traditional
Lake Pontchartrain, 1880.Normally, Irish tunes followed the immigrants to the new world that should become the USA. The tunes often migrated into other kinds of music if not being famous as they were. In this case, it turned out the opposite way. Immigrants, nobody knows who, wrote lyrics, put it into the body of a well known traditional Irish ballad and sent it back to the "old" world. This song has been more popular in UK and Ireland than USA, where it originated in the middle of the eighteen hundreds, located to the region of Louisiana, with clear Creole references. Some say that the tune dates back to The War of 1812, but that must be primitive versions: the city of New Orleans and Jackson Town were not connected by railway until 1858. The modern version mentions "no good foreign money", which probably refers to several banks issuing their own bank notes during the Civil War, causing problems from one region to another.
Lake Pontchartrain is not a lake, indeed. It is a huge and shallow tidal basin leaking eastwards to the the Gulf of Mexico. The tidal shifts and the bracky water make the region environmentally unique. The city of New Orleans sits directly on its southern shore.
But this song is not unique. The lyrics are standard phrases of unrequited love, and the melodies used for several versions are all adaptions of the Irish traditional "Lily of the West". Why do I bother leaving my breath to this song? The answer is "Margaret Larkin".
I recently sat down enjoying myself, in the middle of the night, by scrubbing the net for songs of Celtic origin. I've got a thing about that kind of music; I've had it since I early teenaging found music an essential part of life. "Lakes of Pontchar..." ...hmmm; some words gave me flashback, listening to singers like Paul Brady, Christy Moore and Dan McCabe. I remembered some stupid lyrics from a vague past, about "alligators" on the Texas plains ... could it be? I searched the top of a seldom visited section of books in my sleeping room, and stepped back sixty years as the filthy paperback was taken down in a cloud of dust and spiderweb. Hoovering has never been an important activity of mine.
I acquired this book some sixteen years old, from a cut-off shelf in a local music store. I'd just started digging folk music, and didn't bother being flamed for preferring "cowboy songs" to that rambling noise my friends listened to.
On page 46, I read this:
«This song is a curiosity. Reva Cordell sent the words with their puzzling references to "swamps of alligators" and the "Cree girl" [...] The original hero's adventures took place near New Orleans and the lakes called Pontchartrain, and the heroine was a Creole girl. When the western singers got hold of the song they made suitable changes. The Creole girl became an Indian. Western nomenclature being what it is, "Poncho Plains" did not seem incredible. How the cowboys explained the alligators is a mystery, but cowboys are apt to take their culture for granted, like their God.»
I put the book back where it belongs. Whoopee ti yi ay I never sang anything from it, and never will. Margaret Larkin was, in her time, a renowned writer, journalist, songwriter, musician and union activist. Her 1935 issue "Singing Cowboy" is a good work; with reflected comments and good illustrations ... but well; it belongs up there among the spiders. I leave you this story with the "original" song ... that after a couple of centuries found it's way back to the British Isles undergoing a pretty strange metamorphosis.
it was on one bright March morning I bid New Orleans adieu
and I took the road to Jackson town my fortune to renew
I cursed all foreign money no credit could I gain
which filled my heart with longing for the Lakes of Pontchartrain
I climbed on board of a railroad car all in the morning sun
and I rode the rods till evening then I laid me down again
all strangers were no friends to me till a dark girl towards me came
and I fell in love with a Creole girl on the Lakes of Pontchartrain
I said «My pretty Creole girl my money here's no good
if it weren't for the alligators I'd sleep out in the wood»
«You're welcome here kind stranger our house is very plain
We never turn a stranger out on the Lakes of Pontchartrain»
she took me to her mama's house and treated me right well
the hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell
to try to paint her beauty there I'm sure would be in vain
so handsome was my Creole girl by the Lakes of Pontchartrain
I asked her would she marry me she said that ne'er could be
for she had got a lover and he was far at sea
she said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
till he returned to his Creole girl by the lakes of Pontchartrain
so fare thee well my Creole girl I'll ne'er see no more
I'll ne'er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore
and at each social gathering a foaming glass I'll drain
and I'll drink a health to my Creole girl on the Lakes of Pontchartrain
[... and HERE is a real, young busker out on the streets of Dublin, playing it in open tuning, thanks to the ONLY Google service I find acceptable ...]
For lyrics only, fullscreen b&w, go HERE and press F11. Hit the blue bullet or press backspace to return.
Go HERE for a list of existing cheatsheets.
For the following CHORD section, fullscreen/horizontal mobile is required.
Chords in brackets may be omitted.
- vulgaris- ... G D Em C G D G it was on one bright March mor - ning I bid New Orleans adieu G D Em C G D C and I took the road to Jackson town my fortune to renew G D Em C G D C I cursed all foreign money no credit could I gain G D Em C G D G which filled my heart with longing for the Lakes of Pontchartrain - variegata- G...Cadd9...G...Cadd9... ... G G6 D D6 Em Em7 C G D6 D7 C it was on one bright March mor - ning I bid New Orleans adieu G D Em C G Em7 C and I took the road to Jackson town my fortune to renew G D Em Cadd9 G Em7 C ...D7sus2 I cursed all foreign money no credit could I gain G G6 D D6 Em Em7 C G D6 D7 G which filled my heart with longing for the Lakes of Pontchartrain
