‘FOLKMOSIS’
Beth Malcolm lyrics
OSMOSIS
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm/Trad.]
Who will sing o’ the guising
When bairnies blether to the auld yins?
Who will sing o’ the Greylag
Who tak their leave when the leaves turn?
Who will sing in oor language
That you love your brother in
That you tell you story in?
[Trad lyrics] As I cam in by dunideer, an’ roon by Nether Ha
There were fifty thoosan’ hielan’ men marchin tae Harlaw
Wi a diddyayeoh and a fal and the doe, and a diddyayeohayeae
[Trad lyrics] Ally Bally, ally bally bee
Sittin’ on yer mammy’s knee
Greetin’ for a wee bawbee
Tae buy some coulter’s candy
(Martyn Bennett/Lizzie Higgins/Trad) What a voice, what a voice
What a voice I hear
It’s like the voice of my Willie dear
But if I had wings like that swallow high
I would clasp in the erms
Of my billy boy
These are the sounds, the songs
I drank up as a wee one
Drunk on milk and auld Scots song
I slept and cried and wailed along
My folkmosis had begun
Drinking from the breast
With wee ears pressed
To songs that rumbled through my mother’s chest
These are my sounds, my beats, my rhythms
And as certain as the rising sun
My folkmosis had begun
Hallowe’en
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
There was an auld wifey and she lived Sconewards
Over the fields a wee bit, twenty minutes walkin’ from mine
On Hallowe’en, the story goes, three excited bairns turned up at her door
One was dressed a round, orange pumpkin
The other two were non-descript spookers, with ASDA labels
The bairns knocked on her door, hopeful with their dreepin’ baskets
“Trick or treat, trick or treat!”
“Whit?” says the auld wifey “you’ve no got a song, or a joke, or a story for my troubles?”
Blank we faces.
“Trick or treat” offers the pumpkin again, shyer this time, unable to sound out this most unusual Granny type. The auld wifey grumbles on about things the pumpkin and the spookers dinna understand:
“Americanisms, bairns these days, guising.”
She closes the door on them, and awaits the next round of guisers, with something to offer her in return for a chocolate coin, a handful of monkey nuts and a tangerine.
I remember hearing this story when I was 12 years old. Delighted to be let into any adult joke, I watched as the grown ups laughed, rolled their een, but agreed, she wasn’t wrong.
My grown ups were most unusual grown up types.
Edward
[Lyrics: Trad.]
Why dis yer brand sae drap wi bluid
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Why dis yer brand sae drap wi bluid
And why so sad gang ye-o
Why dis yer brand sae drap wi bluid
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Why dis yer brand sae drap wi bluid
And why so sad gang ye-o
I hae killed my hawk sae guid
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my hawk sae guid
And I had nae mair but he-o
I hae killed my hawk sae guid
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my hawk sae guid
And I had nae mair but he-o
Yer hawkis bluid wis never sae reid
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Yer hawkis bluid wis never saе reid
My dear son, I tell taе thee-o
Yer hawkis bluid wis never sae reid
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Yer hawkis bluid wis never sae reid
My dear son, I tell tae thee-o
I hae killed my reid-roan steed
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my reid-roan steed
That erst wis so fair and free-o
I hae killed my reid-roan steed
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my reid-roan steed
That erst wis so fair and free-o
Yer steed wis auld, and ye hae gat mair
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Yer steed wis auld, and ye hae gat mair
Some other dule ye dree-o
Yer steed wis auld, and ye hae gat mair
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
Yer steed wis auld, and ye hae gat mair
Some other dule ye dree-o
I hae killed my faither deid
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my faither deid
And alas it was me-o
I hae killed my faither deid
My dear mother, my dear mother
I hae killed my faither dear
And alas it was me-o
And whatten penance’ll ye dree for that
