The Katey of Lochgoil

One of the traditional songs that was never recorded for the Downriver CD, there's echoes of the nonsensical lyrics of The Irish Rover there. Ripe for reinterpretation...

Twas in the year  eleventy-nine

And March the fortieth day

T’at ta Katey of Lochgoil my boys

To sea she’ll pore away

CHORUS

Wi ma fal lal  de dall

Fal  lal de dall de day

Noo Katey she’s as fine a ship

As ever yet was rig

And when she’ll cot her mainsail up-

Cot! You’ll took her for a prig

CHORUS

T’ere was Tonal’ Mhor and Tugal’ Mhor

Shon Tamson and Shon Roy

And all oor whole ship’s company

Was two ladies and a poy

CHORUS

As we gaed py ta Toward Light

She’ll plew a won’rous plast

Says  Tugal’ Mhor to Tonal’ Mhor-

“She’ll think she’s pest pelow”

CHORUS

As we steer roon’ ta Ailsa Craig

She’ll plew a won’rous gale;

Says Tugal’ Mhor to Tonal’ Mhor-

“Put ship and turn her tail”

CHORUS

Ta captain being kind to us

Put on ta muckle pot

Wi’ scatyuns for to poil for us-

Put de’il  a ane we’ll cot

CHORUS

T’ere was Tonal’ Mhor and Tugal’ Mhor

Shon Tamson and his mate

Was puttin’ his hizzen’s son ashore

For breaking a scatyun plate

CHORUS

Ta signal t’at oor Katey had

Was Tonal’s ponnet plew;

Ta skipper being oot on shore

It’s he ta signal knew

CHORUS

Noo Katey she is hame again

And safe a Greenock quay

And when she goes to sea again

She can took new hands for me

CHORUS

Open All Hours - Magic Torch Shoppe

Today Magic Torch charges headlong into the late 20th Century with the launch of our new online sales facility or "wee book shop".

For now you can buy our first two books, Tales of the Oak and Downriver, as well as our new reprint of a 1950s comic Captain Kidd Buccaneer. All profits are used to help run projects which promote local heritage and folklore in Inverclyde. There's also a few links to free stuff, cos we're nice like that.

We'll be adding to the selection over the year, because as well as our Heritage Lottery supported FREE books Wee Nasties and the Tales of the Oak comic, we have a few new ebooks coming out later in the year. Anyhow, fill yer boots.

Old Greenock Characters - Dan's Band

This is a story I wrote a good few years ago for Downriver, but which we ultimately never used. It's my wee tribute to John Donald and his "characters", concerning a Fair Friday performance from a band of misfits. It's a bit long for one post, so for added dramatic effect, I'll run it over two. 
Have a nice fair weekend whatever yer up tae.

Most folks agree, that the whole thing wis Scutcher Dan's idea. Across the years, this itself has been a matter of no small disagreement what with Dan's record in the ideas department being almost as impressive as his record in the "stayin' sober fur a whole Tuesday" department.

But that's whit they say. And whit they say is all we've got tae go on, so Dan, Scutcher Dan it was who hauled together the ragtag gang of chancer's and ne'er do well's, who started a wee band the likes o' which the Free and Easy's had never seen. And okay, he mebbe didnae get them aw playin' in time, or in tune but the spectacle of this mob on stage was more entertainment than you'd usually find in a whole summer of steamboats. Wee stories of their few memorable performances and the chaos which ay followed efter have been told, retold and exaggerated over the years, and now the only thing anyone knows fur sure is that if they were actually any good tae listen tae, they would have been nae fun tae watch.

In his day, ‘Scutcher’ Dan McKinnon had the voice of an angel, but the demon drink had long since robbed him of that particular virtue. Dan, like so many before him, and jist as many since, had turned to the dram efter having his heart well and truly bust. A young lady domestic, employed in the West End had been the object of Dan's not inconsiderable affections, and having succumbed to our man's charms, the two were betrothed. This is, as I'm sure you can guess, where it all goes wrong. Unhappy with Dan's trade and his constant singing, the lady exercised her prerogative to change her mind and ran off with a pub landlord. Given poor Dan's subsequent descent into careless pleasure, this was bitter irony indeed. Forever after, this particular pub - The Eagle Tavern - was distinguished by being the only public house in Greenock where Dan refused to drink.

In his later years, which is where our wee story takes up, Dan was in far from fine form. He had been dossing in a tug boat for a number of months, and during the day, he was wandering the street, looking for alms. Saddest of all, Dan, a well respected time served cooper, was visiting cooperages where he had been employed there to gather spales for to sell as firewood.

