Category: Listen

Submitted by Margaret Nelson

I see Lazarus as a “good guy” in a small village—not the smartest fellow, but the one who helps the women draw water at the village well, keeps an eye on the younger kids when their mothers are washing clothes, patches up the stray dogs when they get hurt, looks after village seniors when their health starts to fail.

Dives and his greedy friends want to knock down the old village houses, and turn the village into a high-priced summer resort for the gentry. Dives gives a feast to attract investors.

Lazarus comes to Dives’ gate asking for donations of leftover food to give to the poor of the village, addressing him as “Brother Dives.” Dives refuses the (traditional) request, and refuses to recognize Lazarus as a brother.

Lazarus starts a hunger strike. Dives tells Lazarus he can starve. Lazarus invokes Jesus’ name. Dives gets annoyed, sends hungry dogs out to bite Lazarus. Turns out the dogs know Lazarus; they don’t bite him; insted, they lick his sores away.

Dives gets really annoyed, tells his hired men to go out and whip Lazarus. But the young hired men also know Lazarus, and throw their whips away rather than hurt him. 

“That isn’t a bum, that’s Lazarus! He sat with my grandma when she was dying! To heck with Dives and his cronies!”

After some time, Lazarus dies; angels take him to heaven. Dives also dies; serpents take him to hell, where he is tormented with thirst. Dives looks up, and sees Lazarus blest. Then, and only then, does he address Lazarus as “Brother.”

Listen to Cooper & Nelson performing “Dives and Lazarus:”

Lyrics

As it fell out all on one day, rich Dives made a feast
And he has invited all his friends, and gentry of the best
Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ door
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, to bestow upon the poor
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my door
No meat nor drink will I give thee, nor bestow upon the poor.

Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ wall
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, or of hunger starve I shall
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my wall
No meat nor drink will I give thee, though of hunger starve you shall

Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ gate
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, for Jesus’ Christ’s own sake
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my gate
No meat nor drink will I give thee, for Jesus Christ’s own sake

Then Dives sent his hungry dogs, to bite him where he lay
But they had not the power to bite one bite, but they licked his sores away
Then Dives sent his hired men, to beat him where he lay
But they had not the power to strike one stroke, but they flung their whips away

As it fell out all on one day, poor Lazarus sickened and died
There came two angels out of heaven, his soul therein to guide
Rise up now, Brother Lazarus, and come along with we
There is a place in Heaven prepared, for to sit by an angel’s knee

As it fell out all on one day, rich Dives sickened and died
There came two serpents out of Hell, his soul therein to guide
Rise up, now, Brother Dives, and come along with we
There is a place in Hell prepared, for wicked men like thee

Then Dives looked up with his eyes, and saw poor Lazarus blest
Give me one drop of water, Brother Lazarus, to quench my burning thirst!

Margaret Nelson learned her first traditional ballad in the early 1960s. In 1982, she joined musical forces with guitarist and singer Phil Cooper. As a duo, as a trio with singer Kate Early, and as members of two successive Christmas bands, Cooper & Nelson toured, performed, and spent a lot of time recording mostly traditional songs and tunes. They released 24 recordings in 28 years, including cassettes, an LP, and CDs. (Many of the CDs are still available for sale.)

In November and December, Margaret still tours with Kate Early, Phil Cooper, and Susan Urban as the Bittersweet Christmas Band. Among other things, she performs at Memorial Day and Veterans Day gatherings sponsored by Veterans for Peace, and has been asked to lead songs at larger Chicago-area rallies for peace, social justice, and environmental sanity.

Margaret describes her current condition as “Still vertical, still musical, and increasingly political.” Visit her website for videos of Margaret in performance.

Margaret served as Board President of the Folk Alliance-Region Midwest (FARM) from 1999-2002. She was booker, host and sound babe for the Sunday Evening Folk concert series, Evanston, Illinois, 2003-2005. She is the recipient of the Folk Alliance Region Midwest Lifetime Service Award, 2006.

