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Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt

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robd 07 Sep 01 - 12:43 PM
MMario 07 Sep 01 - 01:47 PM
Malcolm Douglas 07 Sep 01 - 09:43 PM
GUEST 07 Dec 06 - 01:18 AM
GUEST,Guest 09 Dec 06 - 11:00 AM
GUEST 09 Dec 06 - 11:58 AM
robd 13 Dec 06 - 07:02 PM
Malcolm Douglas 14 Dec 06 - 03:02 AM
Jim Dixon 30 Apr 09 - 01:20 PM
Jim Dixon 30 Apr 09 - 02:15 PM
Noreen 30 Apr 09 - 05:49 PM
gnomad 01 May 09 - 05:34 PM
McGrath of Harlow 02 May 09 - 05:35 PM
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Subject: Lyr Add: THE HEIR TO PERCY'S HALL
From: robd
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 12:43 PM

Ok, I promise to stop being such a pest, so this will be the last time I ask this. I just can't believe that with all of the combined knowledge of the mudcat continuum, that there isn't somebody out there that doesn't know the answer to this. Vin Garbutt is such a great singer, but his Northumbrian is sometimes impossible to fathom. This skeleton is the best I've been able to do with Percy's Hall, and my numerous omissions are marked by ()'s. I've asked twice before, once poorly formatted, and once worse. Hope this finally looks better at least. Doesn't anybody know this song? I've had so much success finding song lyrics in the past. I've even got the lyrics and translation from Norwegian to an obscure song called Haugebonden. I can't believe that an English Song is going to be my (one of two) Waterloo(s).

Posted twice before:

0.7967 - Thread - Message - LYRIC ?:The Heir to Percy's Hall - Nov 10 1997 3:56PM - NonMember
0.7967 - Thread - Message - LYR Repair: The Heir to Percy's Hall? - Nov 5 1996 1:46PM - NonMember

The Heir to Percy's Hall
as performed by Vin Garbutt

Twas in and about the May Day time when the white flowers sweetly lie
When the primrose ( ) and the ( ) cups and the larks ( ) the sky
That Percy, deBruce, the ( ) son, ( )
From their proud mountain homes went forth to spend a hunting day

And they have left fair ?Killdale's? halls, Skelton's castle fair
The stately walls of Gisborough, to seek the wild boar's lair
They lighted nigh on Eskdaleside upon the fen so brown
They lighted where the wild boar lay, the dread of ?Whittenby? town

The boar, the boar, the brindled boar, Lord Percy loud did cry
Let a silver dirk to him who's pierced the boar of Eskdaleside
And in that ancient forest's green beside the gnarled oak
The hermit meek of Eskdaleside, his lone communing took

Twas there the boar, all red with gore burst into ?open? stead
Wounded and torn, it staggered on, and fell before him dead
Back to your home, proud Percy back, ( ) footsteps trace
"Herbert deBruce" how dare you thus pollute the sacred place

Thou shaven priest how dare you halt the heir to Percy's hall
How dare you stop my ( ) hounds, and keep my prey in thrall
Then pierced him with his good broad sword that ( ) so sharply honed
He smote the hermit on the brow into a deathly wound

( ) horrid outrage spread
That the holy monk of Eskdaleside of his wounds was nigh well dead
So ( ) the abbot did command the youths of Eskdaleside
( ) by my holy mother church, what may this deed betide

What e're this pious hermit asks your punishment shall be
E'en by my soul, though he should ask your doom o'the gallows tree
Alas my lord, the hermit cried, revenge is not of mine
To extend our holy church's bound is a nobler aim ( ) thine

I charge these youths on the ( ) eve, a penance for their crime
( ) in the forest take, and at early morning time
To raise up ( ) yellow shore a hedge that still must stand
Sea tides nor oceans' mighty wave shall wash it from the sand

The hunting horn that from this day their deed of shame shall sound
And all their heirs this tribute give 'til times' remotest bound
His eyes grew dim, his voice voice grew faint, farewell thou smiling shores
Sweet Esk', my Esk', I look at thee well, one cry and all is o'er


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Heir to Percy's Hall
From: MMario
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 01:47 PM

rob - I can't find hide nor hair of this anywhere out on the web - but according to this site vin has e-mail. You could try asking directly.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Heir to Percy's Hall
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 07 Sep 01 - 09:43 PM

Vin Garbutt recorded the song as The Hermit of Eskdaleside.  The problem is not so much his accent (which is not strong) as the very slurred enunciation he affected back in the '70s.  I've never been able to make it all out, either, but I'll try to get a bit further: I can fill some gaps in your transcription and correct a few mis-hearings, but some bits defeat me utterly so far.  I've marked the thread, and will do my best to help.


