A Folk Ballad
 

A bit of context: this is my first commissioned poem (unpaid, unfortunately ha). My niece (15) is going to a village folk festival (think Morris dancers, local pagans) and wants to read something, so turned, via WhatsApp, to her favourite poetry writing uncle. It's in a tiny place called Brinscall, in Lancashire, near where I grew up. She wanted something appropriately folky. A little googling led me to this from Wikipedia:


"A number of origins of the name ‘Brinscall' have been suggested. Local legend has it a sheepdog named Brin had a habit of 'calling' or howling from this place, supposedly for his recently deceased master, who hanged himself from a tree at nearby Withnell.

The master, a local young farmer, had become deeply morose after his childhood sweetheart, a milkmaid named Nell, died whilst giving birth to the child of the son of a local landowner, named Hollinshead. On hearing the farmer leave the house late at night, his mother asked him where he was going, to which he replied, "To be with Nell".


That sounded like a poem begging to be written.

The poem is obviously, and deliberately, in the old-fashioned folk ballad mode. I put it here because I find myself a little rusty lately, and even a poor thing like this seems worth sharing. Any thoughts before I send it to her? Festival is in two weeks! (weather permitting)


Rev


Brinscall

On moonless nights, in icy chill
With no one else around,
If you find yourself on Winter Hill
You may hear a mournful sound.

It drifts down from a line of trees
Stark black against the sky.
A lonesome howl caught on the breeze,
Yet nothing can you spy.

So creep back home, but know that call
Was a ghostly sheepdog's wail.
And listen closely, neighbours all
to a strange and woeful tale.

It's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

Each day he'd watch her, and the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.
His sheepdog, Brin, would watch her too
A-milking at her stool.

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips,
Her hair was a cloud of smoke
That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.
The lad's heart nearly broke.

For once they'd laughed upon the cart
With hay piled to the brim
And he had pledged his faithful heart
And she pledged hers to him.

But now those shining days were done.
No more o' that springtime revel.
For Nell had met a rich man's son
Who was worse than the very devil.

He'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin dress.
In him, Nell spied her fleeting chance
At life and happiness.

Then, in a hayloft, wet with sweat
He showed her his true face
And before the sun began to set
He'd took her in disgrace.

Though he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin gown,
He left without a backward glance
On horseback from the town.

It's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

In time a child within her grew
And she hid herself inside.
But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.

And guessing at her hidden shame,
For five months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay.

At night he saw her long, black hair
While sleeping in the fold
And dreamed his Nell would still be there
When both of them grew old.

Then, one winter's morning, clear,
Nell's mother came outside.
"An awful thing" she said with a tear
"My poor, sweet Nell has died".

And it's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
The shepherd muttered in the snow
"I'm off to be with Nell".

And he walked the path to Winter Hill
And found a crooked tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.

So now on moonless, winter nights
With no one else around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
There comes a mournful sound.

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He's calling for his master dear,
For the sheep are roaming free.



poem has got longer. Stanzas 7,8,9 and 10 are new or significantly changed. Various changes to other places also.

19th March: New changes:

S1L1 was "evening chill"
S4L1 was "For long ago"
S7L1 was "For once they laughed..."
S8L1 was "childhood days.."
S8L2 added an "o'"
S9L1 was "For he'd promised..."
S12L1 "within" was "inside"
S13L2 was "two months"
NEW STANZA 14
S17L1 was "climbed the heights of"

25th March: new changes

S3 "noise" --> "call" / "girls and boys" -> "neighbours all"
S17L2 "himself a tree" -> "a crooked tree"
S18L2 "When no one is around" -> "With no one else around"
S18L4 "You'll hear that" --> "There comes a"

Also, have repeated the "refrain" stanza 4 as a new S12 and italicised.








Brinscall

On moonless nights, in evening chill
With no one else around,
If you find yourself on Winter Hill
You may hear a mournful sound.

It drifts down from a line of trees
Stark black against the sky.
A lonesome howl caught on the breeze,
Yet nothing can you spy.

So creep back home, but know that noise
is a ghostly sheepdog's wail.
And listen closely, girls and boys,
to a strange and woeful tale.

For long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

Each day he'd watch her, and the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.
His sheepdog Brin would watch her too
A-milking at her stool.

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips
And hair like a cloud of smoke
That covered her face like the moon's eclipse.
The lad's heart nearly broke.

For Nell had kissed him once, in fun,
Then left him on the shelf
And given her heart to a rich man's son
Who was worse than the devil himself.

For he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin gown,
Then one fine day, without a glance,
Took the first coach out of town.

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.
But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.

He thought to save her from her shame,
So five months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay.

Until one winter's morning, clear,
Nell's mother came outside.
"An awful thing" she said with a tear
"Nell and the babe have died".

And it's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
The shepherd muttered in the snow
"I'm off to be with Nell".

And he climbed the heights of Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.