Submitted by Mark Gilston

Back in the early 1970s, I took a trip to San Francisco, where a good friend of mine had given me an introduction to Gil and Gerda Daly, a lovely couple who lived in a huge Victorian mansion. Every room had some kind of immense collection, from playing cards to pinball machines. Truly, it was a museum of a house.

One of the rooms contained wall to wall 78s of every imaginable genre, and the Dalys were kind enough to let me spend about 4 days recording ethnic and American old time 78s from their spectacular collection.

Among the gems, I found one by Bud Billings entitled “Barnacle Bill the Sailor.” I knew a very racy and suggestive version of the song, and was intrigued to hear what would have passed the censors in 1929, but it was the flip side entitled “How to Make Love” that really caught my fancy. I fell in love with the song and set out to learn it.

Many years later, my research uncovered that the song was written by Frank Luther using the pseudonym “Bud Billings,” and recorded with Carson J. Robison. Trying to learn the song from listening to the old recording, I did get a few of the words wrong, and I have notated those differences where there is a significant change.

Listen to Mark performing “How to Make Love:”

Lyrics

Do you want your girl to love you? Do you want to be her beau?
Well, I’ll tell you how to do it, boys, I’ll tell you all I know.
Put on your bib and tucker, and scrub your face real hard.
Part your hair right down the middle, boys, and slick it down with lard.

Put your derby hat on sideways. Pull your peg top up pants up short.
Get a big bow tie on a rubber band, and show her you’re a sport.*
Get yourself some drugstore perfume, and sprinkle it on your clothes;
Just a dime’s worth will be plenty, boys, to tickle her little nose.

Grease your buggy and your harness, and curry your trottin’ mare,
Then buy yourself a lasso, boys, and get you a lady fair.**
Tie a ribbon on your buggy whip. Buy a pair of yellow gloves;
Then take her to the county fair, and buy her what she loves.

Tell her she is prettier than a movie act-er-ess.
Talk about her pretty curls, and admire her handsome dress.
Get yourself a gold front tooth. Buy a Sears and a Roebuck ring.
Get a double note harmonica, and learn to play and sing.

Brag about her family: her granddad and her pap;
And before you know it she’ll be a-settin’ on your lap.
Tell her she’s so pretty, she takes away your breath;
And before you know it, she’s a huggin’ you to death.

But if she will not love you, just make her jealous then.
Tell her you love somebody else; that she is just a friend.
Take her out to the dances, and flirt with the other girls:
Hug ’em close, and whisper soft, and give ’em all a whirl.

Laugh out loud with the others, but with your girl don’t you speak;
And when she comes around you boys, just turn from her your cheek.
Just follow these directions, and she will be your wife:
Or else she’ll marry somebody else, and hate you all her life!

* “Red bow tie” in the original
** The original line, which I misheard, is “Buy a purty lap-robe, boys, and get you a lady fair”)

Mark Gilston was born and raised in New York City. Both of his parents were steeped in the folk music revival scene of the 1950s. He grew up listening to 78s and LPs of American, Russian, Spanish, Caribbean and Israeli folk music. Learning guitar and taking piano lessons starting at age 5, he was constantly immersed in music. In his youth, Mark gained a love of traditional American ballads and Old-Time songs and instrumentals from recordings and from his father, who often sang the old ballads which he had learned in his youth in Appalachia.

After earning a bachelor’s degree in folklore, Mark went to graduate school at SUNY Binghamton, studying ethnomusicology, and ended up settling there until 1994.

Mark has been giving concerts and leading workshops since 1971. He interned at the Library of Congress Archive of Folk Song, and has worked as a researcher for Alan Lomax. He has published numerous articles and books on music and folklore. Mark is also a multi-instrumentalist with an international reputation in English concertina and mountain dulcimer. He won the prestigious National Mountain Dulcimer Championship in 2016. Mark has 14 CDs on the Ramble Creek and Creative Engineering labels as well as over a thousand videos of music performance and martial arts instruction on YouTube. “How to Make Love” is on Mark’s second CD, Lend Me an Ear.

