A Folk Ballad
 

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.
.
.

Mark, it is great as is, but I had a thought when I got to the last line. I heard that line as "while the sheep roam free." And I thought that if the last line of each stanza were shortened to two beats, you could capture some of that eerie feel of Keats's "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." It's your call.

Susan

Hi Mark,
I do like a ballad but, to me, this feels like an early draft of one. For instance, She 'kissed him once, in fun' doesn't seem sufficient cause for him to kill himself, nor does it make them childhood sweethearts.

And hair like a cloud of smoke
That covered her face like the moon's eclipse.
Can't help but think she might be part werewolf.
The lad's heart nearly broke.
Because she was so hairy?

How does
Took the first coach out of town.
square with
"It's in a tiny place called Brinscall" ?

But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.
To whom did he swear? To me it seems like their 'relationship' is all in his mind.
He thought to save her from her shame,
So five months and a day
It's snowing be the end, is he sitting in the snow?

I think you're right that there's a poem 'begging to be written' but it needs to have some drama, and this doesn't. The rich man's son isn't sufficiently villainous enough (one might argue that he - and Nell - have a 'little fun' together and then he dumps her and that seems a slightly more grown-up version of what passed between the nameless shepherd and her.)


And he climbed the heights of Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.
I think this is very good. Can you possibly work backwards from this point? (You certainly don't need the first three verses.)

Just a thought

For long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

The pair would meet, on Winter Hill,
beneath a trysting tree,
...

RG

Does it come with a tune? It would have me blubbing.
I wondered if the final lines could tug a little harder eg

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He calls to bring his master near,
For the sheep are gone from the lea.

( lea being a good folky word for grazing pasture)

.
Very cool.

I would try to get her to sing it. I can hear it being sung a cappella. I actually hear a melody. (If you want me to hum the melody line PM me)

I would also encourage her to ask to read it aloud after sundown. It will help, I think, to have some darkness and low-light.

I would hope, too, that she will introduce the ballad in a similar way that you have done with us.

Maybe, just maybe, have her begin with a lonesome howling wolf audio. Or if she's feeling very daring, perform the howling herself as a lead-in to the ballad. In other words, ask her to add some theatrics. It sounds to me like the right kind of crowd.

I'm out of my mind I know : )

I disagree with Susan's suggestion to lose a beat in the final line of each stanza. I like the folksy regularity of the beat as is.

I think, given there context and the venue, it is great as is. Maybe a few tweaks, but keep it straightforward ballad-folksy.

Really cool, Mark.

.

Hi, Mark—

Skillfully done. It reminds me of Noyes’s “The Highwayman.”

Other than providing the name of the sheepdog, S5 doesn’t seem to be pulling its weight. Could you cut it and give the dog’s name in S10L4 with a change like this?
As his dog beside him lay. > Where Brin, his sheepdog, lay.

I agree with Joe that the ending could benefit from some tweakage. The last line is a bit unclear because the present tense verb could imply that the sheep wandering free today could be the cause of the ghostly dog howl. Maybe something like this:
For the sheep are roaming free. > Whose sheep were roaming free.

I agree with Richard that the single kiss in fun is not a convincing motive for suicide. Could you make her less mercenary and more committed to the shepherd? Could you make the rich man’s son more villainous?

Hope this is helpful.

Glenn

Hi, Mark! Some general thoughts, which may or may not be helpful (probably not, but here they are):

Folk tales traditionally judge pretty girls harshly for spurning poor suitors and chasing after wealthy ones instead. But isn't the basis for the shepherd's "true love" — stated as her white arms, ruby lips, and hair like smoke — every bit as superficial as the basis for the scoundrel's temporary fling?

We never hear what the shepherd looked like. Why is appearance considered relevant to his attraction to her, but not relevant to her refusal of him?

If she was so cruel-hearted, wasn't the shepherd lucky NOT to have won her over, and therefore not to have spent a lifetime of misery, enduring her narcissistic little power games?

Perhaps she didn't actually choose the rich guy at all. Perhaps the entitled little snot raped her, and then left her to deal with the aftermath.

Did she even know that the obsessed but tongue-tied shepherd was stalking her for five months? Did he actually ever work up the nerve to speak to her, or did he just keep lurking at a distance?

