FOR THE IRISH FOLKIES AMONG US

[Kvetch]

Been listening to a CD I just rediscovered while tidying up. The tunes are an odd combination of English and Australian folk ballads. Anyway, I thought it was about time to post something in here again, so I picked this one out. It is beautifully lyrical.

The DROVER'S BOY
Written by Ted Egan.

They couldn’t understand why the drover cried
As they buried The Drover’s Boy.
For the drover had always seemed so hard
To the men in his employ.
A bolting horse, a stirrup lost
And The Drover’s Boy was dead.
The shovelled dirt, a mumbled word
And it’s back to the stock ahead.
And forget about The Drover’s Boy.

They couldn’t understand why the drover cut
A lock of the dead boy’s hair.
He put it in the band of his battered old hat
As they watched him standing there.
He told them “take the cattle on,
I’ll sit with the boy a while,â€

[laurie]

Nice, Kvetch.

I wonder if it's a true story?

[Kvetch]

From sleeve notes, and some surfing to find a copy of the lyrics, I think it is based on truth, probably cleaned up for public consumption

http://www.bookworm.com.au/cgi-bin/book ... x=LT000012
http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/04/ ... 51630.html

[Kvetch]

I'm in a bit of a London mood, so:

THE STREETS OF LONDON (John Halsted)
(ttto Irish Traditional Dublin Street Song 'Jack of All Trades')

I'm a roving blade of many a trade, I've every trade and all trades
And if you want to know my name then call me Jack of all trades
I'd often heard of London town the pride of every nation
At twenty-one it's here I've come to try for a situation

CHORUS:
I'm a roving Jack of all trades,
of every trade and all trades
And if you want to know me name,
they call me Jack of all trades

In Covent Garden I began and there I was a porter
My under-boss and I we soon fell out
which made the acquaintance shorter
Then I drove a number 46 from Waterloo to Wembley
Where I became an engineer on aeroplane assembly

In Charlotte Street I was a chef, in Stepney Green a tailor
But very soon they laid us off, so I became a sailor
In Rotherhithe a stevedore, in Gray's Inn Road a grinder
On Hampstead Heath I lost my wife, it's sad but I never could find her

In Downing Street I was a lord, in Denmark Street I made songs
In every street and all streets with my banjo I played songs
In Harley Street I was a quack, in Turnham Green a teacher
On Highbury Hill a half-back and on Primrose Hill a preacher

In Gower Street I'd furniture with fleas and bugs I sold it
In Leicester Square a big white card I often stood to hold it
By London Bridge I'd lodging beds for all who made their way there
For London is of high renown and Scotsmen often stay there

I'm a roving blade of many a trade,
I've every trade and all trades
And if you want to know my name,
then call me Jack of all trades

I've tried my hand at everything from herringbones to hat pegs
But I can raise my head and say I've never been a blackleg


It is a combination of lyrics glommed off the internet and my own memory of the version I'm familiar with.

[felonius]

^bump^