"All songs are living ghosts, and long for a living voice."- Frank Harte
The name "Banshanachie" means "the woman storyteller", and in this case the Banshanachie is Sarah Underhill, a Hudson Valley singer , songwriter and song collector who learned to sing on her Mother's knee and has been amassing a folk repertoire ever since. Former second mate/engineer on the Hudson River Sloop "Clearwater" [circa 1979], she was a mainstay of the Hudson River Sloop Singers throughout the 80's and 90's, and has worked with the People's Music Network/Songs For Freedom & Struggle since 1990. Her unaccompanied ballad singing has captivated many an audience, and her many talented musician friends complement the songs with an intricate blend of Celtic guitar, fiddle, banjo, accordion, flute and drum.
"Those in power write the histories. Those who suffer write the songs."- Frank Harte
SONG LYRICS
All Songs copyright 2004 by Sarah Underhill
Song of the Hedge School
Where can we go?
The parson has broken the fiddle
He says it's a tool of the devil
Where can we go to play?
We come here
Where the greenwood casts its shadow
Outlaws and witches are we
In the hedge along the roadside
Where the timid folk fear to wander at night
Hidden in the briars we can be free
We come here
And we'll cup the flame of our music
And keep it alive
Where can we go
To learn how to write and to cipher?
Our teacher is risking the gallows
By meeting us here to read
We come here
Where the greenwood casts its shadows
Outlaws and witches and runaway bondsmen are we
In the hedge beside the roadside
Where the timid folk fear to wander at night
Hidden in the briars we can be free
We come here
And we'll cup the flame of our learning
And keep it alive
Where can we go
To hear spoken our own heart's language
Shout aloud words like Freedom and Justice
Where can we go to sing?
We come here
Where the greenwood casts its shadows
Outlaws and witches and runaway bondsmen
And all the free People are we
In the hedge along the roadside
Where the timid folk fear to wander at night
Hidden in the briars we can be free
We come here
And we'll cup the flame of our music and
We come here
And we'll cup the flame of our learning and
We come here
And we'll cup the flame of our dreaming
And keep it alive
BERRIES IN THE HEDGE
As I walked out the Foordmore road, all at the foot of the mountain, oh,
There I spied the berries in the hedge, all growing blue and scarlet, oh.
Refrain:
How they grow, the berries in the hedge, blue and scarlet and golden, oh.
Comes the crow, the linnet from the ledge, all for the plucking of the berries, oh.
Blue the sky, and green below, fair the air and breezy, oh.
Sweet the fruit, sweet music from the throats of the birds at the plucking of the berries, oh.
Twas then I turned my face to my home, back to my shady bower, oh.
Light my heart, and merry as a bird's, that's tasted the honey of the berries, oh.
Light my heart and free of care, merry as a bird on the mountain, oh,
Free as a bird in the mountain air, then home to my cottage in the valley, oh.
GRANDFATHER'S TREES
Down in a green and flowering valley, beside the river from the Lake of Tears
Grandfather planted four young yew trees, to watch his farmhouse and his children dear
With peace and gentleness and justice, the wandering
freed slave he took in.
This village by the bounteous river became a haven for his friends and kin.
And as they laid him on the hillside in a humble unmarked Quaker's grave,
A silent prayer went up to heaven: May you all live in peace and unafraid
May you all live in peace and unafraid
And long life to the yew trees- may they flourish for a thousand years.
Time as the river flowing onward erased all traces of he family home.
The trees kept watch upon the hillside, their roots now mingled with Grandfather's bones.
Upriver now a glowing furnace, to split the atom for the nation's work,
A mighty power plant was raised there, beside the river where it quenched its thirst.
And still he asks me to remember. These words are whispered on the river breeze:
"Take care, my children keep this valley well," murmur the branches of Grandfather's trees
Murmur the branches of Grandfather's trees-
Oh, long life to the yew trees- may they flourish for a thousand years.
Still standing bearing silent witness, as the gentle Quakers had of old,
The trees now grown to living spires, reaching to heaven where the clouds unfold.
And on a clear September morning, two silver missiles full of martyred souls
Came hurtling southward o'er the yew trees, in deadly desperation found their goal.
And as we gathered by the river, smoke from the burning towers dimmed the skies.
Our tears and prayers went up to heaven: let us not be the evil we despise
Let us not be the evil we despise
And the wind in the yew trees held the sorrows for a thousand years.
The trees do ask my heart this question, the bones beneath their branches know no rest:
What if those planes had struck the power plant, there plunging down to lay the land to waste?
If that atomic furnace melted, a cloud of sorrow then would haunt the land.
My yew trees would stand dead and voiceless, keeping blind watch above the barren sand.
These buried bones and roots below me cry out a warning so that all may hear:
With the free will that God does grant us, shut down these mad machines of doom and fear
Shut down these mad machines of doom and fear
And long life to the yew trees, may they flourish for a thousand years.
Yes, long life to the yew trees, may they flourish for a thousand years
HOLE IN THE GROUND [WATER PRAYER]
I get my water from a hole in the ground. I dip in my bucket with a musical sound,
Scooping up some dead leaves, some mud swirling around.
I get my water from a hole in the ground.
With the tree's thirsty roots the spring water I share. It tastes sweet as the mint or the cold mountain air.
Remember whether you pipe it for miles to your sink, or buy it in plastic bottles for a "purified" drink,
All of our water, wherever it's found, somewhere it came from a hole in the ground.
And whatever we spill on this humble clay finds its way to our water as it trickles away,
From the city tap or supermarket shelf, or if you haul it from that hole in the ground yourself.
We get our water from a hole in the ground, filled up by the rain with its musical sound.
All of us living, the whole world around, we all get our water from a hole in the ground.
DARK'S LULLABY
Soft arms, holding you safely
Tales told, whispering peacefully
No fears of shadows or dangers
Be not afraid of the darkness, child
Refrain:
Hush, hush, night wind caressing
Soft kiss of blackness a blessing.
Sleep, dream, sorrows forgetting.
Be not afraid of the darkness, child.
The while knight, on the white charger
Banishes evil, calling it darkness.
Ah, but the truth is never that simple
There's nothing to fear in the darkness, child.
Sweet smells, night flowers blooming
Soft sounds, small creatures moving
Love the night and the secrets it's telling
Be not afraid of the darkness, child
Look up: velvet clouds sailing
Black night, friend of the mystery
Ride the night wind, safe to the morning
There's nothing to fear in the darkness, child
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