The Blaeberry Courtship- Macdonald (Tatamagouche, NS) 1919
[From: The Quest of the Ballad by William Roy Mackenzie; 1919. An excerpt from his book follows. Tatamagouche is a Canadian village in Colchester County, Nova Scotia.
R. Matteson 2013]
When I encountered old James Isaac Macdonald he had no fifty ballads on the tip of his tongue, and the story of his downfall is this. When about forty years old he had moved to Tatamagouche, a sea-port town peopled by descendants of English, Scotch, and French settlers; and as he had a fair education for his day, and a strong ambition to entertain in any way that might be acceptable to his neighbors, he soon became reasonably prominent in the social life of the community. Balladsinging was now becoming an antiquated and scarcely respectable performance, especially in such a community as Tatamagouche, where, as I shall explain later, social influences were operating that were inimical to the life and growth of folk-lore. James Isaac, though he never thought of despising the ballads he had once held so dear, naturally enough permitted himself to forget all about them, and turned his attention to the sort of music in vogue among the people whom he wished to entertain. I procured only three or four ballads from him, all of them in more or less battered condition. The one that he remembered best was "The Blaeberry Courtship," a tale of the prosperous suitor who disguises himself as a humble peasant in order to win the hand of his chosen lass through his own unaided attractions. The ballad was long and involved, but James Isaac had retained his grip on it through the years of neglect because one of his friends at the West River had been very fond of it and had always asked him to sing it for her on his visits to his former home. This friend was an old Scotchwoman who had left the Highlands in her girlhood; and if I present the ballad which so vividly recalled for her the blaeberries and the heather of her native mountains the reader will easily understand her eagerness to nourish it during the long years of her sojourn in a foreign land.
The Blaeberry Courtship
"Will ye gang to the Highlands, my jewel, wi' me?
Will ye gang to the Highlands my flock for to see?
It is health to my jewel to breathe the fresh air
And to pu' the blaeberries in the forest sae fair."
"In the Highlands, my jewel, I'll no gang wi' thee,
For the road it is lang and hills they are hie,
For I love these low valleys and the sweet corn-fields
Before all the blaeberries your wild mountains yields."
"O the hills are bonny where the heather's in bloom;
'Twould cheer a fine fancy in the month o' June
To pu' the blaeberries and carry them home
And set them on your table when December comes on."
Then up spake the faither, that saucy old man,
"Ye might a chosen a mistress amang ye're ain clan.
It's but poor entertainment for our lowland dames
For to promise them berries when the wild beather blooms.
"Take up ye're green plaidie, walk over yon hill,
For the sight o' your Highland face does me much ill.
I'll wed my own daughter and spend pennies too,
To whom my heart pleases, and what's that to you?"
He called on his daughter, he gave her an advice,
Saying, "If ye'll gang wi' him I'm sure ye're not wise.
He's a poor Hielan' fellow, he's as poor as a crow,
Of the clan o' the Caterans for aught we may know.
"But if ye gang wi' him I'm sure ye'll gang bare,
Ye'll get naething that faither or mither can spare.
Of all ye possess I'll deprive ye for aye
If o'er the hills, lassie, ye gang away."
"Keep back ye're hand, faither, ye're no willin' to give,
But I'll fain go wi' him as sure as I five.
What signifies gold or treasure to me
When the Highland hills is 'tween my love and me?"
Now she's awa' wi' him in spite o' them a',
Awa' to a place which her eyes never saw.
He had no a steed for to carry her on,
But aye he said, "Lassie, think na the road long."
In a short time thereafter they cam to a glen,
The lass being weary, she sat hersen doon.
"Rise up, my brave lassie, and let us gang on,
For the sun will be gone doon before we get hame."
"My shoes are all torn and my feet are all rent,
I'm weary wi' travellin' and like to faint.
Were it not for the sake o' ye're kind companie
I wad lie in this desert until I wad dee."
In a short time thereafter they cam to a grove,
Where the flocks they were feeding in numberless droves.
While Alan stood musing, his flocks for to see,
"Step on," said the lassie, "That's na pleasure to me."
Twa bonnie laddies wi' green tartan trews
And twa bonnie lassies were butting the yoes.
"Ye're welcome, honored master, ye're welcome again.
This while we've been lookin' for ye comin' hame."
"Put in your yoes, lassies, and gang awa hame.
I hae brought a swan frae the north to tame.
Her feathers are fallen, and where can she fly?
The best bed in all the house, there shall she lie."
The laddies did whistle and the laddies did sing,
And they made to the lassie a broad bed of down.
The lassie's heart was doon and couldna' well raise
Till mony a lad and lass came in wi' mony a phrase.
Early next morning he led her to the high,
And bad her look round her as far as she could spy.
"These lands and possessions—I have no debt to pay.
Ye scarce can walk round them in a long summer's day."
"O Alan, O Alan, I'm indebted to thee.
A debt, dear Alan, I never can pay.
O Alan, O Alan, how cam ye to me,
Sure I'm not worthy your bride for to be."
"Why call ye me Alan when Sandy's my name?
Why call ye me Alan? Ye're surely to blame.
For don't ye remember, when at school wi' me,
I was hated by all the rest, loved by thee?
"How aft have I fed on your bread and your cheese
When I had naething else but a handful o' peas.
Your hard-hearted faither did hunt me wi' dogs.
They rave all my bare heels and tore all my rags."
"Is this my dear Sandy whom I loved so dear?
I have not heard of you for mony a year.
When all the rest went to bed sleep was frae me
For thinkin' whatever had become o' thee."
"In love we began and in love we will end,
And in joy and mirth we will our days spend.
And a trip once more to your faither we'll go
To relieve the old farmer of his toil and woe."
Wi' men and maidservants to wait them upon,
Awa' in a chaise to her faither they've gone.
The laddie went foremost, that brave highland loon,
Till they cam to the gate that leads to the toon.
When they cam to the gate he gave a loud roar,
"Come doon, gentle farmer, Katherine's at your door!"
He looked out at the window and saw his daughter's face.
Wi' his hat in his hand he made a great phrase.
"Haud on your hat, faither, and don't let it fa'.
It's not for the peacock to bow to the craw."
"O haud your tongue, Sandy, and don't ye taunt me.
My daughter's nae worthy your bride for to be."
Then he's held the bridle reins until he cam doon,
And then he conveyed him into a fine room.
Wi' the best o' Scotch whiskey they drank o' a toast.
And the son and the faither drank baith in one glass.
In addition to the complete song thus fortuitously preserved in James Isaac's memory, there were snatches and fragments of many sorts, dry bones which the old man had neither interest nor inspiration to reanimate. As a last resort I inquired about the ballad sheets which had been held in such high esteem by his family, but he could not account for one of them, nor did he seem in the least disturbed by his failure to do so. Broadside sheets were very useful in their day, but when ballad-singing went out of fashion they were tossed aside like a yesterday's newspaper, and they disappeared just as surely and just as quietly as the yesterday's newspapers do. It is very easy to blame the careless possessors for their failure to become imbued with an antiquarian zeal in exchange for the active and contemporary interest which was ceasing to be a part of their attitude toward the ballad, but to do so is entirely unjust. When the change came they treated their ballads, including broadside sheets when they happened to possess them, as we treat our worn-out hats and coats and the popular novels that we read with enthusiasm a year ago.