On this particular day, Dan had been passed a few pennies by an old foreman of his, and had stopped to take refreshment. As he stumbled out of whatever pub it was that had been nearest to him, with the day looking altogether rosier, he began singing. This was not unusual; unusual would be if he managed to sing more than two lines from the same ditty.

"My name is Norval, on the Grampian hills...Napoleon was a hero, stout, brave and bold, he fought upon...The bonnie bunch o' roses..."

Someone passing by and hearing the calamity, jokingly remarked to Dan that a voice like his needed music behind it. Ye can only assume that the person in question meant really very loud music in order to maybe drown out Dan's creaky wails. Nevertheless, this, they say, is when Dan had his Idea. "Right enough." he thought, "I need a band."

And he thought of all the folk he knew that could play an instrument, or sing. It was no small coincidence that many of the folk Dan knew were able to play or sing, for mainly, Dan knew vagabonds and vagrants. And as you know, such folk are wont to ply a little street-trade to raise cash for lodgings, food or even a little refreshment.

So it was, that Dan rushed intae town to see who he could see. Havin taken a rather roundabout route through the West Brig, it was small wonder that the first person he happened upon wis Jumpin' Jamie O'Donnell. And when I say "happened upon", I mean "fell over".

Jamie was, as usual, hopping, jumping and skipping at the corner of Dalrymple Street, amusing both himself and anyone who saw him. Someone who did not see him, was Dan Scutcher, who in his hurry to assemble a band while the notion was still upon him, was paying very little attention to anything. The two collided and fell oer, rattlin aboot on the ground like a sack of no very well kept cats.

“Sorry Jamie.” said Dan, finally regaining his legendary composure, “Let me help ye up.”

“Aye right.” said Jamie, “Ah wouldnae take your hand if it wis dipped in sugar. Ah don’t know where ye’ve been.”

This was a wee bit rich comin fae Jamie, but Dan let it pass. And then he had another idea, for among his many other skills, Jamie was a chanter.

"Would ye like tae be in mah band?" said Dan.

"Whit dis it pay?" asked Jamie.

"Whitever we make singing, we split between us."

"Aye equal split but eh? And whit's the name of this band?"

Now, since his epiphany some time earlier, Dan had thought long and hard about this.

"Dan's Band" he said "It's called Dan's Band."

"Oh aye? And how come it's Dan's band eh?"

"Because it's mah idea."

"How is it?"

"Well let me put it this way, did you come up tae me when ah wis jumpin' aboot on a street corner like a daftie and say 'Do you want tae be in a band?' "

"Might've"

"Aye. Well ah must've missed that."

"Nae surprises there Dan, ye wur probably steamin'. So. Jamie's Band it is."

"Jamie, ye'll be oot the band in no time if ye don't shut it. It's mah idea. It's mah band. Dan's Band."

And that, it would seem, was that. Except, as Jamie quite reasonably pointed out,

"Some band we are"

"Ye whit?" asked Dan.

"Two singers?" said Jamie, and then he looked at Dan and added "And wan o them naw even very good. This isnae a band. This is hauf a choir."

Much as he didnae like tae admit it, Dan knew Jamie was right. This was a start, but they needed more folk.

"Okay well." he said "Whit next?"

"We need a fiddler."

"Oh ah dunno, mah wee corned beef tin sounds a bit like a fiddle.", and at this, Dan scratched out a few bars of "The Auld Fingal".

"It sounds like a banshee being strangled." said Jamie, not altogether unfairly, for Dan's corn beef fiddle was famed for it's ethereal howling. "We need a real fiddler."

"Blind Dom?" asked Dan.

"Blind Dom." smiled Jamie.

So they headed off to Hamilton Street.

Dominick O'Donnell hailed from Glenties in Donegal, he'd travelled to the new lands with the best of intentions, but a bout of sunstroke robbed him o his sight. He left the Americas and settled here in Greenock, where for a goodly number of years he had been making a few pennies playing the fiddle. If he had a vice, and he did, it was that his temper often got the better of him. Dom was wont to refer to this rather grandly as his "Celtic fire", most folks though, jist stayed oot his road when he was on the whisky.

"There he is." said Dan, marching swiftly over to the fiddler.

"Haud on Dan. That's no Dom."

"Walking stick. Fiddle. Daft bunnet." said Dan, pointing, "How many blind fiddlers do you think there are up this end o the town Jamie?"