So now on moonless, winter nights
When no one is around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
You'll hear that mournful sound.

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.
.
.

Mark, it is great as is, but I had a thought when I got to the last line. I heard that line as "while the sheep roam free." And I thought that if the last line of each stanza were shortened to two beats, you could capture some of that eerie feel of Keats's "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." It's your call.

Susan

Hi Mark,
I do like a ballad but, to me, this feels like an early draft of one. For instance, She 'kissed him once, in fun' doesn't seem sufficient cause for him to kill himself, nor does it make them childhood sweethearts.

And hair like a cloud of smoke
That covered her face like the moon's eclipse.
Can't help but think she might be part werewolf.
The lad's heart nearly broke.
Because she was so hairy?

How does
Took the first coach out of town.
square with
"It's in a tiny place called Brinscall" ?

But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.
To whom did he swear? To me it seems like their 'relationship' is all in his mind.
He thought to save her from her shame,
So five months and a day
It's snowing be the end, is he sitting in the snow?

I think you're right that there's a poem 'begging to be written' but it needs to have some drama, and this doesn't. The rich man's son isn't sufficiently villainous enough (one might argue that he - and Nell - have a 'little fun' together and then he dumps her and that seems a slightly more grown-up version of what passed between the nameless shepherd and her.)


And he climbed the heights of Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.
I think this is very good. Can you possibly work backwards from this point? (You certainly don't need the first three verses.)

Just a thought

For long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

The pair would meet, on Winter Hill,
beneath a trysting tree,
...

RG

Does it come with a tune? It would have me blubbing.
I wondered if the final lines could tug a little harder eg

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He calls to bring his master near,
For the sheep are gone from the lea.

( lea being a good folky word for grazing pasture)

.
Very cool.

I would try to get her to sing it. I can hear it being sung a cappella. I actually hear a melody. (If you want me to hum the melody line PM me)

I would also encourage her to ask to read it aloud after sundown. It will help, I think, to have some darkness and low-light.

I would hope, too, that she will introduce the ballad in a similar way that you have done with us.

Maybe, just maybe, have her begin with a lonesome howling wolf audio. Or if she's feeling very daring, perform the howling herself as a lead-in to the ballad. In other words, ask her to add some theatrics. It sounds to me like the right kind of crowd.

I'm out of my mind I know : )

I disagree with Susan's suggestion to lose a beat in the final line of each stanza. I like the folksy regularity of the beat as is.

I think, given there context and the venue, it is great as is. Maybe a few tweaks, but keep it straightforward ballad-folksy.

Really cool, Mark.

.

Hi, Mark—

Skillfully done. It reminds me of Noyes’s “The Highwayman.”

Other than providing the name of the sheepdog, S5 doesn’t seem to be pulling its weight. Could you cut it and give the dog’s name in S10L4 with a change like this?
As his dog beside him lay. > Where Brin, his sheepdog, lay.

I agree with Joe that the ending could benefit from some tweakage. The last line is a bit unclear because the present tense verb could imply that the sheep wandering free today could be the cause of the ghostly dog howl. Maybe something like this:
For the sheep are roaming free. > Whose sheep were roaming free.

I agree with Richard that the single kiss in fun is not a convincing motive for suicide. Could you make her less mercenary and more committed to the shepherd? Could you make the rich man’s son more villainous?

Hope this is helpful.

Glenn

Hi, Mark! Some general thoughts, which may or may not be helpful (probably not, but here they are):

Folk tales traditionally judge pretty girls harshly for spurning poor suitors and chasing after wealthy ones instead. But isn't the basis for the shepherd's "true love" — stated as her white arms, ruby lips, and hair like smoke — every bit as superficial as the basis for the scoundrel's temporary fling?

We never hear what the shepherd looked like. Why is appearance considered relevant to his attraction to her, but not relevant to her refusal of him?

If she was so cruel-hearted, wasn't the shepherd lucky NOT to have won her over, and therefore not to have spent a lifetime of misery, enduring her narcissistic little power games?

Perhaps she didn't actually choose the rich guy at all. Perhaps the entitled little snot raped her, and then left her to deal with the aftermath.

Did she even know that the obsessed but tongue-tied shepherd was stalking her for five months? Did he actually ever work up the nerve to speak to her, or did he just keep lurking at a distance?

If the latter, that would make the story far more interesting to me than if Nell was just a "cruel" beauty who deserved to die for having toyed with the faithful shepherd's affections.

Generally, pregnancies (unwed or not) are not mentioned outside one's family until they are undeniably "showing," yet the shepherd is said to have lurked for five months. Nell's mother does not hide the existence of a "babe" from him when reporting Nell's death, so I guess she assumes the shepherd knows all about it. Which suggests that maybe he had made an offer for her hand, to save her from "shame." But again, maybe she had understandable reasons for not accepting, which might include having to feel forever obligated to a husband she don't really love, but felt forced into marrying. (And would that really save her from shame, anyway, since everyone who could count to nine would still know that her firstborn child must have been conceived before the wedding day?)

