We had two competitions as part of the 2024 Furness Tradition Festival.
First was the return of the Dance Tune Competition.
Competitors were invited to compose a traditional style dance tune – jigs, reels, hornpipes, polkas, waltzes etc.
There were 6 entries which included a variety of dance styles e.g. reel, jig, hornpipe and waltz.
The winner was Peter Rowan with a Hornpipe called ” John the Bottle” written in memory of John Preedy, who used to run the bottle recovery project in the old cinema in Whitehaven, and was tragically killed whilst cycling home along the A595.
Peter won £50 plus the John Hazelhurst Memorial Trophy*
Here is his tune.
*John Hazlehurst was a good friend and supporter to Furness Tradition for many years. He was a member of the Old Friends Band for 20 years. John was a long-time member of Furness Morris as a Dancer, Fool, and much respected musician. His ability as a Morris musician playing the Anglo Concertina and Northumbrian Pipes, was second to none. He provided musical accompaniment to Furness Clog Dancers, and was a stalwart of the Furness Tradition Community Band.
He published his own tune book ‘Phizacklea’s Fandangle’ which is available from Furness Tradition. All the proceeds from its sales are donated to ANTBA (Association Nationale pour la Traduction de la Bible et l’Alphabetisation) the biggest provider of ‘mother tongue’ literacy classes and materials in Burkina Faso, one of the poorest nations in the world. This generosity is typical of John. Furness Tradition has worked in conjunction with his family who wish to commemorate him with this trophy.
We remember him as a wonderful musician, composer of many fine local tunes, possessing a quiet sense of humour, and a loyal friend. And, to cap it all, he was an all-round nice guy! John was a lovely man, gentle nature, quiet, patient and committed. The world is a poorer place without him.
Second – was a Song Writing Competition.
Entrants were invited to write a song on the theme of Cumbrian people, culture and history.
There were 3 entries and all of them were excellent.
First up is “Engine No 115” by Pete Skellon. On Thursday 22 September 1892 near Lindal-in-Furness, a village lying between the Cumbria towns of Ulverston and Dalton-in-Furness, a Furness Railway locomotive, No.115, was shunting in sidings when it disappeared into the ground after a large, deep hole opened up beneath it. It was never recovered and still lies buried beneath the railway.
Engine number one-one-five Pete Skellon 9/7/03
Based on John Sewell’s researches and subsequent article published in the Journal of the Cumbrian Railways Association
In the deep of Lowfield Pit where the haematite once lay,
Engine number one-one-five lies there to this day.
Come gather round good people there’s a tale I’ll tell to you,
Of a Thursday in September eighteen-ninety-two,
When a railway locomotive sank into the ground,
It disappeared into a hole never to be found.
Driver Thomas Postlethwaite of the Furness Railway Line
To Lindal Sidings brought his train, arriving right on time,
He had to shunt some wagons but the track beneath him failed,
The railway line just split apart and the engine came derailed.
It had happened other times before so they knew what to do
The gangers went to get some jacks, the fireman for a brew,
But Tom then heard a rumbling noise from underneath the track
And the ground beneath the engine began to move and crack.
When the track gang heard the rumble, not knowing what to think,
They returned at once and, with alarm, they watched the engine sink,
Then Officers came from Barrow town to view the Railway’s loss,
As the hole kept on growing, reaching seventy feet across.
With the Railway now in chaos, trains cancelled and delayed,
The decision was made to fill that hole and have the track re-laid;
There was nothing else that could be done to have the engine saved,
As the public came from near and far to mourn beside the grave.
For seven days they filled that hole with wagon-loads of stone
As the earth swallowed more and more to claim back its own,
And though Lowfield Pit was soon worked out, one piece of iron remains,
Engine one-one-five’s still there with Tom’s gold watch and chain.
In the deep of Lowfield Pit where the haematite once lay,
Engine number one-one-five lies there to this day.
Listen to Engine No 115
Next is “Hawfinch in the Hornbeam” by Steve Wharton. It tells of the life of Katherine Parr, sixth wife of Henry VIII who outlived him.
