Verbal Fisticuffs

The Christmas Special 2008 of Rab C Nesbitt was wonderful!!

Having already cited our string-vested Bard o' Govan as a fine example of blason populaire, it was great to have another listen to the wit and wisdom of the Glaswegian scumbag that we all know and love!

Rab has gone on the wagon! Shock! It was so clever though, how Mr Nesbitt's lyrical ramblings were so very posh, not addled by drink! Rab has the evangelicalism of a newly dry alcoholic and the world's fed up of it, until he realises he isn't perfect. His fellow alcoholics at his temperance meeting turn up at his flat and sing Nae Regrets - no, not the Martyn Bennett track, but bascially the Glaswegian version of Edith Piaff's song.

Reminded me of the drunken singers in Edinburgh in the summer!!


Meanwhile, Mary-doll realises she'd rather be the next Kim (or Aggie) rather than run off to London with her Range-Rover-driving old flame, Brian. The whole message of the show was that you may not be perfect, but home is where you can be accepted for what you are. (Well done, creator, Ian Pattison, you're a genius!)

The two folkloric aspects of the character of Rab C are the self-deprecating humour, and the whole issue of temperance, which leads me rather cleverly to advertise the Annual Temperance Walks in Inverallochy (Xmas Day), Cairnbulg (New Year's Day) and St. Combs (2nd Jan) - the three fisher villages on the 'knuckle' of NE Scotland. A survival of the 1840s protest against the licencing of pubs in the villages to prevent the fishermen wasting their wages on drink, the walks today are a celebration of identity and faith in the villages.



The Flute Bands, accompanied by bass and tenor drums and triangle, play Sankey's hymn tunes (those in Ira D Sankey's Sacred Songs & Solos Collection) as well as a number of folk tunes including The Skye Boat Song, Bonnie Charlie, and Rowan Tree, which is really the signature tune of all the walks.

Plenty has been said by others in Elphinstone, so all I'll do here is share a very funny story told to me by a New Toun fluter (i.e. someone from St. Combs).




















He said that the collective name of the band when they perform during the year with members from each village, is 'Inversaintcairn' Band, and the reason was that Inverallochy and Cairnbulg, who have always been bitter rivals cos the villages are split only by a stream in the middle of the road - now culverted - they needed a 'Saint' between them, i.e. St. Combs!!

Bruce Buchan, the leader of Inverallochy Flute Band, proceeded to tell everybody the story at the Tarves Concert Party where I'd invited the collective band to play! They got it.

Village rivalry is of course yet another source of blason populaire! And we in the North East have it in spades. Fraserburgh vs Peterhead, Fittie vs Torry, Macduff vs Banff, very many rivalries all with their attached origin legends. But, as is the season's requirement, we will forget our differences for a bit and as folk rockers Jethro Tull extoled Ring the Solstice Bells.

Master Storyteller Becomes a Master of the University

Stanley Robertson, possibly the greatest Traveller storyteller alive today, was honoured recently by the University of Aberdeen who awarded him a M.Univ. degree at the November 2008 graduation ceremony in Elphinstone Hall.

Professor Tim Ingold of the Anthropology Dept. presented Stanley's achievements to the Principal and his colleagues as well as the assembled company.

On the platform and in the audience, were various supporters and friends of Stanley's, including Robbie Shepherd, Dr Tom McKean (Elphinstone Institute), Prof. Chris Gane (Head of Business School), Sara Reith, me (FJ), Anna Fancett (Grampian Association of Storytellers - and also getting her degree of MRes in English Lit.). Stanley's wife Johann and the family were there too in pride of place.

The P&J did him proud with a particularly spooky pic taken outside Elphinstone Hall, emphasising the Gothic arches and the cold, black night! Perfect for a Master Storyteller!

Here's the moment where Stanley had received his Master's cloak and signed his acceptance of the honorary degree...



Elphinstone Hall was a great setting, with its wooden floor and vaulted ceiling. Dr Jane Geddes of the History of Art Department said it had been several centuries since the hall had been used for graduations. She assured all the folk who had just got their degrees not to worry, because they had done their best. With an Aesop-like tale of her own of 'slow and steady' getting there at the same time as super-speedy and fit, Dr Geddes said there was hope for everyone!

Indeed - it's the first time a Traveller has been awarded a degree by this university...

Well done, Stanley, who was "jist tickled" after the event.

