SHIBBOLETH (Clive Powell & Sedayne): N O R T H E R N S T A R

Words & Images

In essence a second volume of HYEM, consisting of the remainder of the traditional songs from Waters of Tyne (1997) book-ended by two further versions of Northern Star & St. John's Chapel from the original Northern Star cassette (1999); this deluxe package comes complete with supplementary disk entitled LAMBS & BANNERS containing two extended improvisations from Winter Matrix (2000) and the live version of Saint John's Chapel (1999) all this for a mere £12 UKP including post & packing: click button below for secure on-line payment...

1) Northern Star (Psalm 32 Verse 3) / 9.20

Clive - singing, bodhran & words / Sedayne - crwth, alto clarinet, melodica & music // Psalm 32 Verse 3 originally occurred during the recording of VAS in December 1993 and then again during the Splendor Solis sessions the following spring thus moving Clive to compose these verses some years later / this is the original version realised at Brancepeth Castle, County Durham during the summer of 1999


By the tide I lost my footing
Falling, - into night
Star's settling light at end of day

Drifting loose I reach my lost home
Dreaming, Northern Star my anchor steady in the bay

Seaward bound depth sounding, trawling
Casting nets in waves the bright prow greets with 'Hope of Day'

Boat planks nailed in holding
Floating, keeping fishes hawled the silver shines in hands of day

Deep in woods the track
For tripping, tracing
In by trees the grazing spears in side of day

Out to fields plough wounding churning
Gaping, deep dark earth wide open to the seed of day




Harvest ground your breathing in by
Bailing, combine lights see gleaning through till break of day

Folding dough the bread the flesh
Unfolding rising life new foundling straying back with day

Clearing mists the birds sing filling
Hearing all the mornings that return anew with day

Wind stroked wires the pylons hockling
Howling, cuckoo spit clings glistening sparking with the day

Home my home your bricks
Your rooms bright painted
Sunlight walls that whiten in the dawn of day

Waking light the sea roars wide between us
Homing heart plunge deep in glory of the day.




2) The Great Selkie o' Sule Skerrie / 4.14

Clive - singing / Sedayne - harmonium drone & alto clarinet // This is our tribute to the late great Burgess Meredith (1907-1997) who in the original 1966 Batman film said : "On land you may command, but on sea it is me," thus paraphrasing this ancient ballad from the Islands of Scotland wherein it was believed that seals, or selkies, could cast off their skins and come ashore as human beings, there to dance and fornicate with the locals, and, in the case in this song, lay claim to the consequences...

An earthly nurse she sits and sings : and aye she sings ba-lilly-lee
It's little I ken my bairn's father, still less the land that he dwells in

Then in arose at her bed foot, and a grumly guest I'm sure was he
Saying here I am thy bairn's father, although I be not comely

I am a man upon the land, I am a selkie on the sea
And when I'm far and far from land, my dwelling is in Sule Skerry

It is na weel says the lady fair, it is na weel indeed said she
That the great Selkie o' Sule Skerrie should come and hae a bairn by me

And he has ta'en a purse of gold, and laid it low down on her knee
Saying gi' tae me my little son, and tak ye up your nurses fee

It shall come to pass on a summer's day : when the sun shines bright on every stone
That I take my little son and teach him how to swim the foam

And ye shall marry a good gunner, and a good gunner I'm sure he'll be
And the very first shot that e'er he fires, he'll kill both my young son and me




(Note: the alto clarinet improvisation that concludes this piece is called Piobaireachd for the Penguin, being based in essence on the piobaireachd laments of the highland bagpipes wherein the great & the good are justly lauded.)



~ The Felton Lonnen Suite ~

Clive - singing / Sedayne - C clarinet, drum, harmonium & crwth // As with the Water's of Tyne Suite (see HYEM) these three songs are not only arranged aesthetically but also to imply some level of occult narrative continuity...




a) Lady Mary Ann / 1.33

(A song of growing up and hope given to Clive by Lizzie Higgins. Robert Burns collected the words and Lizzie's Father Donald Higgins put them to the pipe march Mrs MacDonald of Dunacht.)