If you left some of the details more ambiguous, we might be left to wonder if she died from an abortion, which she might have felt was a better option than being slut-shamed while having to be a single parent, or than having to stoop to marrying the shepherd if she truly had scorned him cruelly for years.

Hello Mark,

I am not that familiar with the conventions of ballad form, but for me this ballad is not quite ballad-ing, in that there is a disconnect between the pieces of the drama, and I cannot help feeling that the progression of this whole poem needs to be more slant somehow.

In the quote you provided, Nell is described to be the shepherd's "childhood sweetheart" (which at least implies some sustained reciprocity and emotional depth) and yet she chose to be intimate with a dude named Hollinshed, and the crux of the drama is squaring those two facts, and how the squaring of those two facts casts a light on the two main actors Nell and the Shepherd, and how much that allows or does not allow the pathos.

Right now, the pathos of the first and last three stanzas is being unironically undercut by the shepherd coming across what current internet culture might call an unsymphatetic "incel simp". As if some dude killing himself over a local girl who he had briefly been close with in middle-school, whose Instagram photos he lusts over today in between his shifts at Target. One day some famous basketball player comes up loving over her in the photos, and then another day the dude is gone, and she's messaging news to her incel simp about being pregnant. In this scenario, the mother of the deceased girl would be astonished by the grandiose gesture of the dude stating he was going to kill himself to be with his "beloved". Some ever howling dog in this scenario is the definition of overkill.

Taking on Julie's suggestion and extending it, if the maid was untouched and had truly loved the shepherd since childhood and was waiting for marriage, but the Hollinshed dude took advantage of her, as landed gentry are oft to do in the world of severely unbalanced power dynamics, then that would make dramatic sense, and justify the pathos better.

Maybe the maid's mother fell ill, and she needed some money, and the money was promised if she agreed to marry Hollinshed, but he broke the promise, leaving her with a baby and no way out.

Maybe the dude is a delusional incel simp, and the dog goes howling becomes he mourns the senseless and unjustified suicide of his master.

Maybe the girl was "ugly" while young, and still the shepherd loved her, while Hollinshed ignored her and her advances. Something, anything to balance things out.

It feels like the poem grabbed the most obvious and soap-operatic solution to the problem and ran with it, letting the rhyme and meter carry the poem along.

Right now the shepherd and Hollinshed are as mirrors of each other, and the common trope of a rich man not being deserving does not break apart the symmetry, both of them wanting the maid for the beauty of the surface, and so it does not really matter who she chooses, and it is her choice to make, consequences and all.

.
Checking back in to say I think ballads are prone to illogic as much as they are bound to spinning a yarn that comes from the heart and imagination.

I think that, as is, with a few tweaks, it will serve its purpose. As I said earlier, theatrics and music can color this to be thoroughly enjoyable to the gathered crowd. By theatrics, I don’t mean making a spectacle out of it — simply adding an appropriate amount of mood and ambience to its intended audience: a public gathering.

But make all the changes you can based on the good thoughts of the others here. It’s just that time is of the essence.

Perhaps a refrain?


.

Hi Mark,

I'm with Susan. It's great as is and seems perfect for the purpose it is meant to serve. If you want to polish it and right think it later for publication purposes then you may want to examine it more closely then. This is so much better than the poems written by relatives that get read aloud at weddings and other special occasions that your niece will be proud to read it and the listeners will be glad to hear it and not just roll their eyes all the way through.

All the best,
Jim

Mark, I actually agree with Jim (and Susan, et al.). It's definitely good enough now for its intended purpose. If you want to fiddle with it more extensively later, fine. (If not, also fine.)

Hi folks,

Thanks to those (both Jims, Susan, Joe, Glenn) who seem to think this is succeeding, on the whole. And thanks to those (Julie, Yves, Richard) who have given me lots of food for though about why it might not be.

I've added extra stanzas to try to address the general criticism that the shepherd and Nell's relationship barely seemed enough for him to take such drastic action. And I've made the rich man's son more villainous with Julie's suggestion of the child being conceived through a rape. I've tweaked a few other things here and there.

Susan, your suggestion of a two-beat last line intrigued me and I did like the sound of it at the end there. But I'm not sure I could sustain it. Also, looking again at Keats' poem, I see it doesn’t follow traditional ballad metre (4,3,4,3) up to the 4th line, it goes 4,4,4,2. If I tried to mimic his final dimeter I would get 4,3,4,2. I tried it with a couple of the verses and it didn't sound quite right. Glad you liked this.

Richard, your werewolf line made me smile once I got what you meant. Covered her face, yes? I can see, along with the moon image, how you got there. I've changed the line along with addressing some of your other reasonable nits. I'm not sure I understand your point about sitting in the snow. I think it's clear that when I say he waited for months at her window, I don't literally mean 24/7.