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whatten penance’ll ye dree for that
My dear son, now tell tae me-o
And whatten penance’ll ye dree for that
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whatten penance’ll ye dree for that
My dear son, now tell tae me-o
I will sail in yonder boat
My dear mother, my dear mother
I will sail in yonder boat
And awa and over the sea-o
I will sail in yonder boat
My dear mother, my dear mother
I will sail in yonder boat
And awa and over the sea-o
And whit’ll ye dae wi yer towers and haw
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye dae wi yer towers and haw
That war sae fair tae see-o
And whit’ll ye dae wi yer towers and haw
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye dae wi yer towers and haw
That war sae fair tae see-o
Thay can stand until thay faw doun
My dear mother, my dear mother
Thay can stand until thay faw doun
For here never mair maun I be-o
Thay can stand until thay faw doun
My dear mother, my dear mother
Thay can stand until thay faw doun
For here never mair maun I be-o
And whit’ll ye leave yer bairns and wife
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye leave yer bairns and wife
When ye gang over the sea-o
And whit’ll ye leave yer bairns and wife
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye leave yer bairns and wife
When ye gang over the sea-o
The warldis room, let thaim beg
My dear mother, my dear mother
The warldis room, let thaim beg
For thaim niver mair will I see-o
The warldis room, let thaim beg
My dear mother, my dear mother
The warldis room, let thaim beg
For thaim niver mair will I see-o
And whit’ll ye leave yer mother dear
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye leave yer mother dear
When ye gang over the sea-o
And whit’ll ye leave yer mother dear
Young Edward, oh, young Edward
And whit’ll ye leave yer mother dear
My dear son, now tell tae me-o
The curse o hell shall ye bear
My dear mother, my dear mother
The curse o hell shall ye bear
For sic coonsels ye gae tae me-o
The curse o hell shall ye bear
My dear mother, my dear mother
The curse o hell shall ye bear
For sic coonsels ye gae tae me-o
Aberdeen Angus Bairn
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
We bairns all go through an indoctrination of sorts
I was born to two folkies in the late nineties. By the time I could speak, my education in the traditional music of Scotland was well underway
I spent much of my childhood in the back seat, driving through a songbook, from Perth, to the Red fields of Angus, to sing with my Granny.
Who grew up in the bonny high hills in Glen Artney
I sat helplessly in the way of music, and like a little folky sponge, I drank it all in.
Folk songs translates as songs of the folk, songs of the people
In all corners of the word, these folk songs speak of the joys and sorrows of humankind
Sung to the bairns at bedtime, or at work in the paddy fields, or in moonlit song circles in the desert, their messages stand the test of time.
And there are many recurrent themes.
Pacifism
A yearning to live free like the greylag Geese
Togetherness against greed
And our rights to roam and ramble through this wild land
The folk songs of Scotland were written, sung and passed down on the carrying stream long before they got to me. I never sat down to learn them. Yet they seeped into my consciousness, with no effort in my part.
Goretree
[Based on a poem by Violet Jacob, adapted by Beth Malcolm, and a tune called ‘The Beautiful Goretree’ by Tommy Peoples]
I canna see ye, Lad I canna see ye
for the road ootby is dim wi nicht
Your licht, your licht a sicht for the weary
Lad ye live and its mysel that’s deid
Ye gaed awa, ye gaed tae France
And the toon is grey wi empty streets
Nae mair, nae mair can I see yer face
Lad, ye live, and it’s mysel that’s deid
Beside the brae, and soughin’ through the rashes,
Yer voice sings at ilka turn,
Amang the whins, an’ whaur the water washes
The goretree wi’ its feet amang the burn.
Come hame tae me when day is fleein’
And the road is dim wi’ nicht,
Lad, your hands, a touch for the weary,
Lad, when I see ye, I will be blind wi’ licht.