Lady Mary Ann looked o'er the castle wa'
When she saw three bonny laddies playing at the ba'
And the youngest he was the flower among them a'
He's me bonny bonny boy aye and growin' o

Father dear Father I tell you what we'll do
We'll send him up to college for another year or two
And round about his cap we'll tie the ribbons blue
Just to let the ladies know that he's growin o

Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew
Sweet bonny aye bright was her hue
And the langer she blossom'd, the sweeter she grew
For the lily in the bud will be bonnier o

Young Charlie Cochrane was the sprout of an aik
Blythe and bonny aye straught was his make
The sun it shone a' for his sake
And he will be the brag o' the forest o

The summer it is gane when the leaves they were green
And the days are awa that we hae seen
Far better days I trust will come again
For my bonny laddie's young aye an' growin' o




b) The Kye Come Hyem (Felton Lonnen) / 2.31

(Traditional Northumbrian lullaby; these secret songs of mothers' have the most beautiful tunes of all)

The kye come hyem but aa saw not me hinny
The kye come hyem but aa saw not me bairn
Aad rather lost aa the kye than lost me hinny
Aad rather lost aa the kye than lost me bairn

Fair faced is me hinny his blue eyes a shining
His hair in gold ringlets hangs sweet to me sight
So off ye gan daddy and look for your laddie
And bring tiv his mammy some peace tiv her mind

He's aalways out roamin the lang summers day through
He's aalways out roamin away from the farm
Through hedges and ditches and valleys and fellsides
I hope that me bairnie has come to nee harm

I've searched in the meadow and in the fower acre
Through stackyards and byres but nowt could aa find
So off ye gan daddy and look for your laddie
And bring tiv his mammy some peace tiv her mind

The kye come hyem but aa saw not me hinny
The kye come hyem but aa saw not me bairn
Aad rather lost aa the kye than lost me hinny
Aad rather lost aa the kye than lost me bairn




c) The Rambling Comber / 6.23

(Sung by Henry Burstow ( 1826-1916 ), Bootmaker of Horsham, Sussex. Tune collected by Lucy Broadwood on 2nd May 1893. Mr Burstow later sent her the words / 3rd verse wilful remembrance by Clive, Waverley Station circa 1997)

Ye combers all both great and small come listen to me ditty
For it is ye and only ye for all their scorn and pity
For ye can read, write, dance and smoke; indeed it's all me honour
But o me dear, I love strong beer, I am a rambling comber

It's on the tramp I'm forced to stamp; me clothes are all in tatters
Me hat is torn and me wig is worn; me health is all me riches
I have a coat scarce worth a groat and badly need another
But o me dear, I love strong beer, I am a rambling comber

I leave the town the people frown as down the lane I wander
In winter hard neath frosty stars me time I'll freely squander
But come May dew I feel anew to roam the country over
The flax in bloom and the sun in June shall greet the rambling comber

A tailor's bill I seldom fill, I never do take measure
Nor pay no debts I couldn't care less for the taking of me pleasure
O well o well till I grow old and I must give it over
For in old age none will me engage for being a rambling comber

A pitcher boy I will employ while I have cash or credit
I'll rant and roar and shout for more I'll never break that habit
For this is always on me mind be I drunk or sober
A dark haired lass, a flowing glass and a quart of old October




6) The Moorlough Shore / 3.20

Clive - singing / Sedayne - berimbau, drone & melodica / from a tape of the singing of Eddie Butcher from Magilligan in County Derry given to Clive by his Nephew Charlie Brolly.

Ye hills and dales and flowery vales that lie near to the Moorlough shore
Where the wild streams flow o'er Martinsdale; will I ever see ye ever more?
Where the violet grows and the primrose blows
The trout and and the salmon play
Wi' my line and hook delight I took for to spend my youthful days

Last night I went to see my lass to hear what she might say
To see if she would follow me when I go far away
she said she loved a sailor lad it's him I do adore
And seven long years I'll wait for him on the banks of the Moorlough shore

So farewell to your pleasant groves that lie near to the bleaching mill
Where the linen webs lie clear and white, the pearling streams run still
O had I fifty pounds in gold or ten times as much more
I'd give it all to be with the lass who lives on the Moorlough Shore.