Lullabies for the music students

My office-buddy at Elphinstone Institute, Irene Watt, gave the first of a series of lectures to the Music Department at the University of Aberdeen a couple of weeks ago.


Introduced by Professor Jonathan Stephens, Irene gave a summary of her research into the folkloric power of lullabies. (Muggins was operating the powerpoint slides!) Elphinstone was well-represented by Dr Tom McKean, Norman Mackenzie (MLitt) and departmental secretary, Alison Sharman (two of whom you can see either side of the top of the harp!)

Irene accompanied herself on her clarsach - the small Scottish harp. (Tom looks like he's nodding off there!)

Now, I can vouch for the fact the harp has been in a bad way! After suffering on the way to Cardiff, apparently it had to go to harp hospital as far away as Germany!!

Anyway - the substance of this research is fascinating. Lullabies, far from just being pleasant little ditties to put babies to sleep are actually an outlet for the mother's fears - anyone whose tried to get a grumpy, greety bairn to doze off will know that some days the poor mother will feel more like wringing the wee monster's neck!

Irene explained how many lullabies mask in their soothing melodies the mother's annoyance at the child taking over her life, anger at being abandoned by her partner (common problem in folksong!) and fears for what may happen if the partner is involved in a dangerous occupation, such as being a fisherman or soldier.

The most obvious example is the song Can Ye Sew Cushions? With its rapid tempo changes into the refrain, the song swings back and forth between the mother's annoyance with the situation and her love for her children.

These lyrics are taken from the 'Scots Musical Museum' collection of 1803:

O Can ye sew cushions? And Can ye sew sheets?
And can ye sing ba-la-loo When the bairn greets?

cho: And hee and baw, birdie, hee and baw lamb
Hee and baw birdie, my bonnie wee lamb.
Hee, O, wee, O, what would I do wi' you?
Black's the life that I lead wi' you!
Mony o' you, little for to gie you
Hee, O, ee, O, what would I do wi' you?

I biggit the cradle all on the tree top
And the wind it did blaw, and the cradle did rock.

Now hush-a-ba lambie, and hush-a-ba, dear
Now hush-a-ba, lambie, thy minnie is here.

The wild wind is ravin', thy minnie's heart's sair;
The wild wind is ravin', and you dinna care.

Sing ba-la-loo, lambie, sing ba-la-loo, dear,
Does the wee lambie ken that his daddie's no here?

Ye're rockin' fu' sweetly upon my warm knee
But your daddie's a-rockin' upon the saut sea.

Other lullabies tell of historical events to train the child in its own culture, stories from the Clearances, stories to warn of their enemies - the brutal tale of the murdered lover in the Gaelic song Grigoal Cridhe, others are warning tales of women gone astray and what they are capable of The Cruel Mither kills her twins born out of wedlock yet when she sees them playing outside, not knowing they are the angels of her murdered bairns, offers them milk and treasures, but they know her crime and damn her to Hell. Lullabies have even taught of nature's power, which generations have learned to beware, e.g. the Tsunamis of the Pacific.

Ending her lecture with the haunting verbal images from a journalist in Afghanistan who is more moved by a poor Afghan woman singing lullabies to her baby in a refugee camp than any of the horrors he has seen on the battlefield, Irene got a well-deserved round of applause!

So ... the next time you sing 'Hush a bye-baby' pay closer attention to the words, you may be in for a shock!

Superstitious Builders!

It would seem that the builders for Scotia Homes suffer from Triskaidekaphobia! That's fear of the number thirteen, folks!

The new housing development that went up last year across from me does not have a number 13! I was delighted at this modern example of an ancient superstition. Here's the evidence


Numbering already dodgy here... 11 then 12, no odd and even for this lot of fearful builders...


Next door is number 14!

On this wide shot, you can see the only thing between 12 and 14 are the double garages! How cool!

• 13 turns up in Norse legends, where Loki, the god of mischief, equivalent with the devil is the 13th member at Odin's feast
• The 13th fairy in Sleeping Beauty is the bad one who curses her to prick her finger on a needle and die
• Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus was the 13th to be chosen
• Fishermen in Britain would never say the fatal number, rather 'Twelve and One'
• Another common name for 13 is 'the baker's dozen' (so-called because kindly bakers would give their customers an extra bun or cake if they bought 12);
• Fishermen would also not have boat registration numbers which could add up to 13, nor boat names with 13 letters!
• Lifts in Japan don't have 13, 14 or 4, all are thought to be unlucky - 4 because the Japanese word for the number is phonetically similar to the word for 'death'!
• Fearful Persian builders label houses in Iran 12+1

There are loads more

Did you know that...

