Newfoundland - 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.

05 Jul

Two Irish Laborers

We are two Irish laborers, as you can plainly see,
From Donegal we came when small unto America;
We got work on the railroad, but sure it didn’t pay,
So we struck a job to carry the hod for two and a half a day.

Chorus-
Pat, be quick, bring up the brick, the mortar, too, likewise,
Then push along and sing a song as up the ladder you rise;
I always thought it bully fun to be a mason’s clerk,
And have the man on top of the house for to do all the work.

When we go back to Ireland, that dear old Emerald Isle,
Where the stranger finds a welcome and is greeted with a smile,
Then if you ever want a friend you needn’t try too hard,
You’ll always find one in the Irish boys that carried the hod.

A hod is a box with only three sides (imagine three walls of a cube that meet at a corner with the rest of the cube removed). Often mounted at the end of a stick, it is used to carry bricks or mortar during construction work. The image of Irish immigrant men as “hod carriers” was a recurring trope on the American music hall stage in the late 1800s and that’s where this song seems to have originated. However, the text above comes from Minnesota singer Michael Dean who, like other singers in the woods tradition, had a repertoire that freely mixed music hall songs with come-all-ye ballads and other song types. I have not come across “Two Irish Laborers” in any other collections so it may have been rare in tradition. Dean also sang “When McGuiness Gets a Job” which also references the hod (“he’s the boy that can juggle the old three-cornered box”). “McGuiness” originated on the stage and turns up in song collections from the Catskills and Prince Edward Island.

Thanks to some online newspaper archive sleuthing, I was able to connect “The Two Irish Laborers” to an influential 19^th century song and dance man named Dick Carroll. In April, 1924, The Brooklyn Standard Union ran a full page feature titled “Harking Back to the Good Old Days” in which one reader contributed this reminiscence: “In 1873, Dick Carroll, as the hod carrier, in his specialty of ‘Mortar and Bricks’ sang ‘Arrah, Pat be Quick Bring Up the Brick and the Mortar Too Likewise.’” According to Monarchs of Minstrelsy Carroll was born in New York City in 1832 and began performing publicly as a child before having a long career in minstrelsy and, later, the variety stage. He was known primarily as a dancer and Ryan’s Mammoth Collection even includes a tune called “Dick Carroll’s Clog.” “Mortar and Bricks” was his showpiece for many years.

With no luck finding a melody used by Dean or Carroll, I opted to borrow a melody sung by J. Molloy of St. Schott’s Newfoundland for another music hall song, “How Paddy Stole the Rope,” that has a similar opening line. Molloy’s unique and satisfying melody can be heard online via Memorial University’s fantastic digital collection “MacEdward Leach and the Songs of Atlantic Canada.”

01 Jul

The Arkansaw Navvy

Come listen to my story and I’ll tell you in my chant
It’s the lamentation of an Irish emigrant,
Who lately crossed the ocean and misfortune never saw,
’Till he worked upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw.

When I landed in St. Louis I’d ten dollars and no more,
I read the daily papers until both me eyes were sore;
I was looking for advertisements until at length I saw
Five hundred men were wanted in the State of Arkansaw.

Oh, how me heart it bounded when I read the joyful news,
Straightway then I started for the raging Billie Hughes;
Says he, “Hand me five dollars and a ticket you will draw
That will take you to the railroad in the State of Arkansaw.

I handed him the money, but it gave me soul a shock,
And soon was safely landed in the city of Little Rock;
There was not a man in all that land that would extend to me his paw,
And say, “You’re heartily welcome to the State of Arkansaw.”

I wandered ’round the depot, I rambled up and down,
I fell in with a man catcher and he said his name was Brown;
He says “You are a stranger and. you’re looking rather raw,
On yonder hill is me big hotel, it’s the best in Arkansaw.”

Then I followed my conductor up to the very place,
Where poverty was depicted in his dirty, brockey face;
His bread was corn dodger and his mate I couldn’t chaw,
And fifty cents he charged for it in the State of Arkansaw.

Then I shouldered up my turkey, hungry as a shark,
Traveling along the road that leads to the Ozarks;
It would melt your heart with pity as I trudged along the track,
To see those dirty bummers with their turkeys on their backs.
Such sights of dirty bummers I’m sure you never saw
As worked upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw.

I am sick and tired of railroading and I think I’ll give it o’er,
I’ll lay the pick and shovel down and I’ll railroad no more;
I’ll go out in the Indian nation and I’ll marry me there a squaw,
And I’ll bid adieu to railroading and the State of Arkansaw.

“Navvy,” from “navigational engineer,” was a common 19^th century term for a railroad worker. Singer Michael Dean, the source of the text above, had many connections to the railroad and railroad work. Dean tended bar for years at saloons that catered to railroad workers in Hinckley, Minnesota. His older brother James was a lifelong conductor for the Milwaukee Road based in Milwaukee and older brother Charles worked for the Milwaukee Road in Minnesota and South Dakota based out of Minneapolis. According to The History of South Dakota, Vol. 2 by Doane Robinson, Charles Dean helped build the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul railroad from Glencoe, MN to Aberdeen, SD from 1879-1881.

Dean’s songster, The Flying Cloud, includes four lyrics about railroad workers: “Jerry Go Oil the Car,” “The Grave of the Section Hand,” “O’Shaughanesey” and “The Arkansaw Navvy.” A fifth, “To Work Upon the Railroad” appears among the 1924 wax cylinder recordings of Dean singing.

Since Dean’s melody for “The Arkansaw Navvy” is unknown, I used a melody sung by Newfoundland singer Paddy Duggan as recorded by MacEdward Leach and available online. The song was likely North American in origin and it appears in many collections from the US. Interestingly, an Irish version does appear in Sam Henry’s Songs of the People. Henry’s informant was Jack McBride of Kilmore, Co. Antrim who learned it from a sailor.