Thanks Joe and Jims M and R! I’d love to hear it sung. I hope she gets to read it,at least.

Thanks Glenn, glad you like it. In the last line, I wanted the idea that, since the dog is a ghost, it is the eternal present, so as far as he’s concerned the sheep are roaming free. But a couple of people have mentioned the ending,so I’ll have a think. Also, I think the name of the dog needs to be teased fairly early in the poem, given its significance. And I do want a milking stool in there.

Hi Julie and Yves. I’ve tried to address some of your concerns in the rewrite. Julie, even in the original I definitely didn’t mean to suggest that Nell herself is “cruel” and deserved her death. I wrote that “the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.” In other words, that as he looked at her, the situation seemed cruel to him, not necessarily the girl herself. As far as describing her and not him, I suppose I am adhering to tradition here that beautiful girls are described in folk ballads and the men not so much. I don’t actually name him either. I’ve given their relationship a bit more weight and hopefully humanised her, so that her relationship with the rich guy isn’t purely mercenary but a way that she might potentially escape a fairly restricted life. Also, I’ve shortened his waiting span and only said that Nell dies, to suggest the abortion idea.

Thanks all. I did find this quite easy to write, and perhaps too easy, in that I could have worked it a bit more before posting. I feel like I’m relearning again, to be honest, in the hope that better poems come along.

Though I do like it. (Still waiting to hear what my niece thinks. Bloody teenagers! :) )


Thanks for coming back, Julie! (I just noticed as I was typing this)

Hi Mark,
improved by some of the new additions, I think. The rich man's son is definitely more villainous, but the nameless shepherd is still a rather blank slate (and there could be more dog.)
Could you not make more of the 'For long ago, and long ago ...' refrain?



Brinscall

On moonless nights, in evening chill
With no one else around,..........when frost is on the ground
If you find yourself on Winter Hill,..........from high above, on Brinsky Hill
You may hear a mournful sound.,..........there comes a mournful sound.

It drifts down from a line of trees
Stark black against the sky.,..........(if the trees are black and the night is moonless how does this 'against' work? Also, are there actually any trees on Winter Hill now?)
A lonesome howl caught on the breeze,,..........trees/breeze feels a bit predictable
Yet nothing can you spy.,..........shall you spy?

Given the title perhaps you might consider introducing the dog here and explaining that it's his call (rather than waiting for the close?)

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.,..........a calling all night long
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.,..........though both of them are gone.

So creep back home, but know that noise
is a ghostly sheepdog's wail.
And listen closely, girls and boys,
to a strange and woeful tale.,..........the tale may be full of woe but 'strange' it isn't.

For long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

Each day he'd watch her, and the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.
His sheepdog, Brin, would watch her too
A-milking at her stool.

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips,
Her hair was a cloud of smoke
That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.
The lad's heart nearly broke.

For once they laughed upon the cart,..........They once had laughed upon the cart (keep the opening 'For' for the refrain?)
With hay piled to the brim
And he had pledged his faithful heart
And she pledged hers to him.

But now those childhood days were done
No more that springtime revel,,..........like the revel/devil rhyme but is there something better than 'childhood days'?
She'd given her heart to a rich man's son
Who was worse than the very devil.

For he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin dress,
In him, Nell spied her fleeting chance
At life and happiness.,..........so soon after 'pledging' her heart to another? It makes her look shallow, and does the shepherd no favours.

Then in a hayloft, wet with sweat
He showed her his true face
And before the sun began to set
He'd took her in disgrace.,..........like this, but just confused by the order of things ('wet with sweat' suggests exertion but 'took her' comes later.)

Though he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin gown,
He left without a backward glance
On horseback from the town.,..........perhaps he could 'flee to London Town'?

For long ago, and long ago ... ?

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.
But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.

And guessing at her hidden shame,
For two months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay. ,..........I think you can cut these or at least compress things.

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.
Until one winter's morning, clear,
Nell's mother came outside.
"An awful thing" she said with a tear
"My poor, sweet Nell has died".

and then, perhaps a verse describing the shepherds breaking heard before

And it's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
The shepherd muttered in the snow
"I'm off to be with Nell".

And he climbed the heights of Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.

So now on moonless, winter nights
When no one is around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
You'll hear that mournful sound.

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.,..........it's a weak ending, for me, as the sheep haven't played much of a role in this, and the shepherd certainly hasn't shown any concern for them.


RG

Hi Mark,

On moonless nights, in evening chill

I wondering if it's night or if it's evening. I guess it could be the evening before a moonless night. Still, you might lose "evening" and find something that adds some image. "In the misty chill" maybe, maybe for the alliteration? Or "bitter chill" as you have later?

I'm also thinking the lack of article is maybe a little off. "On moonless nights, in the evening chill" works better for me.

