LL-L "Songs" 2002.10.12 (01) [Ap/E]
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L O W L A N D S - L * 12.OCT.2002 (01) * ISSN 189-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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A=Afrikaans Ap=Appalachian B=Brabantish D=Dutch E=English F=Frisian
L=Limburgish LS=Lowlands Saxon (Low German) S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic
V=(West)Flemish Z=Zeelandic (Zeêuws)
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From: Sandy Fleming [sandy at scotstext.org]
Subject: "Songs"
> From: George M Gibault <gmg at direct.ca>
> Subject: LL-L "Language varieties" 2002.10.11 (04) [E]
>
> One interesting note on the language of ballads - as different dialects
> came into contact - sometimes different versions of the same word would
> coexist in the same text! - such as law and laigh for low in Scots. Poets
> always liked a good rhyme better than linguistic purity it seems.
While I agree that Scots poets are too easily seduced into using
inapproriate (usually English) words to get rhymes (you can read
my not-too-serious essay "A Caa it Macaroni" on the subject at
http://www.fleimin.demon.co.uk/Bletherskite/Bletherskite.htm ),
I would use both "law" and "laich" in speech. At least in my
dialect, "laich" tends to be used when something is unexpectedly
low, such as a body of water in a dry season.
Of course, "law" has an alternative meaning, that of a prominent
hill, usually isolated, hill, a common feature of Lowland Scottish
topography.
Here's a typical Border tale of revenge.
JAMIE TELFER IN THE FAIR DODHEID
I
IT fell aboot the Martinmas tyde,
When our Border steeds get corn and hay,
The Captain o Bewcastle bound him to ryde,
And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
II
The first ae guide that they met wi,
It was hiegh up in Hardhauchswire;
The second guide that they met wi,
It was laich doun in Borthwick water.
III
'What tidins, what tidins, my trusty guide?'-
'Nae tidins, nae tidins, I hae to thee;
But gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodheid,
Mony a cou's cauf I'll let thee see.'
IV
And when they cam to the fair Dodheid,
Richt hastily they clam the peel;
They lowsed the kye oot, ane and a',
And ranshackled the hoose richt weel.
V
Nou Jamie Telfer's hert was sair,
The tear aye rowin in his ee;
He pled wi the Captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he wad be.
VI
The Captain turned him round and leuch;
Said- 'Man, there's naething in thy hoose,
But ae auld sword without a sheath,
That hardly nou wad fell a moose.'
VII
The sun wasna up, but the muin was doun,
It was the grymin o a new-fa'n snaw,
Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-fit,
Between the Dodheid and the Stobs's Ha'.
VIII
And when he cam to the fair touer-yate,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till oot bespak auld Gibby Elliot-
'Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?'-
IX
'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's naething left at the fair Dodheid,
But a waefu wife and bairnies three.'
X
'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha',
For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man, ye ne'er paid money to me.'-
XI
Jamie has turned him round aboot,
I wat the tear blinded his ee-
'I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,
And the fair Dodheid I'll never see.
XII
'My hounds may a' rin masterless,
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,
My lord may grip my vassal lands,
For there again maun I never be!'-
XIII
He has turn'd him to the Tiviot-side,
een as fast as he could drie,
Till he cam to the Coultart Cleuch,
And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
XIV
Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve,
'Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?'-
'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
A harried man I trew I be.
XV
'There's naething left in the fair Dodheid,
But a greetin wife and bairnies three,
And sax puir ca's stand in the sta',
A' routin loud for their minnie.'-
XVI
'Alack a wae!' qo auld Jock Grieve,
'Alack! my hert is sair for thee!
For I was married on the elder sister,
And you on the youngest o a' the three.'
XVII
Then he has taen oot a bonny black,
Was richt weel fed wi corn and hay,
And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,
To the Catslockhill to tak the fraye.
XVIII
And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till oot and spak him William's Wat,
'O whae's this brings the fraye to me?'-
XIX
'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
A harried man I think I be!
The Captain o Bewcastle has driven my gear;
For God's sake rise, and succour me!'-
XX
'Alas for wae!' qo William's Wat,
'Alack, for thee my hert is sair!
I never cam by the fair Dodheid,
That ever I fand thy basket bare.'
XXI
He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
Himsell upon a freckled gray,
And they are on wi Jamie Telfer,
To Branksome Ha' to tak the fraye.
XXII
And when they cam to Branksome Ha',
They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
Said, 'Whae's this brings the fraye to me?'-
XXIII
'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's nocht left in the fair Dodheid,
But a greetin wife and bairnies three.'-
XXIV
'Alack for wae!' qo the gude auld lord,
'And ever my hert is wae for thee!
But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
And see that he come to me speedilie!
XXV
'Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
Gar warn it sune and hastilie!
They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,
Let them never leuk in the face o me!
XXVI
'Warn Wat o Harden, and his sons,
Wi them will Borthwick Water ride;
Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhauch,
And Gilmanscleuch, and Commonside.
XXVII
'Ride by the gate at Priesthauchswire,
And warn the Currors o the Lee;
As ye cum doun the Hermitage Slack,
Warn dochty Willie o Gorrinberry.'
XXVIII
The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran,
Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
And aye the ower-word o the thrang
Was-'Rise for Branksome readilie!'
XXIX
The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
Whan Willie has leuk'd his men before,
And saw the kye richt fast drivand.