(Young Man Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn)

Submitted by Lea Coryell

This traditional American folksong, perhaps originating in the Midwest, can be traced back to at least 1905. It’s been documented throughout the country, and many different versions exist. I love it because it works well for solo voice and drop-thumb banjo.

Did the young man fail because of laziness or bad weather? Traditional verses offer conflicting reasons, so perhaps we were meant to wonder. In my shortened version, the farmer has nothing and no one to blame but himself. You may choose to characterize it differently, so I include a longer version with fine traditional verses I chose to omit.

Listen to Lea performing “The Lazy Farmer.” Recording copyright Lea Coryell; used by permission.

Lyrics (as sung by Lea Coryell)

The banjo is in modal tuning, capo 4 (bF#BEF#)

I’ll sing you a song it’s not very long
About a lazy farmer wouldn’t hoe his corn
The reason he wouldn’t I cannot tell
That young man was always well
That young man was always well

He went to the field and he looked therein
The jimson weeds were up to his chin
The bushes and the grasses had grown so high
Enough to make that young man cry
Enough to make that young man cry

He went down to his neighbor’s door
Where he had often been before
Sayin’ “Pretty little miss will you marry me?
Pretty little miss now what you say?
Pretty little miss now what you say?”

“Oh why do you come to me to wed
When you can’t even raise your own cornbread?
Single I am and so I’ll remain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
A lazy man I won’t maintain

“Now why don’t you go and court the widow
And I hope to the dickens that you don’t get her”
She give him the mitten just as sure as you’re born
And all because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn

Lyrics (as sung by Tom Paley)

I’ll sing you a song it’s not very long
About a lazy farmer wouldn’t hoe his corn
The reason why I cannot tell
For that young man was always well
That young man was always well

He planted his corn on June the last
In July it was up to his eye
But in September there came a great frost
And all that young man’s corn was lost
All that young man’s corn was lost

He went to the field and he looked therein
The bushes and the grass had grown so high
The bushes and the grass had grown so high
For to make that young man sigh
For to make that young man sigh

His courtship had just begun
She said “Young man, have you hoed your corn?”
“I’ve tried, I’ve tried, I’ve tried in vain
But I don’t believe I’ll raise one grain
I don’t believe I’ll raise one grain”

“Why do you come to me to wed
When you can’t even raise your own cornbread?
Single I am and I will remain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
A lazy man I won’t maintain

“Now why don’t you try and court the widow
I hope to the devil that you don’t get her”
She give him the mitten as sure as you’re born
And all because he wouldn’t hoe his corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn

Now his courtship was at an end
On his way he then began
Saying “Young miss, I’ll have another girl
If I have to ramble this whole wide world
If I have to ramble this whole wide world”

He hung his head and he turned away
“Sometime, Miss, you’ll rue the day
You’ll rue the day that you were born
For givin’ me the devil cause I wouldn’t hoe corn
Givin’ me the devil cause I wouldn’t hoe corn”

Lea Coryell, an Ohio native now living in Lovettsville, Virginia, began folk singing during the late 1970s. He is a retired librarian, a genealogist, and a founding member of the Reston-Herndon Folk Club in Virginia.

Submitted by Derek Piotr

This song played an extremely significant role in my early musical life. Around age 7 or 8, I was avidly using our home PC and spent many hours browsing Encarta Encyclopedia, a kind of proto-Wikipedia. Encarta was full of media clips, and Bob Mills’ performance was among them. This became one of the first songs I remember learning, and when I visited Will and Pippa Noble on their farm in Shepley, it was the first song I requested.

This song seems to have completely fallen out of favor in the twenty-first century; I can’t find anyone else around who still knows it. Hopefully my entry here will correct that.

Listen to Will & Pippa Noble performing “We’re All Jolly Fellows that Follow the Plough,” recorded by Derek Piotr in Shepley, 2021.

