We are a discussion forum dedicated to the towns of Accrington, Oswaldtwistle and the surrounding areas, sometimes referred to as Hyndburn! We are a friendly bunch please feel free to browse or read on for more info. You are currently viewing our site as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, photos, play in the community arcade and use our blog section. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free, so please, join our community today!
I suspect that Accrington Library will have a book on Lancashire Folk Songs edited by Mike Harding. Bernard Wrigley has a CD entitled God's County which features only Lancashire songs. There have been several books of Lancashire poems, mostly dialect, which have been turned into songs. There have been at least two books of Edwin Waugh's poems which have music by Robert Jackson amongst others.
I will PM you with how to receive my catalogue of secondhand Lancashire books. I need your email address.
It was last Monday morning,
I heard them call and say,
The orders came this afternoon,
we’re bound to march away.
Chorus:
For the Lancashire lads have gone abroad,
whatever shall we do?
They’re leaving may a pretty fair maid to cry, what shall I do?
Said the mother to the daughter,
what makes you talk so strange.
That you want to marry a soldier lad, the whole wide world to range.
For soldiers they are ramblin’ boys, they have but little pay.
Can they maintain a wife and child on sixteen pence a day?
Chorus
Said the father to the daughter,
"I’ll have you close confined.
You’ll never marry a soldier lad, he’ll be no son of mine.
If you confine me seven long years and after set me free,
I’ll go and find my soldier lad when I gain my liberty.
Chorus
My true loved dressed in scarlet
and turned up with the blue
And every place the he goes in my sweetheart is true.
For they have sweethearts enough, me boys, and girls to please their minds,
But I’ll never forget sweat Manchester, the girls they left behind
My dear old dad used to sing a song on early Sunday morning outings round the Trough of Bowland etc which had the following words as part of it.
"You may speak of dear old Dixie,
Or your home in Tenessee,
But that spot isn't Ribble Valley,
It means all the world to me"
I would love to find out the name of the song and if any recordings are available.
From readers' letters in the Clitheroe Advertiser:
REGARDING Mr Whalley's letter to the Clitheroe Advertiser and Times.
He is hoping to make a cassette of "A Cot in Ribble Valley" and sell copies for charity.
As I know the words, or most of them, I thought you might be interested in printing them:
Just a cot in Ribble Valley
Where the birds sing all the day
Where the Ribble and the Hodder
To the ocean wend their way
I don't sigh for dear old Dixie
Or the sights of Tennessee
Just a cot in Ribble Valley
Would mean all the world to me
[QUOTE=susie123;1021727]From readers' letters in the Clitheroe Advertiser:
REGARDING Mr Whalley's letter to the Clitheroe Advertiser and Times.
He is hoping to make a cassette of "A Cot in Ribble Valley" and sell copies for charity.
As I know the words, or most of them, I thought you might be interested in printing them:
Just a cot in Ribble Valley
Where the birds sing all the day
Where the Ribble and the Hodder
To the ocean wend their way
I don't sigh for dear old Dixie
Or the sights of Tennessee
Just a cot in Ribble Valley
Would mean all the world to me
Multiple blessings Sue. You have sorted out the gaps in my memory or my d.o.d's paraphrasing to get this
I've just come across this thread when searching for Rawtenstall Annual Fair . This is taking place this coming weekend. Folk songs and dialect poems will feature in the Sunday event in Whitaker Museum Park.
There is a second verse of Just a Cot in Ribble valley. ..
I have heard folk sing of Tennessee and lands of Uncle Joe,
I have heard them boast of Dixie , where the cotton blossoms grow.
But give me a spot in Endland,the land where I was born,
Beside two tiny rivers and a field of English corn,