Wanted! Mountain Music
by
Maurice Matteson c. 1935
In the western tip of North Carolina within seven miles of the Tennessee line, a great shaggy mountain lifts up its head from a cross range of the Blue Ridge and Appalachian Mountains. Not as high as Grandfather Mountain towards the south, to which it says "good morning" each day, nor as imposing as Roan Mountain to the west, which keeps a sentinel watch over the Tennessee line, this mountain stretches for seven or eight miles, ridged with peaks called "The Pinnacles." Thus Beech Mountain is the sky outline for miles on all sides.
If one climbs The Pinnacles, one may look to the north for thirty miles or more into Virginia. Here under one's sight lie undulating ridges of lesser ranges; while to the east, one looks with a comparatively unrestricted view for fifteen miles to the Blowing Rock region. All of this magnificent vista, until recently completed good roads, was accessible only to the most seasoned mountain traveler and adventurer.
Sitting one day this past summer on the velvety green terrace at Pinnacle Inn, a charming little hotel built on English lines, I was engaged in lazily surveying the far flung reaches of Beech, over which floated gossamers of clouds. The Inn and its beautiful grounds comprise the greater part of the little town of Banner Elk, N.C., which nestles at the gap leading from Boone, N.C. on one side and Elizabethton, Tennessee on the other.
Sitting in the deck chair near me and engaged in the same pleasurable pastime was a portly gentleman of whom I inquired, "Why do you suppose they call this mountain Beech?"
"Well," at last he ventured, all the while puffing on a long odorous cigar, "largely on account of the magnificent specimen of beech trees which you may see in groves on the slope of the mountain." "Incidentally," he said, "all of the beeches in this region of western North Carolina are becoming affected by the blight which has nearly eradicated the beautiful beech groves of Pennsylvania."
Then he asked, "Don't you know these mountains?" After informing him that I was enjoying my first mountain vacation while away from my university classes, he shifted in his chair and suddenly barked) "Do you know anything about ballads?" Somewhat taken by surprise I confessed my ignorance of any save Barbara Allen.
He drew closer and looked me in the eye and said, "If you want to do something worthwhile musically then you could add to the world of literature by searching the recesses of Beech Mountain and its vicinity for fragments and variants of the Old English and Scottish ballads and correctly record their tunes. In the coves and slope of Beech Mountain are sheltered the homes of mountaineers who for generations have known and sung the folk songs of the past in almost perfect preservation."
"Scholars have now agreed," continued he, "that the collecting words alone without the tunes as well is only half worthwhile." I then learned that this genial and unusually interesting person was none other than Mellinger Edward Henry, who has often contributed to the Journal of American Folklore, and whose books on ballads and folk songs provide a great fund of information to American literature. It was through this casual conversation with Mr. Henry that I started what proved to be one of the most exciting summer activities of my life: running down folk tunes, folk songs and ballads.
Through Mr. Henry's assistance, I came to know many of the "first families in America" and recorded many of the tunes of this region. The result of the ballad collection is to be published under the title, Beech Mountain Ballads. I have also discovered numbers of interesting folk tunes and verse, many of which have not become generally known. Among the more unusual is entitled "Sinful to Flirt."
Sinful to Flirt
Oh, they say it is sinful to flirt,
Oh, they say that my heart is made of stone;
Oh, they say to speak to him kindly,
Or else leave the poor boy alone.
Oh, they say he is only a boy,
But I am sure he is much older than me,
And if they would leave us alone,
I'm sure much happier we would be.
I remember the night when he said,
That he loved me far more than his life,
He kissed me and called me his pet,
And asked me to be his wife.
"Oh Willie," I said with a smile,
"I am sure that I'll have to say no."
He took my hand for a while,
And said, "Goodbye, I must go."
"Oh darling," I said, "I am sure,
Your heart is made of stone."
He took a white rose from my hair,
And left me standing there.
Next morning poor Willie was dead,
He was drowned in a pond by the mill.
