What is folk song? The term is vague and seems to be getting vaguer. However, the songs on this record may conveniently be called 'industrial folk songs' for without exception they were created by industrial workers out of their own daily experience and were circulated, mainly by word of mouth to be used by the songwriters workmates in mines, mills and foundries. That other branch of workers' song, made by learned writers and musicians on behalf of the proletariat and passed on chiefly through print is not represented on this record. However excellent, such songs belong to a different order and require some other label than that of 'folk song'. Here, we repeat, our concern is with songs made by working people out of their own traditions and for their own use.
The folk songs of industrial workers have not been much noticed. Cecil Sharp and other great collectors confined themselves to the rural past and rather shunned the industrial present. Thereby they allowed themselves only a partial view of Britain's musical folklore, for in fact the industrial community has much to show of traditional song native to itself, and indeed the creation of folk song has passed almost entirely into the scope of the working class of the towns within the last century or so as this record may suggest. Though the performance of folk song lingered on in the countryside, the composition of new stuff had to all intents ceased in the villages by the mid-19th century; but among industrial workers the creation of new songs celebrating strikes, pit disasters, workshop incidents etc. persisted and seems lately to have taken a fresh lease of life in somewhat altered circumstances.
We have said that industrial folk song has been neglected hitherto. As far as the light of present knowledge extends, the richest store seems to be found among miners and textile workers. Mining, spinning and weaving are occupations that provided themes for many songs well before the industrial revolution began to affect popular culture in the latter half of the 18th century. Subsequent industrial developments—steel, railways, etc.—which lacked this early fund of song, seem to have remained much weaker in poetry and music than the older traditional industries among whom good songmakers, some of them youngsters, are still to be found. But it must be said that as yet the ground is little explored and surprises may be in store for the searcher. What is so far found, of old stuff and new, is a reproof to those who profess to believe that the cultural horizon of the working class is bounded by the bingo hall and the idiots' lantern. It is true that most of these songs have only a limited circulation; it is also true that the circulation is widening. As yet the industrial community is only dimly aware of its own self-made cultural heritage; but that awareness is growing. This record, in a brief survey, presents but a few of the songs that working men and women have made out of their own lives. If it helps to make the songs wider known, good. If it inspires the making of new industrial songs, better still. The tradition is a fine one and worth perpetuating.
A. L. Lloyd
The insurance clerk dreams of tall ships, full-dressed, scudding through tropical seas, and of coarse hairy men bellowing wild songs as they haul on the ropes. Well, the old sailing ships weren't all that romantic, nor were the crews always so brutish. Now and then, in museums or curio shops we find sweet mermaids carved on cokernuts, classical scenes scrimshawed on spermwhale teeth, an embroidered pillow-case with two hearts and an anchor, delicate fond things worked by tarry hands in a stuffy foc'sle, and we're reminded that if some sailing-ship sailors were of the ringtailed roarer kind, others were reflective men, masters of their own vernacular culture both at work and in leisure. So too with the songs they created; some are as rough as a teak board, others have words of deep sense spliced to tunes full of secrets. There were fine poets, splendid composers who felt more at ease holding a capstan-bar than a pen.
It's well-known that sailor songs are of two kinds, shanties and forebitters. Shanties were for singing at work, forebitters for singing at leisure. Shanties were functional songs whose purpose was to get men to pull or push together so the job would go easier. Forebitters were diversionary songs, sung to ease the mind and make a hard life tolerable. Forebitters usually had fixed texts telling a coherent story. Shanties often consisted of whatever words floated into the shantyman's mind in the course of the job; they were made of scraps and might be expanded or contracted, forty verses or four, according to the length of the task in hand. As for style, some singers sang with plenty of ornaments—‘hitches', the sailors called them—while others sang undecorated. Some sang with free, hardly measurable rhythm, others sang bang on the beat. There were no rules, except for the crowd on the choruses of the work-songs; they had to sing full, plain and regular, if they were to pull together. To the debated question whether seamen sang the shanty refrains in harmony the answer seems to be: some might but most didn't. But nowadays, when shanties are sung for fun and not in earnest, it's usual to brighten them with harmonies, and to sing them faster and jerkier than their true purpose demanded. Both shanties and forebitters are wellnigh indestructible; they can stand any treatment except the quaint and genteel. All the same, one doesn't often hear them sung so convincingly as they are on this record.
