I remember hearing a song many years ago which I, in my juvenile innocence, assumed to concern two of the thickest people on the face of the earth. The essential plot was that a rather trigger happy young man by the name of Johnny, or perhaps Jimmy, was out looking for things to shoot at near dusk. Apparently he did not realise that as light levels decrease the human eye has difficulty discerning certain shapes and colours and it so happened that his girlfriend, Molly, or Polly, was also out in the woods that night and she still wrapped in her white apron for some bizarre reason. Now white does stand out in the dark and our Johnny, thinking that something five feet plus tall, appearing to weigh roughly eight stone and that was abroad in the woods at twilight might be a swan, squeezed off a couple of rounds, with grim and deadly accuracy, and dropped Molly like a bad habit.
The title of the song as I first heard it was Molly Vaughn and, never having seen it written, I had always assumed that Vaughn was a family name. Furthermore, having arrived at the conclusion that the song was an example of Darwinism in action I thought nothing more of it for the next twenty years. Certainly I became aware that there were other versions of this song from England, America, Canada and Australia, variously under the titles, Molly Vaughan, Polly Vaughn, Polly Bawn etc. but, again, I never paid them much heed. Then one day about a year ago I was looking at the back of an Alison Kraus album and actually saw the name printed as Molly Bawn (Bán).
Now this changed everything. I had been dimly aware that the song might have Irish connections but seeing it printed so blatantly with the Irish spelling 'Bán' withdrew any doubt. Bán, in Gaelic, means white and, thus, is an epithet not a surname as I had originally assumed. Since Molly and indeed Polly are feminine names a following adjective should, in Gaelic, be lenited making it Bhán which would be pronounced in manner almost identical to an Anglo-American pronunciation of Vaughn. This, at any rate would explain the B/V multiplicity of titles. More than that, though, the content of the song now makes perfect sense as a metaphor. Bán or white, is, at least, in most European cultures a colour of purity and innocence and Swans, notably in Gaelic mythology, are considered to be noble and pure birds (cf. the legend of The Fate of the Children of Lîr). For comparison and contrast, there is a very popular French and Quebecoise folk-song which uses virtually identical imagery to convey its message. It has various different refrains depending on version but the relevant verses are the same:
Derière chez nous y'a't un étang Trois beaux canards s'y vont baignant Le fils du Roi s'en va chassant Avec son beau fusil d'argent Visa le noir tua le blanc
(translation)Behind our house there was a pond Where on three ducks went swimming The King's son went hunting With his beautiful silver rifle He took aim at the black one but killed the white…
There is yet more to this song and it gets even more blatantly sexual – even reproductive by the end, as it were– but in these five verses we have the same imagery if not exactly the same story as that of Molly Bhán save that in the French we have ducks rather than swans. The shooting and killing of the white duck or swan – and we can well imagine what the black duck stands for – is symbolic of the taking of young woman's virginity. So really darling Molly was not killed in the stop breathing and fall over sense, but the innocence of her childhood was and no matter how consenting she and Johnny may have been loosing one's virginity is often psychologically violent and is most certainly a rite of passage. Our Jimmy, or Johnny or whatever, like the French King's son was not firing bullets, from his 'beautiful silver rifle', but rather rounds of something else and in the end, I suppose there was a reason why the two of them were out in the woods together around dusk. They would certainly not be the first young couple to do such things and they were, obviously, not the last. Here are some versions of the songs:
Polly Vaughn
Now come all ye hunters who follow the gun Beware of your shooting at the setting of the sun For Polly's own true love he shot in the dark But oh and alas Polly Vaughn was his mark.
For she'd her apron wrapped about her and he took her for a swan Oh and alas it was she Polly Vaughn
He ran up beside her and saw that it was she Cried, "Polly oh Polly have I killed thee" >He lifted up her head and saw that she was dead And a fountain of tears for his true love he shed.