• 13 is the atomic number of Aluminium on the Periodic Table of Elements?
• Sikhs look on 13 as being lucky, as 'tera' 13, also means 'yours'. Guru Nanak counted 'tera' after 13 as all things belonged to God, hence it was good fortune?
• Traditionally there are 13 steps leading to the gallows?
• 13 goes into 999,999 exactly 76,923 times!?

Mari Lwyd - the Old Grey Mare

And we met the Mari Lwyd (Welsh for 'Grey Mare'/ 'Holy Mary')... and privileged to see the Mari out of season at Aberdare Hall, Cardiff as part of the entertainment on the Ballad Conference.


The text below I quote from the Folkwales website:

The Mari is unique to South Wales. In its purest form (still to be seen at
Llangynwyd, near Maesteg, every New Year's Day) the tradition involves the
arrival of the horse and its party at the door of the house or pub, where
they sing several introductory verses. Then comes a battle of wits (known as
pwnco)in which the people inside the door and the Mari party outside
exchange challenges and insults in rhyme. At the end of the battle, which
can be as long as the creativity of the two parties holds out, the Mari
party enters with another song.

Our Mari was the Llantrisant one.


It really was an amazing sight! Mari Lwyd is a tradition not too far removed from the Guising traditions of the Northern Isles of Scotland. Although 'dressing up' at Hallowe'en is well-known, its a fairly modern version of the Hogmanay tradition.

In Orkney, the 'guisers' had their own little folk play and songs which had origins in pre-Reformation times, which praise 'Queen Mary' i.e., the Virgin, 'Queen of Heaven'. Chambers' Book of Days has an excellent write up on it.

Of course, there's the obvious visual connection with the Padstow Hobby 'Oss in Cornwall. The Mari snaps and chases after girls, and generally makes a nuisance of itself, as it did in the hall! Very very impressed that this tradition is being revived in Wales.

Well done Rhiannon for persuading the Mari out of its stable early!

Welsh clogs and old dances

Cardiff University Union was the venue for a night celebrating Welsh folk dance. There were a few comments I didn't agree with - i.e. that the Welsh Methodists and Evangelicals killed off folk dance - don't be anti-Christian, you lot! I've had a few conversations on this subject and certain academics are very proud of their evangelical heritage, they also say that these people were also champions of Welsh language and folklore! I have spoken to Gaels who agree that the church had nowt to do with the death of Gaelic, in fact without being made to read the Bible in Gaelic, they would have lost it altogether!! Some of the best 19th century Gaelic was to be found in sermons! Anyway, the Welsh too, benefited from a Welsh Bible which would in turn re-enliven the language...I'm not going into this, I am merely quoting the likes of Rhiannon Ifans who agrees with me - if you want an argument about it, see her, not me, this isn't a place to argue (addressed to the commenter who didn't even leave their name).



ok, that was a digression, it was just something that annoyed me while I was there. The dances were fantastic! They had been remembered through oral tradition and added to with other known country-dance elements. Us Scots could see clear links with the Scottish & English Country dances, and probably French too.



Clog dancing was also represented on the night by the grown ups and a brilliant wee boy who could snuff out a candle with his clog heels!! Jings! I've never seen such talent! Again there were shades of Highland step dancing and the clog dances of Industrial England.





Dance, I think, is a universal folk phenomenon in that one influenced all and vice versa. I even heard that a Scot went to the Circassian republic and discovered his fiddle tunes and dances were very like what was found there in the Russian continent!

Cardiff Bay

It's the name of a Martyn Joseph song, and it's also seen often in Torchwood and Dr Who! Cardiff Bay is pretty impressive even in the monsoon rains we experienced while we were there for the Ballad Conference!!

In this picture we have the remains of the coal industry, the new Welsh assembly, the old dock buildings, and sneaking out of the rear is the dome of the Millenium Centre. The wooden structures in the water were part of the equipment for taking coal off trucks and into ships for export.

The dock building looks like a red palace!

