1. |
The Gift
00:36
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The Gift
Clary Croft. ©2008, Wedge Island Publishing, SOCAN
I was born in Sherbrooke by the stunning St. Mary’s River. She never ceases to awe and inspire ...
I go down to the river,
Stand beside her shore
Seeking inspiration, as so many have before,
And she washes o’er me, makes my spirit life,
And I bow my head and thank her for the gift.
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2. |
I Won't Be Coming Home
03:52
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I Won’t Be Coming Home
Clary Croft © 1973. Doseydotes Music
I wrote this song in remembrance of my Highland ancestors, the MacKays and Campbells, who came to the St. Mary’s River in search of a new life. I recorded it on my first album, Sun, Moon and Stars.
Now mamma, don’t be sad, I promised I would write,
This letter’s bound to reach you by October;
And pappa, don’t be mad, you know I’ve got the right,
Remember all the times we talked it over.
But I won’t be coming home,
Half of what I believe in is still here,
I know I promised when I left I’d make good or come home,
But I’ve gotta stick it out another year.
My heart’s already broken but my spirit still keeps strong,
I’m holding on to memories, but they won’t last for long,
‘Cause its memories I’ve left behind to make some of my own,
But if memories are made of this they’re better left alone.
Its not like I’d been told; the streets aren’t paved in gold,
The gold is here but men still die to mine it,
Everything is new to me; nothing here is old,
Except the dream that one day I will find it.
So I won’t be coming home,
Half of what I believe in is still here,
I know I promised when I left I’d make good or come home,
But I’ve gotta stick it out another year.
The leaves have turned to red and left the trees to stand alone,
The hills above my camp look like the heather of my home,
A home I left to find a better life in this new land,
To try and find a future that keeps slipping through my hands.
Your letter came in June, it was good to hear the news,
Sometimes I really miss the hills of my homeland,
The money that you sent - well, I’m afraid I had to spend,
‘Cause the camps I work in here don’t pay a fortune.
So I won’t be coming home,
Tell pappa he must tend the farm alone,
I know I promised when I left I’d make good or come home,
But I gotta try and make it on my own.
You see, my heart’s already broken but my spirit still keeps strong,
I’m holding on to memories, but they won’t last for long,
‘Cause its memories I’ve left behind to make some of my own,
But if memories are made of this they’re better left alone.
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3. |
In Cupid's Court
02:50
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In Cupid’s Court
Traditional: Helen Creighton Collection
Helen Creighton collected this song in 1951 from the singing of Grace Clergy, East Petpeswick, Nova Scotia. Mr. Clergy told Helen that he, his father and older brother, were the only ones he knew who sang this song.
As I walked out one May morning
Down by the river side,
To catch some trout and salmon
Where the streams they gently glide,
Down by a brook, my way I took
And there I chanced to spy
A comely maid both tall and fair
Just as she passed me by.
The praises of this comely maid
I mean for to unfold,
Her hair was black as any jet,
Blew carelessly and bold,
Her pretty fingers long and slim
Just like the amber whale,
Her skin as fair as any swan
Swam on yon purling stream.
“Are you a stranger in these parts?”
She unto me did say,
“Was you brought up in Cupid’s court,
Or what brought you this way?
Are you an angler, kind sir?” she said,
“Down by yon river clear,
Or was it Cupid sent you here
Young virgins to ensnare?”
“It was Cupid sent me here
My fortune for to win,
And if I could but gain you
Would I be free from sin?
The very first view I had of you
My heart was in a flame,
Publish the banns, give me your hand
And pity me, fair maid.”
“My hand and heart I give to you
That’s if you do prove true,
But I’m afraid ‘tis policy,
Your love it is so new,
Young men they are deceiving
And varying in their minds,”
“Publish the banns, give me your hand
And forever I’ll prove kind.”
Well, hand in hand to church they went
And joined they were for life,
Instead of catching salmon
He caught a prudent wife,
Hand in hand to church they went
And joined they were for life,
Instead of catching salmon
He caught a prudent wife.
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4. |
Thorn in My Shoe
02:12
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Thorn in My Shoe
Gene McLellan. Blackwood Music, BMI
... I had the privilege of working with Gene on Sing-a-long Jubilee ... a remarkable talent silenced too soon ....
I was barely grown when I left my home
For the land where the evergreens grow,
And deep inside was a voice that kept saying, “I told you so.”
The good friends I had were few,
And my skies weren’t always blue,
Some nights I slept in the corn,
‘Cause I was born with a thorn in my shoe.
