Michigan - evergreentrad

10 Jan

Why Don’t My Father’s Ship Come In?

It was on a Christmas evening as I lay down to sleep,
I heard a boy of six years old on his mother’s knee did weep,
Saying “once I had a father dear who did me kind embrace
And if he was here, he would dry those tears flowing down my mother’s face”

Oh where is that tall and gallant ship that first bore him away,
With topsails soft and painted decks born by the breeze away,
While other ships are coming in splitting the icy foam,
Oh why don’t my father’s ship come in, and why don’t he come home?

Oh, dear son, your father has tarried for to cross the stormy sea,
The ocean and the hurricane sweeps he’ll never come back to me,
Dear son your father’s dead and gone to the home of the brave,
The stormy ocean and winter winds sweep o’er your father’s grave

Oh well I do remember when he took me on his knee,
And gave me all the fruits he bore from off that India tree,
He said six months he would be gone and here leave us alone,
But by those stormy winter winds, twelve months are past and gone.

Oh hush my darling little son your innocent life is done,
Now you and I are all that’s left for to lament and mourn,
You are the darling of my heart I will press you to my side,
And they rose their eyes to heaven and the son and mother died.

We return to Beaver Island, Michigan this month for a song from the repertoire of singer Johnny Green recorded by Alan Lomax during his 1938 visit to the island.

This dark and sorrowful lament for a father lost at sea appears in several collections across the north woods from the Canadian Maritimes to Ontario. Lomax’s recording of John Green is accessible via the Library of Congress website under the title (probably resulting from a mishearing of the first line) “Christmas Eve.”

Anita Best and Genevieve Lehr printed a version from Annie Green of Newfoundland in their book Come & I Will Sing You. Annie Green closed the song this way:

“My boy you’re the pride of all my heart,” as she pressed him to her breast,
And closed her eyes to the yonder skies where the weary ones find rest.

22 May

Lost Jimmie Whalen

Slowly and sadly I strayed by the river,
A-watching the sunbeams as evening drew nigh,
All alone as I rambled I spied a fair damsel,
She was weeping and wailing with many a sigh.

Sighing for one who is now lying lonely,
Mourning for one who no mortal can save,
As the dark foaming waters flow sadly around her,
As onward they roll o’er young Jimmie’s grave.

“Jimmie,” said she, “won’t you come to my arms,
And give me sweet kisses as oft times you gave?
You promised you’d meet me this evening my darling,
O come dearest Jimmie, love, come from the grave!”

Slowly there rose from the depths of the river,
A vision of beauty far fairer than sun,
While red robes of crimson encircled around him,
Unto this fair maiden to speak he’s begun.

“Why did you rise me from the realms of glory,
Back to this place where I once had to leave?
To clasp you once more in my fond loving arms?
To see you once more I have come from my grave.”

“Jimmie” said she, “why not stay on earth with me,
Don’t leave me here for to weep and to rave,
But if you won’t mind me and bide here beside me,
Oh Jimmy take me to your cold silent grave.”

“Darling to me you are asking a favor
That no earthy mortal can grant unto thee.
For death is the dagger that holds us asunder,
And wide is the gulf, love, between you and me.”

“One fond embrace, love, and then I must leave you
One loving kiss, pet, and then we must part.”
And cold were the arms he encircled around her,
While cold was the bosom she pressed to her heart.

Then straightway the vision did vanish before her,
Straightway to the sky he then seemed to go,
Leaving his loved one distracted and lonely,
Weeping and wailing in sadness and woe.

Throwing herself on the banks of the river,
Weeping and wailing her poor heart would break,
Sighing “My loved one, my lost Jimmie Whalen,
I will lie down and die by the side of your grave.”

Norah Rendell and I have been singing this beautiful song for several years but somehow it has never made it onto Northwoods Songs!