THE WILD GOOSE: Lou Killen & group
Songbook editors like to classify shanties according to the task they were supposed to accompany: short drag, halyard, windlass, pump. But this one, like many others, was used for any job. Sometimes it starts: ‘I'm the shantyman of the Wild Goose nation', perhaps a reference to Ireland (‘wild geese' is a name for 17th century Irish patriots who fled their country to take service with foreign kings). This tune was collected by W. Roy Mackenzie who got it from a seaman settled in Nova Scotia.
LOVELY NANCY: Ian Campbell, acc. Dave Swarbrick—fiddle
A persistent folklore theme, and an ancient one, is of the female warrior who seeks adventure dressed as a man. In the i8th century, the motif was softened into an idyll: the girl's anxiety was merely to be near her lover. And perhaps because the songs made the notion attractive, some girls really did go to sea in disguise. Certainly, songmakers of the time saw nothing far-fetched in the idea. The version is substantially that notated by Cecil Sharp from old Mrs. Williams of Haselbury-Plucknett, Somerset.
THE NIGHTINGALE: Cyril Tawney
The eighteenth century was a fat time for farmers and, it seems, a time when farm-workers pursued the daughters of rich men. At least, for a while, that was the dominant theme of broadside ballads. Stock reaction of wealthy parents was to have the young man pressed away to sea. Inevitably, he died in storm or battle and appeared as a ghost at his sweetheart's bedside. Among scores of ballads telling this story, The Nightingale was favourite. There's a description of Somerset glove-makers singing it at work, humming a phrase between each line of text to spin the song out.
HEAVE AWAY, MY JOHNNY: Lou Killen & group
A capstan stands upright and is pushed round by trudging men. A windlass, serving much the same function, lies horizontally and is revolved by means of bars pulled from up to down. So windlass songs are generally more rhythmical than capstan shanties. Heave away is usually considered a windlass song. Originally, it had words concerning a voyage of Irish migrants to America. Later, this text fell away. The version sung here was ‘devised' by A. L. Lloyd for the film of Moby Dick.
ROW, BULLIES, ROW: Ian Campbell and Group, acc. Lou Killen— concertina and Dave Swarbrick—fiddle
Sometimes called Liverpool Judies or (in America) Roll, Julia, Roll. Cecil Sharp notated this song aboard the SS St. Paul bound for USA in 1915, and perhaps he misheard ‘row' for ‘roll'. Roll is Negro slang for ‘work', as in the song: ‘June, July, August done come an' gone. Left me here rollin' on this ole prison farm'. Anyway, it was a favourite capstan song in Liverpool ships.
THE FIRESHIP: Cyril Tawney
Occupational hazards of seafaring were numerous, including the clinical consequences of encounters with sailortown ladies. Innumerable ballads tell of such encounters, using the same stock of metaphors—mainyards, open gangways, rigging on fire, etc. The Fireship is a gnarled and knobbly member of this large family, rarely preserved in print. Ratcliffe Highway, in Stepney, was perhaps the most notorious of London riverside thoroughfares.
TOM'S GONE TO HELO: Bob Davenport & group
‘Hilo' was probably the port of Ilo, in southern Peru, well-known to sailors working ships in the nitrate trade. Nearly every shanty collector since the days of Capt. R. C. Adams (who published a version in 1879) has found at least one set of this mournful but much-loved song. It's arguable whether the tune is Irish or Negro in origin. The words sung here come from a version given by Stan Hugill ‘from the singing of Bill Dowling of Bootle'.
THE SHIP IN DISTRESS: Lou Killen
A 16th century Portuguese ballad, La Nau Catarineta, told of a ship in distress with the starving crew casting lots as to who should be killed and eaten (the sands of Portugal are spotted just in time). Catarineta, a powerful symbol of Portugal's golden age of navigation, was imitated in many European countries. England seems to have got her version from the French ballad La Courte Faille (The Short Straw). Evidently, the song was very common in the south of England. In the space of a fortnight, George Butterworth turned up several versions in Sussex, half a century ago. Words and tune here are from The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs.
ONE MORNING IN THE SPRING: Cyril Tawney
Vaughan Williams heard this fine tune from a Norfolk singer, but he neglected to take all the words. Later, his widow filled out the text with verses from a set found by Cecil Sharp in North Carolina. Versions have turned up in various parts of Britain, from Aberdeen to Somerset, and at least one example has the hero present at the battle of Cartagena in 1739 (there's an account of the battle in Smollett's Roderick Random). The tune- (a mixolydian-type hexa-tonic) became important in America, and variants have served for Black is the colour of my true love's hair and The Trail to Mexico.
