song - evergreentrad

17 Feb

Katahdin

One night as I lay a-keeping my silent watch alone,
Some rambling thoughts came in my mind, causing me for to roam,
To go and leave Katahdin and the girl I do adore,
I thought it fit for to take a trip, the wild woods to explore.

I took my true love by the hand and to help her I did say,
“My train it leaves tomorrow, my dear I must away,
But as we gently glide along, we will cause every tavern to roar,
Drinking health to old Katahdin and the girls we do adore.”

Katahdin it’s a pretty place with pretty girls therein,
You’d think that they were nightingales, were you to hear them sing,
And little lambs they sport and play all by their mother’s side,
And the salmon, trout and pickerel in the streams do gently glide.

When I arrived in Sancook the people gathered round,
They said I wasn’t able, the tall pine to cut down,
But I could hire as a cookee if I kept snug and clean,
Well, that was the very first time that I missed Katahdin green.

Well, the winter is now over, and the teams, they’re coming out,
Our boss he calls the men to him to hire them for the route,
“It is to those who will stay here, high wages I’ll pay to ye,
And when the lumber is in Old Town you routers may go free.”

My hand it’s growing tired, no more can I pen down,
I hope our boss’s lumber arrives safe in Old Town,
And when we get to Bangor, we will cause every tavern to roar,
Drinking health to old Katahdin and the girls we do adore.

The Penobscot word for “great mountain” gives us the name Katahdin for the tallest mountain in the state of Maine. In small towns like those near Mount Katahdin it was once common for teenaged boys to set out in the fall in search of winter employment in a live-in logging camp. Some such boys had fathers who came from the north of Ireland where seasonal work at harvest time in Scotland drew young men over the North Channel each year. This could explain why “Katahdin” seems to be a variant of the song known in the north of Ireland as “Brockagh Brae” or “The Roslea Farewell” (Roud 5171) that references the Ireland to Scotland work pattern.

I developed the above version based on that collected from Ambrose Herrell in Prince Edward Island and printed in Folksongs from Prince Edward Island by Randall and Dorothy Dibblee. I recorded it on the album Minnesota Lumberjack Songs and plan to release a new version with Danny Diamond on the upcoming Northern Shores album. The PEI version is still my favorite but I have since discovered interesting variants collected in Michigan, New Brunswick and West Virginia.

01 Sep

The Rose of Ardee

When first to this country a stranger I came,
I placed my affections on a comely fair dame,
She was proper, tall and handsome in every degree,
She’s the flower of this country and the Rose of Ardee.

I courted lovely Mary at the age of sixteen,
Her waist it was slender, her carriage genteel,
’Til at length a young weaver came there, her to see,
And stole the flower of the country, the Rose of Ardee.

My curse may it light on you, by day and by night,
You’ve fled with my true love, far, far from my sight,
And left me to mourn in a strange country,
For the loss of my darling the Rose of Ardee.

I’m bound to the city for months two or three,
And perhaps on my journey some pretty girl I’ll see,
In a short space of time she may prove kind to me,
But I never can forget the sweet Rose of Ardee.

When I get my week’s wages to the ale house I’ll go,
And there I’ll sit drinking with my heart full of woe,
I’ll sit there lamenting, expecting to see,
Once more my own true love, the Rose of Ardee.

I swear, lovely Mary, by the powers above,
Though inconstant you’ve been, I no other can love,
Oh if we could meet my sweet bride you should be,
And I should be blest with the Rose of Ardee.

Oh, lovely Mary you have been severe,
To slight your own true love that loved you so dear,
I must weep in despair until death I do see,
For the loss of my darling the Rose of Ardee.

Farewell lovely Mary though fled from my sight,
For you I am weeping by day and by night,
But I fear my sweet angel, I never shall see,
So adieu evermore to the Rose of Ardee.