Dan's tones were never the most quiet and restrained, so the answer to his question came from the fiddler himself.

"Two." he said "But there's only one here the now."

"Stevie!" exclaimed Jamie "How ye?"

Inexplicable as it may seem, this was indeed another blind fiddler, a contemporary and chum of Blind Dom's who, although not from Greenock would often visit when there was good trade on the steamships. And while sure enough, he was blind and a fiddler, there was scant chance of you confusing Blind Dom with Blind Stephen, for the one was forever telling you he wasn't the other, and explaining that he was the better musician. The truth is, that Blind Stephen probably was more musically inclined than his compatriot, certainly he was more of a showman, popular particularly with the ladies. Now Jamie knew this, and it was his feeling certainly that one fiddler was as good as another.

"Stevie, would ye like tae be in mah band?"

"Mah band." said Dan "It's mah band Stevie. Dan's Band."

"Aye whitever." said Jamie "Whit d'ye say Stevie? Ye game?"

Stevie, who wisnae very busy that day anyhow, agreed.

"Okay." said Dan "We've two singers and a fiddler, whit next?"

And they walked on, with a view to maybe havin' a wee look around doon the docks, they didn’t go too far before running into trouble.

"Dominick!" hissed Jamie. "Here Dan look. It's Dom."

Dan looked, and sure enough, it was Dom wandering towards them, clearly having enjoyed a wee drink. Jamie wis smiling and trying tae look all pally, but he was wasting his time, 'cos Dom couldnae see him and everyone else knew he wis at it. They all knew that the minute Dom found out they'd chosen Stevie to be in a band instead o him, they were all likely to be on the wrong end o his Celtic temprament. The smart thing to do would have been to walk the other way. But none of our lads were ever famed for their

"Who's this I'm hearing? Could that be James O'Donell now?"

"It is Dom. It is aye. I’m havin a wee chat with yer man Stevie. How’s you?”

"Och a disaster today on the boats James. Disaster!"

"How come?"

"Ah! Did I not have another one o mah wee disagreements wi somebody?"

The last time Dominick had a wee disagreement with somebody, he was without income for a number of weeks on account of him having broken his fiddle over a passenger's head.

"And did this wee disagreement end up wi you gettin' put off the boat?" asked Jamie.

"It did James. It did. Sure there's no justice."

There was a wee awkward silence, because everyone thought that Dom being put off the boat was most likely a shining example of justice.

"So whit ye doin' bletherin' wi Stevie here?"

"Ahm gonnae be in a band Dom!" said Stevie, ever eager to get one over on his pal.

"Yer what now?" said Dom, the merest spark o fire in his eyes.

"Jamie and Dan huv asked me to be in a band."

This clearly did not fly well with Dom.

"Oh did they?" he asked. Dan wisely backed off and Jamie, hardly a diplomat at the best o times, but well oot his depth here tried to explain with

"Well we wanted a fiddler Dom, but ye weren't about, so we've asked Stevie and…"

But Dom wasn't for having it.

"And here I thought ye said ye wanted a fiddler! His fiddlin's no better than that big drunken eejit Scutcher Dan on his daft wee corned beef tin."

"I'm standin' right here Dominick. It's mah band."

"Dan! It's yourself!" said Dom, knowing full well, then with a dash of wickedness he added "How's the missus?"

Jamie fetched Dominick a clip round the ear, and Dominick, aggrieved by this assault, swung his stick to and fro about him with the sole intention of catchin' Jamie in the mooth. In point of fact he succeeded only in clouting poor Stevie across the ear, and Stevie in turn lashed oot and belted the already greatly distressed Dan. The four of them fell aboot howlin, punchin' and scratchin'

There was already a wee crowd o' folk gatherin', so wee Erchie, passing by and never one tae miss a trick, hauled oot the tin whistle and started promptin' the crowd for coppers. And they were the lucky few, because they were the ones who saw the very first performance of Dan's Band. And by all accounts, it wis vintage.

When aw the bleedin' and greetin' wis over, and everyone had a wee keek at the haul in Erchie's cap, the mood brightened considerably.

"Here," said Dan "we could actually make a few coppers oot o this after all."

"Aye." said Jamie

"We need a singer."

"Ah can sing." said Dan. And he belted out a few bars of ‘Bonnie Ship the Diamond’, or at least, something with roughly the same tune. There was another wee moments silence following this recital.

"John Bone." said Dominick "Yon's a grand singer."