~ An Bunnan Bui ~

a) The Yellow Bittern / 7.16

Clive - singing / Sedayne - crwth & alto clarinet // from Paddy Tunney of County Fermanagh; his singing and translation of the great song in Irish. Wanderer and poet Cathal Bui Mac Giolla Gunna ( b 1680 ) found a bittern frozen into Lough Erne and saw in the bird his hue and wilful ways which led it to die through lack of drink. Sung over the length and breadth of Ireland it is one of the best loved all Irish language songs.

Was the break of day but no bitterns horn filled the waking morn with its hollow boom
For I found him prone by the bare flag blown by the lough shore lone where he met his doom
His legs were sunk in the slime and slunk; a hostage held in the fangs of frost
O you of knowledge lament his going; for want of liquor his life was lost

O yellow bird it's my bitter grief I'd as lee or lief that my race was run
No hunger's tooth but a parching drouth that has sapped your youth after all your fun
Far worse to me than the sack of Troy that my darling boy with the frost was slain
O no want nor woe did his wings bestow as he drank the flow of a brown bog drain

Ah degrading vile was the way ye died o my bittern beauteous of glowing sheen
Was at dawn of day that your pipe ye'd play as content ye lay on your hillock green
O my great fatigue and my sorrow sore that your tail is higher than heart or head
And the tipplers say as they pass your way: had he drunk his fill he would not be dead

O bittern bright it's my thousand woes that the rooks and crows are all pleasure bound
With the rats and mice as they cross the ice to indulge in vice at your funeral mound
Had word reached me of your awful plight on the ice I'd smite and the water free
You'd have all the lake your thirst to slake and we'd hold no wake for the Bunnan Bui

O it's not the blackbird that I'm bewailing or thrush assailing the blossom bray
But my bittern yellow that hearty fellow who has my hue and my wilful ways
By the loughshore bank he forever drank and his sorrow sank in the rolling wave
Come sun or rain every drop I'll drain for the cellar's empty beyond the grave




b) My Hue & Wilful Ways / 3.32

Sedayne - melodica, crwth & alto clarinet / Clive - bodhran // an improvised 'march' in response to the humours of the preceding song.



9) Amhran Na Cuiginne / 2.00

Clive -singing / Sedayne - harmonium & melodica // Song of the milking & churning from Antoinette Butler, County Cork

Grá mo chroi mo bhuachaillín ceanasach
Grá mo chroi gach lá sa tseachtain é
Grá mo chroi go deo 'fhad 'mhairfeadh sé
Grá mo chroi mo bhuachaillin deas

Buail-buail-buail a bhuachaillin
buail-buail-buail agus gread
buail-buail-buail a bhuachaillin
buail-buail agus buailfeadsa leat




~ Sair Fyeld Hinny ~

a) Sair fyeld hinny / 3.29

Clive - singing / Sedayne - harmonium & C Clarinet // Source Joseph Crawhall's A Beuk o' Newcassel Sangs (1888)

Sair fyeld hinny, sair fyeld noo
Sair fyeld hinny, sin' a' kenned thou

Aa was young and lusty aa was fair and clear
Aa was young and lusty many's a lang year

Sair fyeld hinny, sair fyeld noo
Sair fyeld hinny, sin' a kenned thou

When I was five and twenty aa could lowp a dyke
Noo a'm five and sixty aa can barely step a syke

Sair fyeld sair fyeld noo
Sair fyeld hinny, sin aa kenned thoo

Thus spoke the owld man to the oak tree
Sair fyeld is aa sin' a kend thee!

Sair fyeld hinny, sair fyeld noo
Sair fyeld hinny, sin aa kenned thoo




b) The Autumn Running / 3.57

Sedayne - harmonium, C Clarinet, melodica & bells / Clive - bodhran / As with The Gatter Waltz (see below) this derives from the archaic preludes to the Hymnody of South East Northumbrian coalfield as collected by Killingworth-James in his Compendium Nova Castrialis (Volume 9) in which he writes:- 'The principle ensemble in many coalfield chapels is the duo of pedal harmonium & German system C Clarinet usually played in the chalumaeu register; these rustic sonatas are generally descriptive in nature hence the titles of 'The Duck that Ate the Daffodils', 'Jenny Bate's Lambing Song' and 'A Howky in Harky's Midden'... 'The Autumn Running' was described by its composer as a boyhood reminiscence revisited, having been caught as a lad in the act of poaching and forced to run barefoot through the demesne of Coldharbour with the gamekeeper whipping at his heels with a bitter withy. "It was autumn," he said, "and the land shone red and gold with leaves and hips and haws; even though my feet were bleeding I counted it an honour to be alive just to hear the clashing of the stags antlers and the braying of the howkies at Headagee."



