[Mark McDonnell]

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.
.
.