Bob Mills performing “All Jolly Fellows that Follow the Plough,” recorded by Sam Richard in Winchester, 1981:

Lyrics

‘Twas early one morning at the break of day,

The cocks were a-crowing, the farmer did say,

”Come rise you good fellows, arise with good will,

For your horses want something their bellies to fill.”

When four o’clock comes, then up we all rise,

And into our stables so merrily fly,

With rubbing and scrubbing our horses we vow,

We’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.

Then six o’clock comes, at breakfast we meet,

Peat bread and pork pies we heartily eat,

With a piece in our pocket, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,

We’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.

Then we harness our horses, our way then we go

And trip o’er the plain boys so merrily-O,

And when we come there, so jolly and bold,

To see which of us the straight furrow can hold.

Our master came to us and thus he did say,

“What have you been doing boys, all this long day?

Well you’ve not ploughed an acre, I’ll swear and I’ll vow.

And you’re all idle fellows that follow the plough.”

I stepped up to him and made this reply,

“We have all ploughed an acre, so you tell a lie.

We have all ploughed an acre, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,

And we’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.”

He turned himself round and he laughed in a joke,

“It’s past two o’clock, boys; it’s time to unyoke.

Unharness your horses and rub them down well,

And I’ll give you a jug of the very best ale.”

So come all you brave fellows, where e’er you be,

Take this advice and be ruled by me,

And never fear your masters, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,

For you’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.

Derek Piotr is a folklorist, researcher and performer whose work focuses primarily on the human voice. His work covers practices including fieldwork, vocal performance, preservation and autoethnography; and is primarily concerned with tenderness, fragility, beauty and brutality. His work has been supported by The Traditional Song Forum and The Danbury Cultural Commission, and has featured on Death is Not the End and BBC. He recently launched the Fieldwork Archive.

Submitted by Denise and Stuart Savage

“Reynardine” was taken from the EFDSS publication “The Seeds of Love.” The words are from Such & Pitts broadside and the tune collected by W P Merrick from Henry Hills. This version makes the warning to young girls of “man as beast” quite obvious.

Listen to the Savages’ version of “Reynardine:”

Lyrics

One night upon my rambles two miles below Fermoy
I met a farmer’s daughter all on the mountains high
I said, “My pretty fair maid, your beauty shines so clear
All on these lonesome mountains, I’m glad to meet you here.”

She said, “Kind sir be civil, my company forsake
For in my own opinion, I fear you are some rake
And if my parents they should know, my life they would destroy
For keeping of your company all on the mountains high.”

He said, “My dear, I am no rake brought up in Venus’ train
But I’m seeking for concealment all on the lonesome plain
Your beauty so enticed me I could not pass it by
So it’s with my gun I’ll guard you all on the mountains high.”

Her cherry cheek and ruby lips, they lost their former dye
She fainted in his arms there all on the mountain high
They hadn’t kissed but once or twice till she came to again
With that she kindly asked him, “Pray tell to me your name.”

“If by chance you look for me, perhaps you’ll not me find
For I’ll be in my castle – enquire for Reynardine.”
Sun and dark she followed him, his teeth did brightly shine
And he led her over the mountains, that sly bold Reynardine.

Denise and Stuart Savage became involved in the folk music revival in the 60s while living in West Sussex, England, and have performed in various group combinations, now as a duo. They visited the USA in 2002 and again in 2004, when they were lucky enough to perform in a number of house concerts from Washington, DC, to Vermont.

Submitted by Sue Burgess

This is a re-written version of a traditional Irish song called “Free and Easy to Jog Along,” sung by—among many others—Kevin Mitchell and Roisin White. 

A man goes on his rambles in Ireland and Scotland, having a good time meeting women, and perhaps breaking a few hearts along the way. In 2007, I was interested to hear well-known singer Peta Webb sing a version where the genders are reversed and the story told from a woman’s point of view. As I was very keen on the ‘equality’ idea for my own repertoire, Peta kindly gave me her revised text and a recording. 

