The River Clyde

“Mother’s Malison” (Child 216)


If the first song discussed in this blog was about the potentially dire consequences of following the counsel of one’s parents instead of the counsel of one’s heart, this week we’ll show just how dangerous the opposite course can be.  This week we’ll take up the somewhat Shakespearean “Mother’s Malison,” where the deaths of adult, or at least late adolescent, children come at the hands of their parents, through means either natural or supernatural–or some combination of the two.

“Clyde Water,” by Nic Jones (Spotify)  


I haven’t been able to find any versions of the song with the root title, “Mother’s Malison.”  Most are given the title “Clyde Water” (or “Clyde’s Water”) or “Drowned Lovers.”  


The essence of the story is that Willie wishes to visit his love, May Margaret–doubting her love, and experiencing some kind of ill omen.  His mother urges him to stay, but he refuses.  She places upon him a curse that he will drown in the Clyde if he goes.  On his way to May Margaret’s, Willie cheats death in his first attempt to ford the Clyde, bargaining with the river (presumably at a more turbulent spot than the one depicted above) to spare him.  When he gets to May Margaret’s house, May Margaret’s mother impersonates her and fools Willie into thinking she has been untrue.  He attempts to go back through the Clyde, gradually stepping into the fulfillment of his mother’s curse.  When he drowns, May Margaret wakes up to learn that her mother has turned Willie away, and she goes to find him.  She takes several rather deliberate steps toward her doom, and dies with Willie.  At the end, they lie together in the Clyde water “like sister and like brother.”


So, as the readers who have been with us from the start will recognize, we have here several of the key ingredients for a murder ballad–including ill-fated lovers, a river, and a watery death.  Earlier discussions of “Fair Ellender,” “Omie Wise,” “Young Hunting/Henry Lee,” and “Two Sisters/Wind and Rain,” have brought us these elements in various combinations.  Like the latter two, there is also the element of the supernatural, but in this case supernatural forces aid the perpetrators (perhaps, depending on your reading), rather than serving as witnesses.


Three sets of lyrics collected by Francis Child for this ballad can be found here.  They are, unsurprisingly, in Scots, the language of the region surrounding the River Clyde.  Here is a split version of the ballad, each emphasizing a distinct portion of the story.  The first portion is sung by John Strachan, the second by Willie Edward.

Dr. Hamish Henderson

“Clyde’s Water,” by John Strachan and Willie Edward (Spotify)


This version, particularly the first part, doesn’t exactly skip lightly, musically speaking, across the story, but is worth including here for the resemblance this version of Scots ballad singing bears to its Appalachian cousins.  The lyrics can be found here, along with a keen bit of narrative analysis from the late Scottish poet and folklorist, Hamish Henderson, who served as Alan Lomax‘s native guide for his forays into Scottish music.


Henderson’s liner notes raise or allude to a number of important themes, especially related to the question of whether this song properly resides in our genre.  That is, what is the role of the mother’s curse in Willie’s death?  Several sources and performers, including one we’ll look at in our next post, allege that Willie’s mother calls upon supernatural powers.  


Distinct from the veins of the murder ballad tradition informed by Christian themes we discussed last week, this one seems suffused with supernatural influence and a different set of moral categories.  There are omens (fingers or noses bleeding), and the mother’s curse itself–in some versions it comes across merely as an expression of disapproval, in others she clearly believes that it will be effective in bringing about his end.

Nic Jones

Henderson also provides an explanation of why the brother shows up to witness Willie’s death (in some versions).  Ballads are normally quite economical with their story-telling, often of necessity.  They often have to set the scene, give us the relevant details about the characters, and move all of the action in a short period of time.  To modern eyes, the brother is not necessary for the story, and is omitted in some versions.  Henderson notes that the mother’s curse is associated with the death of one brother and the survival of another, a common phenomenon in songs of an earlier time.  The audience would not have thought the brother’s appearance on the shore odd, given the other songs and scenes it would have invoked.

In addition to the “Clyde Water” version of the song linked at the beginning of this post, Nic Jones also made a separate and influential recording of the song as “Drowned Lovers” on his landmark album Penguin Eggs.  This web site provides the lyrics for the latter (which are a bit longer than those for the former), and it also provides a helpful side by side comparison with Martin Carthy’s version of “Clyde Water.”

“Drowned Lovers,” by Nic Jones (Spotify)

“Clyde’s Water,” by Martin Carthy and Dave Swarbrick (Spotify)

Martin Carthy

Murder Mysteries


In the next post, we’ll turn to some different arrangements of this song, but for the moment, I’d like to invite your comments on a number of different elements of this song, to wit:


–Does Willie’s mother kill him with her curse?  I’m not asking whether you believe in curses, but rather asking whether the song winks at the idea that the mother’s malison is responsible.  The song implies that Willie has a number of chances to avoid his fate.  Why on earth does he go back across the Clyde?  Even the second time across, one suspects he might have made it except for his attempt to retrieve his hat and cane.  Is his death, like May Margaret’s, really a suicide?  Even if it’s not murder, are both mothers responsible for both deaths?  If so, how and to what extent?


–What can we suppose of the mothers’ motivations?  After Shaleane’s unfolding a new dimension (at least for Pat and me) in speaking up for the Brown girl in  “Fair Ellender,” I’m on the lookout for the more silent characters.  Perhaps there is less to discover here with the two mothers.  Their resistance to the romantic love between the two protagonists can be inferred, but there’s no real explanation of their opposition, cruelty, witchcraft, or trickery.  Does the song present the conflict between romantic love and the management of family ties, land, and property?


–Where are the fathers?  Later this week, we’ll take up other musical tales of the deadly cruelty of parents, both mothers and fathers, toward their young children.  Does “Mother’s Malison” represent a romantic tale of youthful rebellion rather than a cautionary tale?


–In Pat’s excellent discussion of Matty Groves, he draws out the enduring power of the song for different listeners, male and female.  My take on this song is that generational differences are likely much more important.  Despite being an old song, it seems almost necessarily aimed at younger audiences–not so much as a cautionary tale, but as a story of romantic rebellion.  This might provide partial account for its relative obscurity, the song itself doesn’t age as well with its singers (John Strachan excepted, perhaps).  There’s romance and regret, but no repentance and no punishment.


Next up

Anais Mitchell

This theme of youth, love, and death will arise in the next post as well, both in this ballad and in one other it may have inspired.  We’ll give a listen to the version of this song that first crossed my radar, and hear a few different arrangements that give the song a different feel or place it in a new context.  After that, we’ll take a look at a few other members of this ballad’s family, so to speak, where the attempted iron control of parents has fatal results.


Before stepping away from this post, I’ll add this fine performance by Vermont’s Anais Mitchell, giving an uncommon American voice to this Scottish ballad.  Ironically, this performance is from the north of England.  (This reminds me of a Richard Thompson performance of his “1000 Years of Popular Music” show, where he introduced “Shenandoah” by saying, “Here, let me feed your culture back to you.”)  Mitchell graciously manages an overly interactive audience member and a recalcitrant string at the beginning of this clip, and provides a rather charming performance.

As near as I can tell, this version is otherwise unrecorded.  Mitchell’s recorded material on Spotify can be found here.