So with Dan lookin awfy crestfallen, they went to find John Bone.

to be continued....

This Is My Home

The final track from our Downriver CD, is also the only original piece written for the album. Shelagh McKay recorded The Mermaid for the project, but also wrote this quietly celebratory song about her hometown; a wee momentary shelter from the storm of negativity that seems to so often wear us all down round here. Enjoy.

The Young Emigrant's Farewell

We've been cleaning out the old Magic Torch archive over the last few weeks (actually, archive sounds quite grand, its a battered old filing cabinet and some plastic boxes packed away in a disused boiler room) In doing so, we've discovered a few wee gems and pieces we had forgotten about ourselves which we'll be sharing with you over the month.

Last year, we made tracks from our Downriver CD available online; original copies of the CD had fourteen tracks, but we could not locate master copies for the two missing tracks...and we'd given all the original CDs away. However, we have now located the two missing tracks, and here is the first of them, "The Young Emigrant's Farewell"; rather appropriately, the only one of the tracks to be recorded "overseas" in Brisbane, Australia. You can read a transcription on the always wonderful broadside ballad site The Word On The Street.




If you are in the mood for tales of migration and are in Greenock this week, why not pop along to the Oak Mall from Friday 17 February - Tuesday 21 February to see some of the work that has been done so far by the Heritage Lottery Scotland funded Identity project. And if you are a local group with an idea for a heritage project yourself, then Grants Officers from Heritage Lottery Scotland will be in attendance to offer advice and support.

And, apropos of nothing other than just pleasantly sharing info, this Wednesday (15 February), Broomhill residents will have another opportunity to look at the historical images which will shortly be transferred to a wall on Ann Street, using a process known as "wall wrapping". From 12.30 – 2.30; the images chosen by the community will be on display at Prospecthill Church. The images are all part of the Eugene Mehat collection, used by permission of Inverclyde Council. The project has been undertaken in partnership with River Clyde Homes, Broomhill Tenants and Residents Association and The Trust.

The Mehat collection captures sixties Inverclyde, at a critical period of regeneration prior to major industrial decline...tenement closes sit alongside bombsite gaps, the stone walls caked with decades of smoke, roads are not yet clogged with cars and roundabouts, shops are still family run...a wonderful window onto our recent past.
So there ye go, now, here's the original broadside for "Young Emigrant's Farewell".

The Green Oak Tree

Hey. How ye?

Just wanted to take a wee moment to say "thanks very much" to all the new readers who have joined us this month...December is always good fun on the blog. But stick with us! Next year we have smugglers, saints, more arthurian legends Inverclyde style, the strange histories of local buildings and more.

Y'know, with Christmas behind us, and only the long dark January ahead, it would be easy to feel worried about what the next 12 months have in store; in fact, its probably the most logical response to the information in front of us right now. But this is a folklore blog; logic isnt really on the agenda. So first up. here's a message of hope for life and the New Year.

And bringing our year to a close and rounding off our Downriver folksong collection, here is a wee tune to be singing after the bells. (the whole playlist is down below)

The Gringos - The Green Oak Tree by Auld Dunrod

Have a good one whatever yer up to. And remember...

"Despair is a black leather jacket that everyone looks good in. Hope is a frilly pink dress that exposes your knees." - Rebecca Solnit

See you in 2012 for the apocalypse.

The Green Oak Tree

I’ll sing a song about a toon that stands upon the Clyde

And every time I here it’s name my heart is filled with pride

My mother often told me as she soothed me on her knee

That Greenock took its name from the Green Oak Tree

So here’s tae the Green Oak that stood upon the square

And here’s tae its roots that still lie slumbering there

And here’s tae my toonsmen wherever they may be

For I’m proud to say that I’m a branch of the Green Oak Tree

Now Greenock’s no a bonny toon I’ve heard some folks complain

For every time they go doon there there’s nothing to see but rain

But let them say what e’r they may with them I’ll no agree

For Greenock toon and Greenock folks will aye be dear tae me

Downriver by Auld Dunrod

Bells and Monkeys

There is, let's be charitable and call it "a friendly rivalry" that exists between Greenock and Port Glasgow, epitomised in the phrases. “Who hung the monkey?” “Aye well who boiled the bell”

While the phrases themselves have fallen out of common usage, there are many variant stories told locally regarding the legends which inspired them. Most popular amongst these is the suggestion that silly Greenockians hung a shipwrecked monkey believing him to be a Napoleonic soldier, while daft Portonians boiled away their town bell trying too hard to clean it. There are many folk who believe that neither story is true, and a whole lot of Port folk who think that Greenock people hung a monkey AND biled a bell...cos Greenock folk are like that.

