1 Broom Besoms
6 Snowy Path/ Mountain Road/Mulqueen’s
12 Crooked Road/Sally Garden/Peelers Jacket
besom
(biz·um) Dialect, chiefly Scot -adj.
1. obstreperous girl or woman; female upstart (as in “Dinnae pou’ yer
brither’s hair, ya wee besom“)
2. woman of low moral standing; a hussy (”Thon yin’s a right
mucky besom“).
3. a broomstick or scourge; any broom made from
loose twigs
Several years’ back someone gave me a cassette tape filled with lovely songs and tunes of unknown origin. So without knowing who the woman was singing the song, or the story of the song (I have searched Mrs. Google to exhaustion for it), the only thing I know for sure, is that it is a racy song, and a fun song to sing! So if you know more, please drop us an email!! I have changed a few of the words that I could not find in my Scottish dictionary, in order to make the song make sense to us Americans…
Johnny Watson creates a swirl of rhythmic magic
around
this simple song, thanks buddy!
I am a besom maker, listen to my tale
I am a besom maker, I live in yonder vale
Sweet pleasure I enjoy both morning, night and noon
Goin’ o’er the hills a-gatherin’ of green broom
Come buy my besoms, besoms fine and new
Bonny broom besoms, better never grew
On day as I was walkin’ o’er
the hills so high
Met a rakish squire all with a rovin’ eye
He tipped to me a wink and I called to the tune
He’s the movis gink a-gatherin’ o’ green broom
One day as I was turning to my native vale
Met Jack Sprat the miller, he asked me to turn tail
His mill wheel rattled round and ground his grist sae clean
He’s the movis gink a-gatherin’ broom sae green
One day as I was turning to my native cot
Met a buxom farmer, happy was his lot
He plowed his furrows deep and laid his seed so low
Left them there to keep just like green brooms to grow
And when the seed grew up all in its native soil
A pretty sweet young baby soon on me did smile
I’ll gather up my besoms, take them to the fair
Sell them all by wholesale, nursin’s now my care
Violet Jacob (1863 - 1946), who wrote the poem below, was born Violet Kennedy-Erskine into an aristocratic family near Montrose, Angus. In 1894 she married an Irish officer in the British Army, and accompanied him to India where he was serving. When Arthur died 1936, she returned to live at Kirriemuir, in Angus. Set to music by Jim Reid, Ed Miller’s version is responsible for making me cry over it…
Although the poem below is ostensibly a conversation between a homesick man and the wind… we are all sometimes in exile…
'Oh, tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norlan
As ye cam' blawin' frae the land that's niver frae my mind?
My feet they trayvel England, but I'm deein' for the north—'
'My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o' Forth.'
'Aye, Wind, I ken them well eneuch, and fine they fa' and rise,
And fain I'd feel the creepin' mist on yonder shore that lies,
But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way ?'
'My man, I rocked the rovin' gulls that sail abune the Tay.'
'But saw ye naethin', leein' Wind, afore ye cam' to Fife?
There's muckle lyin' yont the Tay that's mair to me nor life.'
'My man, I swept the Angus braes ye haena trod for years—'
'O Wind, forgie a hameless loon that canna see for tears!—'
'And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,
A lang, lang skein o' beatin' wings wi' their heids towards the sea,
And aye their cryin' voices trailed ahint them on the air—'
'O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair!'
The first tune “Tipperary Fancy” I learned from Pat Japenga whose playing graces this disc. All my ‘gud chunes’ come from her and hubby Sam! The funky thing Ken does may be illegal, but just try to catch us! The ‘Musical Priest’ is a session standard that never seems to wear out!
Again, HUGE thanks to the magnificent Johnny Watson
for transforming these reels into an adventure!
I first heard this from the singing of Ruby
Mackay of
Kintore, Aberdeenshire. It is so very lovely.
We rarely
do covers of other people’s
music unless it clenches either our ears or hearts, and this one does
both. The images of Scotland are so powerful, and make us ‘homesick’.
Of course for the past 20 years I’ve had the conviction that only
songs with compelling stories get ‘into the sets’. So I wrote
to Ronnie Browne, the partner of the late Roy Williamson, to ask for
more information on the places mentioned in the song. With my mouth gaping
open from his response: “The places are all fictional”… I’m
breaking my own rule! The truth is these places ARE Scotland.
Thanks Roy and Ronnie, and Ruby for introducing it to us!!