In the middle of the night Polly Vaughn did appear Cried, "Jimmy oh Jimmy you must have no fear; Just tell them you were hunting when your trial day has come And you won't be convicted for what you have done. "
In the middle of the trial Polly Vaughn did appear Crying, "Uncle oh Uncle Jimmy Randall must go clear" The lawyers and the judges stood around in a row In the middle Polly Vaughn like some fountain of snow
For she'd her apron wrapped about her and they took her for a swan Oh and alas it was she Polly Vaughn Oh and alas it was she Polly Vaughn
MOLLY BAWN (POLLY VAUGHN)
Come all ye brave heroes who handle a gun Beware of night ramblin' by the setting of the sun. And be aware of an accident that happened of late To young Molly Bawn and sad was her fate.
She was going to her uncle's when a shower came on She went 'neath a green bush the shower to shun. With her apron 'around her he took her for a swan It's a sob and a sigh it was Oh! Oh! Molly Bawn. He quickly ran to her and saw that she was dead And it's many's a salt tear on her bosom he shed
He went home to his father with his gun in his hand Crying father, dear father, I have shot Molly Bawn. I have shot that young colleen I have taken the life Of the one I intended to take for my wife.
Oh Johnny, young Johnny, do not run away Don't you leave your own country till your trial day. Don't you leave your own country till your trial comes on For you'll never be convicted for the loss of a swan.
The night before Molly's funeral her ghost it did appear Saying mother, dear mother, young Johnny he's clear. I was going to my uncle when a shower came on But tell him he's forgiven by his own Molly Bawn.
The girls in this country they are all very glad Since the pride of Glen Allen, Molly Bawn is now dead. The girls in this country stand them all in a row Molly Bawn would shine above them like a mountain of snow.
Those of you who are old enough to remember books and literature might remember the seemingly innocuous fairy tale of the princess and the golden ball. Fear ye not should that not be the case for I will remind you. One version of it was set down by the Brothers Grimm who have now been made more famous than ever by the Hollywood f..cal production machine. Some years ago I came across a very interesting analysis of this particular tale by Joseph Campbell in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1949; Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ) and I would like to share a few elements thereof as well as add a few of my own reflections.
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away there was a king whose youngest daughter was exceptionally beautiful. She would often go to play in a wood near her father's palace with her favourite toy, which was a golden ball. In the centre of this wood was an old lime tree at whose base was a very deep pool of water.
On one particular day whilst playing at the water's edge the princess dropped her golden ball, which promptly rolled into the pool and, being several times more dense than water, sank like a rock. The princess was distraught and began to cry. Hearing her sobs, which were becoming apoplectic, the frog who inhabited the pool and who was undoubtedly perplexed by the passage of a golden ball through his living room, came up to investigate the situation.
Being gifted with the powers of both rapid analytical thinking and speech, the frog quickly assessed the situation and offered to retrieve the ball if the princess would take him back to the palace with her, let him sit by her at her table, eat from her plate and sleep in her bed with her. Thinking of nothing but getting her ball back the princess made such a promise and before she could pause for further reflection the frog dove to the depths of the pool, returned with the ball held securely by his little mandible and spat it out at the princesses feet.
Overjoyed by the return of her beloved toy the princess grabbed it gleefully, wiped it off on her gown and ran off back to the palace forgetting or disregarding (it is never clear which) her bargain with the frog. The frog after some moments remonstration and a few legal threats realised that his unique vocal abilities were of no use when dealing with a child of such character and set off at his own pace following the princess.
That evening whilst the king and his family were enjoying a most wholesome repast there came a knock at the door. The king sent one of his men servants to gain intelligences as to the nature of disturbance and was duly informed of the presence of the talking frog. Intrigued, the king asked that the loquacious amphibian be shown in and when such came to pass the frog explained his case to the princess's father. Being a just father as well as a wise monarch, the king ordered his daughter to keep her part of the bargain and disgusted though she was she was obliged to obey.
To cut a long story short, after a rather tense meal and a great deal of reluctance to go to bed the princess awoke the next morning to find that were a frog had lain only just the night before now lay a very handsome prince also in early to mid teens.