Come back tae me-et me by the goretree
Come back tae me-et me by the goretree
Come back tae me-et me by the goretree
Come back tae me-et me by the goretree
In the Seam Between
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
Born of the cusp of a new century
My childhood was split in two
I grew up in the seam between the old world and the new
My teenagedom merged with a new era of quickening
Where the rate of change transported me from Red fields
To the dazzling bright lights of screens
Folkmosis is my story of a lost bairn
And her journey back to the carrying stream
But first to the rejection years
Where I’d rather have stuck a fork in my eye
Than to sing of the land
And the times gone by
Ghosted
[Inspired by a poem by Cara Matthews, adapted by Beth Malcolm]
There is nothing wrong with us
But that is not enough
I haven’t time for that’ll do
So it is done
And there is nothing left to say
You didn’t say much anyway
And I’ve got pride that much is true
So we are through
And we speak its on your terms
I’ll never learn
That if he wanted to, he would
So there’s my proof
And I feel lit up inside when you decide to take the time
But I haven’t heard from you in days
So I’ll be on my way
And your face is my favourite place
But I’m looking for home
When I sit by the phone you never call.
There is nothing wrong with us
But that is not enough
I haven’t time to suffer through
And see if I’m enough for you
And there is nothing left to wait for
You never told me you were grateful
For that night I spent with you
The shame I feel splits in two
And when we speak I get the crumbs
Of the life you live for fun
And when you flash up on my phone
I come undone
And I feel lit up unside, but the relief I feel subsides
And I haven’t heard from you in days so I’ll be on my way
And your face is my favourite place
But I’m looking for home
When I sit by phone you never call
And your face is my favourite place
But I’m looking for sunshine
When I sit home alone
I’ve never felt so cold
To Glasgow
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
And then I moved from the nest
No more singing in the hallway
No more journeys in the back
Following fingers, pointing to a town where a song was born
To Glasgow I go
First loves, and a thousand pints of fun
And a world beyond folk music
Pop, jazz, electronica and disco
These songs all spoke to me
And my wretched late teenage soul
Old folk songs had always been my currency
But in Glasgow, you pay with cash
So I don’t sing them
I put them in a box at the bottom of the bed
And turn on Amy Winehouse instead
Growing
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
In this here house, these four walls
Where I’ve come from all I’ve known I have outgrown
In this here house, with four tall steps
As I step inside I say goodbye to the young girl
Oh, I’m growing
Oh, I’m growing
In this here house perhaps I’ll lie with a love
In this here house perhaps I’ll find that I’m carrying life
With a heart wide open I’ll sow seeds for the healing
I’ll shelter my mother and I’ll grow with my brother
And I’ll sing with my old man in the bar
Oh, I’m growing
In this here house, golds and evergreens
When morning comes I face the dawn and I ask her all my questions
In this here house, when leaf has turned to tree
Will I awake up alone when I’m fully grown?
Well time and tide will tell
Oh, I’m growing
Oh, I’m growing
Let there be laughter, let there be wine
Let there be heartbreak in time
Let there be laughter, let there be wine
Let there be heartbreak in time
Let there be laughter, let there be wine
Let there be heartbreak in time
A Man who loves the worst of me
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
I didn’t know my ugly side, til I fell in love
I learned to push my anger inside, til I fell in love
And I’ve always been afraid of the silence before the sleep
But his comfort in the quiet, you know it sets me free
I didn’t know my darker side, til I fell in love
I people-pleased my way through life, til I fell in love
And I’ve always been afraid of the ice, when they roll over to their side
But his rays of midnight sun keep me warm til morning comes
Some days all of my demons, and all of my vices
Come to light
And all the time this man takes me in his stride
I didn’t know my lonely side, til I fell in love
I can’t deny I starved by body sometimes, til I fell in love
And I’ve always needed to be touched to feel wanted
But his kind words showed me how to love
Some days all of my demons, and all of my vices
Come to light
And all the time this man takes me in his stride
I learned it from my kin, some matriarchal destiny
To take pain on the chin, and let is make the best of me
But I watch him from the sidelines and how he’s taking care of me
And I wonder if I’ve broken free, here’s a man who loves the worst of me
The Captain’s Bar (Bonny Glenshee)
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm/Trad.]
