Songs, skirts and scones

After tonight’s Armagh Pipers Club class, I spotted the new cd Roisín White had left with Eithne to sell at the club: With thanks/Le Buíochas. Quickly bought and taken home, I have been listening to it for a few hours now. With a big smile on my face. Roisín’s singing is as direct and clear as ever, but the edges seem to have gotten a lovely soft finish.

The songs selection are a mixture of great songs, most of which bring back good memories of late night singing sessions, treasured cds and session recordings played back at the flat in Amsterdam. I especially love Roisín’s rendition of Mountain Streams, one of my favorite songs to hear.

If you have a chance, buy the cd and enjoy some exquisite traditional singing!

These are the songs featured on the cd:

1. The Bleacher (3.18)
2. Bold Jack Donohue (3.07)
3. Úrchnoc Chéin Mhic Cáinte (2.48)
4. Erin’s Flowery Plains (2.41)
5. McGuinness (3.01)
6. Dobbin’s Flowery Vale (3.56)
7. Pat O’Donnell (4.12)
8. Tandragee (2.25)
9. Erin the Green (3.52)
10. An Bonnán Buí – The Yellow Bittern (2.25)
11. Johnnie and Molly (3.06)
12. Mountain Streams (4.21)
13. Lass among the Heather (1.50)
14. The Lakes of Pontchartrain (2.35)
15. Cloughwater (2.39)

(While looking for the cover picture online, i spotted a new cd by Rosie Stewart as well: On the Leitrim Mountainside. Where is my credit card????)

On the 22nd of May the Armagh Pipers Club held their annual end of the year singing session. Last year it was held in ‘my’ library for the first time. As most of the singers are between ± 8 and 15 years old, a non-pub, and private, setting for the session is much appreciated by the parents. Of course the library is a wonderful place to be in anyway, but it is extra special to me to hear lovely traditional singing there, as well as being able to sing there myself, aloud within being shushed!

The guests of the night were singers Roisin White and her husband Alwyn. Roisin lived and worked in Armagh up to a few years ago and I met her quite a few times at all sorts of singing events. She now lives in County Clare and travels a lot to festivals to perform and to teach. She has a lovely direct style, which (I have to admit) when I first heard her sing on a video in the Ceol center in Dublin in 1999, was not taken with at all… But very quickly, after listening to all sorts of singers at festivals, sessions, on recordings, I have grown to love that way of singing.

Everybody had a good time singing and listening. Some of the songs sung were: Green Grows the Laurel, Ballyconnell Fair, For Ireland I will not tell her name, The Banks of the Callan, Coleraine Town, Follow the Heron, Caroline and her young sailor bold, Boys of Tandragee, A man’s a man, Lone Shanakyle.

Roisin concluded the session by singing Complete Awkward Strangers,  a wonderful song about friendship and saying goodbyes. It had me in tears once when it was sung to conclude a really late session at the Slieve Gullion Singing Festival at which people had sung so beautifully and had been so kind to me. Some time after that Rosie taught it at the Joe Mooney Summer School. It is always nice to hear it sung by a group of people.

Listen here to Complete awkward strangers during the summer school’s recap.

I sang two songs that evening: Henry Joy McCracken and, as my voice was not well, I opted for a nice short second song, a Swedish song that I often to my girls before they go to sleep. I learned this from a recording by Estonian-Swedish singer and musician Sofia Joons. I norwegianised it (studied Norwegian loooong time ago), which makes it sound more plausible to me, and hopefully the people who listen to the song.

Papa gav meg hest og sadel, ba meg skri og ri,
Moder gav meg bok og pen, ba meg lese og skri,
Søster gav meg nål og trå, ba meg silkje søm,
Broder gråt så bitterlig, ba meg hjemme bli.

Father gave me a horse and saddle, asked me to ride away,
Mother gave me a book and pen, asked me to read and write,
My sister gave me a needle and thread, asked me to sew silk,
My brother cried so bitterly, asked me to stay at home.

Listen to Ensamt here.

Henry Joy McCracken I learned from Rosie Stewart’s recoding on her album Adieu to lovely Garrison. I remember when I was in Mullaghbawn years and years ago for the singing festival, and wanted to sing it at the session (after a glass of cider and when nearly everybody had left (chicken)). I asked Roisin, who I didn’t really know at that time, what local people might think of a foreign girl singing a ballad like that. She encourage me to sing it and I enjoyed it a lot. It has remained one of my favorite songs.

