Robin Williamsson, Sylvia Woods, Chris Caswell, Jerry McMillan
Flying Fish Records 1979
Words and music Robin Williamsson 1979
Young as I remember
The scrag end of the war
Gypsies through the borders
Came a jingling door to door
With posies of primroses
and all the bonny bloom
But far and near as fool´s fire
They came glittering through the gloom
and their tongues as strong and nimble
As would bind the looms of luck
Wame to grave by coin and stave
The blade´s edge and the cup
As young as I remember
It´s rosined in the bow
and the tune still rambles rhyming
To the road the gypsies go
Me and the mad girl
Words and music Robin Williamsson 1978
I learned in school
That I was mad if they were sane, you see
They had to beat me black and blue
They said it hurt them more than me
But I learned who were my enemies
and I learned who were my friends
I learned to read between the lines
When I was 10
I´d do anything to get out of school
Away from the teacher´s stick
To shoot streetlamps with my slingshot
Smoke cigarettes and get sick
Steal apples in September
Fight shadows in green June
Or just sit and smell the burning leaves
Of an autumns´s afternoon
Of an autumns´s afternoon
Once I met a mad girl
As she came hopping through the furze
Her clothes all stuck with fluff and stuff
Bearded barley and bristly burrs
and I was high among the branches green
and she, she hadn´t seen me there
As she went shuffling with her shadow
and snatching at the air
Wild weeds, wilting
Were twined all in her curls
and I could tell by her mad blue eyes
She was a mad girl
She was thin as any sparrow
Her song it had no tune
Just scuffling through the piney glades
Of a summer´s afternoon
Of a summer´s afternoon
I came dropping through the branches down
She started round in surprise and fear
I don´t know what I had to say
But something I knew she had to hear
She picked up a piece of flint
Drew back her arm and flung it high
Not a bad throw that cut my cheek
Just below the eye
Mad girl, mad girl
Before you ran away
I knew you were as mad as me
and as sane as a summer´s day
Mad girl, mad girl
We both were wrong again
You took me for an anemy
and I took you for a friend
I took you for a friend
Lough Foyle
Words RW, music trad Irish: Nancy´s Whiskey 1978
At age 14 they gave us training
To number off by threes and give salutes
To clean and fire the Lee and Enfield
To answer smartly sir and shine the boots
Me and all the other poor bastards
Glengarry bonnets on at bugle call
I never thought I looked good in khaki
It hurt the pride as well as it scratched the balls
I volunteered for the signals section
To work the radios was a skivers joy
and on manoeuvres I´d twist the orders
and put confusion on the soldier boys
To Northern Ireland for summer training
Near to Lough Foyle not far from Derry town
To get the feel of the regular army
and generally act the bloody clown
To eat melodious beans and gravy
To sleep on old grey blankets stiff with stains
and on the carsy in the morning
To squat in rows like cows with labor pains
Me and some lads broke out one evening
Climbed through the wire and down the lough beside
We spied some fishers in their long boats
Casting nets out on the silvery tide
They soon pulled shoreward and we got to talking
To row us over the water they´d agree
They hoist us dry shod in the boat beside them
And way across the watery waves went we
Cross to Greencastle in Southern Ireland
A street of cottages set end to end
A couple of churches and several boozers
Where we fell to drinking with our Irish friends
The best black porter, strong beer and whiskey
We had a bevy there as drunk as lords
and all skylarking and cutting capers
Till that old church clock it chimed for four
The fishers rowed us back over the water
and went to fish upon the morning rise
But we were drunk and devoid of caution
and we were halted climbing back through the wire
and me and the lads were all defaulted
and straight away upon fatigues were led
To double at our every duty
With our rifles held obove our heads
Bur my good luck was not all departed
I got infected in both the ears
Some kind of hole in the two of my ear drums
Till not a single order I could hear
I sadly smiled and looked downhearted
While they could curse and shout and rage
and that´s the way I would end a story
When I was 14 years of age
The woodcutter´s song
Words traditional English, music RW with fugal ideas by Chris Caswell 1978
Oak logs will warm you well
That are old and dry
Logs of pine will sweetly smell
But the sparks will fly
Birchs long will burn too fast
Chestnut scarce at all sir
Hawthorn logs are good to last
That are cut well in the fall sir
Surely you will find
There´s no compare with the hard wood logs
That´s cut in the winter time
Holly logs will burn like wax
You could burn them green
Elm logs burn like smouldering flax
With no flame to be seen
Beech logs for winter time
Yew logs as well sir
Green elder logs it is a crime
For any man to sell sir
Surely you will find
There´s no compare with the hard wood logs
That´s cut in the winter time
Pear logs and apple logs
They will scent your room
and cherry logs across the dogs
They smell like flowers of broom
But ash logs smooth and grey
Buy them green or old, sir
and buy up all that come your way
They´re worth their weight in gold sir
By weary well
Words and music RW 1978
As I came down by the weary well
Going there to fill my can
My fortune there I do declare
She took me by the hand
The lark gives tongue when summer comes
Though time cracks every song
As if newborn and as forlorn
Twas me that loved her long
The willow tree, the willow tree
That Christ cleft for his flocks
I saw the candles burn in the church
and the door of the many locks
The ocean roared against the shore
In the dark before the day
I pulled my coat up round my throat
And I turned my face away
My curses on the carpenter
Who built the doors so strong
That she and me might parted be
and parted be for long
Before I´m old with wandering
By the high roads and the low
I´ll steal his hammer and his nails
Till he can build no more
I wish that I were in her bed
Where I have been before
Her arms entwined around my neck
and her fine breasts rising so
I wish her door was bolted fast
With two locks and a chain
and she and I inside to lie
Safe from the wind and rain
Sun and fire and candlelight
To all the world belong
But the moon pale and the midnight
Let these delight the strong
Where wild geese fly across the sky
Her voice is like the air
and the midnight dark is in her eyes
and the night is on her hair
Boyhood of Henry Morgan / The pooka
Music RW 1978,1979 / music RW, Woods, Carwell and McMillan
Instrumental.
Five Denials on Merlin´s grave
Words RW 1978,1979 - music RW, Woods, Carwell and McMillan
???
The poacher´s song
Words and music RW 1978
Wake up Jamie strike a light
For while you were lying dreaming
I´ve been up the waterside
All with the gaff and the lantern
But the bailiff he´s a restless man
and terrible light in sleeping
His dogs did bark and his guns did bang
and damn but he had me running
and if the bailie comes today
Inquiring for a salmon
That maybe might have swum this way
Snagged onto someone´s arm
Just grit your teeth and squint your eyes
He´ll likely think you´re smiling
and take your hat into your hand
and bid the man good morning
Oh, aye, oh, aye, bid the man good morning
Invite him in for scones and tea
and laugh at all his joking
No need at all to let him see
What´s up the chimney smoking
and if he should inquire for me
For me or Johnny Brady
We´ve been away working several days
and we´ll not be back till Friday
Oh, aye, oh, aye, bid the man good morning
Oh, aye, oh, aye, bid the man good morning
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