Now say what you will about will about the transmogrification of a verbally empowered anuran into human form this tale is full of imagery which is worth some consideration. Hidden somewhere, in some form practically all mythologies have some sort of tree that marks the centre of that world; what Campbell refers to as the world navel. Often, though not always there is a body of water associated with this tree but there is invariably some sort of repulsive or dangerous, otherworldly guardian of the tree. The most obvious example of this is the tree of life of the Norse mythology amongst whose roots is twined the formidable Mitgard Serpent. Usually the tree's guardian is a serpent, dragon or some sort of reptile but in our child's version of this tale the guardian has been reduced to a cold and slimy but relatively benign frog. It is perhaps worth noting that this guardian beast is almost always a liminal, trickster type of character who, as in the case of the frog can operate in the watery world alien to the princess but also use the rules and logic of the human world to achieve his goals.
According to both Jung and Campbell the water at the base of the tree represents the unconscious part of the mind and in some cases sexuality. The princess loses her golden ball, perhaps a symbol of childhood frivolousness into the depths of this aqua incognita and can only be reunited therewith by making a bargain with the guardian of the tree/spring. She tries to escape and return to the world of familiarity and innocence but her unfulfilled promise catches up with her. By the intervention of her Father, the King, God, the rules of justice, what have you, she is forced to confront and be reconciled with the new status quo. Thus, as Campbell points out, we have a relatively obvious metaphor for a child's transition into adolescence; the loss of innocence of infancy and the acceptance of the responsibilities of adulthood.
Let it be noted here that those of us who are at all familiar with the Judeo-Christian teachings have come across this exact same story in slightly modified form. Let me jar your memory by quoting you a few passages from the King James Version of Genesis:
Genesis.2.8-17
And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed. And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil. And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads. And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
Genesis.3.1-10
Now the serpent was more subtile than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: but of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons. And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden. And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou? And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.
Genesis.3.23-24
…therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken. So he drove out the man: and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.
So once again we have a garden or a wood at the centre of which is found a very particular tree and that guarded or inhabited by a repugnant kind of creature. Here we have an antagonistic trickster serpent who makes a deal, of sorts, with the protagonists. Knowledge is gained, innocence is lost and the protagonists are forced by the deus ex machina to renounce one state of being and to enter another.
There are a few minor differences between the Judeo-Christian production and the central European one. To start with there are two protagonists in the former as opposed to the solo performance of the latter. This may reflect some contemporary philosophy concerning dualism in human nature but whether we have two that are "one flesh" or just the one we are looking at the same transition from the innocence of infancy to the responsibilities of adulthood. Though their roles may not be made manifest in exactly the same way one cannot help but notice a similarity between the golden ball, returned to the princess by the frog, and the apple offered to Eve by the serpent. In either case it is a valuable object and mechanism by which the trickster offers the protagonist(s) a choice. Seeming differences not withstanding, both tales are furnished with exactly the same imagery for ease of recognition.
Judeo-Christian creation myth or European fairy tale, we are all, at some point or points in our lives the princess with the golden ball or Adam and Eve and if we are not then there is something very wrong with us. More than this, though, we are once again confronted by the fact that biblical accounts are just one of many means by which universal truths have been communicated from generation to generation. Every culture does it and so there is no reason to take the bible as being unique, definitive or, in and of itself, universal.
Well folks, even I’m impressed. The papers two days ago were ablaze with horror stories about the ‘deadly bird flu’. Even then 160,000 turkeys had been sent to the gas chambers in the Norfolk area and a great big biohazard zone set up to warn us of how nature is plotting our ghastly demise. It was all starting to look like the unholy love child of the Third Reich and some really bad television adaptation, starring Rob Lowe, of an already not great Stephen King novel. Today, however, as I passed in front of the eternally illuminated propaganda dispenser at the Edinburgh aeroport I noted with a certain morbid stoicism that the 160,000 gassed turkeys had been relegated to the archives of oblivion faster than Zyclon-B or Hydrogen Cyanide (or what ever pestilent vapour they use now) could have relegated them to the after life. But wait folks! We now have the deadly threat of ‘letter bombs’ to keep us from boredom's doorstep.
I must confess that I simply flared my nostrils and rolled my eyes at that which passed through the porches of my ears rather than listen in any great depth to what was being said. This was in part due to the rather patronising and false sense of gravity in the voices of the presenters but also because, quite frankly, we've heard all this before. I don't just mean the bird flu panic or the threat of terrorism; we've been hearing this for thousands of years.
