, Paul Lawler: Lead vocals, acoustic guitar,
Mark Higgins: Lead guitar, Andrew Higgins: Keyboards
From the CD A Taste of Good Music (2004) by Paul Lawler & the Just Desserts
Just one of 10 rockin’ recipes, cooked with folk flavours for your delighted devouring! All recipes on website:
www.peculiarhand.com
I'd like to introduce you to Chendie's Meatloaf Blues
I'd like to introduce you to Chendie's Meatloaf Blues
Go get your shoppin' bag, I'll tell you what to use.
From your butcher man, if he's tall and mean
Get a kilogram of minced beef that's lean
And a little bitty bacon from a pig just weaned.
I wan' an egg, black pepper, stuffin' mix
Breadcrumbs, milk, chutney, toothpicks
Curry powder and tomato sauce
Sultanas and a taste of brown sugar, of course.
Now there's no pastry in this, y' don't knead no dough
Tell your vegie man, hey don't be slow
I wanna capsicum, and brown onion to go.
Mix the mince an' the onion, the egg in a bowl
Add the capsicum 'n' pepper, give it soul
Then spread it out flat on a sheet of shiny foil
Ah this cookin's a breeze, it ain't no toil
Now mix the stuffin' an' the breadcrumbs, evaporated milk
And lay it on top, smooth like silk
Put some bacon rashers, all along that thing
Then roll it up baby, whilst you sing.
So place this mini Uluru on a bakin' tray
Lay some rashers on top, toothpicks help 'em stay
And bake it in the oven, hundred eighty degree.
Now before you take out this Meatloaf Blues
Give it sauce on top, 'n' ten minutes to fuse
Then serve it up mamma -
that's Chendie's Meatloaf Blues.
23. The Coffee Song - Moses and The Ref
Written by Christine Connolley © 2007; arr. Steve Last & Christine Connolley
Moses and The Ref (Christine Connolley [Moses]: Voice, Steve Last [Singing Referee]: Guitar & voice)
I received this version of an old story in the traditional way: via e-mail. The song almost wrote itself.
A reminder to make time for the important things in life: family, friends, health. The rest is just small stuff.
www.mosesandtheref.org.uk
I recall just how he stood there, in those memories from afar,
When with all us young ones watching him he held a large and empty jar.
Then he filled it up with golf balls and held it up to the light.
"Would you say this jar is full?" he asked, "Would you say that? Is that right?"
"Oh yes!" we cried, "The jar is full, it's full unto the brim."
"It's full right up, it's full to the top and no more can go in."
Then he set the jar back down again, shook pebbles from a box.
They fell between the golf balls as he gave it a couple of knocks.
Again he asked the question as he held the jar up high,
"Would you say the jar's now full?" he asked, "Come, what's your reply?"
"Oh yes!" we cried, "The jar is full, it's full unto the brim."
"It's full right up, it's full to the top and no more can go in."
Then he set the jar down on the bench and picked up a bag of sand.
The grains filled all the spaces as they trickled from his hand
And now he held the jar up higher above his head.
"Would you say the jar's now full this time? Is it truly full?" he said.
"Oh yes!" we cried, "The jar is full, it's full unto the brim."
"It's full right up, it's full to the top and no more can go in."
Then from under the bench he drew out a cup of coffee in each hand
And poured them both to fill up all the spaces around the sand,
And after we'd all stopped laughing at how we'd got it wrong again
He said "This jar is your whole life; listen while I explain."
"The golf balls are your important things: your God, your friends, your health,
Your family and children. These are your true wealth.
And the pebbles are your working life: your house, your car, your land.
The rest is all just small stuff, the rest is all just sand."
"If you fill your jar of life," he said, "with sand unto the brim,
Your friends and dreams and hopes will have a hard time getting in."
"Take time to watch your kids grow, to play another round.
Take your partner out to dinner and check that your health is sound.
There'll be time enough to clean the house, to fix that tap or drain.
We only pass this way but once, we can't return again."
"So what's with the cups of coffee, sir? What's the coffee mean?"
He said, "I'm glad you asked. It shows that even though it may seem
That your life's full up, there's the house and the kids and the work that will never end,
Still there's always time to take a cup of coffee with a friend."
"Oh yes!" we cried, "The jar is full, it's full unto the brim."
"It's full right up, it's full to the top, still there's room to let more in."
"Oh yes!" we cried, "The jar is full, it's full unto the brim."
"It's full right up, it's full to the top, still there's room to let more in."