Listen to the first verse of Henry Joy McCracken here (I tried to record the whole thing, but it is one of those nights: skip a verse, start again, voice cracking up, start again, truck driving past shakes the house, start again…)

Roddy McCorley

The song Roddy McCorley was one of the many many songs I recorded during my visits to the Slieve Gullion singing festival in Mullaghbawn, South Armagh. A young singer, Creena Mulchrone, was guest singer there in 2001, when she would have been around 13. I had heard her sing during the Joe Mooney Summer School the summer before and she had made quite an impression on me. Over the years I have learned a few songs from recordings of her singing and I would love to hear her sing today!

Click Roddy McCorley to hear me sing the song.

RODY McCORLEY

Ye tender hearted Christians, attention pay to me,
While I relate and communicate of a mournful tragedy .
Concerning of a clever youth who was cut down in his bloom,
And died upon the gallows tree near to the bridge of Toome.

This hero that I speak of was proper tall and straight,
Like to the lofty poplar tree his body was complete,
His growth was like the tufted fir that does ascend the air,
And waving o’er his shoulders broad the locks of yellow hair.

In sweet Duneane this youth was born and raised up tenderly,
His parents educated him, all by their industry,
Both day and night they sorely toiled all for their family,
Till desolation it came on by cruel perjury.

‘T was first the father’s life they took and secondly the son,
The mother tore her old grey locks, she said, I am undone
They took from me my family, my house and all my land,
And in the parish where I was born I dare not tread upon.

Farewell unto you sweet Drumaul, if in you I had stayed,
Among the Presbyterians I ne’er would have been betrayed,
The gallows tree I’d ne’er have seen had I remained there
For Dufferin you betrayed me, McErlean you set the snare.”

Soon young Roddy was conveyed to Ballymena town,
He was loaded there in irons strong, his bed was the cold ground,
And there young Roddy he must wait until the hour has come,
When a court-martial does arrive for to contrive his doom.

Young Roddy he came forward and the scaffold he ascend,
He looked east and looked west to view his gallant friends.
And turning round unto the north he cried “O cruel Sam,
‘T was you that proved my overthrow, to wrought me as I am.

In Ballyscullion I was betrayed, woe be unto the man,
Who swore me a defender and a traitor unto the crown,
Which caused Roddy for to lie beneath yon spreading thorn,
He’ll sigh and say ‘Alas the day that ever I was born’.

Print from the Library and Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalogue

Last Monday the junior singing group wrestled their way through Follow the heron and Bonny Labouring Boy again. They are not the most difficult songs, but if you have never heard them before, tune and lyrics do take some time to get stuck in the brain! As a final challenge that evening, I put an oldie on the program: By the hush. I learned it of an old tape that Paul has had for nearly 30 years. Where the tape is, I don’t know, so who actually sang it, I have no idea! Later on in life I heard slightly different versions by Frank Harte and Roisin White, which causes me to trip up every now and then, when I can’t remember, what tune goes with what version!

At class I think I sang the version I had originally learned, with one line from Roisin White. I am hoping the version I am putting here, is the one the girls remember!

Listen here to By the hush.

By the hush

Oh It’s by the hush, me boys,
I should ask to hold your noise,
And listen to poor Paddy’s sad narration.
For I was by hunger pressed,
And in poverty distressed,
And I took a thought to leave the Irish nation.

Well, I sold me horse and cos,
My little pigs and sows,
My little plot of land I soon dd part with.
And me sweetheart, Bid McGhee, 
I’m afraid I’ll ne’er more see,
For I left her there that morning, broken hearted.

Chorus:
Here’s you boys, do take my advice;
To America I’l have youse not be coming.
For there’s nothing here but war,
Where the murd’ring cannons roar,
And I wish I were at home in dear old Erin.

Well myself and a hundred more,
To America sailed o ‘er,
Our fortune to be making, we were thinking
But when we got to Yankee land,
They shoved a gun into our hands,
Saying, Paddy, you must go and fight for Lincoln.