XXX
'Whae drives thir kye?' 'gan Willie say,
'To make an ootspeckle o me?'-
'It's I, the Captain o Bewcastle, Willie;
I winna layne my name for thee.'-
XXXI
'O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back?
Or will ye do ocht for regard o me?
Or, by the faith o my body,' qo Willie Scott,
I'se ware my dame's cauf skin on thee!'-
XXXII
'I winna let the kye gae back,
Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear;
But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,
In spite o every Scott that's here.'-
XXXIII
'Set on them, lads!' qo Willie than;
'Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
For ere they win to the Ritterford,
Mony a tuim saddle there sall be!'
XXXIV
Then till't they gaed wi hert and hand,
The blows fell thick as bickerin hail;
And mony a horse ran masterless,
And mony a comely cheek was pale.
XXXV
But Willie was stricken ower the heid,
And throu the knapscap the sword has gane;
And Harden grat for very rage,
Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.
XXXVI
But he's taen aff his gude steel cap,
And thrice he's waved it in the air-
The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white
Nor the lyart locks o Harden's hair.
XXXVII
'Revenge! revenge!' auld Wat 'gan cry;
'Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
We'll ne'er see Tiviot-side again,
Or Willie's daith revenged sall be.'
XXXVIII
O mony a horse ran masterless,
The splinter'd lances flew on hie;
But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
The Scotts had gotten the victory.
XXXIX
John o Bricham there was slane,
And John o Barlow, as I heard say;
And thirty mae o the Captain's men
Lay bleedin on the grund that day
XL
The Captain was run throu the thick o the thie,
And broken was his richt leg-bane;
If he had lived this hundred years,
He had never been loed by woman again.
XLI
'Hae back the kye!' the Captain said;
'Dear kye, I trew, to some they be!
For gin I suld live a hundred years,
There will ne'er fair lady smile on me.'
XLII
Then word is gane to the Captain's bride,
Even in the bower where that she lay,
That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,
Since into Tividale he had led the way.
XLIII
'I wad lourd have had a windin-sheet,
And helped to put it ower his heid,
Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!'
XLIV
There was a wild gallant amang us a',
His name was Watty wi the Wudspurs,
Cried - 'On for his hoose in Stanegirthside,
If ony man will ride wi us!'
XLV
When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
They dang wi trees, and burst the door;
They lowsed oot a' the Captain's kye,
And set them forth oor lads before.
XLVI
There was an auid wyfe ayont the fire,
A wee bit o the Captain's kin-
'Whae dar lowse oot the Captain's kye
Or answer to him and his men?'-
XLVII
'It's I, Watty Wudspurs, lowse the kye,
I winna layne my name frae thee!
And I will lowse oot the Captain's kye,
In scorn o a' his men and he.'
XLVIII
Whan they cam to the fair Dodheid,
They were a wellcum sicht to see!
For instead o his ain ten milk kye,
Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
XLIX
And he has paid the rescue shot,
Baith wi gowd and white monie;
And at the burial o Willie Scott,
I wat was mony a weepin ee.
Sandy
http://scotstext.org/
----------
From: fr.andreas at juno.com <fr.andreas at juno.com>
Subject: LL-L "Songs" 2002.10.11 (05) [E]
Hey, Mr Gibault an aw yuins.
How be yuins up er out yander? We'er aw fine down hyir, thankee. Oh,
we aw got the hay fever, but hit's seasonable. Hit is a-tarnin a mite
airish of a night, now, so we won't be a-sneezin fer much longer. Hit'll
kill 'at ol rag-weed off.
A sung Ol Bang'em right smart, man an boy fer more years 'an a
coon's got, an neer hyird tell o ought tae do wi no oak nor ash (nor
thorn neither, gin ye was a-wonderin).
Ol Bang'em will ye huntin ride?
Dillum down dillum.
Ol Bang'em will ye huntin ride?
Dillum down.
Ol Bang'em will ye huntin ride
Wi a sword an a pistol ba yir side?
Kubee kee! Killy Killy Cum,
Kubee Quo Quam. (An folk says we ain't got no Latin!)
They lived a wild boar in the wuid/ at'd break men's bones an drank
ther blud.
Ol Bang'em tuk his wooden knife/ an swore ba Gum at he'd take hit's
life.
Wal they fit aw day an they fit aw night/ till the staurs an the
moon fled fum the sight.
Ol Bang'em did ye win er lose?/ Wal, he swore ba Gum at he'd won his
shoes.
No sight o no temple hill, neither. Probly comes o poverty or the
Babtists a-runnin 'em off.
As fer Gnostics an sech, they warn't but one in Newport, Tennessee,
some time back an he went Orthodox atter he hyird ma preachin one
Pentecost five er six year agone. We got 'im fer a hierodeacon, now, an a
more Orthodox feller ye neer seen. No lie.
A am right happy tae be back, an aw. A'm proud yuins indulge or at
least abide me. An come on, ye ridge-runners, an write yuins a piece!
Yorn,
Fr Andreas (Richard Turner)
----------
From: robert bowman <bowman at montana.com>
Subject: "Songs" 2002.10.11 (05) [E]
On Friday 11 October 2002 17:00, George M Gibault wrote:
> A huge collection of traditional folk songs sung by the ordinary ?folk of
> the British Isles is now available on cd for anyone who wants to hear real
> dialects this is the pace.
Somewhat apropos, the recent film, Songcatcher, is a fictionalized account
of
a woman's attempt to capture the traditional songs. Janet McTeer overplays a
bit, but the some of the performances are well worth seeing.
bob bowman
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