Evenin's Fa'

A happy day on Traigh Losgaintir in Harris. My daughter was still a wee girl (she would have been about seven years old). There's a photo of her on a beautiful day, when you wouldn't swap Harris for anywhere, doing a cartwheel on the huge empty beach. The tune is more or less an Irish air 'The Banks of the Suir' which I heard on a Micheal O Suilleabhain CD I borrowed from the library. The white birds are gannets.

Words: Scott
Tune: Traditional
Voice/guitar: Scott
Banjo: Sarah McFadyen
Fiddle: Amy Geddes

in the blue days of summer where the waves meet the sand
the island a jewel in the sea
with a smile in her eyes with a wave of her hand
she runs swiftly and laughing to me
did you see me cartwheel? see me dance?
see the white birds that flash in the sun?
I’d make this day last for ever if I had the chance
ah but this day is nearly done

in the grey days of autumn when the mist’s on the town
and the leaves start their fall from the trees
with tears in her eyes with a sigh and a frown
she turns and walks slowly from me
in the black days of winter no light shows the way
and there is no warmth in the sun
no music can cheer me at the end of the day
ah that these days were over and done

in the green days of springtime when the first buds appear
and song fills the evening air
she turns to me gently and as I draw near
the sun lights her golden hair
you saw me cartwheel you saw me dance
saw the white birds that flash in the sun
I’d make that day last forever if I had the chance
ah but that day is over and done

Looking into family history took me down to Clarabad Mill, near Berwick-upon-Tweed, where a great great great grandfather, William Murray, was the miller. He had a daughter Sarah who died the same year as her father in 1832, when she was just seven. I thought I'd make a cheerier outcome for her, and for him. I had great fun using the names of farms and mills other forebears had worked, and finding them on OS maps - one in East Lothian, one in Northumberland, the rest in Berwickshire.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Moothie: Jim Malcolm

Ah’ll aye be thankfu for the fortune that Ah had
tae mairry Sadie Murray frae the mill at Clarabad
there’s lots o ither laddies tried tae catch her ee
but Ah'm the lucky laddie - Sadie Murray chose me

laddies cam frae a the airts
they came in droves on fit or in auld fairm cairts
they came frae miles aroond in sun or snaw
jist tae see the bonniest lassie that ye ever saw

frae Meikle Pinkertonan Letham Shank
Edington an Reston East an Berrybank
frae Ninewells Mill an Blackerstane
Fireburn Mill an Kidshielhaugh Redheugh an Lumsdaine
frae Whitsome Hill an Swinton Quarter
they cam frae a the airts tae coort the miller’s dochter

it's seventeen years that Ah've been wad
tae Sadie Murray frae the mill at Clarabad
and we count oor blessings each and every day
we've five braw bairns and there's anither on the way

an oor dochter Sarah ye're noo sixteen
an ah’m the proudest faither that there’s ever been
on Sundays the kirk in Hutton's ayeways fu
the laddies havenae come tae praise the Lord
they've come tae see you

A New Makars Trust Celebrating Fife song. I gathered some pithy sayings the ladies at Ladywalk House in Anstruther came out with and juggled the words around. A Dyker is someone from Cellardyke, adjacent to Anstruther but never to be confused with it. The tune came after the rhythm of the words, walking down to Kinghorn station at 7 o’clock one winter morning. It's on Sangsters' album Sharp & Sweet (CDTRAX 207) but this version breathes new life into it with the fiddles and viola, and Jenny's cheery tune, which she has called 'The Dykers'.

Words/tune: Scott
Instrumental tune: Jenny Gardner
Voice: Scott
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner, Sarah Northcott
Viola: Amy Geddes

keep yer ain fish guts tae yer ain sea maws
Anster daws tattie shaws
keep yer ain fish guts tae yer ain sea maws
lyin amang the deid craws

an wha’s acht ye ma bonnie lass
that moved here in the simmer
Ah kent yer faither at the scale
he’s a torn ersed Pittenweemer

ye lookin at me ye Anster daw
Ah’ll cowp ye in a dub sir
an wha cried ye partan face
an ye sae like a lobster

what’s that ye’re sayin Ah canna tell
ye styipit shilpit moaner
ye’re nae frae here Ah’m shair o that
ye’re a St Minnens droner

ye can keep yer Crail yer Pittenweem
yer Anster an St Minnens
daft Dykers’s what ye cry us a
awa back hame guid riddance

