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Lyr Req: The Month of January (Noel McLoughlin) DigiTrad: MONTH OF JANUARY Related thread: Lyr/Chords ADD: The Month of January (22)
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Subject: Lyr Req: The Month of January/Noel Mcoughlin From: skarpi Date: 12 Jan 10 - 11:10 AM does anyone know this song ? and have the lyric . and is there a way to listen to it , cant find it on youtupe . all the best Skarpi Iceland . |
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Month of January/Noel Mcoughlin From: DebC Date: 12 Jan 10 - 12:18 PM If you are looking for Sarah Makem's version, collected by Peter Kennedy, the lyrics are here in the DT . I recorded an American version of this song that I found in the helen Hartness Flanders Collection called "Cruel Was My father". I used Makem's tune and the Flanders lyrics. |
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Month of January/Noel Mcoughlin From: DebC Date: 12 Jan 10 - 12:20 PM Hit submit and didn't get a chance to finish. You can listen to my version here Debra Cowan |
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Month of January/Noel Mcoughlin From: Anglo Date: 12 Jan 10 - 01:26 PM It seems to be on this CD but there aren't any sound samples, so I for one don't know if this is the same song as the Sarah Makem one. |
Subject: Lyr Add: THE MONTH OF JANUARY From: GUEST,julia Date: 12 Jan 10 - 11:45 PM I do this version by Carrie Grover IT WAS ON A WINTER'S MORNING As sung by Carrie Grover, recorded by Eloise Hubbard Linscott in Gorham Maine Oct 29 1943 Sarah Makem of Northern Ireland (Tommy Makem's mother) sang a version of this called "The Month of January" My partner, Fred Gosbee's great, great grandmother had this experience in New Brunswick in the late 1800's. Being "in the family way" out of wedlock, she was locked out of the house in the winter. Her uncle finally took her in, but she lost her toes to frostbite. It was on a winter's morning, the frost came down like snow Over hills and lofty mountains where the wintry winds do blow It was there I spied a female form all in a drift of snow With her infant baby in her arms, she knew not where to go Oh Hush my darling baby, I'll fold you to my breast It's little does your father know this night we're in distress It's little does your father know what we do undergo Or he'd fold us in his arms all from the frost and snow Oh cruel was my father, he shut the door on me And cruel was mother for she might have pitied me And cruel were the cold winds revenge that pierced my heart with cold And so cruel was that young man who sold his heart for gold ------- I've also seen a poem by Seba Smith (Maine writer from 1840's) which seems to inform the following version collected in England in 1907 The Fatal Snowstorm From The Constant Lovers, Purslow Collected from George Baldwin, Tichborne, Hants 1907 It was on one winter's evening when first came down the snow; How keen was the air, when the winter wind did blow, I saw a fair maid all alone sat weeping by the way She warm'd her little baby, and sadly she did say: "Oh! hush, my little baby, I'll warm thee at my breast, How little does your father think how hard I am distressed; The riches that I once enjoyed not knowing where they are, I'll warm my baby at my breast from the cold and piercing air. How cruel was my father to shut the door on me, How cruel was my mother, a shocking sight to see; How cruel was the winter wind that pierced my heart with cold, How cruel was the young man that left his love for gold. Oh! hush, my little baby, thy little life has gone." How the tears from her eyes, how they run trickling down, So fast as they flow they froze before they fall. "Oh! wretched, wretched Mother, you grieves me more than all." And then she sank her baby all in the depth of snow, And like a little lamb again lamenting she did go, She kissed her baby's cold wet lips and laid it by her side She cast her eyes to Heaven, and bowed her head and died. here;s Smith's lyric The Snow Storm, A Ballad Poetry by Seba Smith, Music by L. Heath (Boston: Oliver Ditson, 1843) http://www.iath.virginia.edu/utc/sentimnt/snowstormf.html The cold wind swept the mountain's height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And mid the cheerless hours of night A mother wandered with her child. As through the drifted snows she pressed, The babe was sleeping on her breast, The babe was sleeping on her breast. And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifts of snow-- Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone. "O God!" she cried, in accents wild, "If I must perish, save my child, "If I must perish save my child." She stript her mantle from her breast, And bared her bosom to the storm; As round the child she wrapped the vest, She smiled to think that it was warm. With one cold kiss, one tear she shed, And sunk upon a snowy bed, And sunk upon a snowy bed. At dawn, a traveller passed by, And saw her 'neath a snowy veil-- The frost of death was in her eye, Her cheek was cold, and hard and pale-- He moved the robe from off the child; The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled, The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled. |
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