The “Old Songs Exchange” column that ran in the Minneapolis Journal from October 1923 to January 1925 drew many active readers/correspondents from outside Minnesota. Newman Van Deusen/Dusen of Brunswick, Ohio may have contributed the words to last month’s song “My Emmett’s No More.” On October 5, 1924, the column ran Van Dusen’s request for the words to “The Rose of Ardee.” Curiously, Newman Van Deusen of Brunswick, Ohio is credited with sending in the words to the song when they were published on November 9, 1924.

It could be that Van Deusen found the text in a songster. His lengthy version closely matches (though not exactly) that printed by Henry De Marsan in New York in the 1868 New Comic and Sentimental Singer’s Journal. A much shorter, fragmentary text for the song appears in a western New York family songbook (circa 1841-1856) published by Harold W. Thompson as A Pioneer Songster so it does seem plausible that the song made it in to tradition in the Lakes states.

“The Rose of Ardee” is sung in the north of Ireland and I have married the Minneapolis Journal text to the air used by Desi Wilkinson on his album The Three Piece Flute.

“The Rose of Ardee” as it appears in the 11/09/1924 “Old Songs Exchange” column in the *Minneapolis Journal*

23 Aug

My Emmett’s No More

Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin,
Appeared on the cliffs of the wild, rocky shore,
Loose in the wind flowed her dark, streaming ringlets,
Heedless she gazed on the dread surge’s roar.
Loud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing,
The time passed away with the present comparing,
And in soul-thrilling strains deeper sorrow declaring,
She sang Erin’s woes, for her Emmett’s no more.

Ah, Erin, my country, your glory’s departed,
For tyrants and traitors have stabbed thy heart’s core,
Thy daughters have laid in the streams of affliction,
Thy patriots have fled or lie stretched in their gore.
Ruthless ruffians now prowl through they hamlets forsaken,
From pale, hungry orphans their last morsel have taken,
The screams of thy females no pity awaken
Alas! My poor country, your Emmett’s no more.

Brave was his spirit yet wild as the Brahmin,
His heart bled in anguish at the wrongs of the poor,
To relieve their hard sufferings he braved every danger,
The vengeance of tyrants undauntedly bore.
Before him the proud, titled villains in power,
Were seen though in ermine, in terror to cower
But, alas! He is gone—he’s a fallen young flower,
They have murdered my Emmett—my Emmett’s no more.

Roud no: 34010

Thanks to the wonders of the archive at newspapers.com, I recently discovered a new source for Minnesota folk songs! On most Sundays between October 1923 and January 1925, the Minneapolis Journal ran a column called “The Old Songs Exchange: Words That Journal Readers Ask For.” Similar to the “Old Songs That Men Have Sung” column in Adventure Magazine I have used in my research before, the Old Songs Exchange was full of fascinating folk and stage song texts submitted by readers of the paper—complete with, in most cases, attribution for who sent in the words.

The Sunday, November 2, 1924 column includes “My Emmett’s No More,” a somewhat rare song commemorating Robert Emmett and the 1798 uprising in Ireland. Unfortunately, the Journal gave no attribution for this one. The four other song texts printed that day were supplied by Newman L. Deusen of Brunswick, Ohio; Mrs. Laura M. Klinefelter of Steele, North Dakota; and Mrs. Lula I. Godwin of Minneapolis so it is possible that the Emmett song came from one of them. The text in the Journal does seem to be from someone’s memory as it is missing a couple lines from what would have appeared in a songster or broadside (many songsters in both Ireland and US did print the song). See below for the text as it appeared in the Minneapolis Journal.

I have married the Minneapolis-printed text to the melody sung by Irish singer (and dancer) Páidí Bán Ó Broin whose rendition appears in the Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann digital archive. Ó Broin was part of the Comhaltas touring group that visited Minnesota in 1976 and stayed with Lucy and Jack Fallon in St. Paul. I also filled in a couple missing lines using a version printed by Terry Moylan in The Age of Revolution in the Irish Song Tradition.