This stunning brick and terracotta building facing the Cardiff Docks was opened in 1897 as the headquarters of the Cardiff Railway Company (formerly the Bute Docks Company). The 2nd and 3rd Marquesses of Bute were the men who made Cardiff. The 2nd Marquis was of Scots descent and born there in 1793. His father, Lord Mountstuart, moved to Wales after acquiring massive estates there through his marriage to Charlotte Windsor. He commissioned the building of the docks on the Bay and his son was the man who rebuilt Cardiff Castle in the 19th century.

The Millenium Centre opened in 2004, designed to be a landmark for cultural and artistic events. Its stunning design which has a bit of a nod to Glasgow's 'Armadillo' is often seen on telly now because of Russell T Davies' influence on Dr Who and Torchwood.

The spooky thing about the front of the building is no matter where I took photos from, the english motto In these stones, horizons sing shines out at you!! The Welsh is a grander expression of the same sentiment. I think it's lovely.

Here are the words to Martyn Joseph's song:

Took my son and his tear stained face out of Sunday School
As Chapel Hymns began to fade away
Left his mother with the other as we drove across our town
Going to the place where the seagulls and the cranes play
On a Sunday over Cardiff Bay

This is one day of our lives
And on a Sunday over Cardiff Bay
Know that I love youAll of my life
And the old man in the side street he made you smile
Waved at us both so we both waved back
Down on through Bute Street to the mud of the low tide
They tear the old things down my son, but some things stay the same
On a Sunday over Cardiff Bay

This is one day of our lives
And on a Sunday over Cardiff Bay
Know that I love you
All of my life

Saw Captain Scott on the Terranova
Setting sail for open sea
And maybe one day when you're older
You'll come down this way and think of me
It'll be a Sunday over Cardiff Bay

Just one day of your life
And on that Sunday over Cardiff Bay
Know that I loved you.
On a Sunday over Cardiff Bay
This is one day of our lives
And on a Sunday over Cardiff Bay
Know that I love you
I hope that's alright…
All of my life…

Lovely...

The Land of Song

I was delighted to discover a few Welsh musical traditions that were new to me in Cardiff. Dr Rhiannon Ifans who is the current secretary of the Welsh Folk Song Society and lecturer in Welsh at the University of Wales, Lampeter, is also championing the Welsh carol-singing tradition of 'Plygain'.

According to the National Museum of Wales' article on the topic, Plygain was a pre-Reformation survival of choral worship which took place in the early hours of Christmas Morning, perhaps even the old Midnight Mass.

So with her friends from the Folk Song Society, Rhiannon treated us to a few examples in the Aberdare Hall, just round the corner from Cardiff University as part of the entertainment for the Ballad Conference.



Have a listen to the well and truly glorious Welsh singing we were treated to! The podcaster lists the tracks and you simply play them like you would on a CD player.

We also had hymns which are also featured here. Singing has always been a part of religious worship from the days of King David who wrote his psalms to express his fears, wants and adoration for God. The Plygain singers come to remember the nativity, but also would have praised Mary and the Saints in earlier days as Rhiannon told me. I was gobsmacked to think that Wales was once Catholic! I suppose I am so used to thinking of it as Celtic, then evangelical, that I never imagined about what happened in between!!

Anyway - this wonderful tradition was another way of preserving the language in the face of all the 'imperialism' which also affected the Gaels. Welsh being a Celtic tongue shared its origin with Gaelic, Irish, Manx, although went down the P-Celtic route which the 'Picts' of NE Scotland and Lothian spoke, or at least they did eventually. There are theorists who believe P-Celtic was the result of those tribes influencing the descendants of the neolithic farmers who could have spoken a non-indo european tongue. Anyway - Welsh, though nothing like Gaelic, sounds beautiful when sung!

The hymns are a miscellany sung by the Bute Babes, from Cardiff Castle. We went there for a banquet on our last night and were blown away by the talent of these young folk who are all students and professional singers that work there in their spare time. You can hear some of us belting out Cym Rhondda when they get to it. The words were written by William Williams in 1745!! That wonderful rousing tune which suits both chapel and rugby parks wasn't with us til 1907, composed by John Hughes of Pontypridd.

Here are the words in Welsh:

Arglwydd, arwain trwy'r anialwch,
Fi bererin gwael ei wedd,
Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd
Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd
Hollalluog, Hollalluog
Ydyw'r Un a'm cwyd i'r lan.