12) Old Sir Simon the King / 1.54

Sedayne - singing, alto clarinet, melodica & shawm / Clive - bodhran // traditional English drinking (?) song; though the source remains unknown, the sentiments are all too familiar

One night it entered my mind to wander up and down
No company I did find 'till I came to the sign of the crown
The mistress was down in the dumps, the maid was ill at her ease
The tapster was drunk at his pumps; they're all of one disease:

Because drinking will make a man drunk, drunk will make a man dry,
dry will make a man sick, and sick will make a man die,
Says Old Sir Simon the King, Old Sir Simon the King
With his ale-drop toes, his mawmsey nose, sing hey ding-ding-a-ding-ding!

But if a man be drunk today and laid in grave tomorrow
Can you or anyone say he died of care and sorrow?
So hang all sorrow and care, leave it to kill the cat,
And leave us to drink all night, we're never afraid of that!

Because drinking will make a man quaff, quaffing will make a man sing,
Singing will make a man laugh, and laughing long life doth bring
Says Old Sir Simon the King, Old Sir Simon the King
With his ale-drop toes, his mawmsey nose, sing hey ding-ding-a-ding-ding!




~ The Colliers Rant ~

a) Collier's Rant / 3.05

Clive - singing / Sedayne - harmonium, C clarinet & singing // A geet raage encounter with the Devil himself, sung by the miners of Northumberland and Durham for centuries & first written down in Joseph Ritson's Northumberland Garland in 1793.

As me an' my marra was gannin' to wark,
We met wi' the devil, it was i' th' dark;
Aw up wi' me pick and it was in the neet,
Aw lopped off his horns, likewise his club-feet.

Follow the horses, Johnny my laddie,
Follow them throo, my canny lad, oh!
Follow the horses, Johnny my laddie,
Oh lad lye away, me canny lad oh!

As me an' my marra was puttin' the tram,
The lowe it went oot, an' my marrra gat wrang:
Ye wad ha'e laughed had ye seen it gan,
The De'il got me marra but' aa gat the tram,

O Marra! oh, Marra! oh where hast thou been?
Drivin' the drift frae the low seam'
Drivin' the drift frae the low seam;
Hold up the lowe, lad! De'il stop oot thy e'en!

O marra! oh, marra! What dost th'u think?
Aw've broken me bottle an' spilt aal the drink,
Aw've lost a' my shinsplints amang the geet stanes,
Drive me to the shaft lad, it's time to gan hyem.

O marra! oh, marra! this is wor pay week,
We'll get penny loaves an' drink to wor beak:
We'll fill up the bumper, and roond it shall go,
So follow the horses, Johnny lad oh!

Ah Here's me horse, an' here's me tram;
Two horns full o' grease will mek her to gan,
Here's me hoggars, likewise my half-sheen,
Drive me to the shaft lad it's time te gan hyem!




b) The Gatter Waltz / 2.46

Sedayne - harmonium, harmonica & C Clarinet / Clive - bodhran & singing

In the second volume of his 'Compendium Nova-Castrialis' (Chapter 4) Colonel Killingworth James reports: '...in certain mining communities in the South East Northumbrian Coalfield, there exists folklore concerning Gatters - the singular offspring of unwise and altogether taboo relations between less prudent miners and their Gallowa mares. These miniscule centaurs are said to inhabit the deeper shafts, and are, by nature, mischievous, problematic and fond of certain music... thus the solution to Gatter infestation is the playing of the 'Gatter Waltz', a variety of rough music which these dark creatures find so irresistable they can't but help from clambering out the depths whereupon they are summarily dealt with by means of of picks and shovels.'

Here we recreate such a Gatter Waltz which, given the nature of the preceding song , might be considered to be an appropriate caution.