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Subject: Lyr Add: THE HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE
From: GUEST
Date: 07 Dec 06 - 01:18 AM

Well, here I am, 10 years later, answering my own request. I finally tracked down Vin himself and he very graciously provided the requested lyric repair. I really love this song, so I am very happy to finally be able to provide it here.

Properly titled:

^^ THE HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE

Twas in and about the May Day time when the wild flowers sweetly lie
When the primrose decks the sweet shaw copse and the lark salutes the sky
That Piercy, Bruce, and Allatson and Herberts bright and gay,
From their proud mountain homes went forth to spend a hunting day.

And they have left fair Kildale Hall and Skelton's castle fair
The stately walls of Guisborough, to seek the wild boar's lair
They lighted nigh on Eskdaleside upon the fen so brown
They lighted where the wild boar lay, the dread of Whitby town.

The boar, the boar, the brindled boar, Lord Piercy loudly cried
There's a silver dirk to him who's pierced the boar of Eskdaleside
And in that ancient forest's green beside the gnarled oak
The hermit meek of Eskdaleside, his lone communings took.

Twas there the boar, all red with gore burst in through open stead
Wounded and torn, it staggered on, and fell before him dead
Back to your home, proud Percy back, far hence your footsteps trace
"Herbert, de Bruce" how dare you thus pollute this sacred place.

Thou shaven priest how dare you halt the heir to Piercy's hall
How dare you stop my fleet stag hounds and keep my prey in thrall
Then Piercy with his good broad sword that could so sharply wound
He smote the hermit on the brow into a deathly wound.

To Caedman Lord of Streoneshalh this horrid outrage spread
That the holy monk of Eskdaleside of his wounds was nigh well dead
Swiftly the abbot did command the youths of Eskdaleside
Yea, by my holy mother church, what may this deed betide.

What e'er this pious hermit asks, your punishment shall be.
Yea, by my soul, though he should ask your doom o' the gallows tree.
Alas my lord, the hermit cried, revenge is not of mine
To extend our holy church's bound is a nobler aim of thine.

I charge these youths on Ascension eve, as penance for their crime,
Of twigs within the forest take and at early morning time
To raise on Whitby's yellow shore a hedge that still must stand
Three tides nor oceans' mighty waves shall wash it from the sand.

The hunting horn that from this day their deed of shame shall sound
And all their heirs this tribute give, til times remotest bound.
His eyes grew dim, his voice grew faint, farewell thou smiling shores
Sweet Esk', my Esk', I loved thee well, one cry and all is o'er.

Message from P & C Vin Garbutt:
This song is the story of the origin of the custom called "The Penny Hedge". This custom is carried out to this day on the beach at Whitby, North Yorkshire, England every Ascension Eve. The descendants of the three errant knights were instructed by the abbot of Whitby to cut twigs using a pen knife (penny) and build a hedge that would withstand three tides. If they failed to do this or the hedge collapsed their lands would be forfeited to Whitby Abbey.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: GUEST,Guest
Date: 09 Dec 06 - 11:00 AM

What is the source of this interesting song? Did Vin Garbutt write it?


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: GUEST
Date: 09 Dec 06 - 11:58 AM

From the original post

"Vin Garbutt is such a great singer, but his Northumbrian is sometimes impossible to fathom"

Northumbrian? Nothing like it - Vin speaks fluent Boro (which was in Yorkshire when he first spoke it).


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Gar
From: robd
Date: 13 Dec 06 - 07:02 PM

Quote: "What is the source of this interesting song? Did Vin Garbutt write it?"