Yes, the bird flu does exist; it is not the figment of some perverse imagination, however, the present reaction to it may very well be. To put bluntly; bird flu is not transmissible from human to human and if you had wanted to catch it from Mr. Mathew's infected turkey you would, in effect, have had to have either shared needles with it whilst it was shooting up its growth hormone or had unprotected sexual relations with it. Far less intimate contact with other hominibus sapientibus (your own species -ablative plural) could win you a whole host of creepy crawlies that would quite happily kill you just as dead as would this apocalyptic avian virus or, at very least, make you wish they had. So when are Paris, London, Manchester, New York, Glasgow and all the other major world metropoleis, infested with such pestilence, going to be quarantined off for our own good?
Likewise, letter bomb sending terrorists, or any kind of terrorists for that matter do exist but they are neither hiding under every rock nor behind every tree. Besides the point of terrorism is to create an environment of fear with a minimum of effort and thanks to the help of modern governmental policy and the media ("one and the same thing", I hear someone mutter in passing) terrorists in the modern era have succeeded beyond even their wildest dreams. A terrorist, or just someone who looks like one, has not but to say 'Boo!' and spontaneous mass incontinence is the result.
Furthermore, it would appear that what most of terrorists we've ben dealing with recently long for is a larger slice of the proverbial pie and not the destruction of the pie itself. They are therefore unlikely to destroy anymore of the pie or the pie maker than is necessary. "But what about the World Trade Centre attacks!" someone roars from the back row. The attacks of the 11th of September 2001 represented an atrocious loss of life, as did the subsequent train bombings in Madrid and the tube bombings in London and no one should have to live in fear of such atrocities. However these attacks are relatively rare when compared to the incidence of car accidents, smoking and alcohol related deaths or drug murders, to list but a few items of the horribilia that we inflict upon ourselves on a regular basis. In the long run what were really destroyed in New York on that fateful day were a symbol of economic prowess and a sense of personal security.
So in response to all of the above the government puts new security measures in place to make us all feel better and believe me, these measures are purely for our psychological diversion and entertainment. Holding up a queue of passengers for individual photos at the end of a flight from Edinburgh to Gatwick is not going to stop a determined and potentially suicidal terrorist. Putting up a quarantine sign is not going to impede the circulation of a virus particle that is but a few microns in diameter or, indeed, the one of any number of birds that might be acting as its courier.
One question that springs to mind is why? Why waste so much time and effort on something so pointless? Basically a scared, confused or distracted populace is much easier to govern and manipulate than one that thinks clearly c.f. G. Orwell, 1984. If we were all thinking clearly our thoughts might wander to other issues like global warming, our starring role therein and the fact that most or our governments are effectively working hand in hand with the oil companies to make the problem worse whilst telling us that they are trying to cut down on emissions. One glaring exception to this dishonesty, albeit a perverse one, would be that our own beloved Tony Blair and his views on the future of long haul air travel. Our thoughts might even wander to far away and exotic lands like Afghanistan, Iraq or Palestine and we might start asking ourselves why we are supporting state terrorism, mass murder and torture. And worst of all we might even start asking ourselves why anyone in their right mind, even the most deranged of military muppets, would contemplate the use of nuclear arms.
You see these thoughts might lead us to question our trusted leaders. And if we ALL started doing that it might make things more difficult for them to rob us blind as they have been doing for at least the last twenty years. History has shown that diseases come and go paying little heed to the barriers erected by man to obstruct them. Terrorism is often the last resort of people who are suffering and desperate; it is not the product of some satanic “evil” that hates our “freedom”. Your government is not looking after your best interest it is looking after its own.
October 1998 – September 2001 University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, Scotland MLitt, department of Celtic. • Thesis on the subject of the development of poetic forms as a function of the medium of transmission in Gaelic Ireland and Scotland from the 5th century to the present.
July 1994 – November 1996 University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand BSc (Honours 1), department of mathematics. • Thesis on the subject of the transmission of seismic waves in non-homogeneous materials and its application to the location of small (point source) earthquakes.