HILO JOHNNY BROWN: Lou Killen and group
Sally is an emblematic female, typifying all the generously-built and charitable-natured mulatto girls to be found in the ports of the West India run. The shanty is probably of Negro composition. A better-known variant is Sally Brown (‘Way-ay, roll and go'), but Hilo (or Hullo) Johnny Brown has the more interesting tune.
POOR OLD HORSE: Ian Campbell and group
Till recently, at midwinter young men went round English villages with one of the gang disguised as a ram or a horse, which was put to death and resurrected in pantomime. They'd dance, sing and collect beer-money. One of the songs accompanying this ritual was Poor old horse. Taken aboard ship, it kept its ceremonial purpose. At the end of the first month at sea, when the seamen's wages fell due, a stuffed horse was ritually dumped overboard to the accompaniment of the song. The ceremony fell into disuse, but the song lingered on as a shanty. The tune is a variant of Tom's gone to Hilo.
THE BOLD PRINCESS ROYAL: Lou Killen
It's not clear whether this relates a real encounter with a pirate ship or if it's merely an adventure story dreamed up by a broadside poet for the sake of the price of a beer. Anyway, it remained a firm favourite for at least a century-and-a-half and is still to be heard in the countryside, sung to various tunes, mostly good ones. The melody here is substantially that collected by Vaughan Williams from a shepherd named Pottipher of Ingrave, Essex.
BILLY BOY: Bob Davenport, acc. Lou Killen—concertina, and Dave Swarbrick—fiddle
Sailors were likely to adapt any sort of song for their own purpose— ‘ n-word minstrel' songs, hymns, even nursery rhymes. Billy Boy first appeared in print as a sentimental song, My Boy Tammy, in 1791, and we're told that an Edinburgh actress of the time, Miss Duncan, made a big hit with it. Various nursery parodies, all more or less daft, quickly appeared. Some of these drifted aboard ship and got back into adult currency as work songs. On account of its opening line, some learned men have associated Billy Boy with Lord Randal. The evidence is slender.
THE BOLD BENJAMIN: Cyril Tawney
Around 1670 a broadside was published called The Benjamins' Lamentation for their Sad Loss at Sea. It got much altered as it passed from singer to singer, but it stayed in the memory of countryfolk and sailors for two and a half centuries, especially in Dorset, it seems. This version was one of several heard in that county by H. E. D. Hammond in 1907. It must have been very popular early in the 19th century, for it was parodied in a political song, The Dudley Boys, at the time of the Radical riots following Waterloo.
THE HOG-EYE MAN: Ian Campbell and group. Dave Swarbrick, fiddle
Though familiar to British seamen, this song, used mainly for capstan work, was probably made in America. It's still a favourite there, evidently, for the folklorist Vance Randolph found several versions current among Missouri hill-folk nearly a thousand miles from the sea. Alas, Randolph's versions remain in manuscript, locked away in a Sex Research Institute in Indiana. The version here—melody, at least—was taken down in the 1860s.
GOODBYE, FARE THEE WELL: Lou Killen and group, acc. Dave Swarbrick—fiddle
Traditionally, this one was sung at the capstan when the anchor was raised for the homeward run, a big moment for men who might have been away for a year or more. W. M. Doerflinger says that when the shantyman led the gang in this song, ‘cheering from other vessels in port rang across the water to wish the homeward-bounders luck'. There are countless verses to this song. Those sung here are mostly from Stan Hugill's Shanties from the Seven Seas.
The folk song revival in Scotland is of importance well beyond song itself. The total Scottish cultural tradition is a popular one. Our medieval writers were at their strongest when drawing on the popular sources around them. It was equally true of the 18th century Renaissance — Ramsay, Fergusson, Burns himself, were all moulded by the popular song and balladry that ran strong and clear through Scottish history despite invading armies, despite the Reformation, despite the Calvinists, and indeed partly because of them. Conversely Scottish culture was at its weakest when most divorced from the popular, and therefore the radical, dissenting, and humanist tradition. There were, for example, two Walter Scott's; one, the painful Gothic romanticist, but also the Scott of the sweep of his 17th-century and 18th-century novels from 'Old Mortality' to 'The Antiquary', drawing from and enriching the peasant life of his immediate past into a kind of epic.
