1. |
Coopertown
04:15
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Cooper Town
Unto our shores the immigrants from England, Scotland, and Ireland tacked
From Newfoundland their vessels cleared, on Lake Bras d'Or they steered
The clansmen took to hill and vale, old Erin's sons along the Bay
They farmed and they fished with hearts so true, their father's trades pursued
Sweat and swore and scratched the earth determined for to prove their worth
Homelands left so far behind - their futures nigh at hand
When word came down - a plan in place - a canal to join the Bay and Lake
To bring them such prosperity and people to the land
Homes went up trees came down the hillsides cleared for miles around
Dirt paths soon gave way to roads - the horse and wagon days
Along the main street of the town the businesses they'd soon be found
Dry Goods, Wheelwrights, Harness Shops the tradesmen of the day
From Salem Road the merchant crowd the Scotsmen built up shops in town
Grocers and their fish stores all with coopers in demand
For the butter tubs and barrels too - for salted fish and meat were used
From Lynche's Creek to Grand Greve Road - Cooper Town was known
Some called it Pigtown thru the years that's none to pleasant to my ears
Where kith and kin of George Stone toiled fine coopers on the road
John Rory's Hill to the Tannery Gate, John Kavanagh's along the lake
Past Yankee Neil's and Dan B Stone's - Cooper Town was known
For the merchant Kavanagh he came - one Patrick Power passed his trade
One daughter wed Peter Shanahan, another James St John
And Rory Malcolm wed the third, as coopers all of them would work
Such a lasting legacy, Cooper town lives on
Some called it Pigtown thru the years that's none to pleasant to my ears
Where kith and kin of George Stone toiled fine coopers on the road
John Rory's Hill to the Tannery Gate, John Kavanagh's along the lake
Past Yankee Neil's and Dan B Stone's - Cooper Town was known
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2. |
Mother's Hot Tea
03:48
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Mother's Hot Tea
I remember cold mornings, the frost on the pane
The chill as in barefoot for the table we made
From the bed to the kitchen what the warmth there would be
From a hot bowl of porridge and a cup of strong tea
I remember the wood stove and the cast iron pot
And the spoonfuls of tea leaves into it we tossed
And as I grew up Morses’ teabags in threes
And the warm canned Carnation into mother's hot tea
And there in the kitchen as the morning sun rose
The kettle she danced as the stories he told
The old fella spoke of those times in between
A mouthful of porridge and mother's hot tea
To the shores of Cape Breton from the old world they sailed
The tunes and traditions they brought he regaled
The old tongue, the strong faith, their hopes and their dreams
As we counted our blessings over mother's hot tea
Through tea stains and tear drops the tales they were told
The loss and the leaving and longing for home
The knowing they never would see it again
Mother’s hot tea sure it helped eased the pain (ch)
David Stone/Roger Stone
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3. |
Many Left for Good
02:21
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Many Left For Good
Many left for good to the lumber woods
In the State of Maine on a southbound train
Or on schooners shipped on a Grand Banks trip
In the Gloucester Fishery (a Capella)
I have heard the tales of the early days
When Cape Breton sons would learn quite young
For jobs and pay best be on your way
It was grow up fast and gone
For Boston town the boys were bound
The Gloucester shore where the billows roar
Bangor too and a mill town crew
Like kith and kin before (ch)
And it was from home the lads did roam
Headed south as they ventured out
Settled where the work was there
Raise their families far away
That was the way in those early days
The farms they'd quit and the trail they'd hit
For the Boston States and the mills of Maine
Many left for good they say (ch)
BREAK (Verse)
There was Jack the Bridge and your man Big Jim
To the Banks they'd rove - then homeward hove
The Shanahans those Bankers grand
Where the wailing winds they blow
I have heard the tales of the early days
When Cape Breton sons they learned quite young
For jobs and pay best be on your way
Many left for good they say (ch x 2)
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4. |
A Picture in My Pocket
04:17
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A Picture in My Pocket
I’ve her picture in my pocket – and she’s with me all the time
Though she’s one in a million - you can hold her for a dime
I can hold her for a dime
Well boy I loved the water I was born along the shore
In my mind I’d often wonder - what tomorrow held in store
Heard the old men’s stories when they’d gather in the town
As they spoke about her glory and that time she came around (ch)
Now my father was the sailor – spent a lifetime on the Lakes
With a longing for adventure and the sea fresh in his veins
When I was a young man he would sit and tell me tales
About the sight of mighty Bluenose – crashing headlong in the gales (ch)