Regardless, the stories of the hanging of the monkey and the boiling of the bell have been commemorated in two local folksongs, widely distributed across the West of Scotland in the nineteenth century as broadside ballads. The first, “The Fisherman and the Monkey”, deviates dramatically from the traditional local legend; this ballad tells the story of the fisherman, Dunkey, and his brother, the sailor, who returns from distant shores with a monkey. Neglecting to warn his brother of the monkey's existence, the young sailor travels to Glasgow to visit a sweetheart, leaving the monkey behind in Dunkey's house. The ballad ends with Dunkey and some fellow fisherman hanging the poor monkey. Although humorous in tone, this ballad ends on a rather grisly note - only adding to its appeal amongst audiences! Upon its publication, strains of this ballad would probably have been heard issuing forth from the alehouses and taverns of Greenock and its environs..

“Now the fishermen they laughed like

Such fun before they never had

When a wild young chiel whose name was Rab

Proposed to hang the monkey O

Then round it’s neck a rope they threw

And through a cleek the end they drew

And quickly to the riff it flew

For the fishermen hung the monkey O”

Conversely, “The Bilin’ o’ the Bell” is actually a very proud and celebratory affair, where the fortunes of the town are linked to the fate of the Port Glasgow bell.

There's a Wee Port, an' three things are its pride,

First is the auld Newark Castle;
Neist, whaur the Comet was launched on the tide
First paiddle steamer toply on the Clyde,
 The ootcome o' John Wood's sair wrastle.

Fill up your glass! Let the toast pass

"The couthie Wee Port whaur I got me my lass!"

Up tae your feet! let it go roun'

"The couthie Wee Port! May Good bless the auld Toun!"

Stories of hanged monkeys and boiled bells are replayed in coastal towns up and down Britain, often serving to highlight cultural and religious differences between neighbouring ports and villages. The most famous hanged monkey apparently met his end in Hartlepool. Indeed, there, the legend actually forms part of the town’s tourism strategy. The monkey has even been elected town mayor. Recently, a bone supposedly from the monkeys leg was displayed in a local heritage centre. It just goes to show you don’t have to take heritage tourism so seriously. People love a good yarn.

"The Bilin' o the Bell" was recorded for our Downriver CD by Marky : Boy of Destiny.

Marky : Boy of Destiny - The Bilin' o' The Bell by Auld Dunrod

The song also gave its name to a Port Glasgow heritage project, which produced a book "Newark to Newark", charting the social history of Port Glasgow. The full book is available for download here.

Bonnie Wee Lassie Frae Gourock

Sticking with our Gourock theme, here's what can only be described as "a music hall classic", made famous by Belle Stewart. It is actually a Harry Lauder song called "Piper MacFarlane".

The frankly fantastic oral history archive Tobar an Dualchais notes that  "The words were written by Lauder and Gerald Grafton, to music by Lauder, published and recorded for Pathé in 1906. Both MacColl & Seeger (in 'Till Doomsday in the Afternoon', 1986, pp. 262-264) and Geordie McIntyre (in his notes to 'Belle Stewart: Queen Among the Heather' CDTRAX9055, 1998) note that Belle learned the song from a broadsheet, from The Poet's Box in Dundee."

The song details Piper MacFarlanes "comical" courtship of a young Gourock lass, presumably there is a verse missing detailing a visit to Cleats and the Cafe Continental.

Jim Lang - Bonnie Wee Lassie Frae Gourock by Auld Dunrod

BONNIE WEE LASSIE FROM GOUROCK

O! Am Piper McFarlane and A’m on the beer

But still A’m in love wi’ a  bonnie  wee dear

Ye’d like her yersel’ if ye only could see her

Her father’s the grocer in Gourock

The first time I met her I’ll never forget

The rain it was raining the weather was wet

I kissed her and told her that she was a pet

This bonnie wee lassie frae Gourock

CHORUS

O! she’s a bonnie wee beautiful thing

I’ve popp’d her the question and bought her the ring

A’m goin’ tae get married sometime in the Spring

But I dinna like to askin’ her faither

O! I took her tae London I did by the by

Tae spend a few days wi’ my auld freen’ Mackie

Mac “Who’s the lady?” “D’ye no ken?” said I

“That’s the bonnie wee lassie fra Gourock”

