Hi folks,
Sorry for not being around much lately.
Most time had been taken up with assimilating a new family member into the household.
Other than that ....
some may recall that, last year, I did a bit of delving into my musical upbringing with a few covers of old blues songs which were part of my formative years. Well ... I've also been looking back at some of the folk songs which were a big influence on my development.
This time round I have a song which my band used to play, back in the early 70's, and I fancied reviving. I also thought it about time that I threw myself into the 'modern age' by making a video of the process.
This is a song which was written to a traditional tune (lyrics by John Austin Marshall) in the mid 60's. It would seem that the references go back to the First World War, and relate to certain English villages where the wives who's husbands had gone off to war kept the traditional Morris dances going whilst their men were away. This is supported by the references to the maypole being replaced by the memorial plaque (and also the '50 long springtimes', at the start, which traces back from the mid 60's to the time of the Great War.
Anyway ...
... history lesson over ...
I play:
Adam Black acoustic guitar,
Ibanez acoustic guitar,
Dean acoustic baritone guitar,
Ozark bouzouki,
Autoharp,
Generation penny whistle.
My first 'real' outing on video .... so, please be kind
http://youtu.be/v-iewlTmCKclyrics:
It's fifty long springtimes since she was a bride,
But still you may see her at each Whitsuntide
In a dress of white linen with ribbons of green,
As green as her memories of loving.
The feet that were nimble tread carefully now,
As gentle a measure as age will allow,
Through groves of white blossoms, by fields of young corn,
Where once she was pledged to her true-love.
The fields they stand empty, the hedges grow free --
No young men to turn them or pastures go seed
They are gone where the forest of oak trees before
Have gone, to be wasted in battle.
Down from the green farmlands and from their loved ones
Marched husbands and brothers and fathers and sons.
There's a fine roll of honour where the Maypole once stood,
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun.
There's a straight row of houses in these latter days
All covering the downs where the sheep used to graze.
There's a field of red poppies (a gift from the Queen)
But the ladies remember at Whitsun,
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun. 
James
