I was just slipping down an internet wormhole on Scottish land rights poetry and song, and came across this juicy nugget:
…the impact of Sorley MacLean’s paper on ‘The Poetry of the Clearances’ – the most powerful piece of socio-political and literary criticism I have ever read
Sounds great, hey? He was a acclaimed Scottish poet, but this paper is not about his poetry but those who came before him and who wrote in Gaelic. I haven’t had a chance to read it in full yet but did a quick flick through after finding a pdf of it here. If this link goes dead then you can also find it hosted here on our website too.
Just parking this all here so I can find it when time comes to do more research on Scottish shazzle and you never know, someone else might find this useful too!
By Seumas Mor Maceanruig (Hamish Henderson) to the tune: ‘Johnston’s Motor Car’.
The Seven Men of Knoydart was the name given, to a group of squatters who tried to appropriate land at Knoydart in 1948. The name evoked the memory of the Seven Men of Moidart, the seven Jacobites who accompanied the Young Pretender on his voyage to Scotland in 1745. Comprising seven ex-servicemen, their claim was to be the last land raid in Scotland – from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Men_of_Knoydart
‘Twas down by the farm of Scottas, Lord Brocket walked one day, And he saw a sight that worried him Far more than he could say, For the “Seven Men of Knoydart” Were doing what they’d planned– They had staked their claims and were digging their drains, On Brocket’s Private Land.
“You bloody Reds,” Lord Brocket yelled, “Wot’s this you’re doing ‘ere? It doesn’t pay as you’ll find today, To insult an English peer. You’re only Scottish half-wits, But I’ll make you understand. You Highland swine, these Hills are mine! This is all Lord Brocket’s Land.
I’ll write to Arthur Woodburn, boys, And they will let you know, That the ‘Sacred Rights of Property’ Will never be laid low. With your stakes and tapes, I’ll make you traipse From Knoydart to the Rand; You can dig for gold till you’re stiff and cold– But not on this e’re Land.”
Then up spoke the Men of Knoydart; “Away and shut your trap, For threats from a Saxon brewer’s boy, We just won’t give a rap. O we are all ex-servicement, We fought against the Hun. We can tell our enemies by now, And Brocket, you are one!”
When he heard these words that noble peer Turned purple in the face. He said, “These Scottish savages Are Britain’s black disgrace. It may be true that I’ve let some few Thousand acres go to pot, But each one I’d give to a London spiv, Before any Goddam Scot!
“You’re a crowd of Tartan Bolshies! But I’ll soon have you licked. I’ll write to the Court of Session, For an Interim Interdict. I’ll write to my London lawyers, And they will understand.” “Och to Hell with your London lawyers, We want our Highland Land.”
When Brocket heard these fightin’ words, He fell down in a swoon, But they splashed his jowl with uisge, And he woke up mighty soon, And he moaned, “These Dukes of Sutherland Were right about the Scot. If I had my way I’d start today, And clear the whole dam lot!”
Then up spoke the men of Knoydart: “You have no earthly right. For this is the land of Scotland, And not the Isle of Wight. When Scotland’s proud Fianna, With ten thousand lads is manned, We will show the world that Highlanders Have a right to Scottish Land.”
“You may scream and yell, Lord Brocket– You may rave and stamp and shout, But the lamp we’ve lit in Knoydart Will never now go out. For Scotland’s on the march, my boys– We think it won’t be long. Roll on the day when The Knoydart Way Is Scotland’s battle song.”
I’ve already documented my love for George’s book Where Beards Wag All, which he wrote fifteen years later and is far more concentrated on the role of the oral tradition in rural settings.
I’ve been meaning to write up about this book for ages and now I come to do so, what I learnt from it has quite slipped my mind… but just looking at the contents pages is more than enough to wet the intellectual appetite. I mean it has chapters called ‘Beer’, ‘Field Names’ and ‘Bacon and Ham Curing’ and a whole section titled ‘Various Old People’. Ha!
As climate change starts to bite and we continue looking for ways to work the land with nature rather than by fighting against her, books like this will be valuable resources indeed.
The Economist review on the inside cover just about sums it up: ‘Original, arresting and always human… The book is a mine of information, but this is offered so unpretentiously that it reads as easily as a quiet book of memoirs’
A.L. Lloyd includes this song about poaching as resistance to enclosure in his book Folk Song in England where he noted that it was “obtained by Frank Kidson from a singer in Goole, Yorkshire” and comments:
There are two distinct broadsheet songs which tell of the unhappy death of Bill Brown, a poacher shot by the gamekeeper at the village of Brightside, near Sheffield, in 1769. That a version of one of them might still be collected from tradition as late as the beginning of this century should be attributed to the extraordinary vitality which many of the broadside ballads had in the minds and hearts of the commons of England. Certainly the character of Bill Brown and the desire to avenge his death was sufficient to raise the necessary sympathetic bond between street singers and their audiences.