Mac started to tickle her under the chin

When who but his wife Missis Mac should come in

She shifted his whiskers and half o’ his chin

Thro; this bonnie wee lassie fra Gourock

CHORUS

O! I borrow’d twa pounds frae my auld freen Mackie

And I took my wee sweetheart to dine at the Cri

When a masher he started a winkin’ his eye

At my bonnie wee lassie frae Gourock

Her temper it rose she fair played the deuce

She walloped his neck wi’ the leg o’ a goose

She hunted the masher all over the hoose

“Twas a glo-rious vict’ry for Gourock

CHORUS

O! I bought my wee lassie a nice bit of lace

And a hat and some powder tae puff on her face

We caused a sensation all over the place

Me and my lassie frae Gourock

I treated her handsomely just like a swell

Took her roon’ tae the back o’ a first class hotel

Put her nose tae  the window to smell the nice smell

She’d ne’er smelt a smell like it in Gourock

CHORUS

Gourock Bay

This version of the poem An Evening in Gourock Bay was recorded by Marky Boy of Destiny.

For a classic exploration of Old Gourock, check out Inverclyde Council's free download of David McCrae's "Notes About Gourock". Definitive.

Marky : Boy of Destiny - Gourock Bay by Auld Dunrod

We've been transferring the songs from the Downriver CD onto a page on soundcloud, you can listen to all the tracks so far.

Our Sugar Sheds campaign also has a soundcloud page for local performers to share their versions of Celebration Ode, also worth a wee listen.

(Evening In) Gourock Bay

“Tis gloaming’s hour and Gourock Bay

From purple turned to darker grey

Reflects the stately yachts that ride

Secure upon the rippling tide

The long pier stretching to the west

Folds Clyde’s swift argosies to rest

And higher lines of twinkling light

Like strings of jewels charm the night

Music and love and laughter seem

To throb along each twinkling beam

For every light a story tells

Of homes where peace abiding dwells

Above the craigs the rising moon

Lifts her bright ample shield and soon

The bay returns her silvery sheen

And faery glamour holds the scene

A silver path divides the sea

And Fancy walking there full free

Comes to a place on swiftest feet

Where surely earth and heaven meet

The restful scene fair Luna’s light

The balmy airs the quiet night

So charm my soul I fain would stay

 For ever here by Gourock Bay

Sea Stories - The Lady of The Lake

This recording of Lady of the Lake for our Downriver project was performed by Kevin Murphy.

Lady of the Lake is a lovely traditional folksong which (unusually) involves a shipwreck with a happy ending. (spoiler) The symbol of the girl "weeping on the Greenock quay" was used a number of times in different folksongs and stories, including one of Neil Munro's Para Handy Tales.

The Lady of the Lake

As I walked out one evening down by the river side,
Along the banks of sweet Dundee, a lovely lass I spied.
First she sighed, and then did say, "I fear I'll rue the day,
. . . . . . . .

"Once I had a kind sweetheart, his name was Willie Brown,
And in the Lady of Ihe Lake he sailed from Greenwich town,
With full five hundred immigrants bound for America,
And on the banks of Newfoundland I am told they were cast away.

When she made mention of my name, I to myself did say,
"Can this be you stands by my side, my own dear Liza Gray? "
I turned myself right round about, my tears for to conceal,
And with a sigh I then begun my mournful tale to tell.

"I own this loss of Greenock Quay, for I in that vessel went;
Along with your true love Willie Brown some happy hours I spent.
Along with your true love Willie Brown some happy hours spent we;
He was my chief companion upon the raging sea.

"We tossed upon the raging main five hundred miles from shore,
The nor'west winds and fields of ice down on our vessel bore.
That night the Lady of the Lake to pieces she was sent,
And all the crew but thirty-two down to the bottom went."

She said, "Kind sir, if that be true, what you relate to me,
Unto all earthly pleasures I'll forever bid adieu.
And in some lonely valley 1'll wander for his sake,
And I'Il always think of the day he sailed in the Lady of the Lake."

"O Liza, lovely Liza, from weeping now refrain,
For don't you see the Lord spared me to see your face again?
For don't you see what you gave me when I left Greenock Quay?
In his hand he bore the likeness of his own dear Liza Gray.

From Ballads and Sea Songs from Nova Scotia, Mackenzie
Collected from Mrs. James Palmer

Ola Captain Kidd!