Although the sun was hot and the handouts I got,
Were few and far between,
Still I wouldn’t trade all the memories I’ve made,
All the places I’ve been,
For I love each field of hay,
And each dusty mountain way,
I love the dew in the morn,
‘Cause I was born with a thorn in my shoe.
As the years rolled by and my soul ran dry,
From those restless, wandering ways,
The older I got I started thinking a lot,
About the price you pay,
But the urge to settle down,
Never seemed to come around,
I guess the good Lord knew,
That I was born with a thorn in my shoe,
I guess the good Lord knew,
That I was born with a thorn in my shoe.
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5. |
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The Wind That Shakes the Corn
Traditional: from the singing of Fred Redden of Middle Musquodoboit, Nova Scotia.
I had the great privilege of singing with Fred at many public and private gatherings. He was a great singer and sang well into his seventh decade. I wonder if the political upheaval of 1798 mentioned in this song could have been the reason my own maternal ancestors left Ireland in 1797.
I sat within a valley green,
In the glen of Athlone,
I sat and thought I’d choose between,
Old Erin or my love,
I looked at her and then I thought,
How Ireland was torn,
While soft the winds blew down the glen
And shook the golden corn,
It was hard the sad new to tell,
How I would leave my home,
How I would roam for many’s a year,
Far from my native shore,
How I would leave my own dear glen,
I would leave in early morn,
And join them brave United men,
While soft winds shook the corn.
I tried to drive away her fears,
My arms around her flung,
A gunshot burst upon our ears,
From out the wild woods ‘round,
A bullet pierced my true love’s side,
Midst a rose bush and a thorn,
And in my arms my true loved died,
While soft winds shook the corn.
Now I have roamed for many’s a year,
Since I left my dear glen,
And many’s the fray I fought and won,
With those United men,
As up the glen I wander drear,
Sometimes in early morn,
With breaking heart, sometimes I hear,
The wind that shakes the corn.
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6. |
Broken Ring Song
03:28
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Broken Ring Song
Traditional: Helen Creighton Collection
Helen Creighton collected this song in 1943 from the singing of Catherine Gallagher, Chebucto Head, Nova Scotia. Dozens of variants on this theme have been collected in the Maritimes and I have recorded one different from this on an earlier album, “False Knight Upon the Road”.
As a sailor walked all in a garden,
A pretty fair maid he chanced to spy,
‘Twas for to view her, he stepped up to her,
And said, “Fair maid can you fancy I?”
She said, “Seven years since my love has left me,
And seven years since I him did see,
And seven more I will wait upon him,
‘Til he comes back for to marry me.”
“Perhaps your lover he is married,
And is enjoying wedded bliss,
Or perhaps your love he is dead and buried,
The heavy ocean rolls o’er his breast.”
“Well if he’s married, I hope he’s happy,
And if he’s dead then I wish him rest,
But for his sake I will never marry,
The reason is that I love him best.”
“Oh, what if I be your single sailor,
The one you don’t expect me to be,
Oh, what if I be your single lover,
Who has come back for to marry thee?”
“Well, if you be my single sailor,
The one I don’t expect you to be,
Show me the ring that was broke between us,
And when I see it, I will believe.”
He put his hand all in his bosom,
His fingers being both brown and small,
Pulled out the token between them broken,
And when she saw it she down did fall.
He picked her up all in his arms,
And said, “Fair lady, I’m none the worse,
For I have plenty of gold and silver,
The cruel ocean I’ll no more cross.”
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7. |
Thick o' Fog
01:54
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Thick O’ Fog
Jim Bennet, Black Rum Music
I met Jim, the co-host of Sing-a-long Jubilee, when I joined the show in 1970. He is one of our finest writers of Maritime verse and song and in a few brief words can say more about life in our region than almost anyone I know.
There was a man from Lunenburg whose wife was very plain
Her face could stop and eight-day clock, a trolley or a train.
Of all the girls in Lunenburg he thought he’d picked the belle,
But the morning they were married, it was kinda hard to tell ....
In the fog, thick o’ fog,
This North Atlantic weather isn’t fit for man nor dog.
Through the murky mists that blind us
And the vapours that enwind us,
Come and see us, if you can find us, in the fog.
Now, Captain Billy Corkum of the tugboat Dainty Bess,
Went out to give assistance to a schooner in distress.
He threw a line and steamed for home
But, when the fog did thin,
He saw that it was Sambro Island he was towin’ in ....
Now, an outhouse beats a lighthouse as a navigation aid,
Or so says Skipper Tanner of the Aspotogan Maid,
And when the weather’s thick, he’s got a point there, I suppose:
You can always find your way back home by following your nose ...
