[Moeran] then spent a year at the Royal
College of Music, joined the army at the outbreak of war, was severely wounded
in France in May 1917, and after his recovery was attached to the transport
section of the R.I.C, [Royal Irish Constabulary] [1] remaining in Ireland until
demobilized in 1919. Military service did not, however, entail a complete
suspension of his musical activities. By the end of the war he had acquired
considerable facility in the technique of composition, and had a fair amount of
chamber music to his credit. But feeling still a little unsure of himself he
had some lessons from John Ireland, for whose work he had conceived a
particular admiration.
It was about this time that Moeran discovered
that the tradition of folk-singing was still vigorously alive in the district
of Norfolk in which he had lived from his eighth to his twentieth year. His
familiarity with the neighbourhood gave him facilities which are often denied
to the stranger, and his collection of songs, which now number considerably
over a hundred, is undoubtedly one of the finest that has yet been made in any
part of the kingdom. There has certainly been no collector who has entered more
whole-heartedly into the spirit of the old tradition. He collects these songs
from no antiquarian, historical, or psychological motives, but because he loves
them and the people who sing them. It is of no more interest to him whether a
tune be referable to this, that, or the other mode, or whether a variant of its
words is to be found on some old broadside, than it is to the singers
themselves. For him, as for them, the song itself is the thing - a thing lived,
a piece of the communal life of the country; and, indeed, it is a much more
heartening musical experience to sit in a good country pub and hear fine tunes
trolled by the company over their pots of beer than to attend many a concert in
the West End of London. It is no good appearing suddenly at a cottage-door,
notebook in hand, as if you might be the bum-bailey [2] or the sanitary
inspector, and - if you manage to overcome the singer’s stage fright at all -
holding up your hands in pious horror at any verses of a song which may
conflict with the alleged tastes of a suburban drawing-room; nor should you
spoil the ground for other collectors (as someone has tried to do in Norfolk,
its seems) [3] by forgetting that old throats grow dry after an hour’s singing.
The scholarly folklorist has his own reward, but he does not get in touch with
the heart of the people. Perhaps the finest tribute that could be paid to
Moeran’s personal popularity in the district was the remark of an old man at
Sutton after a sing-song to which Moeran had brought a visitor from London: ‘We
were a bit nervous of him; with you it’s different, of course - you’re one of
us - but he was a regular gentleman,
he was.’
Of the ‘Six Folk-songs from Norfolk’ arranged
for voice and piano (Augener) [4] which were first sung on the concert platform
(and inimitably well sung) by John Goss at South Place last winter, three are
quite perfect specimens of the English tradition in its purest and most
beautiful form. These are ‘Down by the River side’, one of the most natural 5/4
tunes imaginable (incidentally 5/4 is quite a favourite measure in Norfolk, and
any suspicion of it being a possible distortion of triple or quadruple time is
dispelled by the decisive thump with which mugs come down on the table or boots
come down on the floor to mark the rhythm); ‘The Shooting of his Dear,’ which
is an excellent example of Moeran’s characteristically free but always
appropriate methods of harmonization; and ‘Lonely Waters,’ which he has treated
in a more extended manner in a very attractive little piece for small
orchestra. [5]
The influence of English folk-song is
naturally apparent in many of Moeran’s original compositions, notably in the
spacious and impressive ‘Rune’ for piano (Augener), [6] in his admirable
setting of ‘The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair’ from ‘A
Shropshire Lad’ (Oxford University Press), [7] and in the principal theme of
his first orchestral ‘Rhapsody’ which - presented by the bassoon in its upper
octave - will always appeal to the ribald as the ideal tune for all Limericks.
There are occasional traces also of the very different and rather less salutary
influence of Gaelic folk-song. It is an influence that is too easily over-worked
and, although there are undoubtedly many whom no melody that suggests a
Scottish or an Irish origin can fail to enchant, there are others to whom the
all-too-frequent appearance of pentatonic tunes in our music of recent years
recalls the story Robert Burns [8] tells of a gentleman who ‘expressed an
ardent ambition to compose a Scots air’ and was told to ‘keep to the black keys
of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly
compose a Scots air.’ But Moeran has far too strong a vein of original melodic
invention to rely overmuch upon this too facile resource.
NOTES:
[1]
This is part of the ‘Moeran Myth’. There is no suggestion that he was posted to
the Royal Irish Constabulary. In his
thesis, The Importance of being Ernest John,
Challenging the Misconceptions about the Life and Works of E.J. Moeran,
(University of Durham, 2014) Ian Maxwell states that in January 1918 units of
Moeran’s outfit, the 1/6th (Cyclist) Battalion of the Norfolk
Regiment ‘were deployed to Ireland to support efforts to control increasing
Nationalist disturbances.’ At this time Moeran was still assigned light duties which
included being a motor-cycle dispatch rider. No documentary trace of Moeran
being attached to the Royal Irish Constabulary can be found. Maxwell suggests
that ‘the most likely
explanations for this notion having arisen are either that Moeran misremembered
his attachment or that Heseltine misunderstood Moeran’s story.’
[2] ‘Bum-bailey’ was an Elizabethan expression
for the bailiff or the sheriff's officer, who was deemed to catch people
by sneaking up behind them. It was used
by Shakespeare in Twelfth Night Act III
Scene IV.
[3] I wonder who this individual folk-song collector
was. I was unable to trace him. Any information welcome.
[4] ‘Six Folk Songs from Norfolk’ were written
in 1923 and published in 1925 by Augener.
The songs include: ‘Down by the riverside’, ‘The Bold Richard’, ‘Lonely
Waters’, ‘The Pressgang’, ‘The Shooting of his Dear’ and ‘The Oxford Sporting
Blade.’
[5] ‘Lonely Waters’ is the first of ‘Two Pieces
for Small Orchestra’. The second is ‘Wythorne’s Shadow.’ Both were published by
Novello in 1935. However, there is some debate as to when ‘Lonely Waters’ was
composed. Clearly, Warlock writing in 1924 claimed to know the orchestral
piece. Geoffrey Self believes, based on a stylistic analysis, that it was revised
in later years, possibly 1930-1. The score calls for an ad-lib folksinger
positioned at the back of the orchestra to sing ‘Then I will go down to some
lonely waters/Go down to where no one shall me find/Where the pretty little small
birds do change their voices/And every moment blow blustering wild.’
[6] ‘Rune’ is the second number of Two Legends composed in 1923. The first
was ‘A Folk Story.’ They were both published by Augener in 1924.
[7] ‘The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come
in for the fair’ was completed in ‘Midsummer 1916’and was the final song in the
cycle ‘Ludlow Town’ derived from Alfred Edward Housman’s ‘Shropshire Lad’. The
other poems in the set included ‘When smoke stood up from Ludlow’, ‘Farewell to
barn and stack and tree’ and Say, lad, have you things to do?’
[8] Robert Burns (1759-96) the Scottish poet
and lyricist wrote in a letter dated November 1794 to his editor, George Thomson
concerning the song ‘Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonie Doon’: ‘Do
you know the history of the air? - It is curious enough. - A good many years
ago a Mr Jas Miller, ... was in company with our friend, [the organist Stephen]
Clarke; & talking of Scots music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be
able to compose a Scots air. - Mr Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him, to
keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, & preserve some kind of rhythm;
& he would infallibly compose a Scots air. - Certain it is, that in a few
days, Mr Miller produced the rudiments of an air, which Mr Clarke, with some
touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in question ...’
To be continued…
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