It is one of two songs that commemorate the tragic drowning of a raftsman named James Phalen around 1878 in Ontario. Collector Franz Rickaby, who prints both songs in his book Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy, corresponded with multiple informants who knew the details of the Phalen drowning. It happened at King’s Chute on Ontario’s Mississippi River–a tributary of the Ottawa where the rafting crew was working for a boss named Peter McLaren who went on to be a senator. Phalen and two others were attempting to break a log jam at the “Upper Falls” section of the Chute. Phalen fell in and was swept under the logs.

Rickaby’s informants told him that the other popular “Whalen” song, “Jim Whalen,” was definitely based on the Phalen tragedy (apparently the name was pronounced “Whalen” in that part of Ontario). They said it was written and sung “with much pathos” by a local songsmith in Lanark, Ontario named John Smith.

Rickaby was not certain that the ghost-visiting narrative of “Lost Jimmie Whalen” referred to the same drowning victim as the more journalistic “Jim Whalen.” Rickaby collected only a three verse fragment “Lost Jimmie Whalen” from Will Daugherty of Charlevoix, Michigan in 1919. A version collected in the 1950s in Ontario from Martin Sullivan by Edith Fowke clearly makes the Phalen connection by including an additional verse:

“Hard, hard were the struggles on the cruel Mississippi,
But encircled around her on every side,
Thinking of you as we conquered them bravely,
I was hoping some day for to make you my bride.”

The above-transcribed melody comes from yet another Great Lakes region singer named Robert Walker who lived in Crandon, Wisconsin (Walker’s version appears on this wonderful Folkways album). Walker’s melody, a relative of the one frequently used for “Lass of Glenshee,” is similar to that used by Sullivan but I prefer the way Walker sings the opening bar. The text above is primarily from Walker with a few lines borrowed from the Daugherty and Sullivan versions and a couple changed of my own in the sixth stanza.

21 Nov

Learning McFadden to Waltz

Clarence McFadden he wanted to waltz,
But his feet were not gaited that way,
So he saw a professor and stated his case,
And said he was willing to pay;
The professor looked down in alarm at his feet,
And he viewed their enormous expanse,
So he tucked on a five to his regular price,
For learning McFadden to dance.

One, two, three, just balance like me,
You’re quite a fairy, but you have your faults,
While your left foot is lazy, your right foot is crazy,
Now don’t be unaisy, I’ll learn you to waltz.

He took out McFadden before the whole class,
And he showed him the step once or twice,
But McFadden’s two feet they got tied in a knot,
Sure he thought he was standing on ice;
At last he got loose and struck out with a will,
Never looking behind or before,
But his head got so dizzy, he fell on his face,
And chewed all the wax off the floor.

When Clarence had practiced the step for awhile,
Sure, he thought he had got it down fine,
He went to a girl and asked her to dance,
And he wheeled her out into line;
He walked on her feet and he fractured her toes,
And vowed that her movements were false,
Poor girl went around for two weeks on a crutch,
For learning McFadden to waltz.

McFadden soon got the step into his head,
But it would not go into his feet,
He hummed “Maggie Murphy” from morning to night,
And he counted his steps on the street;
One night he went home to his room to retire,
After painting the town a bright red,
He dreamed he was waltzing and let out his leg,
And kicked the footboards off the bed.

Song collector Margaret MacArthur extended the amazing work of Helen Flanders with her collecting work in Vermont in the 1960s. I came upon this Irish music hall gem in amongst the digitized MacArthur recordings available through the Vermont Folklife Center. She recorded it from Winfred Landman of Brattleboro in 1963. Another more complete version (without its melody) appears in Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan from the singing of Mrs. John Lambertson of Belding, Michigan just northeast of Grand Rapids who sang it for collectors Gardner and Chickering in 1931.

The earliest printing of the music hall original from 1890 lists M.F. Carey as its composer and is viewable online through the New York Public Library digital collection. In addition to entering into folk tradition, the song was recorded by several artists and was even sung by child star Shirley Temple in the 1939 film Susannah and the Mounties as she tries to teach a mountie to dance with a book balanced on his head!

My transcription above is a blend of the Lambertson text, the original song sheet and a rousing recording of Irish entertainer Patrick Kavanagh (no relation to the author?) who recorded it on a 78rpm record in the 30s.