After a while, I realized that the Irish tune just didn’t suit my singing style, but eventually found an English one which did. My choice grew out of listening to Sam Larner’s tune for “Bold Princess Royal,” which is very like that sung for “Yellow Handkerchief.” Unfortunately, it has a lot more notes in it, so I had to re-write the re-write with a few ideas of my own, and now very much enjoy singing the result. 

Listen to Sue singing “Free and Easy to Ramble Along:”

Lyrics

(trad, arr Sue Burgess, after Peta Webb)

It’s a tale of my rambles that I surely will sing
Just like any small bird or thrush in the spring
When the sun she arises for to greet every morn
I am free and I am easy for to ramble along

Now the first one of my rambles, it was to Derry Quay
For to see all the lads there, and lasses so gay
And I sat me down among them for to sing them a song
I sang free and I sang easy for to ramble along

Well, the next one of my rambles, it was to Glasgow Green
Where the lads and the lasses were all to be seen
And I was the merriest all among that fine throng
For I was free and I was easy for to ramble along

Now I had not been there but a very short space
When a handsome young man he did smile in my face
He said: had I a husband or any such one?
No, I’m free and I am easy for to ramble along

I went along then with this young man all into some inn
Where we did drink brandy, strong ale and some gin
Then he asked it of me for to pledge heart and hand
And forget free and easy for to ramble along

Oh, no, my jolly young man, such things cannot be
For I’ve a fine notion to cross the stormy sea
When a girl she gets married, all her joys they are done
She’s no more free and easy for to ramble along

But if ever I return it will be in the spring
Once more of my rambles I surely will sing
I’ll drink a health to the lasses that will join me in song
That remain free and easy for to ramble along

Ever since her early years with the Songwainers at Cheltenham Folk Song Club in Gloucestershire, Sue Burgess has been a distinctive voice in several well-known harmony groups (notably Regal Slip) and duos; her love of traditional music has remained constant ever since.

Now living in Yorkshire, these days Sue appears regularly as a solo performer, recognised for her interpretation of a unique repertoire which has often been re-arranged to give a fairer representation of female characterization in traditional folk song. 

Most recently, Sue has also become part of The Gilchrist Collective—together with Peter & Barbara Snape and Brian Peters—in a project celebrating the work of Lancashire collector Anne Geddes Gilchrist, with a CD entitled Most Truly Yours.

Submitted by William Pint

This moving song came to me forty years ago by way of Louisa Jo Killen. It demonstrates the amazing power locked within a ballad when delivered by a brilliant singer.

The story is that of a fishing vessel capsizing in a storm off the coast of Scotland in the late 1800s, the fate of the captain and first mate, and the power of faith to give strength and comfort in terrifying circumstances. I am not a religious person by any means, but this song has a profound effect on me every time I hear it. Listen to it and marvel at how it conveys such tremendous emotional content. 

Listen to Louisa singing “The Rose in June:”

Lyrics

On the rocky coast of Scotland, in a little village there,

There dwelt a righteous man, serving God without a care
He was not a man of honour, but a humble fisherman,

Working hard to earn his living, his name was Andrew Davidson.

He was the master of a vessel, and he claimed her as his own.

She was fitted with all was needed; she was called The Rose in June.

And with eager expectation he was waiting for the day

When the time would come for fishing and the boats would sail away.

Now, Andrew had been lately married, and before he left his home,

Andrew and his wife together knelt in prayer before the Throne,

Asking God for His protection on his wife while he was gone,

Praying nothing would befall her, not of danger nor of harm.

And his wife was kneeling by him, and she heard his fervent prayer

Asking God for her protection, not a word for his was there,

And her heart did sink within her as she rose from her bended knee,

Thinking on those terrible dangers and those perils of the sea!

Now when the Summer winds blew softly, herrin’ fishing season came.

Andrew Davidson preparing, herrin’ fishing was his game.

Andrew Davidson preparing with his crew to go to sea,

Not thinking this would be his last time ever with his friends to be.