I live an alien life, really
To that which I grew up in
I leave my house before the sun comes up
And I am tired when I get home
The piano lid stays closed
Fatigued and unsatisfied by the modern working week
I come alive a little every weekend
Joining in with the revelry of the city on a Friday night
One evening I pass by the Captain’s folk music bar in Edinburgh
And decide to stop in
An old woman is singing a beautiful old song
[Trad.] “Busk busk, bonny lassie
Aye an come awa wi me
And I’ll tak ye tae Glenisla
Near bonny glenshee”
I think my Granny sang this to me, two decades ago
Or did I hear it muffled through a closed door
In my sleep maybe, while the grown ups were singing in the kitchen
It is a strange joy to stumble upon a room of people
Singing in praise of the wise mountains
Words and a tune I learned by folkmosis, years ago
I feel something swelling in my throat and it tastes like home
But the bar is full and my friends are waiting
There are glistening pints to be drunk at the jazz bar down the road
Little Lows
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
These little lows, my little lows
They lie with me as I toss and turn in my head
These little lows, my little lows
They lie with me as I toss and turn in my bed
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
Face the dawn in time
These little lows, my little lows
They play with me as I toss and turn in my head
These little lows, my little lows
They sing to me as I toss and turn in my bed
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
Embrace the dawn in time
Boy was I blue (and I was frightened of those hues)
Boy was I blue
Boy was I blue (and I was frightened of those hues)
But you taught me child, you know that sun it will rise in the sky
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
These little lows of mine (how you show me to)
Face the dawn, and embrace the dawn
And to chase the dawn in time
Rolling Stone
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
Here is a heart
Here is my heart
And I’ll give it to you, I’ll tear it in two
Here is a life
Here is my life
And I’ll give it to you, I’ll break it in two
And I always thought love would come slow
I never needed a home
I always thought I’d be a rolling stone
I always thought I’d be a rolling stone
Here is a mind
Here is my mind
And I’ll bear it to you
And I’ll mind your bruises too
Here is a hand
Here is my hand
And I’ll work them to you
And I’ll cool you down when we’re through
And I always thought love would come slow
I never needed a home
I always thought I’d be a rolling stone
And I always thought love was just a scheme
For ego and comfort and self-esteem
I always thought I’d be content being free
I always thought I’d be content being free
The more I’ve come to know
The more I’ve come to know
The more I’ve come to know you
The less I’ve felt I owed you
So I left my bed on the ocean floor
And to my great surprise
As I washed up in the night
Your tides they led to the shore
And that’s how the stone found home
I always thought I’d be a rolling stone
And I always thought love would come slow
I never needed a home
I always thought I’d be a rolling stone
And I always thought love was just a scheme
For ego and comfort and self-esteem
I always thought I’d be content being free
I always thought I’d be content being free
And I always thought love was just a bind
A willing ensnarement of body and mind
I never hoped it would be you by my side
I never thought that I’d find you in time
To Orkney
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
Around this time I took a trip to Orkney with my Dad
We drove the long way to the ferry,all the way to Scrabster through the black isle
We sings songs and tell stories of the places we pass by
And we are dwarfed by the mountains that frame our view of Scotland through a cracked windscreen
On our last morning on the island, we took a drive through the wild Orchadian landscape
The rain was lashing against the car and it was almost funny how dreich the day was
We talk freely in the way that you can when you are both facing away from each other
The impacts of the years of right-wing governance
Under-funded foodbanks
The destruction of the earth’s wild places for profits sake
The devastations of war and prejudice
And how disconnected I feel from all these issues day to day
Distracted into inaction by the dazzling lights of my mobile phone
Dad sings the Worker’s Song
A folk song about the plight of the working people
Written by Ed Pickford from County Durham
And I listen
The Worker’s Song
[ A slightly shortened version of Ed Pickford’s influential song]
Come all of you workers
Who toil night and day
By hand and by brain
To earn your pay
Who for centuries long past
For no more than your bread
Have bled for your country
And counted your dead.