It's Captain Kidd month ALL May on Tales of The Oak...help us celebrate the 310th anniversary of his execution  on May 23rd, with all manner of Kidd malarkey including film, classic stories, comedy, music, documentary, drama and song. Yes...there's really that much stuff.

If you don't know who Captain Kidd is, or his unfortunate story, have a quick read of one of our earliest posts...Captain Kidd - Greenock Folk Hero.

Lets get the obvious bit out the way first...do we actually believe Captain Kidd comes from Greenock?
Honestly? It's not important. Did Dracula really visit Whitby? Did Robin Hood live in Sherwood Forest?
We're folklorists, and folklore and tradition tell us Kidd was from Greenock, from being mentioned in the famous ballad, to having a local descendant living here til very recently, Greenock is most definetly linked with Kidd...we just don't really care. This month, we'll try and change your mind...

First up, from the Downriver CD, a classy recording of The Ballad of Captain Kidd by Graeme McLeod, which nicely captures the resigned good humour of a Greenock man on his way to hang...

The Ballad of Captain Kidd

My name was William Kidd;

God's laws I did forbid,

And so wickedly I did,

When I sailed. 

My parents taught me well,

To shun the gates of hell,

But against them I rebelled,

When I sailed. 

I spied three ships from Spain,

I looted them for gain,

Till most of them were slain,

As I sailed. 

I'd ninety bars of gold,

And dollars manifold,

With riches uncontrolled,

As I sailed. 

Thus being o'ertaken at last,

And into prison cast,

And sentence being passed,

As I sailed.

My repentance lasted not,

My vows I soon forgot,

Damnation was my lot,

As I sailed,

Here lies William Kidd, 

A hero from Greenock town

In spite of all the things he did

He never let us down

Here Lies William Kidd

Come all ye young and old,,

You're welcome to my gold,

For by it I've lost my soul,

And must die. 

Take a warning now by me,

And shun bad company,

Let you come to hell with me,

For I must die.

Paddy On The Railway

We could have marked St Patrick's Day with the legends of Patrick and Dumbarton, or stories of Irish migrant workers in the sugar warehouses...but instead here's another wee song from the Downriver cd, a broadside ballad which charts an Irishman's journey to Glasgow on the Greenock railway...which was of course largely built by Irish migrant workers. It is NOT the more popularly sung "Paddy on the Railway", the lyrics for this one being just a wee bit more variety theatre. See the broadside here.

A Paddy once in Greenock town

For Glasgow city he was bound

Staring all round and round

At length he saw the Railway

Then up the stair he did repair

And a sixpence paid down for his fare

And with great wonder he did stare

When he got on the Railway

CHORUS

Engine boiler water tight

Driving in with all his might

Upon my soul it was a sight

To see the Greenock Railway

The ladies were all Pat’s delight

And he sat down amongst their whites

I one was wrong but now I’m right

This morning on the Railway

A gent sat there with curled hair

At Paddy he began to stare

And said he did not pay his fare

For that class on the Railway

CHORUS

Paddy’s blood began to rise

And hit him then between the eyes

That morning on the Railway

The people all then made a fuss

To get the conductor in they must

Pat told him to enter if he durst

That morning on the Railway

CHORUS

But now in sight of Glasgow town

And at the station we came down

They looked if a Police could be found

To drag me from the Railway

But now my shillelah uick I drew

The conductor on the ground I threw

And then with legs so quick I flew

And left them on the Railway

CHORUS

Now to the harvest I will go

And tell them there of all I know

I’ll tell them of each friend and foe

That I met on the Railway

Then off to Ireland I’ll repair

And tell them all the wonders there

For never a one in county Clare

Ever saw or heard of a Railway

CHORUS

The Mermaid

Versions and variations of this shanty exist in ports all around the UK, it is believed to date from around the 1600s. In all versions, the mermaid is a portent of doom, signifying shipwreck - bad news for all the Greenock and Port boys on board, who knowing their imminent fate, spend a few moments considering what is important to them...

This version was recorded by Shelagh McKay.