Many vessels now are sailing and The Rose in June is one

Swiftly gliding out the harbour at the setting of the sun

Many fishing vessels sailing out that fateful afternoon

Out of sight of friends and loved ones swiftly glides The Rose in June.

In that night a storm came raging and the angry billows roared,

Many a vessel was tossed and driven all along that rocky shore.

Their crews were clinging to them, all seamen strong and brave,

Praying the Lord would save them from a seaman’s watery grave.

And all along the coast next morning, anxious eyes did watch and wait,

The children of those absent seamen, those returning ships did sight.

And one by one, those vessels sailed in, through morning until noon,

Till all were safely anchored, all but one, The Rose in June.

Whom the seas turned bottom upwards, dashed against that rocky shore.

Her crew was clinging to her, thinking the storm would soon be o’er.

Andrew Davidson, their captain, in that time of sudden fear,

Called on Jesu, Christ the Savior, and he bowed his head in prayer.
Saying, “Come on and sing God’s praises,” and at last they all begun:

Dearest Jesus, I am dying, what a comfort divine,

What a comfort to know that the Savior is mine.

Hallelujah, send the Glory, Hallelujah, amen,

Hallelujah, send the Glory to revive us again.

But these words were scarcely ended when the out-wave struck her side.

Tore their captain from his holdings, and he sank beneath the tide,
Gone to join those friends and shipmates on that heavenly shore,

Welcomed by his lovin’ Savior singing praise forevermore.

And John Allen was the young mate, and he knew he was forgiven.

“Let us keep on with our singing, our captain is in Heaven.”

And they sang so loud and trialled, till they came to this last verse:

Slowly onward we haste to the heavenly place,

For this is the glory and this is the grace.

Hallelujah, send the Glory, Hallelujah, amen,

Hallelujah, send the Glory to revive us again.

But these words were scarcely ended when the out-wave burst around.

Tore the young mate from his holdings and his body too was drowned.

Going to join those friends and shipmates on that heavenly shore,

Welcomed by his lovin’ Savior singing praise forevermore.

And the rest of the crew was rescued, but they’ll ne’er forget the scene,

In that hour and that moment when that song they tried to sing,

Oh! Were no sermons ever preached or experience ever known,

Like the power in that moment, that hour of sudden doom!

So sinners, give your souls to Jesus, it can never be too soon.

If in heaven you meet the captain, meet the mate of The Rose in June.
Oh, sinners, give your souls to Jesus, it can never be too soon.

If in heaven you meet the captain, meet the mate of The Rose in June.

William Pint‘s heart was captured by traditional music at the impressionable age of seventeen, and sea shanties and maritime songs by his twenty-fifth birthday. He and his partner, Felicia Dale, have released numerous recordings of mostly traditional material with innovative and highly energetic arrangements.

Submitted by Judy Cook

“Bed is Too Small” is an anonymous American song that I learned at Girl Scout Camp May Flather, in Virginia in the early 1960s. I like that, as a lullaby, it speaks not only to the one going to sleep, but also to the singer who would like to be going to sleep.

Lyrics

Bed is too small for my tiredness;
Give me a hill topped with trees.
Tuck a cloud up under my chin.
Lord, blow the moon out, please.

Rock me to sleep in a cradle of dreams,
Sing me a lullaby of leaves.
Tuck a cloud up under my chin.
Lord, blow the moon out, please.

Judy Cook is an author, entertainer, and folk-singer. She has been living in Oberlin, Ohio, with her husband Dennis since 2013. Since 1998 she has been touring throughout both Britain and the US. She is known for her repertoire and storytelling ability in song. Judy has one book and several CDs. You can reach her through her website.

Submitted by Matthew Byrne

Written by Keith Marsden, who founded the West Yorkshire folk singing group Cockersdale. Keith was from Morley, near Leeds, and although he died at the young age of 52, he left an impressive repertoire of brilliantly crafted and cleverly written songs.