Chorus

General Meagher to us said,
If you get shot or lose your head,
Every murdered soul of yous will get a pension.
Well myself, I lost me leg
They gave me a wooden peg;
And my boys, it is the truth to you I mention.

Chorus

Now I’d think myself in luck
If I got fed on Indian buck
In old Ireland, the country I delight in
And with the devil I do say,
God’s curse on Americay,
For I think I’ve had enough of your hard fighting.

Chorus

This week I taught another ‘golden oldy’ from my big folder of songs to the junior singers of the Pipers Club: The Bonny Labouring Boy. I have heard it in many different versions, but I learned it from the singing of a friend: Donál Maguire. Donál is quite a character, someone who I can’t help being fond of, even though he sometimes makes me shake my (wise *ahum*) head. He is originally from Drogheda, now living in Rossendale, England.

He recorded The Bonny Labouring Boy on his record The Clergy’s Lamentation. That album contains some very very nice renditions of Roger the Miller and The Grand Conversation on Napolean.

Here is my version: The Bonny Labouring Boy

THE BONNY LABOURING BOY

As I rode one morning all in the blooming Spring
I overheard a maiden fair most grievously did sing
Saying,’Cruel were my parents who me did so sore annoy
They wouldn’t let me tarry with me bonny labouring boy

Oh Johnny was my true love’s name as you may plainly see
My father he employed him as a labouring boy to be
To harrow reap and sow the seed and plough my father’s land
And very soon we fell in love as you may understand

My mother said me one day’ How can you stoop so low
To marry a poor labouring boy around the world to go
Some noble lord might fancy you great treasures you could enjoy
So do not throw your love away on a poor yung labouring boy

Oh mother dearest mother your talk is all in vain
For lords and knights and dukes and earls, their efforts I disdain
I’d rather live a single life, where time I would enjoy
Awaiting happy prospects with my bonny labouring boy’

Some fifteen pounds of my best clothes I sold that very night
And with the boy that I love best to Belfast we did fly
His love has so entangled me, the same I will ne’er deny
It’s with my bonny labouring boy I mean to live and die

So fill your glasses to the brim and let the toast go round
And drink to every labouring boy that ploughs and sows the ground
It’s when his work is over, it’s home he’ll come with joy
And happy is the girl who weds with the bonny labouring boy

On the Monday after the concert all the teachers were invited for some food and a session at De Averell House. After some sausage rolls, sandwiches, chicken wings it was good listening to a full session in swing with a grin on my face: here I was, little old Dutch girl, as one of the teachers, listening to these amazing musicians playing tune after tune. This is why we moved here: to be able to sit and listen and then leisurely walk back home!

Quite a few songs were sung and I was the one to start. I chose to sing a song I recorded at a singing session at my very first Joe Mooney Summerschool in 1999. A man sang ‘Little thatched cabin’ , a lovely moving song, which I learned fairly quickly afterwards, but never really started singing. I have dusted it and loved singing it on Monday. It turned out not many at the session had heard it before. One of the teachers was asked if his dad sang it, or perhaps Sarah Ann. Now, you may not know this, but I love the singing of Geordie Hanna (who unfortunately passed away in the late ’80’s). When I heard the combination of ‘dad’ and Sarah Ann [O'Neill], another wonderful singer with the most beautiful songs, the penny dropped. I know she is Geordie Hanna’s sister, I know the teacher’s surname is Hanna, ahum, might he be Geordie Hanna’s son? When I felt brave enough to ask it turned out that indeed he was his son… We spent a pleasant half hour chatting about singing and songs. I went to bed happy!

Here you can hear me sing Little thatched cabin .

Please, also enjoy the singing of Geordie Hanna:

O dearie me, what an afternoon we have had at the Annual Concert of the Armagh Pipers Club! Adreline pumping, nerves fraying: will they remember all the words, will they sing in tune, will our wee ones manage to stay quiet until the end of the concert (babysitter was unavailable), where do we leave Tjabering when I have to go backstage (health and safety suddenly was a lot stricter and we weren’t allowed to have him in the buggy in the room. He was soo tired, poor wee man.) Eventually it all went well, but my goodness, I was tired afterwards: had to go to bed at 21.45!