I think so. I guess I should have asked, but I believe it is. See here for a retelling of the true story it is based upon.

Quote: "
"Vin Garbutt is such a great singer, but his Northumbrian is sometimes impossible to fathom"

Northumbrian? Nothing like it - Vin speaks fluent Boro (which was in Yorkshire when he first spoke it)."

Well, I thought I heard him say he had a Northumbrian accent, but I could be mistaken. On the other hand, he also once said "I bet you can't understand me Alabamy accent, eh?" So... I also remember him talking about being born in Middlesboro', so, ... whatever the case, it is a great accent!

-- rob derrick


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: Malcolm Douglas
Date: 14 Dec 06 - 03:02 AM

Vin didn't write the words, which appear to be the work of John Walker Ord of Guisborough (1811-1853); but he did set them to music. I've been looking out for some years now for a printed example, but haven't found anything. The ascription here is from a vanished web page, so unsatisfactory; though it may provide a clue for somebody.

Vin merely said in his sleeve note that it was "an ancient ballad", which was certainly not the case (unless you think that "Victorian" is ancient); though the story it was based on is old enough.


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Subject: Lyr Add: HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE (John Walker Ord)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 30 Apr 09 - 01:20 PM

From Rural Sketches and Poems by John Walker Ord (London: Simpkin and Marshall, 1845):

THE HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.

(After the manner of the "Battle of Otterbourne,"—see Percy's Ballads, and Scott's Minstrelsy.)

"Then Whitby's nuns exulting told,
How to their house three barons bold
Must menial service do;
While horns blow out a note of shame,
And monks cry "Fie upon your name."
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game,
St. Hilda's priest ye slew."

Marmion, CANTO II.


It fell about the may-day time,
When the wild-flowers sweetly lie,
When the primrose decks the green-shaw copse,
When the lark salutes the sky.—

That Piercie, Bruce, and Allatson,
And the Herberts light and gay,
From their proud mountain-homes went forth
To spend a hunting day.

And they have left fair Kildale's halls,
And Skelton's Castle fair,
And the stately towers of Ghestborough*
To seek the wild-boar's lair.

* Ancient name of Gisborough—"Ghestborough, vel spiritualis burgus."

And up spake proud Lord Piercie then,
And o, but he spake hie—
"This day among the Eskdale woods
Our prowess we will try.

"O, Eskdale is a bonnie wood,
And Esk a bonnie stream,
The Eskdale hills are high and bright,
And lovely as a dream!

"The deer runs wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild from tree to tree,
The silver trouts glide numberless,
The wild-flowers blossom free."

They lighted high on Eskdale side,
Upon the bent so brown,
They lighted where that wild-boar lay,
The dread of Whitby town!

They luncheon'd by the mossy hill,
They drank the blood-red wine,
They swore an oath the boar must die,
Ere they would sit to dine.

Then from their slips the hounds were loosed,
The hounds so fierce and fell,
And far the chorus echoed loud
O'er rock and woody dell.

Loud cheer'd those noble hunters,
Loud neigh'd those joyous steeds,—
This day shall Esk,—shall Cleveland ring
With those brave gallant's deeds.

But O! what stirs the branches?
Why start the hounds aback?
Why snort the trembling horses,
Nor dare that rugged track?

"The boar! the boar! the brindled boar"
Young Piercie loudly cried!
A silver dirk for him who spears
The boar of Eskdaleside!"

And fast as wolves that hunger,
And strong as Whitby tide,
The huntsmen chac'd o'er hill and wood,
The boar of Eskdaleside.

O'er moss and moor, o'er rock and cliff,
O'er heath and cavern'd glen
They drove the grim old wild-boar,
The wild-boar from his den!

But in that ancient forest,
Beside the gnarled oak,
The Hermit meek of Eskdaleside
His lone communings took.

He was a silent dreamer,
A Prophet of the skies,
A Teacher and a Minister
Of Nature's mysteries.

No star illum'd the heavens,
No shadow touch'd the Earth,
But Eskdale's holy hermit
Could track their earliest birth.