Oh that I could hear the birds again
In the fields of Ardmorn
Where the sun lies over Scullomvoe
And the rain falling softly down
Oh that I could see the bracken red
In the hills of Ardmorn
Where the moss green in between
And the mist silent all around
Oh that I could scent the breeze again
In the fields newly turned
Where the storm clouds high above
And the gulls circling all around
Oh that I could hear the birds again
In the fields of Ardmorn
Where the sun lies over Scullomvoe
And the rain falling softly down
While performing at the Alcester Folk Festival in England, we met Duncan and fell in love with this song! He tells the story of two stone skulls, with the words: pour encourager les autres. ("to encourage others" -- i.e. to get their attention. It also has a colloquial meaning of "to put the rest of the tribe on notice.") Placed by the army after two press-ganged young men die in the stable they were locked in. The irony is powerful here; two men obviously poor and glad to be fed and dry, thinking going to war was a better life than what they had, and then suffocating in their locked quarters while awaiting a more tragic death. The second part of the story is that the owners of the building took the skulls with them when they moved their business. I guess they forgot what the original purpose of the skulls was? A memorial to lost life and irony… There is currently an effort to have the skulls returned to the scene of the crime.
You revellers, drink your beer rally round, come listen to me
Come over and lend an ear it’s all of a bed of straw
Two travellers came to town rally round, come listen to me
In a tavern did sit down by the fire to keep warm
Ch. God bless this army, God bless this war
God bless the sergeant for he gave ‘em a bed of straw
To Leeds they came that day rally round, come listen to me
Lookin’ for work, somewhere to stay, hungry and weary and cold
Suddenly up a shout rally round, come listen to me
Hurry on boys ‘Crimpers’ about , some of ‘em comin’ this
way
Jump up boys, it’s time to go rally
round, come listen to me
The sergeant says ‘You’ve been too slow, we’re lookin’ for
fellas like you.
We need you in foreign lands rally round, come listen to me
He’s pressed a shillin’ into their ‘ands, nothin’ these
fellas could do
From Kirkgate they were marched a-right rally round, come listen to
me
Locked in a stable for the night, all on a bed of straw
They left ‘em with ale and bread rally round, come listen to me
Says Jack ‘At least we’re warm and fed, the King’ll
take care of us now’
Mornin’ come they found ‘em there rally round, come listen
to me
They’d sunk right in, were lost for air, all in a bed of straw
Now high on a wall is found rally round, come listen to me
Two skulls of stone starin’ down, look for a bed of straw
All three of these tunes we learned from our dear friends and traditional players in Montana. We’ve been playing them so long, it was fun to have Pat’s flute join in for a fresh voice!
From the singing of the Tannahill Weavers. Robert Tannahill was known as the 'Weaver Poet', and in 1810, at the tender age of 36 he died by his own hand, drowned in a stream.
Ken and I spend 24/7 together on the road and at home. Not many relationships could endure it. But we are still best friends and feel rather incomplete if we are apart for long. I first recorded this song while Ken was away and the sense of longing for my true love was made more powerful by the singing of this song. These are the original words; I, of course sing my American version.
Keen blaws the win’ o’er the braes o’ Glennifer
The auld castle’s turrets are covered wi’ snaw
How changed frae the time when I met wi’ my lover
Amang the brume bushes by Stanely green shaw
The wild flowers o’ simmer were spread a’sae bonnie
The Mavis sang sweet frae the green birkin ( birch) tree
But far to the camp they ha’e marched my dear Johnnie
And no it is winter wi’ nature and me
Then ilk thing aroun’ us was blythsome
and cheery
Then ilk thing aroun’ us was bonnie and braw
Now naething is heard but the win’ whistlin’ dreary
And naething is seen but the wide spreadin’ snaw
The trees are a’bare, and the birds
mute and dowie
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie
‘
Tis winter wi’ them and ‘tis winter wi’ me
Yon caul sleety could skiffs alang the bleak mountain
And shakes the dark firs on the stey (steep) rocky brae
while down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain
that murmur’d sae sweet to my laddie an’ me
‘
tis no’ its loud roar, on the wintry win’ swellin’
‘
tis no’ the caul’ blast brings the tear to my e’e
for, oh gin’ I saw my bonnie Scots callan (boy)
the dark days o’ winter war simmer tae me
Our little Celtic Festival in southern Colorado has been privileged to host some amazing talent from Ireland and Scotland. Several years ago we were graced with the talent and wit of the fabulous Lynne Saoirse from Clifden Ireland! The picture of Irish beauty, and the charms and cutting humor that deserves highest honor, her harp skills compare with having won an All Ireland award with it.
The first tune is her arrangement, with one exception… I changed the B chord to a G chord, and Lynne, we’ll argue over it next time we’re in Clifden!
The second tune has several titles that cannot be used in general company,
being of raunch and rangey character. So after learning it from Pat Japenga,
we decided on the mellowest of the options.
One of our favorite performing groups is
the Poozie’s from Scotland.
