Country Life

For the final Sunday song of the year, Rob leads us in a popular chorus;

"Fantastic chorus song, everbody seems to know it, even when they don't. Like so many songs, its origins are suitably obscure, but if anyone is interested, here's a good place to start looking: http://mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=47543.
I learned it originally from Mike Waterson, as, I suspect, did most people, though the recorded Watersons' version on "For Pence and Spicy Ale" only has verses 1 and 4 (plus chorus).

The "layland" (or leyland, or lealand, or laylum) upon which the small birds merrily sing, is probably meadowland, or land laid down for pasture, though again there are plenty of different theories. I think "laylum" is an especially interesting word, as I had always just thought of it as a nonsense word which I know from the refrain from one version of The Derby Ram, but apparently it could mean "branch" or possibly "chorus" and much else besides. Incidentally, there are one or two parodies around:

"....And a pox on the life of a country boy

Who's allergic to the new-mown hay."

This is a great 'year round' song to end the Sunday Song blog year with, and fitting too; most of the songs posted on the blog through the year have been perfomed by just one or two musicians, whereas this recording gives a flavour of what those Sunday evenings in the Star are like when we all really get going. Many thanks to Tim for recording the songs and taking the time to run the website, and thanks also to Paul, our host at the Star who has put up with so much from us over the last 12 months."Rob
Ch:
I like to rise when the sun she rises,
early in the morning
And I like to hear them small birds singing,
Merrily upon their layland
And hurrah for the life of a country boy,
And to ramble in the new mown hay.In spring we sow at the harvest mow
And that is how the seasons round they go
but of all the times choose I may
To be rambling in the new mown hay.

Ch:

In summer when the summer is hot
We sing, and we dance, and we drink a lot
We spend all our nights in sport and play
And go rambling in the new mown hay

Ch:

In autumn when the oak trees turn
We gather all the wood that's fit to burn
We slash and we stash and we stow away
And go rambling in the new mown hay

Ch:


In winter when the skies are gray
we hedge and we ditch our time away,
and dream of the summer when the sun shines gay,
And we ramble in the new mown hay.

Ch:


Oh Nancy is my darling, she's so gay
She blooms like the flowers every day
But I love her best in the month of May
When we're rambling through the new mown hay

Ch:

The Nailsbourne Beast Song

A lovely little Somerset carol sung by Chris and Anne, it was collected from Ruth Tongue who was a folklorist, collector of stories and performer throughout most of the 20th Century. She says of this song in the book 'Folklore':

"The Nailsbourne Beast Song in the Cowman's mystery. It may only be sung by him to the cattle in the barn on Christmas Eve. If he is ill, or gives up his work, he must hand it on to a successor. The widow who sang it for me knew it because her husband had not, apparently, considered his successor a fit recipient, and had therefore taught it to his wife in order that she might hand it on to the 'raight one'. I, although a girl, was allowed to learn it because I was born in the chime-hours

The reference... to the Holy Thorn is of interest because there was a Glastonbury thorn at Nailsbourne that flowered on Old Christmas Eve, when all beasts can speak, and will, unless tethered, come to kneel there"

Tim

The Nailsbourne Beasts' Song

Oh the beasties all heard the angel call
When the cock sang “Christ is born”
And they all kneeled to pray down upon the hay
When the cock sang “Christ is born”

Chorus:
And the ruddick sang, oh the little ruddick sang
So sweetly sang-ed he
On Chrissimas morn on the blessed thorn
On a twig of the holy tree.

The oxen did low and the ponies they did bow
When the cock sang “Christ is born”
And the donkey roared “Praise our sweet Lord”
When the cock sang “Christ is born”

Chorus:

Let us kneel in the hay for 'tis Chrissimus Day
When the cock sang “Christ is born”
And there's bloom on the twig and the little lambs do jig
When the cock sang “Christ is born”

Chorus:

The Cause and the Colliery Board

This week's song is sung by James Froud, an excellent singer songwriter who has recently started attending the session:

"Inspired by the documentary 'all our working lives' the song is a fictional story of a man starting his mining career during the reign of the national coal board only to find the mine is closed years later. I was struck by the Victorian living conditions in mining towns and the optimism felt by people after the formation of the coal board, only to be betrayed."