It DRIFTS DOWN from a LINE of TREES

I'm not enjoying the trochee substitution. I'm thinking this should bounce. When I read it I want to insert and "on" from after "drifts", though sensewise that might be questionable. Anyway, I reckon there'd be ways to avoid the trochee.

That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.

"fell 'cross her face" seems a little awkward. How about "that veiled her face like the moon's eclipse"? Or "hid"? I also wondered it makes more sense as, "like the moon eclipsed".

For once they laughed upon the cart
...
And she pledged hers to him.

Tensewise, should that be "they'd" and "she'd"? I also don't think "For" is necessary. It's implied. Maybe just "once they had laughed ..."

He'd took her in disgrace.

I guess this might work in the local dialect, but even as "he'd taken her in disgrace" it doesn't seem right. The disgrace is hers, presumably, not his.

One possibility, playing off "set":

And before the sun began to set
She'd risen in disgrace

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.

I'm guessing she hid herself indoors? Or did she hide insider herself (withdrew pyschologically)? But either way I think the using "inside" a second time is awkward, making it sound like she hid inside her own body in the same way that the child is inside it, or that she hid herself inside the child.

"And she hid away and cried" might be an option.

And guessing at her hidden shame,
For two months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay.

Just thinking timescales. She dies in childbirth. So, he guesses her shame 6 or 7 months later? Then waits by her window? I'd imagine the pregnancy would be pretty obvious by this point, and likely word would already have spread.

A lot of responsibility, writing something for someone else to read! Good luck to both of you, and do let us know if it happens.

best,

Matt

I have mixed reactions. As a poem to be presented (presented, not read) at a folk festival it's got to be a winner - I'll give you first place right now, if places were awarded.

I think it could be even stronger if the shepherd boy had some depth and a reason for being ignored - he's crippled, or stone cold ugly - but that's minor.

My main concern - based on knowing nothing at all about Lancashire (that's in England - right?) or folk festivals - is that it's too bloody long to be read aloud to an (I assume) semi-drunk audience with (I assume) a bunch of other poets crowding the stage and awaiting their turn. It demands time and pauses, and I estimate your final version would run about five minutes - you can read faster, of course, but then you kill the poem. Maybe Lancashireans are more forgiving, but in the States it you run past three minutes at an "open" they start stamping their feet and throwing beer cans. In effect, it's a charming and wonderful poem, but I wonder if it's too long for the occasion. You might work up a shorter alternate for the reading, and your niece can nail the longer version to a nearby oak tree.

Hello Mark,

Relative to the context of the commission, the revision is working for me. There is just enough logical connection between the events of the story that the setting and speaker can take it all the way home. One can quibble about the details of the drama and characterisation relative to ballad convention (which I confess to not being very familiar with), but it works if one squints one's mental eyes, and I assume the crowd will be in a generous mood. Yeah!

I think this is excellent. I'm impressed.

As with all ballads Mark it will change in time I hope they have a folk tradition there it would be nice if this gained longevity

Nice one,

Jan

Nicely done, Mark. And two sets of rhyming lines in each verse. That's impressive - and, to be honest, unnecessary, if you want to give yourself more leeway. I think you should. (If it's good enough for Sir Patrick Spens ...)

I would definitely do that. It would make it more authentic, I think. And think what you could do with that extra degree of licence.

If you want a good example of the ballad form in a popular mode, you could do worse than look at "Ernie", by Mr. Benny Hill. It's essentially the same story as yours ...

Now Ernie had a rival,
an evil-looking man
Called Two-Ton Ted from Teddington
and he drove the baker's van

He tempted her with his treacle tarts
and his tasty wholemeal bread
And when she seen the size of his hot meat pies
it very near turned her head

She nearly swooned at his macaroon
and he said, "If you treat me right
You'll have hot rolls every morning
and crumpets every night."

He knew once she sampled his layer cake
he'd have his wicked way
And all Ernie had to offer
was a pint of milk a day

Admittedly he uses a refrain too ...

Poor Ernie, (Ernie),
and he drove the fastest milk cart in the west

On an altogether different note, is this the Winter Hill of the air disaster?

Cheers, forsooth

David

Hello, Mark,

This is quite enjoyable, and the ballad form serves it well. The storytelling is engaging, and the folk-tale atmosphere is immersive.

That said, I wonder if some tightening could help with pacing and impact. For instance, streamlining stanzas one and three might allow stanza two to be removed entirely without losing any necessary context.

A couple of smaller observations:

• "She’d pale white arms and ruby lips"—I’m not sure "she’d" feels fluid enough here. Perhaps something like:
  "With pale white arms and ruby lips, / Her hair was a cloud of smoke."
  This keeps the meaning but smooths the flow.
• The repetition of "promised perfumes sent from France…" a couple of stanzas down makes it stand out in a way that might not be intended. Instead of repeating, perhaps find new material that advances the story rather than echoing what’s already established.

This is looking really good, Mark. I hope something here is useful to you. Best of luck with the festival!

