Hi folks. Just wanted to let you know of a song I recently wrote and, IMO, a fine example of how the Mudcat can create connections and inspire music.

A couple of years ago I offered to send a demo tape to Mudcatters and one of those who responded was Jaze in the USA. He wrote back to say that he was particularly interested by one called Frederick Shortt's Lament (lyrics here) because of his own history in an orphanage. He then sent me a copy of his childhood memoirs, "Memories of St. John's", which eventually led to this song.

And just to complete the Mudcat circle... the tune is Spancil Hill.

Cheers, Marion


Memories of St. John's

Lyrics © 2006 Marion Parsons; music traditional

Oh, Weaver is a common name, there's lots of Jerrys too
I might have known the brimstone wall would show me quite a few
But if my Jerry's one of them, for sure I cannot say
Who wrote the simple letter that I've kept unto this day.

"Was good to get your note," he said, across the moulding page
"For I was in a place like that when I was 'bout your age
So pray for me, I'll pray for you, each night until the time
That you may find a loving home, and I return to mine."

When Sister Francis made us write to soldiers far away
I had my own war to be lost, and my own price to pay
How little did my father know, when he gave me to their care
How long that he would be away, and the burdens I would bear.

Were times a neighbour's jug of milk went lost so we could eat
My brothers, sisters scattered, and our things out by the street
With father always gone to work, and mother just plain gone
They hushed my timid questions, and they dropped me at St. John's.

The older boys soon taught me when to speak and where to stand
The ones that swung a belt or broom, and who just used her hand
We swapped in saints and Phillies cards, played stickball in the field
And lined up when the bells would ring for school or church or meal.

I learned about the devil and I said a million prayers
Enough to get me through the gates, a sin or two to spare
But not enough to stop the day the nuns took me aside
Cause God had took my father home, and all my hopes had died.

My grownup sister came around at last to take me in
I can't forget the loneliness that felt as though I'd sinned
Been forty years since I got out, I guess I've done OK
And hope the same for Jerry, though I wonder to this day.

PS Also, Jaze tells me that he's been trying to track down Jerry Weaver - if there's anyone who can provide good advice as to how to locate a Vietnam vet, that would really complete the circle...