This song tells of a captivating storyteller who held a crucial role for children looking to indulge their imaginations and escape the dreary day-to-day of a dull factory town in postwar England. Some great language in this one: a “pierrot” is a mime street performer, and a “corky” refers to a cricket ball.

Listen to Matthew singing “Jack Ashton:”

Listen to another version by Finest Kind:

Lyrics

Oh the times were hard and mean and our childhood days were lean,
In the land they said was fit for Flanders heroes
It was all a seaside show where poor folk couldn’t go,
We just stood outside while others watched the pierrots.

And we only had to spend what our friend Jack Clegg would lend,
There was little of Lloyd George’s promised glories,
But each evening down the street by the gaslamp we would meet.
And we’d listen while Jack Ashton told his stories.

Chorus:
And we sat there and listened with our mouths open wide,
Though we knew in our hearts that the old devil lied.
But we needed to believe in the magic he would weave,
And we took a glass for old times’ sake the day Jack died.

Now our all-wise parents said that he’d a screw loose in the head,
And that we were daft to listen to his lies.
But we saw their daily grind and heard the magic in his mind,
And we all knew who was daft and who was wise.

Though he nearly broke our necks playing soccer on the Rec.,
And his bowling with a corky could be gory,
As the evening sun went down, by the lamp we’d gather round,
And we’d listen while Jack Ashton told a story.

Chorus

Now that Jack’s been laid to rest, if there’s any justice left,
He’ll be spinning yarns now to the Holy Ghost.
And gathered round his knee, open-mouthed as we would be,
Sit saints and angels, all the heavenly host.

And he’ll tell them how he saved old Moses from the waves,
And slew Goliath with one mighty blow.
While an all-forgiving Lord listens smiling at his words,
As we did by the gas lamp long ago.

Chorus

Storytelling through song is a fundamental duty of traditional music, and Matthew Byrne does this brilliantly. With a repertoire shaped by his musical upbringing, Byrne supports the tradition with powerful vocals, polished guitar work, engaging storytelling, and a presence that fills the room.

Byrne’s parents were both singers and song collectors and he grew up with a strong family focus on sharing songs. He has inherited a unique repertoire, as well as a fascination with unearthing and reimagining traditional music.

Submitted by Jennifer Armstrong

My parents (George and Gerry Armstrong) learned this song from Sandy and Carolyn Paton of Folk Legacy fame, who learned it from the McPeake family.

“Wild Mountain Thyme” (also known as “Purple Heather” and “Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go?”) is a Scottish/Irish folk song. The lyrics and melody are a variant of the song “The Braes of Balquhither” by Scottish poet Robert Tannahill (1774–1810) and Scottish composer Robert Archibald Smith (1780–1829), but were adapted by Belfast musician Francis McPeake (1885–1971) into “Wild Mountain Thyme,” and first recorded by his family in the 1950s.

My mother loved this song as one of the few romantic folk songs, and sang it, “If my true love won’t go, I will surely find no other.” My father, on the other hand, sang it, “If my true love she won’t go, I will surely find another,” claiming it was more a love song to the wild mountain thyme and purple heather than it was to a person. The melody I sing is what my mother sang, and sometimes I sing “no other” and sometimes “another!”

Listen to Jennifer singing “Wild Mountain Thyme:”

Lyrics

Oh, the summer time is coming,
And the leaves are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
Blooms around the purple heather.
Will you go, lassie, go?

Chorus:
And we’ll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will you go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a bower
By yon clear crystal fountain,
And on it I will pile
All the flowers of the mountain.
Will you go, lassie, go? …

Chorus

If my true love won’t go,
I will surely find another (no other)
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather.
Will you go, lassie, go?…

Chorus

Oh, the summertime is coming
And the leaves are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Blooms around the purple heather.
Will you go, lassie, go?…

Chorus

Jennifer Armstrong writes: I am a musician, singer and storyteller with deep roots in and great love for the folk tradition. I have many recordings, books and websites and invite you to take a deeper look at my many offerings at my website and Patreon.