They did a fun version of this song, and we have done our Willson & McKee
take on it. It’s always fun to do songs that have the male and
female voice, since we just happen to have access to those options… not
to mention access to the ‘relationship’ issues as well…
I can get Ken to ‘come home’ by dangling a guitar or a piece
of technical sound equipment.
The tune at the end is a fun little slip jig, I picked up from O’Neil’s.
The shepherd’s wife cries o’er the hill
Will you come home, will you come home
The shepherd’s wife cries o’er the hill
Will you come home in the evenin’ Jo
What will you give me to my supper
When I come home when I come home
O what will you give me to my supper
When I come home in the evenin’ Jo
You’ll get a panful o’ plumpin
porridge
And butter in them and butter in them
You’ll get a panful o’ plumpin porridge
When you come home in the evenin’ Jo
Ha, ha how! That’s nothing that’s
dow
I will not come home I cannot come home
Ha, ha how! That’s nothing that’s dow
I will not come home in the evenin’ Jo
A reekit fat hen we’ll fry in the
pan
When you come home when you come home
A reekit fat hen we’ll fry in the pan
When you come home in the evenin’ Jo
Ha, ha how!
A well made bed and a pair of clean sheets
When you come home when you come home
A well made bed and a pair of clean sheets
When you come home in the evenin’ Jo
Ha, ha how!
A loving wife in lily-white linens
When you come home when you come
A loving wife in lily-white linens
When you come home in the evenin’ Jo
Ha, ha how! That’s something that’s
dow
I will come home I can come home
Ha, ha how! That’s something that’s dow
I will come home in the evenin’ Jo
Bob Black, the amazing accordion player, singer, and allround great guy from Kintore Scotland, took us on an amazing trip around Aberdeenshire. He made sure we saw the very places these songs came from, and Delgaty was one of them. The feeing markets where these bothy ballads come from, must have been very interesting. Happening once in May and once in November, the agreement of the hired hand was for the full 6 months. Of course the employee could be misrepresenting himself, as well as the farmer. But the poor lad that got to Delgaty to find this miserable pair of horses had his work cut out for him! Ok, he was obviously a bit of a rounder; we had to change a few of the lyrics to make it “G” rated.
Ken decided to put his own twisted take
on this song, by interjecting a few odd tunes to break up the sameness
of the verses and the melody.
We are going to offer a free cd at our concerts, to anyone who can correctly
identify the five tunes immersed within the song…
A hint: there are two American fiddle tunes, two Scottish tunes and one
odd ball.
Leave it to Kenny…
As I went down to Turra Market
Turra Market for tae fee
I met in with a wealthy farmer
At the Barnyards o’ Delgaty
Chorus:
Linten adie, tooren adie,
Linten adie, Torren ay,
Linten lowrin lowrin lowrin
The Barnyards o’ Delgaty
He promised me the two best horses
I ever set my eyes upon
When I got them home into the farm
There was nothing there but skin and bone
The old grey mare sat on her hunkers
The old dun horse lay in the grime
For all that I would ‘hup’ and cry
The would not rise at yoking time
When I go to the church on Sunday
Many’s the bonny lass I see
Sittin’ by her father side
Winkin’ ower the pews at me
My candle now is fair burnt out
The moon is fairly on the wane
Fare ye well ye Delgaty Barnyards
You’ll never catch me here again
I have always loved this melody, and after hearing my good friend Alison Bell of Finzean, Aberdeenshire sing it, I had to try my own version. We were able to visit the region of Buchan, and it is a lovely setting for the song and the story. So many love affairs gone wrong due to class issues, it’s a wonder humanity has continued at all!
Oh Logie O’Buchan, O’ Logie the laird
They’ve ta’en awa’ Jamie wha dweled in the yaird
Wha played on his pipes and his fiddle sae sma’
They hae ta’ne away Jamie the floor o’ them a’
Noo Sandy has ousen, has gear an has kye
Some hooses and lands an siller forbye
I’d soon hae ma ain lad wi’ his staff in his hand
Afore ah’d hae him wi his hooses and land
Chorus:
He says think nae lang lassie, He says think nae lang lassie
Cauld winter is awa’, An’ ah’ll come an’ see
thee in spite o’ them a’
Ma daddy looks sulky ma mammy looks soor
They frown upon Jamie because he is poor
I love them as weel as a dochter should dae
But no’ half sae weel ma Jamie as thee
Ah’ll sit on ma creepy an’ spin
at ma wheel
An’ think on the laddie that I lo’e sae weel
Wha had bit yin sixpence an’ broke it in twa
An’ gave me half afore he gaed awa’
Long ago in Montana, I learned how to do the French Canadian foot rhythms from our musical friend Chip Jasmin. It’s easy to do when singing, not so easy to do with an accordion on your lap! So, yes it’s true, I did the shoe track separately. I’m still practicing to create it live on stage. It’s better than a thigh master! I’ll let you know if I get it perfected enough for prime time…
In the meantime, this is a great set, thanks to Pat for adding great flute and keeping ‘Kenny the racing rhythm player’ from spontaneously combusting!