Hendrikje and Kathrijn had to start of with the toddler singers, singing Johnny when you die and Do you love an apple. It was a hilarious performance: they tried to sang the loudest and Kathrijn and the girl next to her were competing: who could get the closest to the mike hanging slightly over their heads. It was really funny and endearing and set the informal tone of the afternoon. After the girls came of stage I had to do a tour round the theater to try and get us some place to sit, without the buggy. Ended up on the first row, where Tjabering was very keen to get as close as possible to the singers and musicians, standing on my knees and leaning unto the stage. Applauding, pointing and mumming along… Ah, he is such a sweet boy!

All my singing slots were in the second half of the concert and we had to decide what to do with the children. Hendrikje and Kathrijn were lovely in the first half, so I sent them back in the auditorium to sit near the stage, hoping they would remain like that for another one hour and a half…. Wee man went backstage with me in the buggy. Fortunately there were lots of willing girls backstage, keen to ‘get their hands’ on the wee man, so throughout all the performances there was at least one person minding him, teaching him high fives and knuckle touches!

The singing went wonderfully well, some words were forgotten, verses even (my own song!), but I think the singers can be proud of themselves. Alexander turned out quite the conquerer, Willie Taylor was still a nasty piece of work, the sour milk cart left on time, and on board the Kangaroo things are still hunky dory (but wait until you get back to that suburb…).  On to next year’s concert!

And yes, the worst thing of my singing unfortunately can’t be changed: I will always always look like I am giving birth when I sing *sigh* (These are actually the least embarrassing photographs, *double sigh*).

One morning as I was trying to wake up in the shower, I thought that maybe, maybe, if I recorded all the three voices of Alexander myself, separately and merged them into one file with Audacity, I should be able to hear me sing in harmony. So, very quietly, at a quarter to seven in the morning, while everybody was still on one ear (hence the whispery way of singing), I played ‘recording studie Mallview Terrace’. I had a ball and sure, it doesn’t sound that bad, now does it? Yeah yeah, I know, the timing in the first part isn’t great, that’s why I love singing on my own and without accompaniment!

The Thirzas singing Alexander3Voices. Woehaha!

You must be thinking, has she not done anything for an entire week?! Euh, yes, I have.  I have even done so much, that by the time I could tear myself away from my activities (because half twelve is much too late to go to bed when you have to get up at half six), I couldn’t bring myself to write something to keep you posted.

And, and, and last weekend I spent with my sister in our old region around Leiden (school) and Nieuw-Vennep (home) in the Netherlands. So, no baking, no sewing, and (let me think now) no, no singing for two and a half days! Instead, lots of walks on the beach, some beach combing, eating lovely food and talking to old friends from secondary school at our high school reunion, and even to parents to friends from nursery and primary school! I had the most wonderful weekend. Thanks sis!!

I will start making up to you now, promise!

The second song the junior singers will sing is the lively Going the Road to Clady. Again a song I learned of Rosie Stewart and heard sung by local singer Pat Prunty a few times. Singer Eithne Ni Uallachain sang it on the La Lugh album as well. It is a lovely song to sing at a session, as people can sing along with the chorus (and even hook arms if they dare!). Go on, click and have a sing aong!

Going the Road to Clady

I am a country servant serving in Killane
In a place they call New Hamilton, a grand old-fashioned town;
‘Twas early in the morning at the hour of three
When I set off for Clady, the old grey mare and me.

In the corner of the street, a bus I chanced to pass
And in the corner of the bus I spied a country lass.
Says I, “My pretty fair maid, come along with me.
I’m going the road to Clady, the old grey mare and me.”

CHORUS:
Cheeks as red as roses, eyes a bonny blue,
Dancing, dancing she pierced me through and through;
She fairly won my fancy, and stole away my heart,
Jogging along to Clady on the sour milk cart.

I asked her up beside me and on the cart she sat.
I slipped an arm around her waist and soon began to chat.
The birds in the bushes sweetly they did sing.
The blackbirds and the thrushes now they made the forest ring.

CHORUS

Well you’ve heard of lords and ladies making love in shady bowers,
And how they woo awhile among the roses and the flowers;
I’ll never forget that morning, when Cupid shot his dart
Jogging along to Clady on the sour milk cart.

CHORUS