As I was a walking by yonder church wall,
I saw four and twenty young men playing at their ball,
I asked for my own true love but they wouldn't let him come,
For the bonny boy was young but a growing.

Father dear father you've done to me much wrong,
You've tied me to a boy when you know he is to young,
But he will make a lord for you to wait upon,
And a lady you will be while he's growing,

We'll send him to college for one year or two,
And maybe in time the boy will do for you,
I'll buy you white ribbon to tie around his waist,
For to let the ladies know that he's married,

The trees they do grow high and the leave they do grow green,
The day is passed and gone my love that you and I have seen,
It's on a cold winter's night that I must lie alone,
For the bonny boy is young but a growing.

At the age of sixteen he was a married man,
And at the age of seventeen a father to a son,
And at the age of eighteen the grass grew over him,
Cruel death had brought an end to his growing.

This version comes from the Steeleye Span arrangement found on their 'Now We are Six' album. One of the first folk music albums I fell in love with and still one of my favourites.

Long a Growin'

‘Twas one cold winter’s night and the wind,
Blew bitter across the wild moor,
And poor Mary she came with her child,
Wandering home to her own father’s door

She cried ‘Father oh pray let me in,
Do come down and open the door,
Or the child at my bosom will surely die,
When the wind it blows across the wild moor.’

‘Why did I ever leave this fair cot?
Where once I was happy and free?
Doomed now to roam without friend or home,
Dear father have pity on me.’

But her father was deaf to her cries,
Not a voice nor a sound reached his door,
But the watch dog’s bold bark and the wind,
That blew loudly across the wild moor.

Now just think how this father he felt,
When he came to the door in the morn,
And found Mary the child still alive,
Fondly clasped in its dead mother’s arms.

Wild and frantic he tore his grey hair,
As on Mary he gazed at the door,
Who in the cold night had perished and died,
When the wind it blew across the wild moor.

The father in grief passed away,
The poor child to its mother went soon,
And no-one has lived there till this very day,
And the cottage to ruin has gone.

Now the villagers point out the spot,
Where the willow droops over the door,
Saying ‘There Mary died once our village pride,
When the wind it blew across the wild moor.’

I found this song in an EFDS book of folk songs collected by Hammond and Gradiner called The Constant Lovers. I can't find any other versions done by Britsh artists but there are a good number by Country acts and Bluegrass acts. It was first published on a broadside in the early 19th century.

Mary Of The Wild Moor

Drops of Dye

Mother said “My dear son,
Don’t be made a fool by anyone,
Look beyond their words they may be lies,
See the way the light shines in their eyes.”
I don’t trust a soul.

“And those that do you wrong,
Each will claim a line of your song,
Lose them in the winding of the verse,
Once it’s held, your hate becomes the curse,
You set upon your soul.”

Yet to hear the wind blow,
Yet to feel the rain
Ready for the first drop,
Of dye that won’t erase.

If each child is a clear slate,
Yet to fill with pastel pen or paint,
I wipe away the sorrow from my brush,
And load it up with passion grace and love,
To build a little soul.

Yet to hear the wind blow,
Yet to feel the rain
Ready for the first drop,
Of dye that won’t erase.


Drops of Dye

The Wolf

Four winds that blow,
Blow me anywhere, anywhere,
My lungs ache my heart breaks,
I wouldn’t ever leave you here.

All this time I’ve felt I’m inside a burning white dwarf,
There you’ve stood and held out a hand to guide me on.

Listening for the drum-fire,
Ears of wheat on a threshing room floor,
All along our line,
You hear the prayers for one day more.

Still the ghost that lives in my clothes carries on,
Writing home so nobody knows the boy is not so strong.

The laughing lupus,
I want to love him,
He’s always there,
The laughing lupus,
We’re like so many others, 
That have gone before.

Yes it’s true; if I could I would run to fair England’s shore,
And take my chance to die by her hands and not in her war.

The laughing lupus,
I want to love him,
He’s always there,
The laughing lupus,
We’re like so many others, 
That have gone before.



The Wolf

Send Me to Hell

As we ride in the car,
There’s a break in the silence,
Though the journey’s not far,
You say let’s go the long way,
I’ve got places to be,
I’ve got people to see,
What do you want from me?
More than my honesty.

If I only could,
I’d have understood,
You would lose and you’d never come home,
Now I never tell,
Except to wishing wells,
When I’m wishing to send me to hell.

I’m alone in my car,
Going the long way,
All these signs in the dark,
Take me straight back to that day,
Where did I want to be?
Who did I need to see?
Now the fool and the thief,
Take their place beside me.

If I only could,
I’d have understood,
You would lose and you’d never come home,
Now I never tell,
Except to wishing wells,
When I’m wishing to send me to hell.

Oh, Oh......etc...

If I only could,
I’d have understood,
You would lose and you’d never come home,
Now I never tell,
Except to wishing wells,
When I’m wishing to send me to hell.



Send Me to Hell

Drifting

Some days I’m falling into your glove,
Some days I just can’t love,
Some days I’m lost in your eyes,
Some days I’m dying inside.
There’s no reason or rhyme.

