LL-L "Holidays" 2004.11.10 (02) [E]

Wed Nov 10 17:47:32 UTC 2004

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L O W L A N D S - L * 10.NOV.2004 (02) * 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) N=Northumbrian
S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic V=(West)Flemish Z=Zeelandic (Zeêuws)
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From: R. F. Hahn <lowlands-l at lowlands-l.com>
Subject: Holidays

Dear Lowlanders,

Happy Martinmas (St. Martin's Day) tomorrow!  It is celebrated in a number
of Lowlands and Celtic traditions.

Also, happy Deepavali (Diwali, festival of lights) to our Hindu friends, and
continued wishes for the Holy Ramadhan to our Muslim friends!

Furthermore, in several couyntries will be a day of rememberance for the
victims of wars tomorrow, while people are still being harmed and killed in
warfare.

Please find some holiday literature below.

Best wishes,
Reinhard "Ron" F. Hahn
Founder & Administrator, Lowlands-L
lowlands-l at lowlands-l.net
http://www.lowlands-l.net

***

MARTINMAS

Western Eastphalian Lowlands Saxon (Low Geman):

From: Global Moose Translations <globalmoose at t-online.de>
10.NOV.2003 (09)

   Matten Matten Abend,
   de Äppel un de Beren,
   dat Hemelreich is upgedan,
   da wolln mer alle rinnegaan
   an düsen Matten Abend.

English:
   Martin, Martin evening,
   apples and pears,
   Heaven has opened up
   and we all want to go in
   this martin evening.

Gabriele Kahn

***

R. F. Hahn <lowlands-l at lowlands-l.net>
10.NOV.2003 (06)

Low Franconian (Germany):

   Sinter-Mätes-Lied

   Sinter Mätes Vüjelsche
   hätt su'n ruat Kapüjelsche,
   gefloje, gestowe
   wiet, wiet öwer de Rhien,
   wu de fette Ferkes sien.
   Chutt Frou, geeft us wat!
   Aall de Hünnerkes leje wat!
   Bowen in de Fääsche
   hange de lange Wööste.
   Geeft us de lange!
   Loot de kotte hange!
   Loot us nitt su lang hie stohn!
   wäi müte en Hüüske widder gohn,
   hie van denn noh Äse,
   holen en fettem Bläse,
   hievür, dovür,
   vür de rieke Koupmannsdüür.

      Hier wohnt ein reicher Mann,
      der uns was geben kann;
      viel soll er geben,
      lang soll er leben,
      selig soll er sterben,
      das Himmelreich erwerben (~ ererben).

   De Maat, die löpp de Trappen eropp,
   Pack wahl in de Nötesack,
   Pack wahl nitt dernewe,
   sall us wahl wat gewe.
   Giff wat, haul wat,
   Tejen't Johr wier wat.
   Sinter Mätes Stuppstatt
   schmiet en Appel duar dat Gatt.
   Schmiet en nitt te wiet,
   süss fällt he in den Driet (~ Diek).
   Schmiet en nitt te hatt,
   süss fällt he in dat Gatt.
   Muus, Muus, kumm eruut!
   Giff us Äppel un Nöte!
   Äppel un Nöte siend su gutt
   für den aulen Pattsfutt.

***

REMEMBRANCE

   In Flanders Fields

   By John McCrae, MD (1872-1918),
   Lieutenant Colonel, Canadian Army

   In Flanders fields the poppies blow
   Between the crosses row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
   Scarce heard amid the guns below.

   We are the Dead. Short days ago
   We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
   In Flanders fields.

   Take up our quarrel with the foe:
   To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
   We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
   In Flanders fields.

***

Scottish (anonymous?)

   Noo I'm a Young Man Cut Down in My Prime

   As I was a-walking one bright summer morning,
   As I was a-walking one bright summer day,
   Its who did I spy but one of my comrades,
   Rolled up in white flannel and cauler than clay.

   Chorus:
      O love, it is cruel, cruel to deceive me,
      Why didn't you tell me your sorrows in time?
      My head is an-aching, my heart is a-breaking,
      Noo, I'm a young man cut down in my prime.

   Its I have an aged father, likewise a mother,
   Oft times they did tell me it would ruin me quick,
   I never did believe them, I always did deceive them,
   And still with the city girls I spent all my time.

   Go send for my mother to wash and to dress me,
   Go send for my sister to comb my black hair;
   Go send for my brother to play the pipes slowly,
   And play the dead march as they carry me along.

   (Chorus)

   There's a bunch of roses to lay on my coffin,
   There's a bunch of roses for my head and my feet,
   There's a bunch of roses to lay in the churchyard,
   To perfume the way as they carry me along.

   At the gate of the churchyard two girlies were standing,
   The one to the other in a whisper did say:
   "Here comes the young man whose money we have squandered,
   And noo they have laid him down in his cauld grave.

(Chorus)

***

Scottish (anonymous?):

   No Man's Land

   Well, how do you do, Private William McBride,
   Do you mind if I sit down here, by your graveside?
   And rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
   I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
   And I see by your gravestone you were only 19,
   When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
   Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
   Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

   Chorus:
      Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the pipes lowly?
      Did the rifles fire o'er you, as they lowered you down?
      Did the bugles sound the "Last Post" in chorus?
      Did the pipes play "The Flowers of the Forest"?

   And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
   In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined?
   And, though you died back in 1916,
   To that loyal heart are you always 19?
   Or are you a stranger without even a name,
   Forever enshrined behind some glass pane,
   In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
   And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

   (Chorus)

   The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
   The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
   The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
   No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
   But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
   The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
   To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
   And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

   (Chorus)

   And I can't help but wonder, now Willie McBride,
   Do all those who lie here know why they died?
   Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
   Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
   Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
   The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
   For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
   And again, and again, and again, and again.

***

Lowlands Saxon (Low German):

   De junge Wetfru

   vun Klaus Groth (1819-1899)

   Wenn Abends roth de Wulken treckt,
   So denk ik och! an di!
   So trock verbi dat ganze Heer,
   Un du weerst mit derbi.

   Wenn ut de Böm de Blœder fallt,
   So denk ik glik an di:
   So full so menni brawe Jung,
   Un du weerst mit derbi.

   Denn sett ik mi so truri hin
   Un denk so vel an di.
   Ik et alleen min Abendbrot –
   Un du büst nich derbi.

Translation (R. F. Hahn)
http://www.geocities.com/grothwarken/

   The Young Widow

   By Klaus Groth (1819-1899)

   When close to dusk red clouds go by,
   Oh, how I think of you!
   That’s how the army once went by.
   And you? You were there too.

   When leaves fall from the autumn trees,
   That’s when I think of you.
   Many a good lad fell like that.
   And you? You’ve fallen too.

   And then I sit me down all sad
   And think so much of you.
   I have my supper all alone ...
   I have it without you.

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