In the pure blessed water so fair,
That flows from the banks of the hill.
His eyes were forever closed,
And damp was his bright golden hair,
And close to his pale lips he held,
The white rose he took from my hair.
Oh Willie, my darling come back,
I will ever be faithful to you;
Oh Willie, my darling come back,
I will ever be faithful and true.
This charming lyric was sung for me by Mr. Nathan Hicks, a sturdy mountaineer of Sugar Grove, Beech Mountain. He sang very simply, with no trace of embarrassment, his blue eyes sparkling with the unconscious zest of the true artist. The case of Mr. Hicks is an interesting one. Through Edward Tufts, a young boy of Banner Elk, I heard of Nathan Hicks and his reputation as a ballad singer and also a maker of mountain dulcimers, which in his mountain drawl becomes dul-ci-moor.
One evening about sunset, we decided to take a journey to see Mr. Hicks. Young Edward told me that since it was only a half mile off the main road we could get there in half an hour. I shall never forget the climb from McGill Gap where we turned off to ascend Beech Mountain. The road became gradually worse and as the shadows of the evening lengthened over the moun-
tainside, I became apprehensive about getting back before dark.
Edward and his companion assured us that it was only a few minutes ride further until we reached Woods Man Cove where Hicks was supposed to be living. Imagine our great consternation when we, after turning several more hairpin curves, discovered from a callow youth trudging in the evening dusk along the road that Hicks had moved.
I have observed that expeditions having been attempted and seemingly failed could be terminated in an about face and going home. Here was one case where this was not possible because the mountain road had become so narrow. We had climbed until there was a sheer drop of hundreds of feet on one side of the road with rocks and boulders ascending hundreds of feet on the other! My car was a long one and it was impossible to turn back.
The two boys and I held a consultation and decided we might as well go on to where Hicks had moved, "about a couple of miles further on." So we started ahead, I with great trepidation and the boys, quite accustomed to mountain roads and escapades of all kinds, urging me on. The road became more and more difficult to travel and the rocks over which we passed larger and larger. At this point dusk had turned into evening and it had become necessary to put on the car lights to see where we were going. Again I surely would have turned back if it had been possible to do so.
After rounding a curve, a view, such as I shall never forget, greeted our eyes. We had encircled the eastern end of Beech and had emerged on the north side where the final glow of the setting sun was roseately coloring the western clouds. Night itself emerged from the east over the range of mountain peaks, visible for miles to the north. The vastness of that majestic and breath-taking sight will always remain as one of my treasured memories.
At this juncture I refused to go farther and insisted that young Edward climb the mountain slope to a little lighted home several hundred yards up and inquire if we were anywhere near Nathan Hicks. By the time he returned night had descended but a ray of helpfulness was the young moon which made its appearance from behind us over the mountain top.
Edward informed us that Mr. Hicks was only a half a mile farther on. In case you don't believe a half a mile is a long ways, try any of the mountain half miles. It means up, and over, and around, and anything else you would like to add.
In the course of a half hour, we reached a stone barn built right at the side of the road and down the slope we saw a light glimmering. Again the boys were dispatched to see if this was Nathan's cottage. This proved to be the case and at last, after the perilous journey of an hour and a half, we glimpsed Mr. Hicks.
He very cordially invited us to stay and spend the night but I had entirely too much nerve strain to accept. After promising to come to Banner Elk and sing for me, he opened the barn doors (which might be a good one for Ripley) and believe it or not we backed the car into the barn and thus were able to turn around.
When he sang for me in Banner Elk, he accompanied himself on the dulcimer, a three-stringed fiddle-like instrument, which he tuned in octaves and a fifth. Upon this he created a remarkable accompaniment, at times pulsating with rhythm and at other times reflecting the pathos of the lyrics he was singing.
What he accomplished so simply is not so easy. I can testify that I have practiced the dulcimer for months and have not mastered this instrument.