If the latter, that would make the story far more interesting to me than if Nell was just a "cruel" beauty who deserved to die for having toyed with the faithful shepherd's affections.

Generally, pregnancies (unwed or not) are not mentioned outside one's family until they are undeniably "showing," yet the shepherd is said to have lurked for five months. Nell's mother does not hide the existence of a "babe" from him when reporting Nell's death, so I guess she assumes the shepherd knows all about it. Which suggests that maybe he had made an offer for her hand, to save her from "shame." But again, maybe she had understandable reasons for not accepting, which might include having to feel forever obligated to a husband she don't really love, but felt forced into marrying. (And would that really save her from shame, anyway, since everyone who could count to nine would still know that her firstborn child must have been conceived before the wedding day?)

If you left some of the details more ambiguous, we might be left to wonder if she died from an abortion, which she might have felt was a better option than being slut-shamed while having to be a single parent, or than having to stoop to marrying the shepherd if she truly had scorned him cruelly for years.

Hello Mark,

I am not that familiar with the conventions of ballad form, but for me this ballad is not quite ballad-ing, in that there is a disconnect between the pieces of the drama, and I cannot help feeling that the progression of this whole poem needs to be more slant somehow.

In the quote you provided, Nell is described to be the shepherd's "childhood sweetheart" (which at least implies some sustained reciprocity and emotional depth) and yet she chose to be intimate with a dude named Hollinshed, and the crux of the drama is squaring those two facts, and how the squaring of those two facts casts a light on the two main actors Nell and the Shepherd, and how much that allows or does not allow the pathos.

Right now, the pathos of the first and last three stanzas is being unironically undercut by the shepherd coming across what current internet culture might call an unsymphatetic "incel simp". As if some dude killing himself over a local girl who he had briefly been close with in middle-school, whose Instagram photos he lusts over today in between his shifts at Target. One day some famous basketball player comes up loving over her in the photos, and then another day the dude is gone, and she's messaging news to her incel simp about being pregnant. In this scenario, the mother of the deceased girl would be astonished by the grandiose gesture of the dude stating he was going to kill himself to be with his "beloved". Some ever howling dog in this scenario is the definition of overkill.

Taking on Julie's suggestion and extending it, if the maid was untouched and had truly loved the shepherd since childhood and was waiting for marriage, but the Hollinshed dude took advantage of her, as landed gentry are oft to do in the world of severely unbalanced power dynamics, then that would make dramatic sense, and justify the pathos better.

Maybe the maid's mother fell ill, and she needed some money, and the money was promised if she agreed to marry Hollinshed, but he broke the promise, leaving her with a baby and no way out.

Maybe the dude is a delusional incel simp, and the dog goes howling becomes he mourns the senseless and unjustified suicide of his master.

Maybe the girl was "ugly" while young, and still the shepherd loved her, while Hollinshed ignored her and her advances. Something, anything to balance things out.

It feels like the poem grabbed the most obvious and soap-operatic solution to the problem and ran with it, letting the rhyme and meter carry the poem along.

Right now the shepherd and Hollinshed are as mirrors of each other, and the common trope of a rich man not being deserving does not break apart the symmetry, both of them wanting the maid for the beauty of the surface, and so it does not really matter who she chooses, and it is her choice to make, consequences and all.

.
Checking back in to say I think ballads are prone to illogic as much as they are bound to spinning a yarn that comes from the heart and imagination.

I think that, as is, with a few tweaks, it will serve its purpose. As I said earlier, theatrics and music can color this to be thoroughly enjoyable to the gathered crowd. By theatrics, I don’t mean making a spectacle out of it — simply adding an appropriate amount of mood and ambience to its intended audience: a public gathering.

But make all the changes you can based on the good thoughts of the others here. It’s just that time is of the essence.

Perhaps a refrain?


.

Hi Mark,

I'm with Susan. It's great as is and seems perfect for the purpose it is meant to serve. If you want to polish it and right think it later for publication purposes then you may want to examine it more closely then. This is so much better than the poems written by relatives that get read aloud at weddings and other special occasions that your niece will be proud to read it and the listeners will be glad to hear it and not just roll their eyes all the way through.

All the best,
Jim