Well a young man and his camera gave her image to the world
From his home in Nova Scotia to the skyline of New York
MacAskill had the vision and Bluenose caught his eye
And when I take her from my pocket I can see her canvas fly
I’ve her picture in my pocket – and she’s with me all the time
Though she’s one in a million - you can hold her for a dime
I’ve her picture in my pocket – and she’s with me all the time
Though she’s one in a million - you can hold her for a dime
I can own her for a dime
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5. |
Bully Boys Roll
02:10
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Bully Boys Roll
The Provincetown schooners are at the canal
For the Bank’s icy cold the Atlantic they'll plow
Skipped by the finest to ever call home
And a St Peter's Crew singing Bully Boys Roll
John Sandy McDonald he's loaded with spuds
The spray from the Strait’s sure to wash off the mud
Then a run up the coast with some Cape Breton coal
Halifax bound singing Bully Boys Roll (ch)
And it's Bully Boys Roll me Bully Boys Roll
Bully Boys Roll me Bully Boys Roll
From every port on these Stories Shores
Bully Boys Roll me Bully Boys Roll
Robertson's back from the Miramichi
Just off L'Anse a Loup at anchor they'd be
The Elizabeth's decks with the pine are stacked tall
For Stewart's shipped back singing Bully Boys Roll (ch)
The Linwood with Boudrot, the Stella with Burke
Are bound down for Boston and then to New York
With deals for to drop the Coasters they'll fill
With goods for the merchants singing Bully Boys Roll (ch)
So the finest of sailors and fishers we be
On the coasters and schooners we're bound for the sea
From these storied shores at St Peter's they rove
The ablest laddies singing Bully Boys Roll (ch)
Words and Music David Stone/Trad
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6. |
Lament of the Dreamer
04:10
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Lament of the Dreamer
As I wander back through time
In dreams of the days gone by
I see again your golden sunrise
Sparkle in a young girl’s eye
There is moss upon the hillsides
And dew hangs o’er the heather
Reminding me of days gone by
When we were so young together
To hear again your haunting pipes
And see your time-warn houses
The stories of the county life
A love within it arouses
I awake to see the rocky shore
Of a land that holds no future
And a fear within that haunts me more
To go off and adventure
Now as I wander from this Island
To the sunrise of the new day
I'll find my feet on city streets
In a place so far away
But still all around me
The faces that I see
Remind me of the people
That I hold so dear to me (rep)
David Stone/Roger Stone
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7. |
At Rory's
03:29
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At Rory's
His little house stood above the shore
Of the lake - they call Bras d'Or
Where the L'Ardoise Road winds to
Kavanagh's then Ross' too
He was a blacksmith of some note
And many to his forge would go
A stop there meant a call for tea
That was the way that it was you see
He was Scotland born, Cape Breton reared
Married then for Maine he steered
And when the Civil War broke out
Packed it up and was homeward bound
Big Pond near Loch Lomond made
Where his family had stayed
Then St Peter's near the shore
The crossroads by the Lake Bras d'Or (ch)
It was a place where people called
From Grand Greve with a load to haul
From down the Lake with a horse to shoe
At Rory's - twas the thing to do
There'd be women there and children too
Husbands jawed as Rory shoed
Minnie readied with the tea
Lunch of course there had to be
See everyone they must be fed
So Grandma broke of bits of bread
Some left gifts as a show of thanks
Others sang and others danced (ch)
They'd drop their loads outside the door
Find a spot on Rory's floor
No matter what your struggles be
A hearty welcome you'd receive
And with the numbers handy ten
Another "drown" of tea went in
Every cup in the place be used
At Rory P McNeil's tis true (ch)
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8. |
On a Moonlit Dock
05:02
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On a Moonlit Dock
On a moonlit dock, hear the old ghosts talk
And their footsteps as they walk
Down harbour walls you can hear their calls
To the ships at sea…
“Would you wait for me, could you set me free
I have someone missing me
I’ve been here two hundred years
Left behind mistakenly…”
Another ship goes sailing by,
Another lost and lonely sailor’s cry
Echoes through this downtown chill
On a night so dark and still
“They left me stranded on this pier
I still hear their voices sing and cheer
Toasts were offered to my memory
But I wasn’t lost you see…” (ch)
“And this waterfront the hours I pace
Night and day my footsteps I retrace
Watching as the many ships come in
Sadly see them off again…”
“I’m the same, see I was lost below
Deep beneath the harbour waters cold
My family came here for my bones to claim
They never found a trace they say….” (ch)
Where are the ships, where are the sails
What’s happened to those Golden Days
Are they over now, are they still around
What’s becoming of this town?”