I've walked in the hills in winter and come across the remains of cottages in remote places, and wondered how the folk managed to survive the cold dark months there. In 2000 the National Portrait Gallery had an exhibition called 'A Shepherd's Life', about a woman called Jenny Armstrong who shepherded at Fairliehope in the Pentland Hills. Victoria Crowe is the painter. I loved the greys, umbers and ochres she used - a truer reflection of our landscape than the brightly coloured Mediterranean croft scenes that sell so well. Oops, a wee bee slipped out from under my bonnet.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Accordion: Martin Green
Voice/fiddle: Jenny Gardner

winter is harsh now February's here
the cruellest month of a cruel year
and the earth is hard as stone
and the cold freezes your bones

the dogs lie close on the cold stone floor
the bitter wind spiers under the door
and the earth is hard as stone
and the cold freezes your bones

morning follows the darkest night
but no warmth comes with the hours of light
and the earth is hard as stone
and the cold freezes your bones

but soon the sun will warm the air
blossom will bloom on trees that now are bare
and the sun will warm your bones
and the sun will warm your bones

This celebrates a day spent in the southern upland hills of Scotland - calm, warm, just a wee perfect breeze. I was thinking how lucky I am to have all that I have. On the way home by Biggar and West Linton, a voice on the wireless was describing the pulling down of Saddam's statue in Baghdad. The tune came before the words, about the time my father died. Gathersnaw Hill was one of the hills I’d walked over that day.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Voice Sangsters: Anne Murray, Fiona Forbes, John Blackwood
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner

on the braes of Gathersnaw Hill
I sit down to take my rest
and the air is warm and still
and I feel that I am blessed

curlews and larks call above
and the wee lambs play far below
I think on the ones I love
and on the poor souls suffering in war

and Talla shines bright in the clear air
shining silver from here on high
O Allah O God in your mercy spare them
and the hills roll away to the sky

A poem by Marion Angus. I'm not the first to find songs in the work of Marion Angus and Violet Jacob and I won't be the last. Commentators find references in this poem to the ballads, to the Christian celebration of the Eucharist, and to the Song of Solomon. 'Voices From Their Ain Countrie' edited by Katherine Gordon, published by Association of Scottish Literary Studies, is where you’ll find the work of both these women. And there is a fine anthology of Marion Angus' work by Aimee Chalmers, 'The Singin Lass', published by Polygon. Alan J Byatt kindly gave permission for the words to be used.

Words: Marion Angus,
Tune: Scott
Voice: Anne Murray
Guitar: Scott
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner
Accordion: Martin Green
Moothie: Jim Malcolm

I wad hae gien him my lips tae kiss
had I been his had I been his
barley breid and elder wine
had I been his as he is mine

the wand’ring bee it seeks the rose
tae the lochan’s bosom the burnie goes
the grey bird cries at evenin’s fa
my love my fair one come awa

my beloved shall hae this hert tae break
reid reid wine and the barley cake
a hert tae break and a moo tae kiss
tho he be nae mine as I am his

Looking for cheery material for Linten Adie, the community singing group I work with in Edinburgh, I came across this. I couldn't find a tune for it anywhere, so I made this one up. I've since heard it sung to another tune by the Foundry Bar Band on a Springthyme recording. Enough folk like this tune so I've kept it.

Words: Ord's Bothy Songs & Ballads
Tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner
Voice: Sangsters

there lives a lass by yonder burn
wha jinks aboot the seggan
and aft she gies her sheep a turn
that feed amang the bracken
could Ah believe she’d woo wi me
in spite o mam or daddie
Ah’d aftimes slip oot ower yon lea
and roll her in ma plaidie

her breist tae busk Ah’d violets pu
frae yonder glen sae foggy
an bluebells hingin wat wi dew
frae yonder den sae boggy
Ah maun awa Ah canna stay
should a gan tapsalteerie
should bogles meet me on the way
this nicht Ah’ll see ma dearie

