10 Mar

Saint Kevin and the Gander

As Saint Kevin once was travelling through a place called Glendalough,
He met with King O’Toole and he asked him for a shough,
Says the King “You are a stranger and your face I’ve never seen,
But if you want a taste of weed I’ll lend you my duidin.

While the Saint was kindling up his pipe the monarch gave a sigh,
“Is there anything the matter” says the Saint, “that makes you cry?”
Says the King “I had a gander, that was left me by my mother,
And the other day he cocked his toes with some disease or other.”

“Are you cryin’ for the gander? You unfortunate old goose,
Dry up your tears, in frettin’, sure, there’s ne’er a bit o’ use,
As you think so much about the bird, if I make him whole and sound?
Will you give to me the taste o’ land the gander will fly around?”

“In troth I will, and welcome,” said the king, “give what you ask,”
The Saint bid him bring out the bird and he’d begin the task,
The king went into the palace to fetch him out the bird,
Though he’d not the least intention of sticking to his word.

Saint Kevin took the gander from the arms of the King,
He first began to tweak his beak and then to stretch his wing,
The gander he rose in the air, flew sixty miles around,
“I’m thankful to your majesty for that little bit of ground.”

The King to raise a ruction he called the saint a witch,
And he sent for his six big sons to heave him in the ditch,
“Ná bac leis,” says Saint Kevin, “I’ll soon settle these young urchins,”
So he turned the king and his six sons into the seven churches.

Thus King O’Toole was punished for his dishonest doings,
The Saint he left the gander there to guard about the ruins,
If you go there on a summer’s day between twelve and one o’clock,
You’ll see the gander flying round the Glen of Glendalough.

Now I think there is a moral attached unto my song,
To punish men is only right whenever they do wrong,
For poor men they may keep their word much better than folks grander,
For the King begrudged to pay the Saint for curing his old gander.

This is one of two Saint Kevin of Glendalough songs that made their way into tradition. The other, sometimes called “The Glendalough Saint,” (Roud 8001) was sung by the Dubliners and Brendan Behan. The story of Saint Kevin, King O’Toole and the gander (Roud 17152) was sung by legendary Clare musician Micho Russell and others.

The only North American version I am aware of is a very small fragment, a bit of verses five and six above, sung in New Brunswick by the great woods singer Angelo Dornan. Dornan told Helen Creighton his father used to sing the complete song. You can hear Dornan’s fragment under the title “Gander and the Saint” at the wonderful Nova Scotia Archives site. From the fragment, his melody seems to be a version of that used by Limerick singer Con Greaney for “Carlow Town” so I used Greaney’s melody to fill in the blanks here.

Versions of this text were printed in Dublin as early as 1845 (Dublin Comic Songster). A writer with the initials F. P. R. put the text in the “Questions and Answers” section of the New York Times of January 5, 1908 with the following attribution:

The poem of Saint Kevin and King O’Toole was written by Thomas Shalvey, a market-gardener in Dublin, who used to write poems for James Kearney, a vocalist who used to sing at several music-halls and inferior concert rooms in Dublin a good many years ago. Kearney was very popular and some of his best songs were written by Shalvey.

It appears, with the same attribution, in The Humour of Ireland which was published in New York that same year. I incorporated Dornan’s fragment into the New York Times text above.

The song seems certain to have originated among street singers in Dublin in the mid 1800s. Dr Catherine Ann Cullen, a UCD Postdoctoral Fellow with Poetry Ireland, is currently researching and writing about Shalvey, Kearney and other fascinating 19th century Dublin street poets and balladeers and her excellent blog gives more details on the world in which this song emerged.

21 Oct

Nellie Greer

It was in the month of August in eighteen forty-four,
My parents they transported me far from my native shore,
Because I would not break the vow I swore unto my dear-o,
They forced me from the arms of my darling Nellie Greer.

To leave my home and Ireland where my first breath I drew,
They sent me to America my fortune to pursue,
For three weeks on the ocean no danger did I fear-o,
For my heart was with the girl I left, my darling Nellie Greer.

The raging seas rolled mountains high, which tossed us to and fro,
Our ship she struck upon a rock and to pieces she did go,
Of three hundred fifty passengers, but thirteen reached the shore-o,
The others to the bottom went, we never saw them more.

