The Hills of Isle au Haut

© 1970 Gordon Bok, BMI

 

I made this after a trip as mate in the old Brixham Trawler Provident in 1964 (I believe).  The Plymouth here is in England, Pedro Martir is a mountain on the coast of Spain where we made land, Cascais is a town down the river from Lisbon, and Isle au Haut is a mythical island off the coast of Maine.

 

Gordon – 12 string guitar

Anne, Carol, Cindy, Matt & Will vocals

Doreen – bass viol

 

It's away and to the westward

Is the place a man should go

Where the fishing's always easy

They've got no ice or snow

 

            But I'll haul down the sail

            Where the bays come together

            Bide away the days

            By the hills of Isle au Haut

 

Now, the Plymouth girls are fine

They put their hearts in your hand

And the Plymouth boys are able

First-class sailors, every man

 

Now the trouble with old Martir

You don't try her in a trawler

For those Bay of Biscay swells

Will roll the head from off your shoulder

 

And the girls of Cascais

They are strong across the shoulder

They don't give a man advice

And they don't want to cook his supper

 

Now the winters drive you crazy

And the fishing's hard and slow

You're a damn fool if you stay

But there's no better place to go

 

 

Duna

Duna

Trad, arranged by Bok

         This was originally a poem by John Mansfield, England's poet-laureate. I was first introdueed to his poetry by a rook on the Alice Wentworth whose only saving grace was his taste in sea-poetry.

When I was a little lad
With folly on my lips,
Fain was I for journeying
All the seas and ships.
But I'm weary of the sea-wind,
I'm weary of the foam,
And the Little Stars of Duna
Call me home.

When I was a young man
Before my beard was grey,
All to seas and islands
I gave my heart away.
But now across the southern swell Every dawn I hear
The little streams of Duna
Running Clear.

Handsome Cabin Boy

Handsome Cabin Boy

Trad, arranged by Bok

         I learned this from Bete Franklin, years ago on the Schooner Owl. He said he learned it from a record.

It's just a pretty female
As you may understand,
Her mind being bent on rambling
Unto a foreign land,
She dressed herself in sailor's clothes,
Or so it does appear,
And she signed with a captain
To serve him for a year.

The captain's wife she being on board,
She seemed in great joy
To think the captain had engaged
Such a handsome cabin boy,
That now and then she'd slip him a kiss
And she'd have liked to toy,
But 'twas the captain found out the secret
Of the handsome cabin boy.

Whose cheeks they were like roses And her hair all in a curl.
The sailors often smiled and said
He looked just like a girl.
But eating of the captain's biscuits
Her color did destroy,
And the waist did swell of pretty Nell,
The handsome cabin boy.

'Twas down the Bay of Biscay
Our gallant ship did plow.
One night amongst the sailors
A hell of a flurry and row,
It tumbled the men from out their hammocks,
Their sleep it did destroy,
Terrible cursing and the moaning of
The handsome cabin boy.

"Oh, doctor, dear, oh, doctor,"
The cabin boy did cry,
"My time has come, I am undone,
And I must surely die."
The doctor come a-running
And smiling at the fun,
For to think a sailor lad should have
A daughter or a son.

The sailors, when they heard the news,
They all did stand and stare.
The child belonged to none of them,
They solemnly do swear. The captain's wife, she says to him,
"My dear, I wish you joy,
For 'tis either you or I have betrayed
The handsome cabin boy."

Now, sailors, take your tot of rum And drink success to trade,
And likewise to the cabin boy
That was neither man nor maid.
Here's hoping the wars don't rise again
Our sailors to destroy,
And here's hoping for a jolly lot more Like the handsome cabin boy.

<Song By Yupanqui>

Song By Yupanqui

        The first song I learned by Atahualpa Yupanqui, I learned from a Bulgarian guitarist, Sergei Cherassow. Later, friends brought back tapes of him from South America. A phenomenal guitarist (and singer) from Argentina with a unique imagination and sense of humor. Travelling People

Travelling People

Ewan Maccoll

        This song was written by Ewan Maccoll about the efforts on the part of the British government to legislate the journeymen, tinkers and gypsies out of existence.

I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people,
Got no fixed abode, with nomads I am numbered.
Country lanes and byways were always my ways;
I never fancied being numbered.