Ah’ll ben my spense an dress a wee
wi knots an bots fu gaudy
Ah canna rest until Ah see
gin she’ll gang in ma plaidie
could Ah believe she’d woo wi me
an tak me for her laddie
Ah’d aftimes slip oot ower yon lea
and roll her in ma plaidie

Not many songs about tatties. This is a doff of the hat to all the fine bothy ballad singers I've had the fortune to hear. I spent two summers in the mid-nineties roguing spuds in Angus and Perthshire. It could be hard going in the rain and wind, but on a good day it was glorious. There's a wee acknowledgment to the late great Jim Reid in the Letham/Bowriefaud verse. I asked Mattie, who recorded this album, to make this track sound as if it was being sung in a half-full Kirriemuir Town Hall – we decided to leave out the crisps, the lavatory being flushed and the mobile phone going off.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice: Scott

tae Ferniefauld and Cairncortie
tae the braes o Angus and the Perthshire hills
in the company o Kings and Pipers
we walk the simmer in the lang lang dreels

frae the heights o Kingoldrum man what a sicht tae view
frae the plains o the lowlands tae the mountains o Tay
the yorlin is singin as he sings the simmer lang
man I hope that the morn’s jist as grand as the day

we work a the oors in thae lang simmer days
in the bilin hot sun and in the cauld wind an rain
hame tae oor faimlies a bite tae eat awa tae bed
up at five in the morning tae start ower again

there's lassies frae college there's laddies frae Dundee
some never say a word some wad crack a the day
we’re there evry mornin be it rain or be it shine
we gie an honest day’s work for Friday’s pay

the field's been passed, the inspector mannie's been an gane
the fairmer nearly smiled and oor work here is done
we tak the road tae Letham there's anither field at Bowriefaud
jist twa oors in the dreels awa back doon the road

we’ve rogued Peer an Crown Duke o York Squire an Bard
we’re a broon as toads an we’ve laughed till we cried
there's siller in oor pooch but noo the work is done
see ye a next year guid luck be on yer side

I worked on the Inspire Project with the Scots Music Group in 2010-2011, funded by Creative Scotland. Tutors worked with four groups of vulnerable folk, and what a great time we had. Towards the end of the project I put together thoughts collected from the groups about what the project had meant to them with a wee tune that started life on a break in County Sligo.

Words, tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Voice: Sangsters, Amy Lord, Ruth Kirkpatrick, Michelle Burke, Jenny Gardner, Gica Loening
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner, Gica Loening
Accordion: Martin Green

we’ve had guid times thegither
we’ve shared a sang or twa
in warm days o simmer
an winter’s days o snaw

we ken that life’s no easy
the road is hard and lang
but music aye can cheer us
we’re  better for a sang

I thought I had no voice
now listen to my song
the fellowship of music
a place where I belong

we raise our voice in song
in every verse and chorus                       
many songs behind us now
there’s many waiting for us

our time is nearly over
these days are nearly done
the tunes we will remember
the songs will still be sung

I hope the sun shines for you
and that we’ll meet again
for there’s a bond between us
a bond that has no end

I love going over Soutra and down into Lauderdale. It's the start of an adventure. And when I come over it heading north, then it means home is nearing, and I can very nearly see it on the north shores of the Forth. This is in 'Merry Muses of Caledonia', a collection of bawdy songs found in one of Robert Burns's notebooks after his death. I can't see why this song appears there as it seems simply to be about his fiddle. Aye right. It's described as an 'old song revised by Burns'. I couldn't find a tune for it and after a few days of saying the words and getting the rhythm this one came into my head.

