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Description
From the album ‘North of the Humber’ (1 of 10)
This song is the first of ten written with the County of Northumbria in England as a focus, after a holiday in that locality last year. It is not a very well-developed area, with little industry and a sparse population but it has been a powerhouse politically and spiritually perhaps in part because of its distance from the influence of London and the south. The men who built the castles by the low, sweeping shoreline and looked west to the distant Cheviot mountains and east over the North Sea, called themselves kings and held themselves as subject to no one.
Also, and perhaps even more famously, it was a cradle of Celtic Christianity, with the Holy Island of Lindisfarne as the focus where the marvellous illuminated gospels of that name were fashioned, the saints Aidan and Cuthbert lived, and as is less fondly remembered, was the first place to be sacked by the Vikings in AD 793
This first song recounts the unfortunate adventures of an unwary pilgrim who counted upon making an impression on Lindisfarne with his staff and palm (brought back from Palestine) but reckoned without the way the tide cuts the island off for a few hours every day, and had nothing but bad luck when he tried to force the issue instead of waiting for the ebb! The resemblance of the songwriter to this puffed-up and smug adventurer is far too close for comfort!
The photograph shows the Lindisfarne causeway still half submerged, with the island itself in the far distance.
This song is the first of ten written with the County of Northumbria in England as a focus, after a holiday in that locality last year. It is not a very well-developed area, with little industry and a sparse population but it has been a powerhouse politically and spiritually perhaps in part because of its distance from the influence of London and the south. The men who built the castles by the low, sweeping shoreline and looked west to the distant Cheviot mountains and east over the North Sea, called themselves kings and held themselves as subject to no one.
Also, and perhaps even more famously, it was a cradle of Celtic Christianity, with the Holy Island of Lindisfarne as the focus where the marvellous illuminated gospels of that name were fashioned, the saints Aidan and Cuthbert lived, and as is less fondly remembered, was the first place to be sacked by the Vikings in AD 793
This first song recounts the unfortunate adventures of an unwary pilgrim who counted upon making an impression on Lindisfarne with his staff and palm (brought back from Palestine) but reckoned without the way the tide cuts the island off for a few hours every day, and had nothing but bad luck when he tried to force the issue instead of waiting for the ebb! The resemblance of the songwriter to this puffed-up and smug adventurer is far too close for comfort!
The photograph shows the Lindisfarne causeway still half submerged, with the island itself in the far distance.
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Lyrics
The Fine-Looking Pilgrim
A fine-looking pilgrim,
Came one day,
With palm and staff,
From faraway,
And all could see,
As he went by,
That he was a Holy Man,
Well, sir, I’m sorry,
But the tide's all wrong,
The grey sea lies round Lindisfarne,
So you can’t walk there yet today,
On the sands of the Pilgrim’s Way, sir.
But the Pilgrim ranted
And he roared,
Cursed his luck,
For being so poor,
Vowed he’d cross the water to the shore!
Well, there's Fisher Jackie,
and his coble so fair,
For a coin or two,
we'll take you there,
And you'll be well,
And sound and dry
As we row you over the tide, sir,
So, fair and dry,
We came to land,
By Cuthbert's Isle,
To the haven strand,
But, for shame, the staff,
And the palm so fine,
We've done and left them both behind, sir!
Well, the pilgrim ranted,
And he roared,
Cursed the man
And boat so sore,
Said he'd never lost his staff before!
Well, sir, i'm sorry,
But the boat's long gone,
But maybe the tale is not quite done,
If we look by the line of the falling tide,
The sea will maybe provide, sir,
And so they went,
With the man still glum,
Down to the shore,
Where the driftwood comes,
But as we searched for a staff where the flotsam led,
A gannet dropped a present on his head!
Oh, the pilgrim ranted
And he roared,
Cursed the sky,
And cursed the bird,
Couldn't see for droppings by the shore!
Well, sir, I’m sorry, but
The gannet didn't know,
That a Holy Man,
Was there below,
If you'll go down
To the foaming sea,
You can give your head a good clean, sir!
And so the pilgrim.
Knelt down low,
And washed his head,
In the sea below,
But he leaned too far,
And slipped and fell,
And washed all his robes as well!
Oh, the pilgrim ranted,
And he roared,
Blamed the tide,
And blamed the shore,
Cursed the island strand forevermore!
Well, sir, I’m sorry,
But you can’t go now,
To Aidan’s Church,
So high and proud,
You’ll have to change,
Your glorious plan,
And go like a humble man, sir.
A fine-looking pilgrim,
Came one day,
With palm and staff,
From faraway,
And all could see,
As he went by,
That he was a Holy Man,
Well, sir, I’m sorry,
But the tide's all wrong,
The grey sea lies round Lindisfarne,
So you can’t walk there yet today,
On the sands of the Pilgrim’s Way, sir.
But the Pilgrim ranted
And he roared,
Cursed his luck,
For being so poor,
Vowed he’d cross the water to the shore!
Well, there's Fisher Jackie,
and his coble so fair,
For a coin or two,
we'll take you there,
And you'll be well,
And sound and dry
As we row you over the tide, sir,
So, fair and dry,
We came to land,
By Cuthbert's Isle,
To the haven strand,
But, for shame, the staff,
And the palm so fine,
We've done and left them both behind, sir!
Well, the pilgrim ranted,
And he roared,
Cursed the man
And boat so sore,
Said he'd never lost his staff before!
Well, sir, i'm sorry,
But the boat's long gone,
But maybe the tale is not quite done,
If we look by the line of the falling tide,
The sea will maybe provide, sir,
And so they went,
With the man still glum,
Down to the shore,
Where the driftwood comes,
But as we searched for a staff where the flotsam led,
A gannet dropped a present on his head!
Oh, the pilgrim ranted
And he roared,
Cursed the sky,
And cursed the bird,
Couldn't see for droppings by the shore!
Well, sir, I’m sorry, but
The gannet didn't know,
That a Holy Man,
Was there below,
If you'll go down
To the foaming sea,
You can give your head a good clean, sir!
And so the pilgrim.
Knelt down low,
And washed his head,
In the sea below,
But he leaned too far,
And slipped and fell,
And washed all his robes as well!
Oh, the pilgrim ranted,
And he roared,
Blamed the tide,
And blamed the shore,
Cursed the island strand forevermore!
Well, sir, I’m sorry,
But you can’t go now,
To Aidan’s Church,
So high and proud,
You’ll have to change,
Your glorious plan,
And go like a humble man, sir.
neilh79
As usual mate a good solid tune. Imagine barbecues aplenty awash with the good music. Good vocal arrangement too which i enjoyed. When it first started thought it was going to break into Moonlight Shadow!! Nice melodies well done