This was a very special session largely thanks to David Stevens who is a blacksmith (among other things) and very kindly came along with tools and samples and oodles of enthusiasm. We all wanted to go and train as blacksmiths once he'd finished talking to us.
ALSO equal billing should go to Siriol Collins who not only sent me the folksong printed below but came along and sang it to us beautifully and unaccompanied! (you can find versions of it on Youtube) It was all very inspirational and some of the writing is also included here. There are some lovely bits of technical vocabulary that David shared with us so we played with: shim, anneal, caltrops, peen, cherry red, white hot, straw, blue, quenching, penny scroll and fishtail scroll. Wonderful poetic material.
From the collection we borrowed a couple of engravings by Stanley Anderson (1884-1966) who specialised in country crafts and often depicted the smithy.
Folksong
A Blacksmith Courted Me.
This version was collected in Herefordshire by Ralph Vaughn Williams and folklore collector Ella Mary Leather.
The use of the word clever in the third line is very Herefordian, it means fine or good.
A Blacksmith courted me, nine months and better.
He fairly won my heart, he wrote me a letter.
With his hammer in his hand he looked so clever,
And if I were with my love I would live fore-ver.
Oh, where has my love gone, with his cheeks like roses?
And his good black billycock on decked with primroses.
I'm afraid the scorching sun might shine and burn his beauty,
And if I were with my love I would do my duty.
Strange news is come to town, strange news is carried,
Strange news flies up and down that my love is married.
Oh, I wish them both much joy, though they don't hear me,
And if I were with my love I would do my duty.
Oh, what did you promise me when you lay beside me?
You said you'd marry me and not deny me.
If I said I'd marry you it was only to try you,
So bring your witness, love, and I'll not deny you.
Oh, witness have I none, save God Almighty,
And may he reward you well, for the slighting of me.
Her lips grew pale and thin, it made her poor heart tremble
For to think she'd loved but one, and he'd proved deceitful.
He fairly won my heart, he wrote me a letter.
With his hammer in his hand he looked so clever,
And if I were with my love I would live fore-ver.
Oh, where has my love gone, with his cheeks like roses?
And his good black billycock on decked with primroses.
I'm afraid the scorching sun might shine and burn his beauty,
And if I were with my love I would do my duty.
Strange news is come to town, strange news is carried,
Strange news flies up and down that my love is married.
Oh, I wish them both much joy, though they don't hear me,
And if I were with my love I would do my duty.
Oh, what did you promise me when you lay beside me?
You said you'd marry me and not deny me.
If I said I'd marry you it was only to try you,
So bring your witness, love, and I'll not deny you.
Oh, witness have I none, save God Almighty,
And may he reward you well, for the slighting of me.
Her lips grew pale and thin, it made her poor heart tremble
For to think she'd loved but one, and he'd proved deceitful.
Fiona Mac
With firelight
aglow in the winter orchard
I hear the apple trees,
sing ancient songs
of the wise, spinning women
through the forge door.
My hammer
strikes a rhythm
drawing down the golden iron,
spiralling and weaving
the song of the trees
around my heart.
P.38 Come Comfort Me with Apples (An Anthology)
Hereford Poetry Group 9th October 1997
The Blacksmith
Siriol
Straw blue eyes
Cherry red cheeks
Fire in the belly
White hot passion
Young blade
The blacksmith
Hilary
Welding in the gloom,
Banging, twisting, cutting
The black metal melts.
Quenching colours, cherry red
Orange, white and straw blue.
Too hot to handle.
Thick gloves resist the heat
As the village blacksmith
Forges on. Light in the dark.
Jill
I enter the workshop and what awaits me!
A feast for the senses, a grand recipe,
The forge burning red, like the entrance to hell
When the iron shoe turns white, it is right he can tell!
The heat sears my nostrils then smell the burnt hoof,
The horses stand waiting, their look is aloof.
The pump of the bellows, slow hissing expels
The clangs of the hammer on anvil, like bells.
The steam from the water, the iron shoe is cooling
New for its host, for the next round of schooling
The blacksmith is huge, his apron of leather
He sweats at his work, whatever the weather
His face is bright red; he wears only a vest,
Polite conversation, not much time for jest.
A God- fearing man,
Who prays on a Sunday,
That he will be spared to work again Monday.
Hazel
Blacksmith Blues
Within the smithy the furnace glows
Cherry red, white hot, straw, blue—
The blacksmith and his anvil stand
Split, twist cut, and peen---
Red hot, white hot, effort he makes
Fish tail, scroll and penny---
But never a single mistake he makes
Not any, not any, not any.
Yvette
As I watched the flames grow
Hazel
As I watched the flames grow
From the smoulder of rubbed wood
You handled with such care,
Placing dry tinder neat around the shrine of fire
Until it flared, I raised my eyes.
Saw you naked, feral, sitting on your heels
Tending the blaze, whilst all around the tread
And snuffle of beasts, smell of animal in the air.
I stood up, mouth dry, but spoke your name.
You caught me as I fainted, laid me on the earth,
Loosened my collar, and with your handkerchief
Gently salved my tears.
Anvil bangs, devil away
New carbon waiting, waiting.
Now the fire is white hot
Every fire must be just right
Any distraction and the sparks will fly.
Light is not the blacksmith’s friend
The first must be just right, just right
Heating the metal until it’s white.
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