Cheers,
...Alex

Richard and Matt,

Thanks both for coming back with more detailed crits, questions and suggestions. Lots of good food for thought, some of which has led to a few more changes (and a few changes entirely of my own whims). Of course, there’s something in the folk ballad that particularly lends itself to malleability. I already feel like this isn’t mine anymore and would happily send it on its way for people to change as they see fit.

Richard – I'm glad it's working better now, and thanks for the detailed crit. I’ll address the points where I have either made some change based on your idea or where I feel the need to defend my choice!

I’ve added an extra stanza to reinforce the depth of the shepherd’s feelings for Nell. I don’t know if this makes him less of a “blank slate”. I suppose he is. He’s just a lovelorn figure to set the legend in motion.

Even on a moonless night there would be the light pollution from towns creating a not-entirely-black backdrop for trees to be silhouetted against. And yes, there are some trees on Winter Hill, on the lower slopes.

Trees/breeze as a predictable rhyme: Well, I think you would be hard pressed to find a folk ballad without such rhymes. It’s part of the package.

I think “strange” is justified because the tale begins and ends with a ghostly dog!

I think you’re right about “childhood days”. Changed.

The time period between the shepherd’s relationship with Nell and the rich man’s son isn’t specified but I think it’s implied that it was a fair bit earlier.

In this stanza

Then in a hayloft, wet with sweat
He showed her his true face
And before the sun began to set
He'd took her in disgrace.

You say you’re “confused by the order of things ('wet with sweat' suggests exertion but 'took her' comes later.)” In my sense of it, although the phrase might come three lines later everything in the stanza in kind of happening all at once: he’s wet with sweat, he’s showing his true face and he’s “taking” her.

As for the ending, I disagree. After all this human drama, we realise at the end that the sheepdog which has been on the periphery of things has his own, entirely separate concerns. I find it quite touching that the sheep are mentioned for the first time here. Having said that, in the extra stanza I realise I have the shepherd asleep outside the fold, so perhaps I unconsciously took your point to heart.

Thanks again for giving this so much thought.

Hi Matt – Ha. It hadn’t occurred to me to think that night and evening were different times. I’ve changed that line.

I’m OK with the “drifts down” line. The trochee gives a slow, drifting feel for me. I don’t think I want a “bounce” there.

I think I’m also sticking with “fell ‘cross her face”. “Veiled” or “hid” give the sense that her face is permanently obscured, which is what I wanted to avoid when I changed it from “covered” initially.

Yes, I changed the “For once they laughed upon the cart” line. Thanks.

As for “He'd took her in disgrace”, I quite like the strangeness of the construction there. And the suggestion that the disgrace is also his. By raping her he has disgraced himself (whether he would acknowledge that or not). I like your play on the sunset, but I think I want to keep the harshness of “took”.

Thanks for spotting the repeat of “inside”, which I hadn’t noticed. I’ve make a change there.

With the time scale, I had 5 months in the first version but changed it on Julie’s suggestion that perhaps rather than dying in childbirth it could have been a botched abortion. I’ve changed it back to 5 months. So she starts to “show” at about 4 months, hides indoors, he guesses why and hangs around for the next 5 months.

Phew. Thanks for the good luck, Matt, and for the detailed crit as always. I’ll let you know what happens.

Hi Michael! Lancashire is in northern England, yes. Stan Laurel was born there! And it’s Lancastrians, please! (not Lancasherians)

Haha. It may be a little long (and it’s grown slightly since your comment). It’s a very, very small local festival. Evie (my niece) will probably know most of the people there and I’m sure they’ll be forgiving. I’m very pleased you like it and thought it charming. Cheers.

Thanks for coming back, Yves, that’s good to know.

Thanks very much, Roger!!

Cheers, Jan! I’d love to think this would be performed in years to come in Brinscall. I have no thoughts of trying to publish it, it’s theirs now if they want it, to change as they see fit. I think it will go down well. I’m surprised there isn’t a poem about that local legend already but I couldn’t find one!


Hi David!

Haha. Benny Hill. Jesus…that brings back slightly depressing memories.

You are, of course, right that the more authentic way would be lines 2 and 4 only doing the rhyming. I think I just started and ran with it before I’d given much thought to authenticity. Maybe one day, I’ll have a go at that version.

And yes, it is that Winter Hill, home of the massive transmission tower. Just outside my old home town of Chorley. The plane was coming from the Isle of Man, wasn’t it?

Thanks Alex, I’m glad you like it. I think I’m OK with the length. I’m happy that it rambles a little. I think I’ll keep “She’d”; there’s something folky about it.

The repetition of “promised perfumes sent from France” was deliberate to highlight the contrast between the way those two stanzas end, from hope to abuse and abandonment.

Thanks again, all.

I’ve made a few more changes, highlighted under the revision, including a new stanza.

Hi Mark,
S14 is a good addition, but the poem feels a little too long now.