2. Colofn dân rho'r nos i'm harwain,
A rho'r golofn niwl y dydd;
Dal fi pan bwy'n teithio'r manau
Geirwon yn fy ffordd y sydd
Rho i mi fanna, rho i mi fanna,
Fel na bwyf yn llwfrhau.

3. Agor y ffynhonnau melus
'N tarddu i maes o'r Graig y sydd;
Colofn dan rho'r nos i'm harwain,
A rho golofn niwl y dydd;
Rho i mi fanna, rho i mi fanna,
Fel na bwyf yn llwfwrhau.

4. Pan bwy’n myned trwy’r Iorddonen
Angeu creulon yn ei rym,
Ti est trwyddi gynt dy hunan,
P'am yr ofnaf bellach ddim?
Buddugoliaeth, buddugoliaeth,
Gwna imi waeddi yn y llif!

5. Ymddiriedaf yn dy allu,
Mawr yw’r gwaith a wnest erioed
Ti gest angau, ti get uffern,
Ti gest Satan dan dy droed
Pen Calfaria, pen Calfaria,
Nac aed hwnw byth o'm cof.

See you at Cardiff Park! ;-)

Fa Hingit the Monkey no.3

Well, the Hartlepool/Boddam monkey went down well in Cardiff! And, surprise, surprise, Matilda Burden, of Stellenbosch University, South Africa, did a paper on another monkey - this one was getting married! 'Die apie se bruilof/ The Monkey's Wedding' is a nonsense song like The Fishermen Hung the Monkey' with a nod to Froggie Went a-Courting, where all the animals in the jungle get together for the Monkey and Ape's nuptials, and have a minibeast-feast!





Matilda borrowed the sock-monkey, which actually belongs to fellow-blogger, Aktoman, for her presentation also. Here we are with Monkey sporting his noose!



I found another monkey wedding song which got the two of us thinking, as Matilda had heard reference to it in the 19th/20th Century Greig-Duncan Folksong Collection! So it could be yet another North East Scots song which clearly travelled the world!



The Monkey's Wedding

The monkey married the baboon's sister,
Gave her a ring and then he kissed her.
She set up a yell.
The bridesmaid stuck on some court-plaster.
It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster.
Surely 'twas a sad disaster,
But it soon got well.


What do you think the bride was dressed in?
White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin,
Red kid shoes, quite interestin'.
She was quite a belle.
The bridegroom blazed with a blue shirt-collar,
Black silk stock that cost a dollar,
Large false whiskers the fashion to follow,
He cut a monstrous swell.


What do you think they had for supper?
Chestnuts raw and boiled and roasted,
Apples sliced and onions toasted,
Peanuts not a few.
What do you think they had for a fiddle?
An old banjo with a hole in the middle,
A tambourine and a worn-out griddle,
Hurdy-gurdy too.


What do you think were the tunes they danced to?
What were the figures they advanced to?
Up and down as they chanced to,
Tails they were too long.
"Duck In The Kitchen," "Old Aunt Sally,"
Plain cotillion, "Who Keeps Tally."
Up and down they charge and rally.
Ended is my song.
[From Carl Sandburg's "American Songbag".]



This monkey is male, but Matilda's one was female, and the South-African song concentrates heavily on the wedding feast, which has input from the foodlore text 'Useful Recipes'!!



Matlida has still to send me the text for the Afrikaans version, but I reckon I'll be learning it along with the Hartlepool monkey. The Poolies will be getting to read my paper soon, as I met up with Hartlepool United FC Fanzine editor, John Cooper, a few days ago, and gave him a copy. He seems tickled pink with it.









The rugby team also still uses the hanged monkey logo as you can see!

I think that's the end of this series for now, but I'm sure there is much more to be said about the monkey-hanging legend.

Fa Hingit the Monkey? - no.2

Here we have group 'The Young 'uns' performing Alan Wilkinson's version live -



I have tracked down the song Paul referred to on the forum, about the Tyneside Baboon - bit of a different tale, and one from Greenock as well!

Sum time since, sum wild beasts thre cam to the toon,
And in the collection a famous Baboon,
In uniform drest-if my story you're willin
To believe, he gat lowse, and ran te the High Fellin

Fal de rol la, &c.

Three Pitmen cam up- they were smoking their pipe,
When straight in afore them Jake lowp'd ower the dike:
Ho, Jemmy! smash, marrow! here's a red-coated Jew,
For his fyece is a' hairy, and he hez on nae shoe!