The wild-flowers of the forest
The wealth of hill and dale,
All treasures and all loveliness
That hermit knew full well.

But most in prayer and penitence,
But most in God's pure Word,
He spent his lonely vigils,
He wept before the Lord.

'Twas here the boar, all red with gore,
Rush'd through the open stead,—
Wounded and torn it stagger'd on,
Then fell before him dead.

He sore was griev'd, that holy man
To see the piteous sight—
"O man is far more fierce," he said
"Than wild-beasts in their might.

"Methought this drear and desert spot
To God and I were given,—
I little deem'd that earthly rage,
Had power o'er things of heaven.

"Back to your homes!—Proud Piercie back!
Far hence your footsteps trace:
Herbert, De Bruce, how dare ye thus,
Pollute this sacred place!"

"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud,
So loud I hear ye lie—*
Ope wide the gates"—young Piercie roared
"Or, surely thou shalt die!"

* These two lines occur both in "the grand old Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens"—as Coleridge terms it,—and, also in the celebrated Ballad of the Battle of Otterbourne.

Balk'd of their prey and mad with rage
They charg'd with pointed spear—
The rustic door in pieces fell
Where he was praying near.

"Thou shaven Priest, how dar'd thou stop
The heir of Piercie's hall?
How dar'd thou balk my fleet stag-hounds,
And keep our prey in thrall?

"Belike, thou thought'st 'twas dainty fare,
A banquet easy got—
And, by my troth, fit doom were thine,
To match that wild-boar's lot."

"Stop, Piercie stop, that jeering tongue,
Thy braggart falsehoods hence—
Behold this Crucifix my shield,
The Church my sure defence."

Then Piercie with his good broad sword
That could so sharply wound,
Has smote the hermit on the brow
Into a deathly swound.*

* See "Otterbourne."

Wild terror like a storm of hail,
Now struck each hunter's soul,—
Away—away—o'er heath and crag
Each seeks his stately hall!

To Sedman, lord of Streoneshalh,
The horrid outrage spread,
That the holy monk of Eskdaleside
Of his wound was well-nigh dead.

Swiftly the Abbot did command
Those youths to Eskdaleside,—
"Now, by our holy mother Church
What may this deed betide?

"Whate'er this pious hermit asks,
Your punishment shall be,—
Yea, by my soul, though he should fix
Your doom the gallows tree."

"Alas my lord," the hermit said
"Revenge be none of mine,
To extend our Holy Church's bound
Were nobler aim of thine!"

"I charge you on Ascension Eve,
In penance, for this crime,
Of twigs within this forest ta'en,
At earliest morning-time—

"To rear on Whitby's yellow shore
A hedge that still must stand
Three tides,—nor ocean's giant waves
Shall wash it from the sand.

"The bugle-horn which rung this day
Your deed of shame shall sound,
And all your heirs this tribute give
To Time's remotest bound."

His eyes grew dim,—his voice grew faint—
"Farewell thou smiling shore—
Sweet Esk, bright Esk, I lov'd thee well—"
One gasp—and all is o'er!*

* The whole of this narrative appears, nearly similar, in the First Volume of Young's History of Whitby, and also in Charlton.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 30 Apr 09 - 02:15 PM

From The Olio; Or, Museum of Entertainment, Vol. II (London: Joseph Shackell, 1829), page 92:

THE HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE;
A LEGEND OF ST. HILDA'S MONASTERY.

Among the many curious legends connected with the Monastery of Whitby Abbey and its vicinity, which have been variously said and sung in prose and verse, the following of the Hermit of Eskdaleside, will be found to draw attention to a strange but pleasing tale, connected with the noble families of Bruce and Percy, once seated there; the hermitage of Eskdaleside, the boar-hunt in the forest of Eskdale, and consequent fatal death of a hermit; the singular penance enjoined upon the hunters and their successors for ever, and which is still annually performed in the haven of Whitby. The story runs thus.

