This is yet another of those songs everybody sings and nobody thinks about. Come on, now. Have you ever asked yourself this question? I sure hadn’t.
Once again my good friend Wikipedia put me onto the right track and I’ve gone on from there. As with so many wonderful songs that are entrenched in American music, this one stems from slave spirituals. And, as with the meaning of so many spirituals, it’s a mix of biblical and historical ideas.
We know that any true folk song will always have multiple versions, since they weren’t composed in any formal way and were passed down orally for some time before being written. One aspect or the other of the original may be prominent in each variant. “Cindy” has an almost infinite variety of verses and also has the characteristic of having been built at least partly from “call and response,” which in this case has someone start out with a line and then others in the group have to come up with a second line that rhymes with the first, whether or not the lines add up to a coherent story. (This type of activity is also common in some churches in which the preacher says something that is clearly asking for a response, even if it’s just “amen.” My favorite such line is something I heard at a wedding I attended many years ago; when the preacher performing the ceremony started to feel that he wasn’t getting enough feedback, he’d say, “Am I talkin’ to anybody out there?” which would be greeted with a chorus of “amens.”)
First a little background on the song itself. Harlech Castle was built in northern Wales by Edward I of England in the late 1200’s after he put down a Welsh rebellion against his rule. Harlech then became embroiled in the Wars of the Roses that raged between the houses of Lancaster and York in the 1400’s. From 1461 to 1468 the Lancastrians managed to hold onto the castle even as other strongholds fell to the Yorkists. Edward IV finally got fed up and ordered a huge army to besiege the castle, which surrendered after a month. This siege is often described as lasting for seven years, which is, we will charitably say, a slight exaggeration. The song originates from these events, but there are several versions and none of them was written before the 1800’s. It’s interesting to note that this stirring paean to freedom and bravery is actually about a civil war. One version includes the words “Now the Saxon flees before us . . . Britain wins the field!” So the Yorkists were seen as equivalent to the Saxon invaders of centuries before, but it’s fair to point out that the Lancastrians were being helped out by the French. Hmmm. Anyway, howe’er it was, the song itself is stirring and dramatic, and it’s very popular as a regimental march and is used in an adapted form by several Welsh football (er, rugby) teams.
When the choir to which I belong first started rehearsing “The Ash Grove” for a Celtic-themed concert in the spring of 2016, I thought, ‘Wait a minute–that tune is familiar. I’ve played it for church services.’ Turns out I was remembering “The Master Hath Come,” but two other hymns use the same tune, “Let All Things Now Living” and “Sent Forth by God’s Blessing.” Folk tunes are often used with varying lyrics; it’s a little ironic that this particular one made its way into the Christian hymnal, since the words most associated with it have pagan roots.
The original lyrics have to do with what’s usually called “a sense of place.” As a certain site builds up associations because of events that have happened there, the place itself becomes suffused with meaning. So the speaker says that he sees “a host of kind faces” looking down on him whenever the wind rustles the branches. First are his childhood friends, but they are just a memory. He often roves pensively in the lonely ash grove, at twilight or in the moonlight. Then he meets “the joy of my life,” and builds his home there, while blackbirds and bluebells add to the happy scene.
The translation of the title means “Go away home” or “home you’ll go.” A girl named Mary is told in no uncertain terms that she’d better “go away home and stay there because your (marriage) contract Is made.” It doesn’t matter whether or not she’s the one who made the contract; it’s done, and that’s it. Or, as the notes on one version of the sheet music say, “The girl, Mary, having been forced into an arranged marriage with a piper, is advised to go home and accept it.” Seems a little harsh, doesn’t it? And not the mood that would fit the rousing music. That meaning would mesh better with some kind of melancholy ballad, with perhaps the unhappy girl drowning herself at the end.
But I think this interpretation is mistaken. The website SongsInIrish.com says, “This traditional song teases the girl ‘Máire’ about her possible relationship with the piper at the dance. The singer and Máire argue back and forth about whether her ‘match is made.’”
Now bear with me here. I’m not a music theorist, so you musicians reading this may wince a little in places. This post will be very much of a layperson’s view of the whole major/minor issue and its relationship to the mood of a piece. I’m probably spelling out more than I need to in places; no intention is meant to insult anyone’s musical intelligence!
Sometimes I start researching these posts thinking that I know what’s what and I just need to fill in a few blanks, only find out that my ideas have been completely wrongheaded. Other times I think there’s not too much to say and end up with enough material for a doctoral dissertation. This post fulfills both conditions. Racism and the transformative power of art are all packed into this one short selection.
Spoiler alert: You’re not going to get a definitive answer to this question. You may be more confused than ever! I know I am. There seem to be dozens of versions of this and similar spirituals. We are singing something close to the one that Carl Sandburg published in his 1927 American Songbag..
Here are just some of the variants of our first verse:
“Mary” is sometimes “Sister Mary” or “Sis Mary”
“Three links of chain” is sometimes “three silver chain[s]”
“Every link bearin’ Jesus’ name” is sometimes “bearin’ freedom’s name” or “each chain bore the Savior’s name”
“Matthew Mark and Luke and John” is sometimes “Gabriel stood and blowed his horn” or “You better let God’s chillun alone.”
Of all the spirituals I’ve sung with my own choir, this one, with its slow pace and minor key, conveys the feelings of an oppressed people the most strongly. It’s not just a series of complaints or calls for help, though. There’s a lot of scriptural truth packed into it.
Let me start out with the meaning of “rock.” As in “Elijah Rock,” the overall reference is to God, but this song spells out a couple of specific ones. God is “a rock in a weary land.” You might think that the word “weary” was put there by the slaves who sang it, but it’s straight from the book of Isaiah in the old King James Version: “The shadow of a rock in a weary land.” Other translations substitute the word “desert” or “parched” for “weary.” So the original meaning probably doesn’t have anything to do with actual physical weariness, but that aspect must have appealed to people whose lives were one great stretch of it. The idea of shade and rest is implicit in the text, as is that of protection: “a shelter in the time of storm” is also from Isaiah. It’s not at all uncommon, by the way, for us to say, “He’s my rock” to refer to a person in our lives who keeps us on track and is always dependable
Was the Sussex carol written in Sussex, and the Wexford carol in Wexford?
With this question we are plunged back in to the delightful, charming, and sometimes weird world of traditional Christmas carols, and indeed of folk music in general. Since true folk music, and not someone’s attempt to write something that sounds like folk music, is passed down orally before being written, it’s always pretty much impossible to find the original version, if indeed there is such a thing.