Wey, man, thou's a fuil! for ye divent tell true,
If thou says 'at that fellow was ever a Jew;
Aw'll lay thou a quairt, as sure's my nyem's Jack,
That queer luikin chep's just a Russian Cossack.

He's ne Volunteer, aw ken biv his wauk;
And if he's outlandish, we'll ken biv his tauk;
He's a lang sword ahint him, ye'll see'd when he turns;
Ony luik at his fyece! smash his byens, how he gurns!

Tom flang doon his pipe, and set up a greet yell;
He's owther a spy, or Bonnypairty's awnsell;
Iv a crack the High Fellin was in full hue and cry,
To catch Bonnypairt, or the hairy French spy.

The wives scamper'd off for fear he should bite,
The men-folks and dogs ran to grip him se tight;
If we catch him, said they, he's hev ne lodging here,
Ne, not e'en a drop o' reed Robin's sma' beer.

Armstrong,(1827) In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce Newcastle Upon Tyne.
The baboon seems to have got off lucky!

Not so the poor Greenock beastie, dating from a late 1800s broadside ballad:

IN Greenock town, I've heard it said,
A man there lived, who to his trade
A fisher was, a rummy blade,
His freens they cawed him Dunkey, O.

Now, a sailor brither he had got,
Wha'd just come hame frae Hottentot,
And frae that savage place he brought
A full-grown, living monkey, O.

Chorus.

For four lang years, 'twas telt to me,
This sailor chiel had been to sea,
When he came hame to hae a spree,
He wasna' very funky, O.

So, wi his monkey in a box,
At Dunkey's door he quickly knocks,
And the nicht was spent wi sangs and jokes,
But he ne'er said he'd got a monkey, O.

Now ye maun ken, this sailor lad,
A sweetheart up in Glasgow had,
So to see her next day he would pad,
In spite o' freens or Dunkey, O.

Early next morning he did rise,
As the sun began to climb the skies;
Says he, Na doubt he'll get a surprise.
When he wankens and twiggs the monkey, O.

Now the monkey thocht, like human kin,
'Twas time some breakfast was brocht in;
It then began to yell and whin,
And through the room went dancing, O.

You'd thocht t'was some ane killing pigs,
For it yell'd and cut some antic riggs,
And danced some first-rate Irish jigs.
As through the house it went prancing, O.

But a' this din and wild uproar
The monkey made upon the floor;
The fisherman he loud did snore—
'Twas hard to wauken Dunkey, O.

At length he thocht 'twas time to rise,
And he looked about him wi' surprise,
For on a table he espies
A thing in the shape o' a monkey. O.

Now Dunkey jumped up to his feet,
Like lightning he ran to the street,
And twa-three fishermen he did meet,
And oh, but he felt funky, O!

He telt his story—wi' ae consent
To Dunkey's domicile they went;
And they swore they'd mak the thing repent,
Be it a man or a monkey, O.

Now the monkey at the men did stare,
For they strapped him down upon a chair,
Says ane—On his face there's ower much hair,
To shave him I'll no be funky, O.

Ane o' them ran and got some soap,
And made a lather pipin' hot,
While another held him by the throat,
Till the fisherman shaved the monkey, O.
Now the fishermen they laughed like mad,

Such fun before they never had,
When a wild young chiel, whose name was Rak
Proposed to hang the monkey, O.
Then round its neck a rope they threw,
And through a cleek the end they drew,
And quickly to the riff it flew,
For the fishermen hung the monkey, O.

I'm beginning to see a pattern here! The blason populaire aspect of saying country folk or fishers are so stupid they don't know what a monkey is!

Prof. Donald Meek tells me that sailors in his native Tiree often brought monkeys home as pets and everyone knew fine what they were!

On the subject of interactions of communities with far-away places, I read in the 1791 Statistical Account of Scotland, that fishermen in Boddam and Peterhead would have regularly met Norwegian, Dutch and other folk from the Baltic; not to mention that Earl Marischal Keith - one of them anyway - who founded PD - was a famous mercenary soldier in Europe. Hartlepool also would have had similar knowledge of Europeans, being a main port since the middle ages for County Durham.

so... it's ok if Boddamers or Hartlepudlians say it against themselves, but not if someone says it to them!

more later!

