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  The Gartan Mother's Lullaby | trad. arr. William Hill

  "The Gartan Mothers Lullaby"Dusk is drawn and the Green Man's thorn is wreathed in rings of fog,Siabra sails his boat till morn, upon the starry bog.A leanbhan O, the pale moon hath brimmed her cusp in dew,And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune, I sing O love of you.A lovely Irish melody from Co. Donegal; the lullaby of a mother to her child. The song refers to a number of figures in Irish mythology, places in Ireland and words in the Irish language.The best known recording of the song was made by Meryl Streep in 2000. Instrumentation:Cornet SoloistSoprano, Solo/Repiano, 2nd and 3rd Cornets Flugelhorn Solo, 1st and 2nd Tenor Horns 1st and 2nd Baritone 1st, 2nd and Bass Trombone Euphonium Eb and Bb Basses

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  My Little Welsh Home - Traditional

  A beautiful arrangement by Tim Paton of a Welsh song by W S Gwynne Williams. Created in memory of his mother, Tim has produced a wonderful version for brass band and has also included an optional vocal solo or unison choir line.Comments from the arranger:I have arranged [My Little Welsh Home] in memory of my mother. [She] was born, Doreen Davies, on 27th November 1918, in Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire, a small town in South West Wales. She had a beautiful voice, and met my father, Bill Paton, during World War II, whilst she was singing in a troop concert at the County Theatre in her home town, and my father was the MC.Throughout her life, my mother and father entertained, and she was singing right up until the final months of her life. She spent many years in Weston-super-Mare, Somerset, a seaside town in South West England, and it was here that she passed away on 20th September 2004. During the last several months of her life, she often referred to the song My Little Welsh Home:Here are the words.I am dreaming of the mountains of my homeOf the mountains where in childhood I would roamI have dwelt 'neath southern skiesWhere the summer never diesBut my heart is in the mountains of my homeI can see the little homestead on the hillI can hear the magic music of the RhyllThere is nothing to compareWith the love that once was thereIn the lonely little homestead on the hillI can see the quiet churchyard down belowWhere the mountain breezes wander to and froAnd when God my soul will keepIt is there I want to sleepWith those dear old folks that loved me long agoLooking at the words, I can see why it meant so much to her. Haverfordwest is at the foot of the Preseli Mountains, and her home and church were at the top of a hill. My mothers' ashes were taken back to her own little Welsh home, and laid to rest in the grounds of the church where she had been Christened, Confirmed and Married.Look and Listen (Score-reading digital sound-sample):

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