This instrumental gets its name because it kind of evolved from Davy Graham’s jazz-raga arrangement of ‘She Moved Through the Fair’ (memorably described by Martin Carthy as ‘a mess’). I’ve used the same arrangement (without the jazziness) as a starting point for accompanying singers since the end of the 1960s, when I used to do ‘She moved through the fair’ with my friend Sally Goddard, who now lives in Newfoundland and sings with the band Atlantic Union. London friends may remember the electric version I used to do with Kathy Bowen Jones.
However, this is a highly personalized, extemporized instrumental version that always seems to come out more North African than Indian. Anyway, I don’t think we’re in Ireland any more with this version, Toto.
I don’t suppose Martin would like this version much, either. Nevertheless, I’ll probably come back to record a more polished version in due course. Perhaps with a sitar overdub. 🙂
Yet another update: on my Cornish music site, but still working towards a decent version of the song. This time with resonator guitar instead of mandolin.
Update: a version with guitar and mandolin, but no harmonies. The harmonies may be back, but I think I prefer it with instruments. On the other hand, I think I may drop the instrumental that should follow it.
Earlier sketch of a harmony version. Recorded quite quickly – less than an hour – so the four vocal tracks aren’t always perfectly in synch. That’s why it’s a demo. 🙂 Hopefully, I’ll be able to come back to it and add the instrumental that should follow it, in the near future.
And a solo version, to demonstrate the bare tune:
When I was a kid in a country town and I’d nothing better to do: I’d detour round by the railway bridge on my way home from school.
Leaning over the bridge with my chin in my hands, too young to be wondering why, I’d wait what seemed hours for the signal to change: wait for a train to go by
The lure of the footplate, the churn of the rods straining to places unknown; fog in November, smoke in the cold air the faraway steam-whistle moan;
bathing my eyes in the warmth of the lights as up the track she would fly. I’d get home late: they’d ask ‘Where have you been?’ I’d say ‘watching the trains go by’…
Saturday lunchtime some days in the spring with the sky an implacable blue, collecting the numbers of Castles and Kings: it’s all we’d want to do.
Perspective of steel cut through frostbitten green, just went on to a faraway end, and I always felt sad at the Cambrian’s tail-light as she’d disappear round the bend.
Now trains mean timetables, luggage and waiting rooms, leaving the people I love; the pounding of diesels, the A to B run – perspective has subtly moved.
Tonight I am free and the rails are still endless (if I had the fare to ride) but I stand on a footbridge in the heart of the city watching the tube trains go by.
This is a (probably inaccurate) memory of my early school years, when we lived in Shrewsbury. The railway bridge in question is a composite: there were actually two that were (very loosely) on my way home, and another – my favourite – that meant walking in the wrong direction from Crowmoor school. The Cambrian is the Cambrian Express, which at that time ran from Paddington to Aberystwyth and Pwllheli. Castles and Kings are classic Great Western steam locomotives: I changed that line after being reminded of them in a post to Remember When In Shrewsbury’s Facebook page. The title has something to do with the fact that I wrote the song while I was staying with my friend Sally Goddard somewhere near Kew Gardens. Not really ‘the heart of the city’, but there is a footbridge there somewhere that crosses the District line. I know… way, way too much information. Strictly speaking, Liongate was the guitar instrumental I used to play straight after singing the song unaccompanied, but it sort of attached itself to the song. Though since I changed that line, maybe Castles and Kings is a better title.
Sally now lives in Newfoundland, where she sings with a band called Atlantic Union.