Fa Hingit the Monkey? - no.1 in a series

Who indeed? Funny how both Boddam and Hartlepool seem to claim the legend of the monkey who was apparently hanged from the mast of the French ship on which he was found when it was wrecked.

For those that are blissfully ignorant of this bit of blason populaire - (popular insults), let me take you back to Napoleonic times - like the days of Senator McCarthy's witchhunts in the 1950s, it wasn't Reds folk saw under the beds, but Frenchies! Everyone was terrified of French spies - especially cos they had no idea what a Frenchman looked like.

Enter a French merchant ship - it's wrecked - in one version off the coast of Hartlepool, County Durham, and in the other, off Boddam, a fishing village in Aberdeenshire -

Boddam locals' reaction - Ee! There's a beastie on board, let's dae awa wi it so we can claim the salvage!

Smart, couthy and spendthrift locals who know that the law of the sea is finders' keepers, so long as there's no-one aboard! They also 'recycle' their monkey carcase and make 'potted heid' - a butcher's delicacy that I have never had the misfortune to sample!

Hartlepool locals' reaction - Ere, look at that hairy man wi a tail and hairy hands! He winna speak English, he must be a Frenchie spy! Let's hang him on the square and show what good citizens we are! We'll send his body back to Napoleon and make sure Boney doesn't send any more hairy men!

These Northern folk are apparently too thick to tell the difference between a monkey and a Frenchman. They get riotously drunk and chop up the poor monkey's corpse, and declare that they have maintained England's sovereignty at sea. Duh!

So, the Hartlepudlians get the rawest deal out of this - Boddamers are merely greedy; but they are completely stupid! Tell me why then should Hartlepool United FC adopt the monkey as a mascot?

This is H'angus the Monkey (gettit? hang-us? Doh!) - Hartlepool United FC's mascot. He even ran for mayor and won! (Hiding inside H'angus was a local guy who wanted the publicity).

This fella here is Mervyn, who is the logo of the HUFC's supporter's magazine 'Monkey Business'.

And ...

This is a stone monkey in Hartlepool where folk chuck coins for charity.

The footballing fraternity seem very happy to have the soubriquet Monkey Hanger!

Boddam on the other hand is strangely quiet on the matter.

You may have already seen on the original Scottish Storyteller's blog her entry about the monkey. Her father was a joiner to trade, and he would often be the subject of jokes relating to monkey-hanging. Apparently once he came back to his work bench to find a noose in his piece-box!

The Boddam version of the song is short and sweet -

Eence a ship sailed round the coast
And a' the men in her was lost
Burrin' a monkey up a post
So the Boddamers hanged the monkey-O

Noo the funeral was a grand affair
All the Boddam folk was there
It minded you o' the Glesga Fair
Fin the Boddamers hanged the monkey-O

Noo a' the folk frae Peterhead
Cam oot expectin' tae get a feed
So they made it into potted heid
Fin the Boddamers hanged the monkey-O

The Hartlepool version has an acknowledged author, Geordie music hall singer, Ned Corvan who died at the youthful age of 35. It's an epic, and perhaps inspired by the Boddam song. He wrote it in 1862, just a few years before his death. It would seem to suggest that the song was in popular use before then.

The Greig-Duncan Folk Song Collection of the North East of Scotland has a version relating to the fishing village of Cullen, Banffshire, sung by a Miss H Rae, in 1907. It does not mention Boddamers! So, it would seem our monkey-hangers are greedy fisherfolk of the North East of Scotland, rather than NE England!

I'm away to do a paper on this at the 38th International Ballad Conference in Cardiff at the end of July, so we'll see what they make of it! And, strangely enough, the monkey legend is OLDER than Cardiff Uni itself, which celebrates its 125th anniversary this year. Maybe we could get Dr Who to take them back in the TARDIS and visit Hartlepool in the 1860s to hear Ned Corvan in the flesh! Plenty scope for Torchwood & Dr jokes coming up...

Boddam Lighthouse - obviously not any help to the poor French sailors, built in 1827, 12 years after the Napoleonic Wars ended.

Hooray - a shiny new forum!!

Got a new forum, folks:

http://elphinstone_folk_forum.atfreeforum.com/

very pleased to have found one - phpBB which is a very good set up, one I used in the past, so we'll have no trouble with editing or anything.