“Don’t worry friend, they’ll be back again
The Fleet rides on the summer wind
The word I hear, is they’re very near
They will get us out of here…Just wait and see” (ch)
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9. |
A Bundle From Boston
03:15
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A Bundle from Boston (Music by Donnie Campbell/David Stone)
Back in the day when the girls went away
To the city for employment to gain
Left waiting at home, their true loves I'm told
For land or the farm for to claim
Well that could take years, in the meantime its clear
A handsome lad they’d chance to meet
And when they’d return how their parents would learn
Of a bundle from Boston so sweet
Oh a bundle from Boston they’d bring
A bouncing new baby come spring
Now what a to-do after breaking the news
Of the bundle from Boston they’d bring
Now they tell me that Joe, down the Corbett’s Cove Road
Was a bundle from Boston tis true
Young Annie set off and returned before long
Showed her family the wonderful news
Oh Lord what a sin, so her family pitched in
A son they’d raise up as their own
And Annie went back and she married in fact
Left that bundle from Boston at home
Oh a bundle from Boston they’d bring
A bouncing new baby come spring
Now what a to-do after breaking the news
That bundle from Boston they’d bring (BREAK)
I’m sure there were more from the shores of Bras d’Or
As young girls sailed off years ago
From Cape Breton towns and the hills all around
Bringing bundles from Boston back home (ch)
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10. |
The Heat and the Hay
02:24
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The Heat and the Hay
On Battery Hill where the old fort she stood
In ruins she lay now just whispers of wood
Down Kavanagh's Field as kids made our way
Chasing cattle and dreams in the heat and the hay
I recall the old well and the rotting old fence
Gravestones knocked down from the Kavanagh kin
Most and long gone save for memories I'd say
Chasing cattle and dreams in the heat and the hay
Oh what a time many years ago now
On the slopes of Mount Grenville above the canal
Through the fields of the farm ‘tween Bras d'Or and the Bay
Chasing cattle and dreams in the heat and the hay
Winters were long and the days they were hard
When the snow it would go back to life came the farm
The sheep were let loose, cross the fields they would stray
And we’d soon follow suit in the heat and the hay (ch)
As the days they’d wind down, we would gather and talk
Remembering paths that we’d joyfully walk
Run ragged some days, but the work was like play
Chasing cattle and dreams in the heat and the hay (ch)
On the well wooded hill over St Peter's Bay
Near the Point Jerome Light in a far distant day
From that ridge north and east the fields fell away
Twas a lifetime ago in the heat and the hay
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11. |
Work for Men in War
04:46
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Work for Men in War
Tonight my heart is breaking
Tonight my heart is sore
Tonight my heart is breaking
As I leave my native shore (ch)
For I’ve boots of sturdy leather
And this coat that keeps me warm
But I clutch this wretched rifle
For there is work for men in war
Now they say that the war is raging
Far across Atlantic seas
They say the war is raging
That means work for men like me (ch)
Oh my thoughts are on Cape Breton
My thoughts are off my home
My thoughts are on Cape Breton
As I cross the fiery foam (ch)
Now some say I won’t return love
In some battle I may fall
How I’ll feel their bullets burn love
When I answer freedom's call (ch)
In my heart I hope this ends soon
Though my head says “please go on”
And I know this must sound crazy
But to me this war’s a job (ch)
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12. |
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When the Fiddling Was O'er
From the hills of Cape Breton the stories abound
The shores and the valleys, backwoods and towns
Of immigrant peoples who came for to stay
To fashion a future in a long ago day
Well the Stones and the Campbells their stories entwine
All at Lynche's River, their land side by side
Farmers and fishers with fiddlers blessed
Played by the Creek with the sun to the west