A.L. Lloyd further commented in the sleeve notes of Roy Harris’s 1972 record The Bitter and the Sweet:
When the practice of enclosing common-land for the benefit of lofty landlords was stepped up in the 18th century, it caused hardship and fierce resentment over the broad acres. For some reason, resistance to this injustice was specially fierce in the triangle roughly bounded by Sheffield, Lincoln and Nottingham, and within this area for more than half a century there was virtual guerrilla was between poacher and keeper. The sullen bloodshot ballad of Bill Brown, who was shot dead at Brightside, near Sheffield, in 1769, is characteristic of the poacher broadsides that moved the disaffected villagers of the time (and for long after). The tune was noted in Lincolnshire by Frank Kidson’s devoted informant, Mr Lolley, about eighty years ago.
You gentlemen, both great and small, Gamekeepers, poachers, sportsmen all, Come listen to me simple clown, I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown, I’ll sing you the death of poor Bill Brown.
One stormy night, as you shall hear, ‘Twas in the season of the year. We went to the woods to catch a buck, But in that night we had bad luck, Bill Brown was shot and his dog was stuck.
Well, we got to the woods, our sport begun, I saw the gamekeeper present his gun, I called on Bill to climb the gate, To get away, but it was too late, For there he met his untimely fate.
Well, we got to the woods, our sport begun, I saw the gamekeeper present his gun, I called on Bill to climb the gate, To get away, but it was too late, For there he met his untimely fate.
I dressed myself next night in time, I got to the wood as the clock struck nine; The reason was, and I’ll tell you why, To find that gamekeeper I did go try, Who shot my friend, and he shall die.
I ranged the woods all over, and then I looked at my watch and it was just ten. I heard a footstep on the green, I hid myself for fear of being seen, For I plainly saw it was Tom Green.
I took my gun all in my hand, Resolved to fire if Tom should stand; Tom heard a noise and turned him round. I fired and brought him to the ground, My hand gave him his deep death wound.
Now revenge, you see, my hopes has crowned. I’ve shot the mam that shot Bill Brown. Poor Bill no more these eyes will see; Farewell, dear friend, farewell to ye, I’ve crowned your hopes and your memory.
We get sent, given and recommended a lot of books by people who’ve seen the show. They are nearly always very useful and often even get read. Every so often one comes along that wins. This is such a book. What a title! And full of lovely maps and considered prose too. Copies come up 2nd hand for about the £20 mark fairly often, well worth it.
Needless to say this book is a glorious source of academically thorough research into peasant struggles against the greed and tyranny of the aristocracy.
This database from the University of Exeter brings together poems written in response to the Lancashire Cotton Famine of 1861-65.
The crisis was caused by the American Civil War and, as well as poems from British local newspapers, poems published in America are included commenting on the relationship between the US, Britain, cotton, and slavery.
Whilst not technically Three Acres And A Cow canon, it is a great resource and useful to get a sense of the way language is used in this period of history.
That there are algorithms out there on the internet that know so much about us all is shit scary. Some days it can be annoyingly useful though, like the day when it suggested that I might want to buy a 2nd hand copy of this book and I did… and was grateful for the recommendation. Grrrrrrrr….
The book is very geographically focussed on the north east lowlands of Scotland and explores advances in technology and the repercussions for workers through the medium of bothy ballads. Sounds ace, doesn’t it?
It covers the 1800s in detail and really helped me to understand the transition from women working the fields with a sickle, to men working the fields with scythes, and oxen pulling rudimentary ploughs, to a paid of horses pulling a far more modern device. It also explores the beginnings of automation, steam power and machines. All evidenced by songs. Brilliant.
Lovely short film about a plotlands settlement on the salt marshes of Lowsy Point near Barrow-in-Furness in northwest England. Watch via https://vimeo.com/wurstundgritz/acre or embedded below. Read Colin Ward’s Arcadia for All to learn more about the Plotlands.
This is a really short and enjoyable read; for us, worth the print price alone for p19’s:
Emparking reached its zenith in the eighteen century , when the removal of villages to create or enlarge parks was a widespread phenomenon.
It then goes on to list a number of examples and features the story of Milton Abbas in Dorset which was dismantled over a period of fifteen years to make way for Baron Milton’s new park.
Trevor Rowley is an Emeritius Fellow at the University of Oxford, so this book can’t easily be dismissed by revisionist ‘historians’ who often seek to play down such occurances when defending the reputation of the British ruling class.