Oh, we knew the woods and the resting places,
And the small birds sang when winter time was over. Then we'd pack our load and he on the road;
Those were good old times for the rover.
In the open ground you could stop and linger
For a week or two, for time was not your master;
Then away you'd jog with your horse and dog,
Nice and easy, no need to go faster.

Sometimes you'd meet all the other people
For the news or swapping family information;
At the country fair, we'd be meeting there,
All the people of the travelling nation.

All you freeborn men of the travelling people,
Every tinker, rolling stone, and gypsy rover,
Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going,
Your travelling days will soon be over.

Liverpool Handy

Liverpool Handy

traditional Newfoundland

        This is probably the most well-known Newfoundland song. I played it for my old friend Leakyboot when I was a teenager, and he said, “You know how to kill a Newfoundlander? Nail his boots to the floor and play “I’se the B’y.” He’ll break every bone in his body.”

I'se The B'y that builds the boat and
I'se The B'y that sails her and
I'se The B'y that catches the fish and
Brings 'em home to Liza

   [Chorus:]
   Hip-yer-partner Sally Thibault
   Hip-yer-partner Sally Brown
   Fogo, Twillingate, Morton's Harbour,
   All around the circle

Salts and rinds to cover your flake,
Cake and tea for supper
Cod fish in the spring of the year,
Fried in maggoty butter

   [Chorus]

I don't want your maggoty fish
They're no good for winter
Well I can buy as good as that,
Way down in Bonavista!

   [Chorus]

I took Liza to a dance,
As fast as she can travel,
And every step that she could take,
Was up to her knees in gravel

   [Chorus]

Susan White she's outta sight,
Her petticoat wants a border,
Well old Sam Oliver in the dark,
He kissed her in the corner!

   [Chorus]

I'se The B'y that builds the boat and
I'se The B'y that sails her and
I'se The B'y that catches the fish and
Brings 'em home to Liza

   [Chorus]

Saben, The Woodfitter

Saben, The Woodfitter

Bok

        The important thing about Saben, the Woodfitter is that he's such a good example of the fact that the more you put into a thing, the more you get out of it.

East wind's rain and north wind's clearing,
Cold old southwest wind's a fair wind home.

One bell, two bells, don't go grieving,
All our bad times past and blown alee .

Stars thy compass, cloud thy canvas,
Rock thy keelson, wind thy course to steer.

One bell, two bells, don't go grieving,
All our bad times past and blown alee.

Lou's Handy

Lou's Handy

©Trad.

        When Lou Killen would play the whistle, he'd usually warm up with these two tunes: Boys of North Tyne, and Reedsdale Hornpipe.

Where Am I to Go?

Where Am I To Go?

Trad, Arranged By Bok

        A corruption from a sailor's "growl"- short work, perhaps stamp-and-go. -GB Stan Hugill, who first printed this in his excellent book, Shanties From the Seven Seas, describes this as a halyard shanty. He learned it from a West Indian sailor named Harding who "sang it with many wild yelps and 'hitches'."-Editor

Where am I to go, me Johnnies,
Where am I to go?
Gimme way, hey, hey,
Hey, the roll and go.
Where am I to go, me Johnnies,
Where am I to go?
I'm a young and sailor lad
And where am I to go?

Way out on that tops'l yard,
That's where you're bound to go,
Gimme way, hey, hey,
Hey the roll and go;
Way out on that iops'l yard
And take that tops'l in,
And I'm a young and sailor lad
And where amt to go?

Way out on that royal yard
That's where you're bound to go,
Gimme way, hey, hey,
Hey the roll and go;
Way out on that royal yard
That royal for to stow,
I'm a young and sailor lad
And Where am I to go?

You're bound away around Cape Horn,
That's where you're bound to go
Gimme way, hey, hey, '
Hey the roll and go,
You're bound away around Cape Horn
All in the ice and snow,
And I'm a young and sailor lad,
Where am I to go?