15) Dowie Dens of Yarrow / 8.15

Clive - singing & bodhran / Sedayne - fretless guitar, melodica, drone & C clarinet // from the singing of Jane Turriff, Aberdeenshire

He's gang tae his lady gan as he has done before-o
Sayin, Madam I maun keep a tryst on the dowie dens of Yarrow
Ah stay at hame ma lord, she cried, stay at hame my marrow
For my three brothers will slay thee on the dowie dens of Yarrow

Ah hold your tongue my lady dear, hold your tongue my marrow
For I'll come back to ye again, from the dowie dens of Yarrow
She's kissed his cheeks, she's kissed his hair, as she had done before o
Given him a brand doon by his side an he's awa tae Yarrow.

Oh he's gan up yon Tenners Bank; a wite he gaed wi sorrow
For there's he met nine armed men, on the dowie dens of Yarrow
O come ye here tae hawk or hound, Or drink the wine sae clear o
Or come ye here tae part yer land, on the dowie dens o Yarrow?

I come not here tae howk or hound, or drink the wine sae clear o,
Nor come I here tae pairt ma land, but I'll fight wi ye in Yarrow.
So four he's hurt an five he's slain on the bloody dens o Yarrow,
Till a cowardly man cam him behind an he's pierced his body through o.

Oh gae hame, gae hame, ma brother John, whit's aa this dule and sorrow?
Gae hame an tell ma lady dear, that I sleep sound in Yarrow
So he's gan up yon high, high hill as he has done before o
And it's there he met his sister dear, she was comin fast tae Yarrow.

Oh I dreamed a dreary dream last night, God keep us aa fae sorrow!
I dreamt I pulled the heather green on the dowie dens o Yarrow
O sister I will read yer dream I fear it has come sorrow:
Your true love he lies dead an gone, he's killed, he's killed in Yarrow




16) Blue Eyed Mountain Queen / 4.46

Clive - singing / Sedayne - harmonium // a love song from the peaceful valley of Glencolumkille in County Donegal nestling beneath the mountain of Slieve League and facing out to the Atlantic Ocean

Was in the merry month of may when the fields were fresh and green
I we forced to leave my native home me age being scarce sixteen
And when I parted with my lass her loving tears were seen
In troubled mind I left behind my blue eyed mountain queen

Farewell to Glenbay's green clad hills and her lovely mountain streams
Where the sun arose and through the gloom poured forth her brilliant beams
Was grand to stand beneath the view bound round wi' laurels green
In meadow's gay I spent my days with my blue eyed mountain queen

Me Father he's a fisherman he ploughs the raging sea
Me Mother's dead seven long years, sleeps cold beneath the clay
Me brothers aye me sisters four I regard them with esteem
But little they know that I weep full sore, for my blue eyed mountain queen

God speed the ship across the deep that brings my love to me
A wind to fill her pleasant sails as she goes ower the sea
Her ensign bright does wave about it's of the emerald green
And on it's breast it bears the crest of my blue eyed mountain queen




17) St John's Chapel / 8.34

Clive - singing / Sedayne - harmonium, urganim, bells, alto & C clarinets // The shortest of the three versions recorded during the summer of 1999, thus designated the 'Concise Version' to differentiate it from the 'Original Version' (see HYEM) & the 'Live Version' (see LAMBS & BANNERS) // This poem derives from Clive's childhood memories of the upper reaches of Weardale, once the lead mining centre of County Durham; crystal spoils sparkling in gardens and on top of walls; reflecting on the people, the sunlit yards, and the landscape; it sees you though the night till dawn with fellside winds, sleep, death, stars and morning


Angels falling Seals are calling
Angels falling Curlews calling

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Wind blows to you 'Cross the fellside
Sleep blows o'er you Close your eyes

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Stars they hail you , Lighting darkness
Down comes snow cold, Cold as star's fire

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Deep your sleeping in my keeping
Deep your sleeping in my keeping

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Deep below us mining silence
Hewing stillness, Lead veins cold

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Sleepy heads have gone to ground
Sleep in rows deep and sound

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Marked with angels, lambs and banners
Dreaming stilled, Carved in stone

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Chapel band with trumpets sounding
Voice of angels, Metal founding

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Wee winkles sleep in marble
Sound asleep their sea the stone

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Felspar glistens stone of sunlight
New in dewfall, Crowning daylight,

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Early warning, break of dawning
Radar ringing, bells for singing

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

Below the sun's rays Jet fuel sprays
Engines sound o'er ancient ground

Deep Deep Deep below
Deep Deep Deep below

St John's bell rings your morning
Wake with yawning, Clear the day.