You might (re)consider cutting the first three verses, they set this up as a ghost story (and it's more a simple tragedy with a ghostly coda) and you'd lose the pantomime 'boys and girls' (how comfortable is a fifteen year old going to be saying that line?) Besides it's rather at odds with a tale of rape, death and suicide.

I'd have liked the refrain to do more work.

The 'eclipse' line is a bit of a metrical mouthful.

Any alternative to the repetition of 'hear' in the final two verses? And I think the 'Brin's call' line needs some work.


Just a thought for a shorter version.


Brinscall


It's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

*

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips,
Her hair was a cloud of smoke
That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.
Her death a young heart broke.

For once they'd laughed upon the cart
With hay piled to the brim
And he had pledged his faithful heart
And she pledged hers to him.


*

But now those shining days were done
No more o' that springtime revel,
For Nell had met a rich man's son
Who was worse than the very devil.

He'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin dress.
In him, Nell spied her fleeting chance
At life and happiness.


*

Then, in a hayloft, wet with sweat
He'd shown her his true face
And before the sun began to set
He'd took her in disgrace.

He left without a backward glance
On horseback from the town.
No perfumes did he send to her
And not one satin gown,

*

In time a child within her grew
And she hid herself inside.
Then weeeping like the morning dew
Her mam said, "Nell has died."

And it's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
The shepherd muttered in the snow
"I'm off to be with Nell".

*

And he walked the path to Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.

They say on wintry moonless nights
When no one is around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
You'll hear a mournful sound.

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
For the sheep are roaming free.
He's calling for his master dear
It's Brin's call by that tree.




(I know, the morning dew line is pretty bad, but you get the idea.)

RG.

Hi Richard,

Yes, I will think about the repetition of "hear" in the penultimate and final stanza. Good spot. They are close together and the repetition isn't serving much purpose. I might change "You'll hear that mournful sound" to "There comes a mournful sound". And I might come up with something better than "by that tree" in the Brin's call line.

I feel happy with the other places you mention, I think, as well as the length. It takes less than 4 minutes to read aloud slowly! And I definitely want to end with the sheep. My niece will be fine saying "girls and boys" to a happy bunch of cider quaffing folkies. She's a trooper.

I may keep tinkering with it for fun.

Thanks again for staying with this.

Mark

Hi Mark,

So now on moonless, winter nights
When no one is around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
There comes a mournful sound.

I'm not sure how well this works. It now seems to say that the mournful sound only comes when there's no one around to hear it -- rather like the proverbial tree falling unheard in the forest.

One way around the repetition of "hear" might be to use "near" in the first line of the last stanza.

And yes, "by that tree" isn't great. The last line is good, though, so it seems worth trying to keep "roaming free", but finding a useful rhyme-word seems challenging.

I guess, maybe:

[...]
You'll hear that mournful sound

It's Brin the sheepdog drawing near.
It's his shadow that you see. [He's the shadow that you see]
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.

or

It's Brin the sheepdog drawing near
And howling mournfully.
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.

Though the rhyme on "mournfully" isn't as strong, and you'd need to find a substitute for "mournful" in the previous S -- "doleful" maybe, or "haunting"?

Not saying either is great, but they might give you some ideas.

-Matt

The last line still bothers me, particularly “roaming free” which offers us an image of happy sheep wandering contentedly through the countryside. (chatting on their mobile phones maybe). Whereas from the sheepdog’s perspective this is a disaster, which he needs his master to help sort out. I think it would help if the final line was more clearly from Brin’s point of view. You might try

For the sheep are lost and free. (?)

Hi Matt,

Well spotted. I’ve changed line 2 to “With no one else around”, as it is in the opening stanza.

I can’t really use these ideas…


…(even if I were looking for an alternative to “hear”) because I do need the phrase “Brin’s call” in the last stanza. It’s the Big Reveal at the end of the poem because the name of the village is Brinscall and the tale is an origin story of the name.

I think I’m going to stick with “It’s Brin’s call by that tree”. Although the line seems a bit nondescript on its own, in context (and with a bit of dramatic emphasis) I’m hoping it clearly refers the listener back to the tree mentioned 2 stanzas previously – the hanging tree.

To strengthen this effect, I’ve changed the line about the tree from “found himself a tree” to “found a crooked tree”
for a more memorable visual image.

Hope that all makes sense!

Hi Joe,

Agghh, sorry, I’m staying stubborn on the last line. At least, I haven’t heard or thought of anything I like better yet. To me, “the sheep are roaming free”, is from the dog’s point of view and it feels like something that would strike him as a problem that needs sorting. And I really like the line as an ending. Hard to say why haha.