Lowlands

Lowlands

Trad, arranged by Bok

        I don't know where this is from- I heard it when I was a kid. I don't even remember learning it. -GB Hugill prints several versions of this song, which he says was originally a pumping song, later used at windlass and capstan. Several versions have the. theme of a lost lover who appears in a dream, and Hugill believes this to be based on a shore-ballad from either the north of England or Scotland, but as the ballad passed into shanty use and filtered through the Gulf cotton ports it changed, losing much of its earlier sentimental nature. In fact, Hugill's southern version has lost the dream element altogether. The song, as sung by Gordon, seems closer to the latter. Colcord, in Roll and Go, says that this is what happened to the "lost lover" song after it had been adopted by the negro shanty-singers of Mobile.-Editor

Lowlands,
Lowlands no more, my John,
My old mother said to me,
Don 't go to sea no more.

Lowlands,
Lowlands no more, my John,
A dollar a day is hoosier's pay,
My dollar and a half a day.
Five dollars a day is sailor's pay,
Mm-mm-mm.

Lowlands,
Lowlands no more, my John,
I had a dream the other night,
Mm-mm-mm.

I dreamed I was coming home from sea,
Oh, mm-mm.

Lowlands,
Lowlands no more, my John,
My old mother said to me,
Don't go to sea no more. Don't go to sea no more.

Queensland Overlanders

Queensland Overlanders

Trad, arranged by Bok

         I learned this from Ray Wales of Australia. -GB Lionel Long and Graham Jenkin, in Favorite Australian Bush Songs, note that the earliest version of this drover's song can be dated back to the 1840's. They also observe that "it seems particularly suited to be sung in the camp when the destination is not far away, or on the return trip, after recovery from the inevitable spree." This version seems to be the most recent and is the best known today. -Editor

There's a trade you all know well,
It's bringing cattle over,
On every track, to the gulf and back,
Men know the Queensland drover.

Pass the billy 'round, me boys,
Don 't let the pint pot stand there
For tonight we'll drink the health'
Of every Overlander.

There are men from every land,
From Spain and France and Flanders;
We're a well-mixed pack, both white and black,
Men call the Overlanders.

I come from the northern plains
Where the girls and grass are scanty,
Where the creeks run dry or ten foot high
And it's either drought or plenty.

When we ' ve earned a spree in town,
We live like pigs in clover,
And a whole month's check goes down the neck
Of many a Queensland drover.

As I pass along the road,
The children raise my dander,
Crying, "Mother, dear, take in the clothes,
Here comes an Overlander."

(Thanks to Michael Cooney and Ed Trickett, who dropped by during the recording session and helped on this chorus . )

Sier Lapalang

Sier Lapalang

Trad, arranged by Bok

        This is a mother deer's lament for her child. She warns the child not to go down to the land of the Khasi (Northwest India) for fear it will be killed. Khasi is of the Mon-Khmer language stock. I learned it from Mrs. George Allen, who is herself a Khasi.

Ko lapalang phrang sngi jong nga
Kum bating shein u mankara
Ha ba na nga kin rem me khlad
Do hnud sngew sih nga im suh sadh.

Wo la shet ka tieh pong deng
Y ka minsem u kinremreng
Wo la kjit u nam sarang
Y ka minsem u lapalang.

Tune for Bannard

Tune for Bannard

©1970 Bok

        Made a long time ago when Bannard was feeling gloomy in Philadelphia.

Jute Mill Song (Mary Brookbank)

A Tune For November 

© 1967 Gordon Bok, BMI

 

 

When the wind backs around

To the North in November

Wile geese go a-ganging out to seas

There's snow on the wind

And it's ever been the same

That North wind don't even know my name

That North wind don't even know my name

 

Long time ago

I had a pretty little girl

She had pretty ways and silver in her tongue

But that winter wind come prowling 'round

That pretty girl did go

She found a man whose house was snug and warm

A man whose house was warm in the wind and snow

 

When the wind backs around

To the North in November

Wild geese go a-ganging out to sea

There's snow on the wind

And it's ever been the same

That North wind don't even know my name

That North wind don't even know my name

 

Now the days come 'round

I've got another kind of woman

She's got no teasing eyes

And her tongue is still

And she likes the snowflakes falling

She doesn't mind the rain

She knows what's in her heart like she knows her name

She knows what's in her heart like she knows her name

 

I'll build her a house

Of the winds of November

Shingled with the sun along the shore

With the wind for her blanket

The rain will be her door

The pine for her pillow and her floor

The pine for her pillow and her floor