Hawfinch In The Hornbeam
Lyrics and music by Steve Wharton, June 2024
1.
I wed Sir Edward Burgh when
I was but seventeen
I left my mother’s loving house
For Lincolnshire’s lonesome scenes
Yet five years later he lay dead
Free of his family’s hand
Then with my cousin I did stay
At Sizergh House in Westmorland
Chorus
Like the hawfinch in the hornbeam
Slumbering in Sizergh Castle’s dusk
As a maid, a wife, a widow and a queen
I have stolen soft hearts from the hardest husk
2.
Lord Latimer then took my hand
Snape Castle my new home
The Pilgrimage of Grace upsprang
Against the break with Rome.
And rebel soldiers ‘sieged the walls
I held my stepsons tight
They made my husband swear an oath
And dragged him through the cold, dark night
3.
To Henry’s court my husband went
Swore innocence of heart
But Henry only cared for wine
And at each maid would make a start
O was my sin to love too much?
I served the cross and crown
I yielded dreams for one I loved
When Henry laid me down
4.
Though Mary’s maid, I did become
The Queen of all England
Anointed, blessed, ordained to hold
The crown and sceptre in my hands
But there is one above us all
Whose love will reign supreme
Whose simple truths when simply spoke
Do set my heart agleam
5.
The evening sun breaks through the cloud
My ray of light is born
Of freedom gained so patiently
Of love we thought forlorn
For Thomas Seymour was the man
Who’s heart was rich as loam
In his embrace our daughter lies
The Lord has called me home
6.
O like that shy bird in the tree
I’ve cracked stones and seeds
I softened my cold husbands’ hearts
Been dutiful in word and deed
O like that sweet bird in the tree
On Sizergh’s peaceful lawn
My freedom felt but fleeting for
The Lord has called me home
Listen to Steve singing Hawfinch in the Hornbeam
Finally we have Dave Camlin’s song “The Irish Sea” which the judges selected as the winner – it can’t have been an easy decision.
He says this about the song: My great-grandfather Robert (Big Bob) Camlin (1880 – 1945) was an economic migrant from Ireland
to west Cumbria who I know worked at the steel works in Workington. After my father died, I came across a surprising piece of information that Robert had married my great-grandmother Annie Dorcas Young in Angola in west Africa in 1900. It struck me that their migration from County Down to West Cumbria was a lot more convoluted than I’d imagined, involving long sea journeys before finally settling in Workington, echoing the displacement of contemporary economic migrants.
The Irish Sea Dave Camlin
We skipped away from the County Down in 1898
To sail the seven seas and chase a better fate.
We jumped aboard a schooner and worked our passage free,
And bade a sad farewell to the Irish Sea.
Across Atlantic swells we sailed, sick to the soul,
Rode the churning waves all the way down to Angola
Where I wed my darling Annie, the dearest dear to me,
But at night we still dreamed about the Irish Sea.
Home is where you make it, home is where you are,
it’s the same sky we’re under, and the same bright stars,
I’ve been around the world, but where I’d rather be
Is to be tucked up safe and sound beside the Irish Sea.
So back onto the boats we went, heading north again
Up past Cape Verde, and the coast of Spain
Searching for a future, yearning to be free,
Our dreams led us back to the Irish Sea.
Now Old Father Thames couldn’t welcome us too soon,
We stopped in Epping Forest where we learned this little tune
And finally to Workington, hardy men of steel
Where we all set to work beside the Irish Sea
Home is where you make it, home is where you are,
Although from my window I can’t see Erin’s Isle,
Just to know she’s out there is cause enough to smile,
But here’s where I belong now, in my community
We’re a raggle taggle crew beside the Irish Sea.
I think of all the thousands who cast themselves afloat
On the unforgiving briny in their poxy little boats
Searching for a future, yearning to be free,
May we all find a home beside the Irish Sea.
Home is where you make it, home is where you are,
Listen to Dave singing The Irish Sea