Originally published in 1982, this new third edition is an invaluable aid to recording and identifying the remains of past settlements and placing them in their total landscape context. As well as tracing the processes that led to desertion, this book provides a guide to the type of remains to be expected and describes some good examples
Money earned through enslavement played a key role in the eviction of Highlanders in the 18th and 19th centuries, study finds
Between roughly 1750 and 1860, wealthy landowners forcibly evicted thousands of Scottish Highlanders in order to create large-scale sheep farms. Known today as the Highland Clearances, this era of drastic depopulation sparked the collapse of the traditional clan system and the mass migration of Scotland’s northernmost residents to other parts of the world.
As Alison Campsie reports for the Scotsman, new research argues that this pivotal period in Scottish history had close ties to the enslavement of people in British colonies, with a cadre of individuals enriched by slavery evicting at least 5,000 people from their property and buying up more than one million acres of land relinquished during the clearances.
The land settlement societies and land settlement association, are along with the Plotlands movement, important forgotten parts of recent British history. They stand as highly useful and inspiring examples of post war movements of people back to the land and the countryside. The Plotlands were bottom up and anarcist in nature (although I highly doubt the participants would have identified as anarcist!), whilst the land settlement movement was far more top down with state and non state actors involved.
This book is short, sweet and very detailed about facts, figures and costs whilst making keen observations about the surrounding politics. The sub title ‘something must be done’ is a quote from Edward Windsor when he was part of the British royal family which in part antagonised the government to take action on the huge number of unemployed people in Wales by supporting them into running smallholding businesses. Edwards words were seen as inflamatory, and inappropriate meddling by the supposedly a-political monarchy at the time.
A book about the Kinder Scout trespass by a main organiser in his own words. Lots of stuff in here which I’d never learnt anywhere else, it’s hard to track down this out of print book but well worth the effort.
This is a really great deep dive into local Sheffield history whilst at the same time providing lots of context which I imagine would make it still of interest to those further afield.
I drank it down and revelled in the geekery, for example, did you know that Mount Pleasant is the name for the part of each town or city where all the night soil (aka human poo) was taken every morning so farmers could transport it to their land for fertiliser?
An account of farming in the Chelmsford area of Essex
Another book in the same genre as ‘Where Beards Wag All‘ which perfectly and poetically captures the last days of pre mechanised peasant agriculture in Essex and the first steps of the transition into fossil fuel fuelled farming. Simply and beautifully written, a good way to look back to look forward
Dadabhai Naoroji (1825-1917) was the first Asian to sit in the House of Commons, a hugely important leader in India before Mahatma Gandhi, as well as being an anti-racist and anti-imperialist of global significance. Well worth learning more about his inspiring life via:
Farming While Black is the first comprehensive “how to” guide for aspiring African-heritage growers to reclaim their dignity as agriculturists and for all farmers to understand the distinct, technical contributions of African-heritage people to sustainable agriculture.
This is a truly epic piece of work which includes some compelling history lessons alongside being a cultural and practical manual for acquiring, working and thriving on the land in America. There is so much to learn here for land workers of colour as well as white people on an anti-racism journey.
We have included some of the things we learned from this book into recent performances of the show.
If you don’t want to dive straight into the book, Leah Penniman’s podcast with Farmerama is a good place to start or one of these blogs:
“In 1910, one in seven farmers were African-American and held titles to approximately 16-19 million acres of farmland. Over the next century, 98% of Black farmers were dispossessed through discriminatory practices at the USDA and various federal farm programs. These farmers were often denied loans and credit, lacked access to legal defense against fraud, and experienced “outright acts of violence and intimidation” resulting in a 90% loss of Black-owned farmland in the US.
Today, 98% of private rural land is owned by white people, while less than 1% is Black-owned. The USDA’s systemic bias against Black and minority farmers “is well documented” and affirmed by the 2010 Pigford vs. Glickman class action lawsuit, which resulted in a $1.25 billion settlement. Black farmers continue to experience discrimination in access to credit, seeds, and other assistance, and face foreclosure at six times the rate of their White counterparts.”
I loved this song as a teenager but knew nothing about the subject matter, nor would I have known where to find any in my Daily Telegraph reading Thatcher-lite household and community. But now we have wikipedia and easy to find interviews with the band about writing it.
