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about

Andrew King - Cold Blows the Wind
(traditional) [Child 78/Roud 51]
From the singing of Alfred Price Jones,
Noted by Ella Leather & Ralph Vaughan Williams, September 1912 & September 1922.

Andrew King – vocals, effects.
Recorded by the singer at Epiphany West, December 2020,
Post recording production by Hunter Barr at Retina II, March 2021,
Mixed by the singer at Epiphany West, July 2021.

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Manuscript sources

main source, Ella Leather Collection, September 1912 (probably the 11th) [EML/2/13e],
plus, Ella Leather Collection, September 8th 1922 [EML/1/0/b/3],
plus, Lucy Broadwood Coll, probably sent by Leather [LEB/5/292/3],

Printed sources

Leather, Ella M., ‘Collecting Folk-Melodies from Gypsies in Herefordshire’, Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society, 3rd ser., 4 (1925), pp. 59–73 (spec. pp. 62-63).
Vaughan Williams, Ralph, ‘Obituary. Ella Mary Leather. Born March 26th, 1874. Died June 7th, 1928’, Journal of the Folk-Song Society, Vol. 8, No. 32 (Dec., 1928), p. 102.

lyrics

Cold Blows The Wind (The Unquiet Grave)

Cold blows the wind o’er my true lover’s grave,
And cold blow the drops of rain,
I’ll do as much for my true love,
for any young girl may,

I’ll do as much for my true love,
for any young girl may,
I’ll sit & weep all over his grave,
for a twelve month & one day,

When twelve months & one day did pass
This young man he rosed again,
“What makes you weep all o’er my grave
That I can take no rest?”

“One kiss one kiss from your clay cold lips,
One kiss that’s all I desire.”
If you have one kiss from me clay-cold lips ;
Your days they will not be long,

If you have one kiss from me clay cold lips
Your days will not be long
My lips are as cold as my clay
My breath it is earthly strong.

Then it’s fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,
And water out of a stone
And milk white then from a fair maid’s breast,
Which babe she never bore none.

How can I fetch a nut from a dungeon deep
Or water out of a stone
And milk white then from a fair maid’s breast,
When a fair maid she is none

Oh it’s can’t you remember the garden path,
Where you & me used to walk?
The finest flower that ever grew there ;
Is withered to the stalk.

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Santa Sangre Magazine Katowice, Poland

Webzine dedicated to the post-industrial music underground.

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