But after Scott and Burns, the elite culture turned sour. It took up and bowdlerised the popular, made it pawky, quaint and weak, and therefore false; The Kailyard School was born. And, terribly this reflected back upon and weakened the genuinely popular. Sir Harry Lauder, accompanying himself on a stick, was taken as the genuinely Scottish. Not a glen but had its but and ben. The smoke of burning cottages in the highland evictions was obscured by the thicker smoke reeking from the wee roon lum of 'Ma Granny's Hieland Hame'. But in poetry and the novel — MacDiarmid and Grassic Gibbon — the strength of truth began to win through. And now in song also the genuinely popular revives once more:
'Noo is the Kailyard biled and hashed,
While muses bide in slums,
The ball o' Kirricmuir has smashed
The window-pane in Thrums'
and Scottish song is returning to strengthen the mainstream of our national life. And it is all the better because it draws on two cultures and not on one, both Scots and Gaelic.
150 years ago Margaret Laidlaw, the daughter of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, said to Walter Scott, 'There were never ane o' me songs prentit till ye prentit them yersel, an' ye hae spoilt them awthegither. They were made for singing an' no' for reading; but ye hae broken the charm noo an' they'll never be sung again'. But thank heaven she was wrong. They are being sung in clubs up and down Scotland by youngsters who have rejected the pap of commercial pop and Scottish Kailyardery alike. In this record you will hear four of the young singers who have helped to smash the 'window-pane in Thrums'.
The brother and sister team of Ray and Archie Fisher first became known to a wider audience in 1961 when they appeared for a long run in the Scottish Television documentary programme, 'Here and Now', and more recently as regular guests on B.B.C. 'Hootenanny' and 'Singalong'. But they were already well established among Scottish folk-enthusiasts. Popular in the Glasgow Folk Song Club and as regular singers at 'The Howff and 'Festival Late' in Edinburgh, they launched their own experimental 'singers' club with other young folk in 1961. They called it appropriately 'Folk Song Workshop'. When Arnold Wesker toured the Scottish Trade Unions talking on Labour and the Arts, these were two of the group he took with him to illustrate his theme. Individually and together they have had a big influence on other young singers; Archie with his easy, pleasant manner and sensitive accompaniment; Ray of all the young singers, probably closest to the 'big' Scottish ballad tradition as personified by such singers as Jeannie Robertson from whom she has learned so much.
Dolina Maclennan is a native of the island of Lewis. English is in fact her second language, although she makes light of its difficulties. Her Gaelic songs have been passed down to her through her family, and are as much part of her as guitar playing to a Spaniard.
Robin Gray is of mixed Lewis and Shetland descent, but has lived most of his life in Edinburgh. His maternal grandmother was a well known Gaelic bard.
In Enoch Kent you will find a living synopsis of most of the best characteristics of the folk-song revival. He was ready and eager to learn from the great ethnic singers of Scotland like Jeannie Robertson and Jimmy Macbeath. Years before the skiffle-inspired revival was more than a glimmer in Lonnie Donegan's eye, he was singing the big classical ballads of Scotland, and the songs of the Glasgow streets. He sang anywhere and everywhere — ceilidhs, the Edinburgh Festival fringe, Trade Union Branches, illustrating academic lectures — and by his sheer joy in singing helped to pave the way for the revival. He helped to form and was a member of The Reivers Folk-song group, bringing, for a two-year stint on Scottish Television, folk-song once more to a mass audience.
He was recorded extensively by the School of Scottish Studies and by Alan Lomax, and appeared on most of the early radio programmes on the contemporary ballad scene. He now sings mainly in the folk song clubs in London (where he works as a graphic designer) and especially in the Singers Club where he is one of the resident team along with Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger.
THE TWA CORBIES
When is a ballad not a ballad? Answer — when it isn't sung. The Twa Corbies has for long been regarded as one of the most flawless as it is one of the grimmest of all our ballads; but it wasn't being sung. No tune appeared to survive in oral tradition and attempts at setting it remained literary, academic and dead. Then R. M. Blythman (the Scots poet 'Thurso Berwick') set it to this marvellously sombre old Breton tune, Al Alar'ch, the Swan, learned from the Breton folk-singer Zaig Montjarret. The result was astonishingly right and The Twa Corbies has passed into the repertoire of our younger folk-singers. It is related to the English Three Ravens. A corbie is a crow. FIL-U-O RO HU-O is a work song, a waulking song. Waulking or shrinking the tweed is done by many women round a table and proceeds through many stages, each of which is done to a specific rhythm. This is from the luard stage.
THE GYPSIE LADDIES
This is a telescoped Scots version of a song found in many lands — Raggle Taggle Gypsies in England, Gypsie Davy in the United States for instance. The story common to them all is of the noble lady leaving all to go with the penniless, romantic and presumably very virile Gyps'es.