I thought i heard someone calling me I’ve seen the pictures on TV And i made up my mind that i’d go and see With my own eyes
It didn’t take too long to hitch a ride With a guy going south to start a new life Past the place where my friend died Two years ago
Down the 303 at the end of the road Flashing lights – exclusion zones And it made me think it’s not just the stones That they’re guarding
Hey hey, can’t you see There’s nothing here that you could call free They’re getting their kicks Laughing at you and me
As the sun rose on the beanfield They came like wolf on the fold And no they didn’t give a warning They took their bloody toll
I see a pregnant woman Lying in blood of her own I see her children crying As the police tore apart her home And no they didn’t need a reason It’s what your votes condone It seems they were committing treason By trying to live on the road
If I could marry a song it would probably be this one. Alistair Hulett on fine form writing about Mary Barbour and the Glasgow Women’s rent strike at the start of the 1914-1918 war.
Mrs Barbour’s Army by Alistair Hulett
In the tenements o’ Glesga in the year one nine one five It was one lang bloody struggle tae keep ourselves alive We were coontin’ oot the coppers tae buy wor scraps o’ food When the landlords put the rent up just because they could A’ the factories were hummin’, there was overtime galore But wages they were driven doon tae subsidise the war Oot came Mrs. Barbour from her wee bit single end She said, I’ll organise the lassies if I cannae rouse the men
‘Cos I’m from Govan and your from Partick This one here’s from Bridge o’ Weir and they’re from Kinning Park There’s some that’s prods, there’s some that’s catholic But we’re Mrs. Barbour’s Army and we’re here tae dae the wark
Mrs. Barbour made a poster sayin’, We’ll no’ pay higher rent Then she chapped on every door of every Govan tenement She said, Pit this in the windae when you hear me bang the drum We’ll run oot an’ chase the factor a’ the way tae kingdom come When the poor wee soul cam roon’ he was battered black and blue By a regiment in pinnies that knew just what tae do Mrs. Barbour organised the gaitherin’ o’ the clans And they burst oot o’ the steamie armed wi’ pots an’ fryin’ pans
Mrs. Barbour’s Army spread through Glesga like the plague The maisters got the message and the message wisnae vague While our menfolk fight the Kaiser we’ll stay hame & fight the war Against all the greedy bastards who keep grindin’ doon the poor If ye want tae stop conscription stand and fight the profiteers Bring the hale big bloody sandpit crashin’ doon aroon’ their ears We’ll no’ starve, said Mrs. Barbour, While the men we care for ain Are marchin aff to hae their heart’s blood washed like water doon a drain
Well it didnae take the government that lang tae realise If you crack doon on the leaders then the rest will compromise They arrested Mrs. Barbour and they clapped her in the jile Then they made an awfy big mistake, they let her oot on bail She called men out the factories on the Clyde and on the Cart They marched up tae the courthoose sayin’, We’ll tear the place apart Mrs. Barbour’s Army brought the maisters tae their knees Wi’ a regiment in pinnies backed by one in dungarees
I’ve still not got around to learning this, which is pretty poor – perhaps you can learn it and send us a recording?! Again taken from Roy Palmer’s excellent Ballad History of England. Tune is know nowadays as the Broom of the Cowdenknowes.
It’s fair to say that Professor Wallace House was probably a bit of a dude. An American who perfected the art of many regional English accents so he could sing his favourite folk songs authetically.
We adapted our version of ‘Robin Hood and the Three Squires’ from this record:
As Robin Hood ranged the green woods all round, all round the woods ranged he He saw a young lady in very deep grief, weeping against an oak tree weeping against an oak tree
O why weepest thou, my dear lady? What trouble’s befallen thee? Well I have three brothers in Nottingham jail, this day all hanged must be this day all hanged must be
O what have they done , my dear lady, to pay such a costly fee? Why they have killed three of the King’s fallow deer their children and wives to feed
Take courage, take courage, says bold Robin Hood, oh weep not against the oak tree, And I will away to Nottingham fair, the High Sheriff for to see
Then Robin Hood hastened to Nottingham town, to Nottingham town went he And there with the high master Sheriff he met and likewise the squires all three
One favour one favour I have to beg. One favour to beg of thee That thou wilt reprieve these three young squires, this day and set them free
O no, o no, the high Sheriff says, their lives are forfeit to me, For they have killed three of the King’s fallow deer and this day all hanged must be
One favour more I have to beg. One favour more of thee That I may blow thrice on my old bugle horn that their spirits to heaven may flee
O granted, o granted, the High Sheriff said. O granted O granted said he Thou mayest blow thrice on thine old bugle horn that their spirits to heaven may flee
Then Robin Hood climbed the gallows so high and blew both loud and shrill Three hundred and ten of bold Robin Hood’s men came marching across the green hill
O whose men are these? The High Sheriff asks. And Robin Hood answered with glee, They’re all of them mine and they’re none of them thine and they’ve come for the squires all three
O take them, O take them, the High Sheriff said. I’ll have no quarrel with thee, For there’s not a man in fair Nottingham that can do the like of thee.
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