Mingulay Boat Song
Sir Hugh Roberton (1874-1952) was conductor of the famous Orpheus Choir of Glasgow for which he made many choral arrangements of Scots songs. He also published songs of the Isles (1950), a collection of traditional tunes for which he invented English words. 'Mairi's Wedding’ (the Lewis Bridal Song), 'Westering Home' and the 'Mingulay Boat Song. The remote, barren island of Mingulay lies to the south of Barra in the Western Isles. Sometimes referred to as 'the nearer St Kilda', it was a crofting and fishing community of about 160 people until 1912. Mingulay is now completely deserted. But summer visitors to Barra regularly brave the two-hour journey in exposed seas from Castlebay to Mingulay, inspired by Roberton's evocative but sentimental song. The Minch is the body of water between the Outer Hebrides and the rest of Scotland including the Inner Hebrides. "How white the Minch is..." refers poetically to rough sea.
St. Kilda Waltz
St. Kilda holds a mystical place in your heart just reading about it.
Such a remote and seemingly desolate island, 8 – 14 hour boat
ride from mainland Scotland, it was completely evacuated in 1930. But
during the thousands of years of habitation, seabirds formed a major
part of the St Kildan diet, especially gannets, fulmars and puffins.
At one time it was estimated that each person on St Kilda ate 115 fulmars
every year. In 1876 it was said that the islanders took 89,600 puffins
for food and feathers. The men procured the birds by dangling from
ropes over the rocky edges of the archipelago and stacks. They did
this barefooted for better grip on the cliffs and it is said the St.
Kildan’s evolved very unique feet from this way of life. They
were called ‘fowlers’, and all the birds were shared equally
throughout the village. St Kilda is one of only 24 global locations
to be awarded 'mixed' World Heritage Status for its natural and cultural
significance. I created this little waltz for ‘the fowlers’.
Heel you ho, boys, let her go, boys,
Bring her head round, now all together.
Heel you ho, boys: let her go, boys;
Sailing home, home to Mingulay.
What care we tho' white the Minch is?
What care we for wind or weather?
Let her go, boys! Ev’ry inch is
Sailing home, home to Mingulay.
Heel you ho, boys; let her go, boys;
Bring her head round, now all together.
Heel you ho, boys: let her go, boys,
Sailing home, home to Mingulay.
Wives are waiting by the pierhead
Looking seaward from the heather;
Pull her round boys! And we'll anchor,
Ere the sun sets at Mingulay.
Heel you ho, boys; let her go, boys;
Bring her head round, now all together.
Heel you ho, boys: let her go, boys,
Sailing home, home to Mingulay.
After nearly two decades of life together, we decided that our romance was here to stay, and to tie the knot officially. We discussed how and when, and details that became frustrating at our delicate age. At last, on a Wednesday in September, we decided to go for it on the following Sunday. It was in the midst of our local Celtic Festival, with friends from Ireland and Scotland already here. It was just going to be a ‘wee paper signing’… yeah right! The final concert was over, and there on stage, in our concert clothes and the audience in attendance, we ‘did the deed’. We thought it would be no big deal, but we were all blubbering by the end of reading our letters to each other!
The fabulous Scottish band ‘The Ceilidh Peppers’ stood up as Ken’s ‘Best Band’, and I had my daughters there, and afterward such a Ceilidh was had that folks are still talking about it a year later! Of course it was the end of festival Ceilidh, not so much the wedding. HOWEVER… Ruby Mackay, the leader of ‘the Peppers’ and brilliant musician, between the stage wedding and the Ceilidh, managed to produce the most beautiful tune for us and the band played it at the final bash. More tears.
It is an amazing tune, and while the Ceilidh Peppers version is 9 musicians, full sound including bagpipes and rip your guts out power… I wanted to take the tune to its simplest form and so began to record a slow air version on hammer dulcimer only.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, however you want to hear it), we live in the wilderness of Colorado, without a totally soundproof studio. It usually doesn’t matter, but during the days and nights we were trying to track this piece, all the crickets in the universe conspired to sing at once and there was not enough soundproofing in the world to hold them back.
I finally gave up, moved my dulcimer and the recording mic to the deck, and there beneath the silver moon, with crickets, bats, moths and other creatures of the night… this is what we got… summer’s choir singing along with Da Chridhe. Two hearts indeed…
To Ruby and the Ceilidh Peppers… our time with you, both here and in Scotland are cherished memories. Your music is magical; your friendship is our treasure!
Thank you Ruby, for this lovely, lovely tune, and for YOUR heart adding to our two!!