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8. |
Highland Mist
02:24
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Highland Mist
Kyle Strongman and Clary Croft. ©2007, Wedge Island Publishing, SOCAN
Each year Sherbrooke Village Restoration hosts the Road to Stanfest Songwriters’ Music Camp. I have been fortunate to be a regular instructor and, as all teachers will tell you, I always learn more than I impart. This song was written as an exercise at the 2007 camp with my cousin Kyle Strongman who also plays guitar on this track.
Breathing in the Highland mist,
Swirling down the green lea,
In the glen that is my home,
Wondering what’s before me.
Is it time for me to go?
Start life in a new land,
Far away from all I love,
Last son of my own clan.
Stepping through the Highland mist,
You appear before me,
Pointing me away from home,
Far from my own country.
You who guided me along,
In whose steps I followed,
From beyond the grave you come,
Giving me tomorrow.
Breathing in the Highland mist .........
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9. |
Drive Dull Care Away
02:34
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Drive Dull Care Away
Traditional: Edward D. Ives Collection.
Dr. Edward D. [Sandy] Ives collected this song in 1958 from the singing of Charles Gorman, Prince Edward Island. Sandy’s research notes in his wonderful book of Island songs called “Drive Dull Care Away”, tell us the song goes back to at least 1775 and a variant is also found in the 1844 shape note song book, “The Sacred Harp”.
Oh why should we at our lot complain
Or grieve at our distress?
Some think if they could riches gain
‘Twould be true happiness.
But alas how vain is all our strife,
Life’s cares it will not allay,
And while we’re here with our friends so dear
We’ll drive dull care away.
Away, away, away, away -
We will drive dull care away!
And while we’re here with our friends so dear
We’ll drive dull care away.
Why should the rich despise the poor,
Why should the poor repine?
For we will all in a few short years
In equal friendship join.
They’re both to blame, they’re all the same;
We are all made of one clay,
And while we’re here with our friends so dear
We’ll drive dull care away.
The only circumstance in life
That ever I could find,
To conquer fear and temper strife
Was a contented mind.
With this in store we’ve so much more,
Than all things will convey,
And while we’re here with our friends so dear
We’ll drive dull care away.
Then let us make the most of life
Not rendering it a curse,
But take it as you take a wife,
For better or for worse.
Life at its best is but a jest;
Like a dreary winter’s day,
And while we’re here with our friends so dear
We’ll drive dull care away.
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10. |
Put Me In Your Pocket
03:20
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Put Me In Your Pocket
(Attributed to: Wilbert Lee "Pappy" O'Daniel)
When my great-grandmother, Cora McDiarmaid, was a young girl she babysat for the son of the Baptist minister and his wife in Port Hilford, Nova Scotia. She would rock the baby and sing to him. Years later, she rocked me and sang many of the same songs. That baby was Wilf Carter and I like to think that Wilf and I got our musical start from the same wonderful woman.
I learned this song from my mother and father, Olive and Clarence Croft. They would sing in the car as we drove back and forth from Sherbrooke to Halifax. Falling asleep in the back seat of the car while listening to their version of this Wilf Carter hit is one of my fondest memories. Dedicated with love to my dearly missed mom and dad. This was "their song".
Two lovers met one evening beneath the pale moon light,
Tomorrow he must sail away great battles for to fight,
He told her that he loved her, and he’d return one day,
And take her for his darling wife,
And then he heard her say,
Put me in your pocket so I’ll be close to you,
No more will I be lonesome and no more will I be blue,
And when we have to part dear, there’ll be no sad adieu,
For I’ll be in your pocket and I’ll go along with you.
The evening sun was setting, her lover went away,
And when at last he did return for the happy wedding day,
His sweetheart, she had vanished; to heaven she had flown,
But she left behind this photograph, on which she wrote this song ...
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11. |
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The Ballad of Charles Devonport
John Munro, Larrikin Music Publishing
I performed this song on CBC Radio Halifax in October of 2002 and, knowing little of the factual story, asked if there was a real person named Charles Devonport. That same day, I was contacted by Melvin Harris, in Cole Harbour. A very real Charlie Devonport had been his friend and Melvin introduced me to the world of the British Home Children. Between 1869 and 1948, an estimated 100,000 British children were sent to Canada. Their stories are ones of hardship, abuse, joy and opportunity. I was able to introduce John Munroe’s fine song to the family of Charles Devonport and so, as the line in the song says, we have been able to “trade one past for the other”.
Welcome home to Derby Charles,
Welcome back from Nova Scotia,
So many miles, so long to wait,
And never know your mother,
But I knew you'd mend the broken thread,
The one I never wanted broken,
So here we'll set the record straight,
Trade one past for another.