THE BEGGAR MAN
A version of this ballad under its more common title The Gaberlunzie Man first appears in print in 1724 in Allan Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. Tradition in Scotland has always attributed it and its allied ballad The Jolly Beggar (Child 279) to James V. That James was a poet we know — We have Davie Lindsay's Answer to the King's Flyting as proof that James was not averse to challenging the best verse polemicist in Scotland at his own game. Unfortunately it is easier to prove that he was a poet than to give examples of his work. Both ballads have a certain connection with the King's reported propensity for wandering his kingdom in disguise (The Gudeman of Ballengeich) and, presumably, seducing the farmers' daughters in the process, if we are to believe The Jolly Beggar. Their identification with James, however, probably tell us more about the way tradition works than of historical truth.
Alan Ramsay specifically mentions The Gaberlunzie Man in his preface as one of the songs which 'only wanted to be cleared of the dross of blundering transcribers and printers' — and, he might have added modestly, of editors. At any rate most versions in oral tradition (e.g. in the Gavin Greig collection) continue the story to a happy return as is sung here. Enoch first heard it from John McEvoy, author of The Wee Magic Stane.
HUG O RAN O RU
Many Gaelic songs are in a sad vein, bemoaning a lost love, or in praise of an island the singer is leaving for ever. This is one such sad love song, telling of a maid whose love has sailed off to fight for Prince Charlie. She dreams that he is standing by her bed, but when she awakens she finds the mighty ocean still separates them.
The text of this hymn of praise to a successful smuggler and illicit whisky distiller comes from Ford's Vagabond Songs, where it is printed without music. Enoch sings it here 10 a tune best known as In and Out the Dusty Blue Bells, the Gaelic O theid mi fhein . . . 'Gauger bodies' means customs officers, to evade whom was not only a national pastime but at times a patriotic duty.
The theme of the poor man who casts off his rags to show himself a shining prince is common in folk-lore, and especially in love stories. In Scotland it was given a realistic twist, reflecting the pride-in-poverty of the Highlands and its contempt for the pride of property in the Lowlands. Indeed the historian could read much into the frequency with which Highland Lords in disguise carried off Lowland maids and then confounded the canny commercial instinct for property of bride or father. In Glasgow Peggy (Child 228) to which Kilbogie is closely related, this is made clearest in the verse:
He's taen her up to yon high hill.
When that the sun was yet shinin' clearly,
Says: 'A' that is yours as far as ye can see
For lyin' doon wi' a Heilan' laddie'
THE NIGHT VISITING SONG
This is a composite version from field-recordings made by Hamish Henderson. There is a whole series of night-visiting songs in Scotland, ranging from the bawdy, such as The Laird o' Windy Wa's to the tender. This is a particularly good version of the latter. An English version, The Grey Cock, but with a supernatural theme, may be found in The Penguin Book of English Folk-Songs.
BONNIE LASS COME O'ER THE BURN
A short and pithy piece of mouth-music. From Jeannie Robertson with an additional verse by Enoch Kent.
FAR OVER THE FORTH
An expanded version of a song sometimes attributed to Burns. It is a curious mixture of the folk-sentimental and the literary-sentimental. It was learned from Lizzie, the daughter of the great Aberdeen folk-singer, Jeannie Robertson.
THE BUTCHER BOY
Though Francis James Child characterised the broadside ballads as 'Veritable dunghills' he conceded the occasional 'moderate jewel'. This one, ennobled by a splendid tune, is a good deal more than that. It contains little of the conventional trappings of the professional product — no last dying speech, no explanation for the murder, usually pregnancy, no 'take warning by me'. Indeed it shows much of the bare economy of story line of our classical ballads and is obviously moulded by a community in which the great tradition was still very much alive. It will come as no surprise to know that Enoch learned it from perhaps the greatest living expression of that tradition, Jeannie Robertson.
PORT A BEUL literally 'mouth music' — has been handed down from the days when the voice had to substitute for bagpipes for dancing. The words are often unimportant. The tripping flow of syllables is what counts.
ERIN GO BRATH
Despite its title which means 'Ireland for Ever', this is a Scots song from the nineteenth century, which in its own rumbustious way exemplifies the twin Scottish virtues of anti-racialism and anti-polis. Indeed the whole song is a kind of anti-'no Irish need apply' polemic. (Compare No Irish Wanted Here and The Wild Irishman in London.) Enoch first heard it from Jimmy Macbeath. Texts can be found in Ord's Bothy Ballads and Ford's Vagabond Songs.
The old Highland belief in the 'wee folk' is illustrated in this song in praise of the ship of the Earl of the White Banner. This fairy vessel is described as a ship with a golden helm, silver masts and rigging of the finest Spanish silk.