Causley Songs For Mamhead Concert 14 March 2008

Seven Songs by David Haines to poems by Charles Causley Charles Causley (1917-2003) was born and brought up in Launceston, Cornwall, but he also had strong links with Teignmouth and with the village of Trusham, a few miles up the Teign Valley. The composer of this evening’s songs, David Haines. got to know the poet when David was studying and Causley was in residence at the Banff School of Fine Arts, Canada in the early 80’s. The poet told David that he was “nearly born” at Brimley House, in the same road David lives in, because his father worked for the local doctor who lived there. Teign Choral Society commissioned David to set a series of poems by Causley and Keats (who also spent time in Teignmouth) in 1991, but tonight’s songs were commissioned by Trusham Village. Causley left the village (from which most of his family originated) a large legacy when he died and they held a weekend celebration of his work last September, including the commissioning and first performance of these songs, funded by the lottery-backed Awards for All Scheme. David has done a new setting of “Teignmouth” for this commission, quite different from his original setting 17 years ago. Teignmouth Teignmouth, ox-red sand and scree The pier`s long finger testing the sea Salt-damp deck-chairs along the Den Pierrots singing, Here we are again! Sand-artist crimping the crocodile Quartz for a yellow eye, shells for a smile Punch kills the Baby the Mission sings a hymn Through the level water the sailboats swim My father, slick from his boots to his cap Driving the Doctor`s pony and trap Here`s my mother, lives next door Strolling with a sun-shade the long blue shore The sun and the day burn gold, burn green August Bank Holiday, 1914 The tide runs grey; washes the world Away, away

Give me a house (solo: Anne Yates) Give me a house, said Polly Give me land, said Hugh Give me the moon, said Sadie Give me the sun, said Sue Give Give Give Give

me me me me

a horse, said Rollo a hound, said Joe fine linen, said Sarah silk, said Flo

Give Give Give Give

me me me me

a mountain, said Kirsty a valley, said Jim a river, said Dodo the sky, said Tim

Give Give Give Give

me me me me

the ocean, said Adam a ship, said Hal a kingdom, said Rory a crown, said Sal

Give me gold, said Peter Give me silver, said Paul Give me love, said Jenny, Or nothing at all Rattler Morgan Now his eyes are bright farthings And he spindles In seas deeper than death His lips are no longer wet with wine But gleam with wet salt And the Gulf Stream is his breath Now he is fumbled by ancient tides Among decks flagged with seaweed But no flags sees he there His fingers are washed to stone And to phosphor And there are starfish in his hair

Trusham (solo: Ian Shields) In this blown house my grandfather was born, And here his father first unshook his bones Walking the churchyard as a child, I saw My slate name on their double page of stones The War Memorial - a lump of rock, Upended rollers, length of iron twine Crests like a coaster the hill`s wave. I read The bullet-coloured names. My father`s. Mine In Rattle Street the mud is Flanders-thick An old man, shoulder-sacked against the rain Under the drooping fingers of a rick Asks, `What is it that brings you here again? `You never married, and you`ve got no child (I don`t know what your dad would say to that) And you the only one. It seems to me That when you`ve gone, the name will just go scat` How can I tell him that the sounding heart Oiled with the same old blood - can`t be reset? Useless to say that this particular flesh Won`t scrape off, dry off, like the mud, the wet Beyond those pale disturbances of sky Another year assembles its vast floe Ice lines the turning air. It softens. Soon Advances from the west the carrion snow Plymouth Soft as the night and silent as the snow, Rain pours her arrows on the open city The sailor and his fancy homeward go And evening draws its shutters, as in pity Walking the sliding pavements, my feet Fiery as angels on the blazing stair, I heard a strangling cornet in the street Volley its music on the falling air Blow, cornet, blow over the lurching channel Where the sleek sea for ever draws her comb! A million matelots in the long sea-tunnel Hear your thin rumours, and remember home Summer was always sun (solo:Stephanie Green) Summer was always sun, Winter was made of snow, Forward the spring, the fall was slow Down from the moor the stream Ran swift, ran clear

The trees were leaved with song for all to hear The seas, the skies were blue With stars the beach was sown Printing the endless shore, A child: barefoot, alone What is this time, this place? I hear you say When was the wide world so? Yesterday The Parson and the Clerk The Clerk stands in the ocean, The Parson on the land, From top to toe to fingertips Red as the Devon sand The people of Teignmouth say (And they say it at Shaldon, too) That the Parson and the Clerk Are sandstone through and through, And the story of how they came home Rather more drunk than dry From a night with the Bishop of Exeter Is nothing more than a lie And there never was a storm As they drove beside the bay That washed the horses to Babbacombe And the Parson and Clerk away Though when the morning came Along the salted shore There stood two pillars of stone That never stood there before And often some folk say, If you stand quite still and hark, The Parson is taking a service With responses from the Clerk But only the Parson and Clerk Know the truth of the tale And gently both of them wink an eye As they stand on the sand and the shale Says the Parson to the Clerk, `Perhaps it is just as well For the sake of their peace of mind That they think we are stone and shell `And whether the day is bright Or the night is wild and dark Shall we let them believe it is so?` `Amen`, says the Clerk