You must register to use it, but that winna be difficult. As a registered user you can have your own avatar (or piccie), you can make posts, introduce topics and do polls. Should be great fun.

Go and have a look!

You'll see, in due course, I have a fairy as my avatar... very folky!

Postgraduate Ethnology Conference 2008

Now, this is business, folks. It's now nearly a year since the last conference of this nature, as this blog starts with material from then, and you've all been wondering what is going on... well, here's the news I have:

The 2008 Conference is being hosted by the School of Scottish Studies/Celtic Studies Depts at the University of Edinburgh, so that's George Square in the Capital, nae far from the Festival Theatre, Nicholson St., in Newington. (map link)







Here is the low-down from Wilson McLeod of SSS:

The dates we are proposing are 11-13 April, which is just before we return from the Easter break. The idea would be to begin on Friday around teatime and then break up in the middle of the day/early afternoon on Sunday, so as to allow participants from elsewhere to travel to and from Edinburgh.


So, if you want to come, email Wilson on: wmcleod@staffmail.ed.ac.uk or w.mcleod@ed.ac.uk


There's soooo much to do in 'Auld Reekie' as it's also known, so we could see if they'd organise a ceilidh for us. There are plenty halls and things that could be used, so pass your suggestions on to the Edinburgh team. As far as I know, Wilson is going with these dates.


Hope to see everyone back again!

Caption Comp - Dr Thomas McKean

Folklorist, singer, and my supervisor, who hails fae New Hampshire, USA, but bides in Formartine... Dr T A McKean. I had to say something about this picture he has on his profile, it is asking to be parodied, in the nicest possible way, of course.

Tom's a dude.

The background to this picture is him giving a paper on his current project, the digitisation and cataloguing of the James Madison-Carpenter wax cylinder archive. JMC came to the UK in the 1930s and collected folk songs and sea shanties. Currently the digital versions of his recordings from the original wax cylinders are held at the Library of Congress in Washington D.C., and Tom and his colleagues are working on producing an archive and book so each recording and its contents can be identified.

Here is the picture:




My caption: "...and Madison-Carpenter's cylinders were this big!"






all contributions will be considered - rude ones will be deleted!

The Immortal Memory

We'll tak a cup o kindness, yet, in praise o Auld Lang Syne...

Yes folks, it's the Bard o Allowa's birthday. Rabbie Burns, oor national poet


And I just had my haggis & neep - weel, a neep, potato and parsnip mash and finest Hall's haggis, and of course - the water o life!

A haggis is a peculiarly ancient idea - perhaps even the hunter gatherers merely cooked the innards of the sheep (as that's what it is, folks!) over a fire in the stomach bag so he could eat on the hoof... ha ha. Not everyone likes it, which is a shame, - MacSween's veggie haggis was annoying a certain butcher who was caa-in' it for aathing! - poet, Allan Cunningham heard the following conversation at a Burns' Anniversary Dinner...

'Pray, sir' said a man from the south, 'why do you boil it in a sheep's bag; and, above all, what is it made of?' - 'Sir,' answered a man of the north, 'we boil it in a sheep's bag because such was the primitave way before linen was invented; and as for what it is made of, I dare not trust myself to tell - I can never name all the savoury items without tears; and truly you would not have me expose such weakness in a public company.'

Better nae tae ken if ye ask me!! Dig in wi yer spoon!

Here's Rabbie's praise o Scotland's maist weel-kent dish...

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy of a grace

As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o' need,

While thro' your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,

An' cut you up wi' ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive,

Deil tak the hindmaist, on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,

"Bethankit," hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect scunner,

Looks down wi' sneering, scronful' view

On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a wither'd rash,

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit;

Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll mak it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,

Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow's wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them oot their bill o' fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware

That jaups in luggies;

But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r,

Gie her a Haggis! *

alternative last stanza

"Ye Pow'rs wha gie us a' that's gude

Still bless auld Caledonia's brood,

Wi' great John Barleycorn's heart's bluid

In stoups or luggies;

And on our boards, that king o' food,

A guid Scotch Haggis!"

These lines make me laugh - especially if you know 'horn' is a horn spoon!


Then, SPOON for SPOON they stretch an' strive,
Deil tak the hindmaist, on they drive,


It makes me think of a hale clan diving towards the plate spoons aloft!

Put a plate o haggis in front of me and my dad and watch it disappear...