There is a small Island in John Strachan's Cove
Known for the Handleys, once fine merchant folk
Back in the day well that wasn't the case
The Stones and the Campbells both had made claims
So up went the bows and the whiskey went down
Up went the toes then the heels hit the ground
The moon it was full as it lit up the shore
What a time it would be when the fiddling was o'er
They say the Stones won when the fiddling was over
Well the Stones and the Campbells as years rolled along
Debated that rock and to who it belonged
Old Donald had title - that did not stop the chat
Down through generations at the creek went the spat
So a contest they say for that Island was held
At Prince Edward's visit to honour "Himself"
Unto Nova Scotia - such a long time ago
So the Stones and the Campbells they rosined their bows (ch)
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13. |
At Home
05:17
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At Home
I’m home where the wind sweeps the rough Atlantic Shore
Home where the sun paints her gold on Bras D’or
Home where the blue skies seem to go for ever more
Home in Cape Breton for sure
Now it just seems like yesterday when I first went away
Boarded on a westbound train my fortune I would make
Headed for the city lights my chances I would take
Couldn’t wait to leave behind the quiet of the Cape
For up there in Toronto the streets are paved in gold
Summer lasts for most the year and winter’s never cold
There are lots of jobs – they grow on trees and the money’s good I’m told
I couldn’t wait to leave behind the dampness and the dole here at home… (ch)
Now I found work – it was good and the money wasn’t bad
But I spent it all as quick as they could stuff it in my hand
And late at night I’d sit and think about the rocky strand
Where I could hear a fiddle playing o’er the shore where I did stand at home (ch)
The boom was grand but understand t he bust was hard you know
And concrete skies and scraping by sure made the city cold
I guess it’s time we pack it up and head the road for home
I long to be where fields are green and watch blue waters roll here at home (ch)
Now it’s been bout fifteen years – well give or take – it seems
The city brought some real good times beneath her hazy dreams
Twas there I found my heart’s delight – with her I’ll always be
But I could never call it home – there’s only one place for me – at home (ch)
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14. |
In the Passchendaele Mud
03:49
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The Passchendaele Mud
In the Passchendale mud our boys left their blood
The many that never came home
Just kids they recall who on the trench walls
Left reminders for all for to know
The Boys from Glace Bay, I heard someone say
McDonalds from Inverness way
And those who returned, had the images burned
Inside for the rest of their days
And the sound of the guns, o'er cries of the sons
And fathers from so far away
Still haunts them at night, as the memories they fight
Of the Passchendale Mud every day
Johnny Alex I know, young MacDonald from home
Son of Captain John Sandy came back
A lucky one he - made the trip home we see
From the gas and that mortar shelled track
But young Wilfred Earle, out of Sydney I heard
In that Passchendale Mud was cut down
Meagre the note to his dad C J Stone
Left 'tween the railway and road
Where the sound of the guns, drowned out cries of the sons
As they trudged through the trenches each day
Caught up in the flood in the Passchendale Mud
The memories just don't go away
And the sound of the guns, o'er cries of the sons
And fathers from so far away
Still haunts them at night, as the memories they fight Of the Passchendaele mud everyday
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David Stone Saint Peter'S, Nova Scotia
Born in St Peter's, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, a move to Toronto in 1979 was the start of my writing and performing on a professional level. Irish pubs and folk festivals through the late 1980s and early 1990s lead to a move back to Halifax NS in 1994, and more pubs, clubs and festivals. Began writing songs in 1980 with cousin and friend Roger Stone. Played very steadily through to 2010. ... more
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