Richard,

To come back to your previous post and your feeling that “girls and boys” sounds a bit pantomime, I’ve considered and think you may have a point. I’ve gone with “neighbours all”, which also allows me to rhyme with “call” and start dropping clues about the village name origin story idea.
I’ve also made a little more of the “long ago” refrain by repeating it as a new stanza 12 and italicising. I’d thought it would be nice to hear it again, too. It was just a case of deciding which point in the narrative to put it. The poem is a nice, round 20 stanzas now, which feels a good place to stop.

Thanks again for continuing to push me on this, everyone. My niece still only has the original version. She said “wow, that’s so cool!” Pain-free workshopping!

I'm close to happy with the poem now. I think.

You're right, it does work -- and well -- with the hanging tree. I was looking at the stanza in isolation, and couldn't see the woods for the ...

Still, for me, there's maybe something a little odd about a call being located in one place, and this was also bugging me a bit about that line. After all, sound travels: the call is heard where the hearer is and it emanates from somewhere else. We might say it was coming from by the tree, or that we were by the tree when we heard it, but we're unlikely (I think) to say, "the call was by that tree".

I do agree with Joe that "the sheep are roaming free" has something of an uplifting feel to which it maybe a bit at odds with the mood.

Not sure if there's an easy fix though, assuming you agree the wording is a bit off. "It's Brin's call from that tree" maybe? Though then it might sound like it's the tree that's calling ...

Matt

Matt,

But surely folk know that trees do not call and the poem does not have a surrealistic context? That is to say, folk don't read sentences in isolation, and generate all possible interpretations and consider them all equally valid.

Yves,

It may not be surreal, but it is a ghost story. The dog's call could emanate from the tree its owner hung himself from.

Matt

Hi Mark.

I’ve gone with “neighbours all”, which also allows me to rhyme with “call” and start dropping clues about the village name origin story idea.
I like 'neighbours all' but still think it would improve the piece if you cut verses 1 - 3, for me they give too much away. And you might revisit the title, if only for this performance; something innocuous like "Sheepdog Ballad/Local Ballad" could serve better.

You mention 'winter' in three of the last five verses.

You might consider swapping the order of verses 15 and 16, so

Then, one winter's morning, clear,
Nell's mother came outside.
"An awful thing," she said, "my dear
sweet Nell and babe have died".

At night he saw her long, black hair
While sleeping in the fold
And dreamed his Nell would still be there
When both of them grew old.

I think you need to address L3 in this verse

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips,
Her hair was a cloud of smoke
That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.
The lad's heart nearly broke.

if only for your reader's sake. How about
That hid her face like an eclipse
?

Similarly, L1 here is really awkward (what with its extra beat.)

Though he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin gown,
He left without a backward glance
On horseback to the town.

And the verse might work better if you started with
He left without a backward glance / without a backward glance he left
On horseback to the town. / to revel in his sin
and then gave two lines to Nell's reaction.

As for the ending, just a nudge

So now on moonless, winter nights
With no one else around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
There comes a mournful sound

As if a thing might defy death
When darkest is the year,
A hound is howling on the heath
It's Brin's call that you hear.

It's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

RG

Hi Mark,

The ballad is nice and of course has that grim tale in it, as most tragic ballads do, such as 'Ruth', or 'The Thorn' from Wordsworth, or even 'La Ballata del Michè' from De Andre, and I have to say your poem reminds me of such works for the constant duality of 'Amore - Morte.' Furthermore, the depressing tale leading up to the owner's suicide is always juxtaposed by the felicitous tone of the poem, which uses the common meter from what I've seen throughout the poem, and really strikes that chant like aura of it in an appropriate way for a ballad.
(I hope I wrote this clearly :D)

The last stanza, being as simple as is the mind of a dog waiting for his owner to conduct the tasks he had empirically come to see as an every day thing, strikes the chord of melancholy quite well, and allows the reader to feel immense pity for the 'stupid' beast.

Definitely a good poem! I like it!

Thank again, folks.

Matt - I will think about "by that tree". I get your point. Maybe "round that tree"? Anyway, leave it with me haha.

Richard - I'm pretty happy with the length of it. It's a ballad and they sometimes ramble. I don't think the opening gives too much away; it sets up the idea of a ghostly dog, that's all, and then by the end of the narrative it's revealed what he's doing there. It seems pretty standard for a supernatural legend.

I don't think it has an extra beat. I feel like by this point in the poem a reader will be in the rhythm of the tetrameter and would naturally read the line as starting with an anapest ("Though he'd promised perfumes sent from France")

Thanks for all your other suggestions and for sticking with this.

Hello Alessio! Welcome to the Sphere. And thank you for the kind words.

Well, Evie has read the poem at the Brinscall folk festival on Saturday. My brother sent me the video. She read the first draft I sent her before I posted it here. I gave her one revision but didn't want to keep bombarding her with more, but I've really enjoyed improving this with your help. She rattled through it a bit, through nerves I'm sure, but she did really well and got big applause at the end. I put it on my Facebook if anyone fancies a look.

Cheers all! I reckon the ghostly dog can rest now.