On the 16th day of October, in the fifth year of Henry the Second, the lords of Ugglebarnby and Sneaton, accompanied by a principal freeholder, with their hounds, staves, and followers, went to chase the wild boar, in the woods of Eskdaleside, which appertained to the abbot of Whitby. They found a large boar, which on being sore wounded and dead run, took in at the Hermitage of Eskdale, where a hermit, a monk of Whitby, was at his devotions, and there the exhausted animal lay down. The hermit closed the door of the cell, and continued his meditations, the hounds standing at bay without. The hunters being thrown behind their game in the thick of the forest, followed the cry of the hounds, and at length came to the hermitage. On the monk being roused from his orisons by the noise of the hunters, he opened the door and came forth. The boar had died within the hermitage, and because the hounds were put from their game, the hunters violently and cruelly run at the hermit with their boar-staves, and of the wounds which they inflicted he subsequently died. The gentlemen took sanctuary in a privileged place at Scarborough, out of which the abbot had them removed, so that they were in danger of being punished with death. The hermit, being a holy man, and at the last extremity, required the abbot to send for those who had wounded him; and upon their drawing near, he said, "I am sure to die of these wounds." The abbot answered, "They shall die for thee." The devout hermit replied, "Not so, for I freely forgive them my death, if they be content to be enjoined to a penance for the safeguard of their souls." The gentlemen bade him enjoin what he would, provided that he saved their lives.—The hermit then enjoined that they and theirs should for ever after hold their lands of the abbot of Whitby and his successors, on this condition, that upon Ascension Eve, they, or some for them, should come to the wood of the Strayhead, which is in Eskdaleside, the same day at sun-rising, and there the officer of the abbot should blow his horn, that they might know where to find him, who should deliver to them ten stakes, ten strout-stowers, and ten yedders, to be cut with a knife of a penny price, which were to be taken on their backs to Whitby before nine of the clock on that day; and at the hour of nine o'clock, so long as it should be low water (if it be full sea the service to cease), each of them to set their stakes at the brim of the water, a yard from one another, and so make a hedge with the stakes, stowers, and yedders, that it stand three tides without being removed by the force of the water. And the officer of Eskdaleside shall blow his horn, "Out on you! out on you! out on you!" Should the service be refused, so long as it is not full sea at the hour fixed, all their lands should be forfeited. Then the hermit said, "My soul longeth for the Lord, and I do as freely forgive these gentlemen my death as Christ forgave the thief upon the cross." And in the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said, "In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum: a vinculis enim mortis redemisti me, Domine veritatis. Amen." And then he yielded up the ghost on the 18th Dec.

Grose, in his Antiquities, has given a representation of the Chapel or Hermitage of Eskdaleside, with a detail of this story, and pleads strongly for its authenticity.

The building still exists, but roofless and in ruins. The "penny hedge" still continues to be annually planted on the south side of the Esk in Whitby harbour on Ascension Day, within high water mark: it has not yet happened to be high water at the time fixed. The bailiff of Eskdaleside attends to see the condition performed, and the horn blows according to immemorial custom, out on them!

This romantic legend has been pleasingly paraphrased by the author of Marmion, in the second canto:—

"Then Whitby's nuns exulting told,
How to their house three Barons bold
Must menial service do;
While horns blow out a note of shame,
And monks cry, 'Fye' upon your name,
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game,
Saint Hilda's priest ye slew.'
This on Ascension Day each year,
While labouring on our harbour pier,
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear."

Gents. Mag.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: Noreen
Date: 30 Apr 09 - 05:49 PM

Excellent.
Thank you so much, Jim.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: gnomad
Date: 01 May 09 - 05:34 PM

Just in case anyone is wondering; yes, the ceremony still takes place each year, just a few yards from my home.

One year the hedge didn't last the requisite 3 tides (somebody hit it with a boat while the tide was up) but it usually lasts a few weeks, and occasionally has to have last year's hedge cleared away to make way for the new one.


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Subject: RE: Lyr Req: The Hermit of Eskdaleside (from V Garbutt
From: McGrath of Harlow
Date: 02 May 09 - 05:35 PM

I thought I heard him say he had a Northumbrian accent

Well, he does - Middlesborough isn't in the present County of Northumberland, of course, but it was certainly in the ancient Kingdom of Northumbria.


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