Some days there’s a peace in my heart,
Some days I’m falling apart,
Some days I’m here to stay,
Some days I’m running away,
I don’t hear what you say.

How you love and how you laugh,
The things you buy when all our money’s spent
Yes your eyes are wide awake,
There’s magic there but that won’t pay the rent.

Some days I lie awake in my bed,
Chasing thoughts around my head,
Dragging the demons down,
Defending the truth that I’ve found,
Get me out of this town.

How you love and how you laugh,
The things you buy when all our money’s spent
Yes your eyes are wide awake,
There’s magic there but that won’t pay the rent.

Some days, some days I’m drifting away,
Some days, some days I’m drifting away.......


Drifting

Inspired by the world famous novel of the same name by Erich Maria Remarque. The story follows a group of German solidiers from their college classroom to the battlefield where, one by one, they all die. The song here focuses on the main character, Paul's, journey home on leave where he feels he has been unalterabley changed by his experience.

Life is short, life is cheap,
Eat, drink and smoke all you want,
The horror soon fades, 
When you turn your back on the front,
On the homeward bound train,
I recognise the station names,
The silhouette of the hills,
And the way that the houses are made.

The schoolmaster told the boys,
“You should lay your bodies down”,
All the problems of the world,
Will be solved, 
By the fellas in the bars of this old town.

There are dogs in the street,
People standing by their doors,
I’m standing alone,
Outside of the house where I was born,
Tell my mother that I’m fine,
Absorb all the fear in her look,
While the boy left behind,
Wants to sit on his bed with a book,

The schoolmaster told the boys,
“You should lay your bodies down”,
All the problems of the world,
Will be solved, 
By the fellas in the bars of this old town.

What’s your life worth?
You ought to fight for the land of your birth,
It’s all that you’ll ever own,
No you’re wrong, you’re wrong,
I’ve never owned even a hand full of dirt.

It seemed he fell from the sky,
We shared the pity in our eyes,
I might have asked him his name,
I just shivered and watched him die,
In the pocket of his coat,
There’s a bible containing a note,
From a girl in Alsace,
“We’ll be wed when you come back home”.

The schoolmaster told the boys,
“You should lay your bodies down”,
All the problems of the world,
Will be solved, 
By the fellas in the bars of this old town.



All Quiet on the Western Front

Published in 1892 in Abraham Holroyd's Collection of Yorkshire Ballads.

Come ladies and gents I've a song ready made
And to sing it I'm sure you will not be afraid
So I'll tell you at once I'm a weaver by trade
So sing success to the weavers
The weavers for ever hussah

Here are goods every day we're exporting by bails
And in merchandise ours as the night never fails
But each ship leaving port owes the weavers for sails
So sing success to the weavers
The weavers for ever hussah

The Queen in her robes may so gracioiusly stand
And her nobles about her may look great and grand
But they get all their cloth by the work of our hand
So sing success to the weavers
The weavers for ever hussah

But for us how your soldiers would oft times repenty
When houseless to sleep on thier nap sacks they're sent
But the weaver you see gives each soldier his tent
So sing success to the weavers
The weavers for ever hussah

The ladies are pretty as all will confess
And he's stupid or blind I am sure who says less
But then to the weaver they're indebted for dress
So sing success to the weavers
The weavers for ever hussah
(This verse omitted)

If exhausted you feel and by Morpheus you're beat
In the heat or the cold a small rest would be sweet
Just think of the weaver's fine blankets and sheets
Sing success to the weavers
The weavers forever hussah

So since we for mankind are sent here to weave
From our looms and our shuttles we'll not hardly grieve
My song is just ending so I'll take my leave
Sing success to the weavers
The weavers forever hussah


Success to the Weavers

Track 4 from my EP Broken not Beaten, exclusively available when you see me live.

D'you think you'll find the faith that's gone?
Gone to who knows where,
D'you think that people ever change?
Really ever change,
Still there's fun to have while the sun shines,
Hide the lines on your face,
If you knew they'd read your mind ,
You'd never let them into your home,
They've seen your soul.

There's a life in the soil,
For he who claims the spoils,
The promise held in the seed,
Has turned to weed,
The fallen apple in the flower bed,
Must rot away to reach the sky,
If you knew they'd read your mind ,
You'd never let them into your home,
They've seen your soul.

Scattered toys around the room,
Pieces everywhere,
The child that never held a broom,
Never had a care,
Hold me up and I don't need you there,
Turn away and let me fall,
If you knew they'd read your mind ,
You'd never let them into your home,
They've seen your soul.

Promise

David Hirst is an alternative folk singer from Liverpool, whose dreamy acoustics and humble crooning makes him an intriguing artist. Think Chris Isaak, Roddy Frame and Gotye wrapped up in vintage sepia film, and then you get the idea of what David Hirst sounds like. What’s great about Hirst is despite his folky DNA his music is subtly enchanting. It’s a surprising twist, which makes Hirst an artist of distinctive talent bridging the gap between the earthy and the sensual. Lyrically Hirst is poetically quaint, a sort of quintessential gentleman, whose melancholy is filtered through his noble musings. What sounds at first glance as understated, turns out to be a meticulously, textured and sentimental production.
(by The Manc Review. July 2012)

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