Words: Merry Muses of Caledonia
Tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Fiddle: Amy Geddes
Voice: Sangsters

there lived a lady in Lauderdale
she loe'd a fiddler fine
she loe'd him in her chaumer
she held him in her mind
she made his bed at her bed-stock
she said he was her brither
but she's hoyed him oot o Lauderdale
his fiddle an a' thegither

first when I cam to Lauderdale
I haed a fiddle guid
my soundin-pin stuid like the aik
that growes in Lauder-wud
but nou my soundin-pin's gaen doun
an tint the fit forever
she's hoyed me oot o Lauderdale
my fiddle an a' thegither

first when I cam to Lauderdale
your ladyship can declare
I played a bow a noble bow
as ever was strung wi hair
but downa do's come ower me nou
an your ladyship winna consider
she's hoyed me oot o Lauderdale
my fiddle an a’ thegither

Anne and I have become very attached to a wee place in Sutherland, and we've become even more attached to the folk who live there. 'A small place in Assynt' is how it's described in a gazetteer I found – well, it is in one way. Quinag, Canisp and Conival are the three big hills that surround it. The six airmen referred to crashed in 1941 on a training exercise. The two men are Peach and Horne, great figures in geology. The last verse came the day after we heard that Jane's dear husband Ted had died. This is for Helen and Willie, Jane and Ted.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Voice/fiddle: Jenny Gardner

Quinag and Canisp and Conival
are still at the start of the day
I sit by the river in the morning sun
and the Traligill talks to me

it tells of six fliers who never made home
they’re buried high up on the ben
it tells of the folk from the north and the west
who came here and named this land

it tells of two men who looked and saw
and turned the world upside down
it tells of the folk from over the seas
whose kinfolk were cleared from the glen

it tells how the stags roar their passion
it tells of the laddie who drowned
it tells of the folk who now live in this place
and how some who were lost are now found

it tells of a woman who wept by its banks
now mended by love her heart sings
and the snows clothe the high hills in wintertime
and the martins return every spring

and they say on a pleasant evening
sit quiet by the Traligill
with the song of the birds and the gentlest of winds
you will hear those who are gone laughing still

A few years ago I fleetingly met a woman who had just lost a baby. The baby had been born, but had only lived a short while. His name was Theo. My wife and I were working at Edinburgh's Youth Gaitherin, a joyous four days of singing. During these four days we met Maggie. Grief seemed to emanate from her. She could barely speak. A tune came into my head, stayed there. Maggie got to hear it, years later, and was happy for me to make it into a song.

Words/tune: Scott
Voice/guitar: Scott
Fiddle: Sarah Northcott, Jenny Gardner
Viola: Amy Geddes
Moothie: Jim Malcolm

the earth tilts tae the sun
and warmer breezes blaw
the snell east wind o winter                   
is gaen noo like the snaw

bonny flooers are bloomin
up by the castle wa
and a the wee birds singin
at the day daw                               

but the birds hae tint their music 
an the flooers wear hodden grey                   
and a cauld wind roon me blaws
I feel the want o ye

they say there’ll come a time
when flooers will bloom for me
an I’ll hear the wee birds singin
a the lee lang day                                    

an they say auld Embra toon            
will greet me like a friend
she’ll wrap me in her warm cloak
an I’ll laugh and sing again

Another song which came from the Inspire Project, one of the highlights of my working life so far. One of the other tutors, Jenny Gardner, is a creative force to be reckoned with, and she came up with this waltz, which she called 'The Gift'. Storyteller Ruth Kirkpatrick, Jenny and I all met together and played around with words. These are the ones I came up with, trying to express what we all had got from the project, and how we had no intention of letting it finish.

Words: Scott
Tune: 'The Gift' Jenny Gardner
Voice/guitar: Scott
Banjo: Sarah McFadyen
Fiddle: Jenny Gardner, Amy Geddes, Gica Loening, Sarah Northcott
Voice: Sangsters

the streets o auld Embra they echo wi sangs  
and a the music that's been played doon the years
there's strathspeys an polkas cotillions and reels
there's jigs and there's the sweetest o airs

but for now come an dance the last waltz wi me
and we’ll speak o the guid times we've had
we’ll follow the music before us, come on
dance me a ma days, tak ma hand

frae Capelaw an Caerketton tae the shores o the Forth
frae Lithgae tae the blae Lammermuirs
if ye jist haud yer breath on a fine windless day
you will hear a the sangs that are oors

an I hope you've found something tae mak ye feel proud
o yer kinfolk yer countrie yersel
in this wee land o oors there's a kist o guid gear
sangs tae sing and mair stories tae tell

for now come an dance the last waltz wi me
as we’ll dance it again anither day
we’ll follow the music before us - come on
tak ma hand now and show me the way