We lay on St. Paul’s Island, for four long days, or five,
Our bed it was the cold, cold ground our covering was the skies,
Our money and our clothing gone from off that doleful wreck-o,
Now weren’t we a dreadful sight when we landed in Quebec?

I’d rather have my Nellie than riches, land or fame,
For riches are so fleeting and fame is but a name,
Though many miles divide us true love can never die-o,
I seem to hear her voice as I hear the night wind sigh.

I chose another song this month that depicts an Ireland to Canada immigration story. Unlike last month’s song, “Carnanbane,” “Nellie Greer” (Roud 4084) appears exclusively in North American collections so it could be that it was composed on this side of the Atlantic.

The destination here is Quebec (presumably Quebec City) which was the other main Canadian port of entry for Irish immigrants along with St. John, New Brunswick. St. Paul Island is a remote and extremely rugged island 15 miles northeast of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Edwin Guillet in The Great Migration wrote that St. Paul Island “has been the site of numerous shipwrecks; many vessels, carried out of their reckoning by the currents, having been dashed against it when concealed by fog, and instantly shattered to atoms. Human bones and other memorials of these disasters are strewed around its base.”

The above text is my own composite drawing on versions from Carrie Grover (Nova Scotia/Maine), Lena Bourne Fish (New York/New Hampshire), Mary Ann Galpin (Newfoundland) and Martin McManus (Ontario). There are other versions collected by Helen Hartness Flanders in New England. Most singers had the woman’s name as “Sally Greer” but Grover sang Nellie. The melody above is a very slightly tweaked take on that used by Carrie Grover and for it I am indebted to the wonderful Carrie Grover Project website created by Julie Mainstone Savas at carriegroverproject.com. You can see Grover’s full version there.

01 Oct

Carnanbane

When I was young and foolish still, Amerikay ran in my head,
I from my native country strayed, which caused me many a tear to shed.
I left that place was nate, complete, where gently blossoms the hawthorne,
On the twenty-sixth of Ap-er-ile, it being on a Friday’s morn.

My friends and comrades convoyed me to near a place called Claudy town,
And when our parting did draw near, the tears from them came trinkling down.
With courage stout I stepped out and down the Faughn took my way,
And in the space of two short hours my course I stopped on Derry Quay.

It’s down the Foyle we then did steer and dropped our sails on Moville strand.
And as the sun was going down I lost the sight of Paddy’s land.
Our seamen stout they stepped out while the headwinds did softly blow,
Still hoping for a pleasanter gale; next morning we to sea would go.

But when I’m landed in St. John’s, I’ll fill my glass and grieve no more,
Still hoping for the pleasant hours when I’ll return to the Irish shore,
And when I’m in the fields alone or wandering o’er Columbia’s land,
I’ll often think of going home to the girl I left in Carnanbane.

We stray from the formula a bit this month for a song that has was not collected in North America at all but that does tell the type of Ireland to Canada immigration story that is at the root of how Irish songs came to be sung in the north woods. Carnanbane is a townland in County Derry and the above melody (with some adaptation by me) and text were collected by Sam Henry from William Laverty who got it from James Young of Dungiven.

The song’s protagonist leaves Derry quay and sails for “St. John’s.” St. John’s is the capital of Newfoundland and St. John is an important port city in New Brunswick. Folk song scholar John Moulden has argued convincingly that Irish songs of emigration frequently confuse St. John with St. John’s and that a story of emigration from Derry was almost certainly referencing St. John, New Brunswick. Moulden quotes Sholto Cooke’s book The Maiden City and the Wester Ocean saying St. John, New Brunswick was “…the cradle of Derry trade with North America and the destination of great numbers of emigrants for Canada or in transit to the United States.” Ships did not typically carry passengers from Derry to Newfoundland.

Emigration to Canada was especially common in the pre-Famine years with the two main destinations being St. John and Quebec City. Of the over 750,000 Irish that sailed for the New World between 1828 and 1844, Canadian ports welcomed about 55% of all arrivals (409,000 total over those 17 years). Many Irish immigrants continued on to urban centers in the United States. Those that stayed in Canada tended to fall into more rural patterns of life. Men took outdoor seasonal laboring jobs digging canals, building railroads or working in the lumber woods. Wherever they went, they carried songs.