September 1993 – May 1994 Studied at MacAlester College, St. Paul Minnesota, U.S.A.
June 1992 Westtown School, Westtown, Pennsylvania, USA. High School Diploma
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE_____________________________________ _
October 2005 –December 2006 English Instructior with Inlingua Toulouse, 13 rue Paulin Talabot, Parc d'Activities de Basso Cambo, 31100 Toulouse.
September 2004 – February 2005 Bagpiper on the Be Irish Tour. Mac Ben Music, 03 Rue Juiverie 69005 Lyon.
June 2004 and 2003 English Examiner for the Concours Territoriale English oral examinations. CNFPT, Pantin
October 2002 – July 2004 Bagpipe Teacher at the Mission Bretonne, 24 Rue Delambre, 75042 Paris.
January 2002 Bagpiper and flautist with the Annie Grace Band, in the Celtic Connections festival, Glasgow.
September 2001 – April 2002 Bagpipe Teacher with the ALP Scots Music Group, 184 Dalry Road, Edinburgh, EH11 2EP. Contact: Sheila Capewell, Tel: 0131 337 5442.
February 2001 – April 2001 Bagpiper, flautist and whistle player on the spring 2001 tour of Liam Harney's Celticfusion. The tour was produced by Kevin Patterson of APA Productions, Inc. 4580-B Alvarado Canyon Road, San Diego, California 92120. See www.celticfusion.com/flashsite1.htm.
September 1999 – Present Bagpiper, flautist and whistle player with Edinburgh based Scottish band Cantrip, www.cantriphq.co.uk
May 1999 – September 1999 Lamont–Doherty Earth Observatory of Columbia University, 61 Route 9W, Palisades, New York, USA, 10964-8000. Assistant Air-gun Mechanic on board the R/V (Research Vessel) Maurice Ewing. Duties included: • Maintenance, repair and rebuilding of Bolt seismic air guns. • Maintenance and repair of hydraulic systems. • Repair and machining of spare parts for seismic air guns. • Working with a close knit team of between five and six members for several weeks at a time.
April 1998 – September 1998 Lamont–Doherty Earth Observatory of Columbia University Assistant Air-gun Mechanic on board the R/V Maurice Ewing.
June 1998 – November 2001 Bagpiper, singer and dancer with the Drumalban Folk Ensemble. Engagements have included: • Performance with the Mark Morris Dance Company at the Festival Theatre, Edinburgh, 30th October 2001. • Workshop demonstrations of traditional Gaelic dance, language and music at the RSAMD (Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama), Glasgow, 27th May 2001. • Performance of traditional highland dance at the Royal Garden Party, Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh, 6th June 2000. • Rite Festival Folklorique, St. Girons, France, 7th – 14th July 1998.
November 1995 – September 1997 University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand. Technician and Programmer on the South Island Passive Seismic Experiment (S.A.P.S.E). The job included: • Repair of, and acquisition of data from, Ref-tec Broadband and New Zealand National Seismic Network temporary seismometers. • Processing and analysis of the collected seismic data.
PROFESSIONAL SKILLS____________________________________ __
Languages: English – native. French – spoken fluently and written. Scottish Gaelic – spoken moderately well and written.
Oh Dan, I love it when you deconstruct! *wink*
Seriously, I've always found it fascinating to dig beneath the surface of trad/folk ballads and see what dimensions of the human experience lurk. For instance, one interpretation of "The Two Magicians" is that, more than a whimsical song of attempted courting and seduction, it's a cosmology -- between the two of them, the man and woman create the world by changing into one thing after another.
Or how when the phrase "looked over his/her left shoulder" crops up in a stanza, you know that a betrayal is about to hove into view -- left-handedness being associated with deception and other negative qualities. Of course, nowadays, if you're left-handed you can make a fortune as a professional baseball pitcher.
And all that murky, pre-Christian imagery in "Rolling of the Stones." Etc. etc.
Which is why I always smile quietly to myself when I hear others remark that folk music is "quaint" and "unsophisticated."
Anyway...hope you're doing well. Look forward to seeing you at the Boston Urban Ceilidh!
S.