I never think about the war,
It conjures up too many shadows,
When life was hanging by a thread,
And nothing seemed to matter
Then a child myself I bore a child,
They said it best to hand you over,
And who was I in guilt and shame
To think that I knew better.
The Sisters said they'd bring you up
And give you what I couldn't offer,
Another family, different name,
They said I'd soon forget you,
And to keep you from the pain and loss,
"Poor orphan" was the tale they told you,
And to cleanly cover every trace,
To Canada they sent you.
You must have wondered through the years,
As you grew to be a different person,
What link you were within the chain,
What went to make the man
And oh - to be somebody's son,
And oh - to be somebody's brother
To be complete, to know your name
And how your life began
You found your way to Derby Charles,
You tracked me down from Nova Scotia,
To kneel beside the stone that says,
I was your loving mother
But you took too long, I couldn't wait
But here you see I always loved you
Too late to see it in my eyes
Too late for starting over
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12. |
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Where the Westerlies Blow Onshore
Anna Osburn and Don Osburn. SOCAN
... one of my favourite songs written by two of my favourite people - dear friends who live in a beautiful setting overlooking the Bay of Fundy ...
All the life that I remember
And for many years before,
There was wind and there was water
In our time along the shore;
We were caught up by the sea winds
But the waves would bring us home;
Years and years would go by
Before I’d go out on my own.
And in the distance now, I can see that land
On the horizon to the north,
That land where rugged coastline lies
And the Westerlies blow onshore.
Well, the snow flies in November
And there’s flurries into May,
And the frost stays in the ground ‘till June
When the last snow melts away;
All the boats are in the harbour,
Waiting for the tide,
And I’ll be watching for them,
On the other side.
From the land that I now stand on,
High above the sea,
That place across the water
Is still calling out to me,
And if I did return there,
I would still be known,
And they would still be waiting
To gather in their own.
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13. |
Rhody's Elephant
04:08
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Rhody’s Elephant
Clary Croft. ©2008, Wedge Island Publishing, SOCAN
It was a hot August in the 1980s and a tired, old circus came to Sherbrooke while I was working at the Village singing folk songs. At night, my wife, Sharon, and I would often go for a walk that took us by the home of a lovely lady named Rhoda Brigley - whom everyone affectionately called Rhody. This is the true story of an amazing friendship.
The circus lumbered into town and set up in the ball field
Its glory days had passed away, the big top was no more
The lion dozing in his cage had long ago lost all his rage
The python yawned his toothless jaws,
The camel’s hump was sagged.
But one alone stood tall and proud, majestic head above the crowd
An ancient, wizened elephant, the squire of his domain
They tethered him near Rhody’s door,
A creature she’d not seen before
Except in scrapbooks filled with dreams of things she longed to share.
But now, here was an elephant, Rhody had an elephant,
Rhody and her elephant, a most unlikely pair.
From miles around they came to see this tired, old menagerie
While Rhody sitting on her porch enjoyed a ring side view;
This gentle lady, since a girl had dreamed of travel round the world,
While he who wandered all his life longed only for a home.
And now he was her elephant, Rhody had an elephant,
Rhody and her elephant, a friendship all their own.
The day grew long and evening fell, the carrousel stopped turning,
The living curiosities fell into repose;
Except for one who kept his guard watching over Rhody’s yard
While on her porch she rocked and kept his company alone.
And late at night, when friends walked by to say goodnight to Rhody,
And mention it was growing late, she might be getting tired
“Oh no”, said she, “I’ll stay outdoors, I’ve never known his kind before;
For one night he’s my elephant, I’ll keep him company.”
Oh Rhody and her elephant, Rhody and her elephant,
Rhody and her elephant, contented as could be.
The circus lumbered out of town and left an empty ballfield .......
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14. |
The Gift (reprise)
00:33
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The Gift
Clary Croft. ©2008, Wedge Island Publishing, SOCAN
I was born in Sherbrooke by the stunning St. Mary’s River. She never ceases to awe and inspire ...
I go down to the river,
Stand beside her shore
Seeking inspiration, as so many have before,
And she washes o’re me, makes my spirit life,
And I bow my head and thank her for the gift.
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Clary Croft Nova Scotia
Clary is a folklore researcher, author and recording artist. His newly published memoirs, Clary Croft: My Charmed Life in Music, Art, and Folklore, chronicles a career spanning over fifty years. His work with the traditional music from the Creighton Collection, has caused Clary to be called, “the acknowledged master of one of the richest repertoires in Canada.” [Halifax Mail Star] ... more
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