Twas a Friday morn when we set sail
And our ship not far from the land
When the Captain did spy a fair pretty maid
With a comb and a glass in her hand

Oh the ocean waves may roar 

And the stormy winds may blow
While we jolly sailors go skipping to the tops
And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below

And the landlubbers lying down below

And up spake the Captain of our gallant ship
And a well spoken man was he

I have married me a wife in Greenock town
And tonight she a widow will be
Will be, will be,
An tonight she a widow will be

Then up spake the cook or our gallant ship

And a fat old cook was he

I care much more for my kettles and my pots

Than I do for the depths of the sea, the sea, the sea

Than I do for the depths of the sea

Then up spake the boy of our gallant ship
And a well spoken laddie was he
I've a father and mother in Port Glasgow town
But tonight they childless will be, will be
But tonight they childless will be

Oh the moon shines bright and the stars

For my mammy she’ll be looking for me

She may look, she may weep, she may look to the deep

She may look to the bottom of the sea, the sea, the sea

She may look to the bottom of the sea

Then three times around went our gallant ship
And Three times around went she
Then three times around went our gallant ship
And she sank to the depths of the sea
The sea, the sea
And she sank to the depths of the sea

By The Burnside

Here's one from a couple of Old Romantics, recorded for our Downriver CD.

This piece was written by Greenock born composer Hamish MacCunn, who is perhaps most famous for "The Land of the Mountain and The Flood", the quintessential Scottish orchestral overture, sweeping listeners across a Sir Walter Scott style view of the rugged Scottish landscape. "By The Burnside" is from his "Highland Memories" suite. You can buy his original sheet music for this at Sothebys just now.

And in keeping with our wee literary theme of the last few days, "By the Burnside" is here accompanied by a reading of William Wordsworth's "Greenock", composed when he stopped off here on his Highland Tour.

A Celebration Ode

Today we present the first in a series of selections from an album of local folksongs – Downriver : A Celebration Ode.

In Magic Torch’s ongoing researches into local folklore and tradition we found we were often coming across fragments of songs or ballads either about Inverclyde, or written by Inverclyders. And there seemed to be no way to properly compile them, to do them justice. In 2005 we were approached by Life Injection, a local recording studio who had just completed a CD of reinterpretations of Robert Burns poems. They also had a handful of old Greenock, Gourock and Port Glasgow songs which they wanted to “do something” with and so we decided to collaborate on a collection of local folk songs. 

Magic Torch researched and compiled a “songbook” of around thirty compositions, and from there worked with Life Injection to whittle the list down. We tried to steer clear of the more well known songs – though we made an obvious exception for The Green Oak Tree – and instead opted for pieces which reflected the lives and times of the people who have passed through Inverclyde across the ages; Irishmen building the “new” railway; Highlanders leaving for the colonies; the “celebration ode” which commemorated the inauguration of the James Watt Dock; a ballad detailing the exploits of a local warlock in the seventeenth century; the Romantic piano compositions of Hamish McCunn. What amazed us all was the incredible diversity of what was available.

The songs which were eventually chosen were then reinterpreted and recorded by a tremendous selection of local musicians. Very few of the ballads, broadsheets and poems detailed the appropriate musical accompaniment, and so it was left to the musicians to bring their own compositions, bringing something new to the tradition while at the same time preserving them for future audiences.

Downriver was engineered and recorded by Jim Lang, Graeme McLeod, Barry McPhail and Steven Stewart. The record was produced by li media.

Thanks here to everyone involved in the making of this album;  shelagh mckay, jon milloy, paul mclaughlin, willie irvine, kevin murphy, gordon campbell, kylie campbell, mark anderson (and kirsty, his lass frae the port), graeme mcleod, jim lang, malky mckenzie, steven stewart, chris black, barry  mcphail, jennifer lang.

Everyone gave their time and talent free gratis for this Heritage Lottery Funded project and no income was generated from the recordings.

There are still a few songs left unrecorded, so if anyone fancies doing a ska version of "The Katy of Lochgoil" or baggying up "The Fisherman and the Monkey"...get in touch.

This first recording is “A Celebration Ode”, a poem which was written to celebrate the completion of the James Watt Dock, a site still very important to Inverclyde, and the setting for this years Tall Ships Event. They're looking for volunteers if you're feeling helpful.

A Celebration Ode

6th August 1881

Calm ye, ye winds and cease to pour

Ye clouds your burdens from your height

Let the bright sun shine on the hour

That marks an epoch in time’s flight

Truce to all feuds and petty frays

Ye scribblers with a ranc’rous pen

Drown ye your plaints in words of praise

For Greenock grit and Greenock men

Thus have we come by leaps and bounds

To hold the vantage nature gives

‘Spite the veiled darts of feigned friends

Let in be known that Greenock lives

Come rain or sun come foul or fair

Nothing shall daunt her enterprise

Still shall her sons in commerce dare

To greater heights of triumph rise

This one vast stride in progress’ way

Hath taught us well the lesson that

Here must  we raise this August day

A monument to glorious Watt