Anyone can make up a new song. We need songs for all Wayfaring activities - tying up boots, rising to the dawn, and finding chickweed at lunchtime.

Here are a few I made up along the way. Some are all new, others are improvised melodies given to older words. Enjoy!

Water Flows

This is a song to sing to wells, springs, and water-sources. I wrote it in 2015, when I couldn’t find the right old song to sing at holy wells. This goes well in a large group. The Guardian reported this song as a “Medieval Song”.

Lyrics

Water flows, life is given,

Rises from earth, falls from heaven,

Water flowing, so we sing,

Bless the holy spring.

Fire Song

A round to sing in large groups to a growing fire. This can work as a canon (sung sequentially in overlap).

Lyrics

Sun shine on,

Green grow strong,

Fire release,

Return to Sun.

Three Rivers Song

A song for greeting a confluence of three rivers. Written for Rivers Gade, Colne and Chess at Croxley Green.

Lyrics

One two three rivers meet,

Water flowing, all together.

You and me, like the rivers

One two three, flow together.

We shall be one river,

To the sea, free forever.

Topsoil

There’s no real excuse for this. I wrote it as a student working on a strawberry farm. It is of its time…

Lyrics

And if they were alive today, all of our good kin would be erased, And closed indoors, under that reign, Each sudden early leaping flame.

For here on the topsoil fresh seasons do meet. Feeding and flaying us, dancing through our feet. And in times like these folk do merrily greet All fellow travellers under blessed Sol’s heat.

So with hearts atuned to minds we’ll gather in the time, I heard was sweeter in days that aren’t mine. But I swear to dwell never in such hasty lies, For now is the fairest time to be alive.

For here on the topsoil old stories still fight, Playful and bitter ours souls to ignite. And in times like this, Manfolk just really might, Whisper their dark tales to welcome in the light.

For the oldest of Law tells us it’s wicked for to love The givers of order who can’t take enough. They rant at our raves, and they huff at our puff, With smooth bloody promises, the snake eats the dove.

For here on the topsoil sharp spells have been said, Fact fable fiction blending in this cauldron head. And in times like these, each folk do really tread, Most gentle, most certain, on the bones of their dead.

Oh the ploughshare and the sword blade are one and the same, Rose petal and iron bomb play but one game, For the oldest of legends did not hear your name, And death grows to greet us, that rare tasteless grain.

For here on the topsoil our words gather might, Quicken all hastening, never to take fright. And in times like these, dear folk know well by right Each other strange one, near by the night.

Tea on the Mountain

A jam about eating tea and cake on the mountain in the morning - sung with Ginger.

Lyrics

When we rise up with the sunshine (tell me about it, tell me about it, tell me about it) We turn to each other, and say: Shall we have a cup of tea?

And I say Yes please, that would sure be nice. (Tell me about the cake x3) And with my tea can I have a little cake. (Tell me about the cake x3) Cake on the mountain, in the morning, with my friends. Wo-hoh, wa-hay, with my friends,

I take cake in the morning on the mountain with my friends around me x2 Wo-hoh, wa-yeah.

I take cake in the morning on the mountain with my friends around me x3

And that’s the way it’s always going to be…

May I Know More Clearly (St Richard’s last words)

St Richard of Chichester only walked. He refused to live like a Norman Lord. He grew and ate figs, and did not hunt. And despite the Kings opposition, he rose to become Bishop of Chichester, and one of England’s most popular saints.

These are Richard’s last words, translated from the Latin, and set to a Sussex traditional melody.

Lyrics

May I know more clearly,

Love more dearly,

Follow more nearly,

Amen.

Improvised Melodies

William Blake’s first poem/song

William Blake wrote his first known poem aged 14-ish. The famous visionary poet was already pretty far out, conversing with angels. A lesser known detail about Blake is that he used to sing his poems rather than read them, at performances. Apparently he had no set melodies, but just flowed with it.

This is Blake’s first poem, set to an improvised melody.

Lyrics

How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer’s pride. Till I the Prince of Love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He showed me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow, He led me through his gardens fair, Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fired my vocal rage, He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing, The laughing, sports and plays with me, Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.

All That is Gold does not Glitter - JRR Tolkien

A song by Bilbo Baggins, aka The Riddle of Strider. Improvised during winter 2022, walking The Old Way there and back again.

Pais Dinogad

This is Britain’s oldest lullaby, a 7th century lament for the baby, found in the margins of a tragic Welsh poem. I found this song while making a journey in search of the melody in Anglessey, from the Roman fort of Caernarvon to the Druidic holy mountain of Holyhead. I wanted to find a song from the cauldron of enmity and hostility that could balm us all as children - a way to soothe the rising tension between Europe and Britain.

Anglessey (Mon) is the sight of the massacre of British Druids by the Romans. I found this song on a 6 day walk here. The lyric is Old Welsh.

I have, since finding this, sung it to the Prince of Wales. That was good.

There is a Green Hill Far Away

A classic hymn, improvised in an empty church from the red book of Ancient/Modern. I like it.

Lyrics

There is a green hill far away , without a city wall. Where the dear Lord was crucified, Who died to save us all.

We may not know, we cannot tell, What pains he had to bear. But we believe it was for us, he hung and suffered there.

He died that we might be forgiven, He died to make us good. That we might go at last to heaven, saved by his precious blood.

There was no other good enough, to pay the price of sin. He only could unlock the gate of heaven, and let us in.

Oh dearly, dearly has he loved, And we must love him too. And trust in his redeeming blood, and try his works to do.