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I have long wanted to have a page on Ewan
MacColl and his songs. However this should ideally contain lyrics but fear of the copyright laws
put me off the idea. However I've now seen these reproduced elsewhere so
here goes.
I will
not attempt to describe his life. This is done so well here
All I will say is that I cannot think of any songwriter of the English folk
revival who produced so many wonderful lyrics. They are nearly all songs of the
working classes; their lives, their jobs, their struggles. He was of course
fiercely left wing and his lyrics were almost politics set to music. There is a
chap in Stafford Ramblers, Fred Waygood, who used to frequent the Troubadour
Club in London in the 50s and 60s and he certainly vouches for the very
political atmosphere.
The
crossover with walking comes because rambling was a working class creation. In
the early nineteenth gin was the quickest way out of Manchester. By the end of
the century, the railways offered the prospect of escape to the Peak District
for the workers of Manchester and perhaps even more so those from South
Yorkshire. (I used to work with someone who had walked with the Manchester
Ramblers in the 50s; they took so many out each week that they hired trains and
told them where to stop and collect them!!) This wasn't entirely happy with much access to the high ground being
denied by the owners of the grouse moors and this culminated in the mass
trespass on Kinder.
MacColl
came from Salford and was under 20 at the time. He wrote his first great song, The
Manchester Rambler, for the occasion. Here is the lyric as sung by MacColl
himself.
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The Manchester Rambler |
I've been over the Snowdon, I've slept upon
Crowden
I've camped by the Wain Stones as well
I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder
And many more things I can tell
My rucksack has oft been my pillow
The heather has oft been my bed
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead |
| Chorus: |
I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler
from Manchester way
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wage slave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday |
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The day was just ending as I was descending
By Grindsbrook, just by Upper Tor
When a voice cried, Eh you, in the way keepers do
He'd the worst face that ever I saw
The things that he said were unpleasant
In the teeth of his fury I said
Sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead |
| Chorus |
He called me a louse and said, Think of the
grouse
Well I thought but I still couldn't see
Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about
Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me
He said, All this land is my master's
At that I stood shaking my head
No man has the right to all mountains
Any more than the deep ocean bed |
| Chorus |
I once courted a maid, a spot-welder by trade
She was fair as the rowan in bloom
And the blue of her eye matched the June moorland sky
And I wooed her from April to June
On the day that we should have been married
I went for a ramble instead
For sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead |
| Chorus |
So I walk where I will over mountain and hill
And I lie where the bracken is deep
I belong to the mountains, the clear-running fountains
Where the grey rocks rise rugged and steep
I've seen the white hare in the gulley
And the curlew fly high over head
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead |
| Chorus |
However I've heard an extra verse. It was on a very old
Spinners LP and it went:
There's pleasure in dragging through peat bog
and bracken
And all kinds of walks, don't you know
There's even a measure of some distant pleasure
In trudging through three foot of snow
I've stood on the edge of the Downfall
And I've seen all the valley outspread
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead |
However this was not his
best song on walking and the hills. His
masterpiece is "The Joy of Living". It was one of his last
songs and it was his farewell to the world. It
is about a
dying walker saying goodbye to the things he holds dear; there's one verse for
his wife, one verse for his children and two verses about the hills.
Here is
the lyric:
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Farewell,
you northern hills, you mountains all goodbye
Moorlands
and stony ridges, crags and peaks, goodbye
Glyder Fach farewell, cold
big Scafell, cloud-bearing Suilven
Sun-warmed
rocks and the cold of Bleaklow’s frozen sea
The
snow and the wind and the rain of hills and mountains
Days
in the sun and the tempered wind and the air like wine
And
you drink and you drink till you’re drunk on the joy of living
Farewell
to you, my love, my time is almost done
Lie
in my arms once more until the darkness comes
You filled all my days, held
the night at bay, dearest companion
Years
pass by and they’re gone with the speed of birds in flight
Our
lives like the verse of a song heard in the mountains
Give
me your hand and love and join your voice with mine
And
we’ll sing of the hurt and the pain
and the joy of living
Farewell
to you, my chicks, soon you must fly alone
Flesh
of my flesh, my future life, bone of my bone
May
your wings be strong
may
your days be long
safe
be your journey
Each
of you bears inside of you the gift of love
May
it bring you light and warmth and the pleasure of giving
Eagerly
savour each new day and the taste of its mouth
Never
lose sight of the thrill and the joy of living
Take
me to some high place of heather, rock and ling
Scatter
my dust and ashes, feed me to the wind
So that I may be part of all you see, the
air you are breathing
I’ll
be part of the curlew’s cry and the soaring hawk,
The
blue milkwort and the sundew hung with diamonds
I’ll
be riding the gentle breeze as it blows through your hair
Reminding
you how we shared in the joy of living
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If you ever
get the chance, buy it because it is stunning (the first Cooking Vinyl sampler
album is the cheapest way). I even convinced my walking companion JD of its
merits and usually he is about as easy to move as Everest.
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