James

Said you were a coal mining man
Said you worked hard all your life
And if anyone had ever given you the chance
You would have shone like the brightest light

Don't remember much about the swinging sixties
Don't remember much about free love
Just your mother scrimping and saving
Trying to make sure you had enough

In nineteen sixty five,
You started your job for life
Proud to follow in the footsteps
Proud to know what was right

Your fathers had been calling for years
To be working for the public and the pockets of their peers
Yea these really were the good old days
Taking the very first steps towards the socialist state

Ch: And now when your sitting on your own,
You haven't been back since the day you were gone
It's like what you get ain't what you ordered,
The difference between the cause and the colliery board

Investment was poorest into the pit,
Starting the mechanisation of the seems that had been hit
Older men said you didn't know you're born,
Working in the days of the national colliery board

Well then that truly was the case
Your skin got thick and tough and your back began to break
Looking back you began to love the toil,
Getting out became your mantra, in your heart this was your home.

Ch

Do you remember that day back in June,
Everyone gathered outside the gates to hear the news.
It hit you like a hammer had been swung,
The colliery band marched home playing a slow marching drum

You took it as an opportunity,
Said it was your chance to be free,
Always wanted to go see the world some day,
Eke out some of that severance pay.

The Streams of Bunclody

This week's song is a second track from Rosie Upton:

"I first heard the song in the early 1970s when I was in Ireland with a group of itinerant musicians from Bristol. We were in O’Donaghues’ Bar in Dublin just before Easter. I heard someone sing it and wrote down the words. I assume it’s a traditional song. The singer told me that the cuckoo referred to the British occupancy of Ireland. Even so it is a relatively common ‘floating verse’ found in many folk songs from these islands. I’ve heard many recordings including Emmett Spiceland who I heard in Ireland at that time, The Dubliners and of course Christy Moore have versions, all very similar, but I preferred this one. I’ve only recently started singing it again. For years I felt it important to sing material from the English tradition rather than stealing from other traditions. However, my great grandmother Helen Collins came from Dublin, so on the basis that there is some Irish blood tracking through my veins I’ve started singing it again!"

Rosie

Oh were I at the moss house where the birds do increase
By the foot of Mount Leinster or some silent place
By the streams of Bunclody where all fortunes do meet
Aye and all I would ask is one kiss from you sweet

Oh it’s why my love slights me as you might understand
For she has a freehold and I have no land
She has fine store of riches in silver and gold
And everything fitting a house to a home

Oh were a clerk and could write a good hand
I would write my love a letter that she might understand
Oh but I am a poor fellow that is wounded in love
Once I lived in Bunclody but now must remove

Oh the cuckoo she’s a pretty bird she sings as she flies
She brings us good tidings and tells us no lies
But she sucks other birds' eggs just to make her voice clear
And the more she sings cuckoo the summer draws near

So its farewell to my father, my mother adieu
My sisters and brothers farewell unto you
I am bound out for Americay my fortune to try
And when I think on Bunclody I am ready to die

On Christmas Day

Well it's December, everybody's starting to feel slightly Christmassy, now's the perfect time to bring them back down! I heard this song first on Spiers and Boden's album 'Songs' and was captivated by its narrative, message and moral. The story seems so out of place with the traditional image of Jesus and yet, on occasion, his nature as a player of tricks, sometimes vengeful. There is another example in the song 'The Bitter Withy' which is based upon a piece of gnostic literature written before the formation of what we more readily know as Christianity (a similar tale that may well have been rewritten later is here: 'The Holy Well'.) There are other carols though few and far between as well that deal and represent a more paganistic side to Christianity, the Corpus Christi Carol, or 'Down in yon Forest' is a lovely example. Going back to the song at hand there are different theories as to what lies behind this song, have a look HERE though my personal favourite is this:

'Another possible background to the song would be the Anglican/Puritan conflict in England. The Puritans did not believe in Christmas, as it has no biblical basis; the date of December 25 was in fact selected by the 4th Century Roman Emperor Constantine as Christ's birthday because it had been Mithras's birthday before that. Constantine had a vested interest in converting his armies (largely Mithraists) smoothly to Christianity, which he had selected as his state religion. The English Puritans thus essentially considered Christmas to be Pagan.'
Tim
On Christmas Day it happened so
Down in the meadows for to plough,
As we were a-ploughing on so fast
Up comes sweet Jesus himself at last.

“Oh man, oh man, what makes you plough
So hard upon the Lord's birthday?”
The farmer he answered him with great speed,
“For to plough this day we have great need.”

His arms did quaver to and fro,
His arms did quaver, he could not plough.
The ground did open and let him in
Before that he could repent of sin.

His wife and children are out of place,
His beasts and cattle they die away.
His beasts and cattle they die away
For the breaking of Our Lord's birthday.