In the factories and mills
In the shipyards and mines
You’ve often been told
Keep up with the times
Your skills are not needed
They’ve streamlined the job
With slide rule and stopwatch
Your pride they have robbed.
But when the sky darkens
And the prospect is war
Who’s given a gun
And then pushed to the fore?
And expected to die
For the land of his birth
When he’s never owned
One handful of earth.
By Process of Folkmosis
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
In a moment the power of Ed’s words
And that melody rips me from some teenage need to be free
Free from old songs, and indoctrinations
This life I designed so far from the tree
Its roots just arent so deep
I need handfuls of earth
And pies in the sky
And by a process of folkmosis I ask myself why
Why wont you sing? If not you, not us, then who?
So I will sing of the guisin’ when bairnies blether to the auld yins
And I will sing of the greylag who tak their leave when the leaves turn
And i will sing in oor language that I love my sisters in
That I tell my story in
I am bound
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
I am bound
I am bound
To this land
To this place
To my home
I was bound to wander
I was bound
I was bound to wander
Far from this land
Far from this place
From my home
I was lost and found
I was lost and found
When I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
When I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
When I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
When I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
I am bound
I am bound
I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
I heard those familiar
Heard those familial voices
I am bound
I am bound
I am bound
To this land
To this place
To my home
I am bound
Come Gies a Sang
[Written by Dick Gaughan]
“Come gie’s a sang”, thae asked the poet
(Owre the water, cross the muir
“Tell our joys an tell our woes”)
The linnet sings sae bonnie-o
The poet waved his pen aloft
“My art’s too great for the common trough”
“What fame is there for one like me
Reciting poor folks’ history?”
“There’s precious little wealth or glory
In telling common peoples’ story”
The people turned untae thair ain
Tae sing thair passion an thair pain
“Come gie’s a sang”, they asked the makar
“Tell our story wi your craft”
The makar traivelled through the land
Pentlan Firth tae Solway strand
Through the Lawlans an the Hielans
Frae the Border tae the Northern Isles
He’s gaen frae Stornoway tae Brechin
Listenin tae the people speak
He listened as the day wis dawin
Eagle’s cry an houdie’s caw
He heard the roar o ragin seas
Branches whisperin in the breeze
He heard the weepin widow mournin
The crack o broadsword cleavin bone
Heard the shipyard haimmer ringin
The lilt o playin children sing
The wind it blew frae aa the airts
Bringin tunes frae ither pairts
He’s taken every sound he heard
Crafted thaim tae makar’s words
The poet’s work lies in a book
Whaur naebody but scholars look
But still the makar’s sang is sung
His words are pairt o everyone
The poet’s work lies in a book
Whaur naebody but scholars look
But still the makar’s sang is sung
His words are pairt o everyone
The Mountain
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
When I dream of the Mountains
I yearn to breathe
I was born in the mountains
I was born among trees
When I speak of the mountains
I yearn to roam free
I was torn from the mountains
From the yows and golden fields
When I walk to the mountains
I follow the carrying stream
Oooh
When I die in the mountains
I will die among trees
When I die in the mountains
I will live on a breeze
End of the beginning
[Lyrics: Beth Malcolm]
So there ends this story
Of how this lost bairn came to be
Here I stand now, 27
I am rooted, and I am free
Maybe freedom is belonging
And like the graylag Geese each Autumn
We are all bound to roam
But we carry with us, messages of joys and woe
From the fields we grew from
Sung a thousand times before
By a process of Folkmosis
They seeped in as bairns
And became part of us
When I sing them alone
Or aloud to you
I feel known
For the songs and sounds of Scotland will always bring me home