Two other songs contributed by Nathan Hicks were Once I Knew a Little Girl and Away Out on the Mountain. [For the music and lyrics see Once I Knew a Little Girl page 34 and Away Out on the Mountain page 24 in my book, Appalachian Folk Songs for piano and voice- Mel Bay 1996.] Another unusual folk song was contributed by Mrs. Lena Turberfield of Elk Park, N.C. Mellinger Henry had heard of the gifted singing of Mrs. Turberfield and her family, and we journeyed together one morning down the mountain to Elk Park. On the outskirts of town in a very humble cottage we found the entire family; Mrs. Turberfield, Mrs. Bragg and Miss Sabra Hampton, the men of the family and many offspring.
It might to interesting to the uninitiated how we went about collecting a folk tune or ballad. Mr. Henry journeyed in first while Mrs. Henry and my five-year-old son [my father Richard L. Matteson] and I waited in the car. While we waited Mr. Henry approached them with remarks regarding the weather, an unusual rainy season, and threw in a reminder that he had sent them a note that he might call upon them at some time in regard to folk songs and ballads. Having established himself in standing, he waved to us and we felt at liberty to come in.
With the kindness and hospitality that is characteristic of all the mountain families, there was a great adjustment of seating arrangements and a hurried call for more chairs to be brought on the porch which was already overtaxed with the family itself. After many rearrangements we were all seated in cane bottom chairs which would undoubtedly be the envy of many an
antique collector.
At last we were ready to proceed with further conversation. I was identified as the musical member of the party with Mrs. Henry as her husband's great helper in the collecting of tunes and folklore on other expeditions. When I attempted to arrange my son on the porch steps, Miss Hampton suggested, "let 'em play with the least of em."
Mr. Henry, seeing my blank look, explained, "She meant the smallest of the many children playing in the yard." So having disposed of Richard and the "least of 'em," we were ready to swing the conversation to the point of the visit. Mrs. Henry asked the three sisters if they knew a song about the King of France; referring to one of the many Child ballads which, as yet, has not been found in this country. Only blank states greeted her attempt.
Mr. Henry ventured, "Do you know The Brown Girl?" This is one of the favorite folk songs of all the mountain sections of the Carolinas and Virginia. Again they seemed not to understand what we meant. Mr. Henry had suggested The Brown Girl because he knew that most mountaineers knew that particular folk tune. But the mountaineers are very secretive and one must establish complete confidence before it is possible to gain any information from them.
By strange insight, I recalled the first verse and tune of The Brown Girl as I had collected it from Mr. Hicks, so I burst into song with this lyric. Instantly we were all on safe ground as the three sisters faces brightened and they assured us they knew that one. Under Mr. Henry's skillful guidance, they were soon singing many of the familiar songs.
Every now and then we had to switch them from mountain tunes they had heard on records or over the radio. We soon managed to get them to understand that we weren't interested in radio or record recordings.
At this juncture an aged neighbor, well over eighty, seeing the strange car at the Braggs, came down the mountain road to investigate. Her coming occasioned another hectic period of seating rearrangement. Ten minutes were taken to seat this old lady, whose name escapes me. After finding out what we were trying to get, she claimed that there were many fine tunes that they had not sung yet. She suggested Bolakin which at first we did not recognize as one of the Child ballads; Lamkin. Soon they were busy singing the verses to this fine ballad which proved to be one of the finds of the morning visit. From Mrs. Turberfield I have possession of the lyrics to The Jealous Lover also named Blue-Eyed Ella [see page 30] and Shady Valley.
As they sang I was busy getting the musical notation of these ballads and songs while Mr. and Mrs. Henry were attempting to get the words. Often we weren't able to notate these folk songs in one singing so we would encourage the singers to repeat the stanzas and melodies by joining with them. They declared to have heard both Fair Eleanor and Shady Valley from their
mother who learned them from her grandmother. So in every case, a sense of comradeship must be established before the preservers of folk tunes and ballads are willing to sing for you.