The song
The Ghost wi’ the Squeaky Wheel - 5:42 – Robin Laing
The Ghost wi’ the Squeaky Wheel was recorded in 2003 by Scots singer-songwriter Robin Laing on the above album. Robin is known in Scotland as the Whisky Bard because of the number of songs – traditional, covers and his own compositions – that he has recorded on the subject of Scotch Whisky. He has five whole albums exclusively on that topic, and whisky songs also permeate his other nine albums.
It is not hard to guess which is his favourite of the many Scotch whiskies. Bruichladdich, on the west coast’s famed Isle of Islay, has inspired some of his most heartfelt songs. Besides producing very fine whisky in the traditional style, Bruichladddich’s history also includes a recent death and resurrection story that is almost like a myth. Some of his most poignant song are about that distillery and its products. Also on this album is my favourite. I couldn’t find a good recording of it available online, but here is a shaky and low-volume cellphone recording of Robin singing it in concert click on the image):
The ghostly ballad Ghost wi’ the Squeaky Wheel was written by his friend Tom Clelland, who has a website here and a new one that is still under development here. Tom himself didn’t record the song until five years after Robin released this version
According to Robin’s liner note for the song:
The ghost with the squeaky wheelbarrow wanders up and down the Clyde between Tom Clelland’s village and mine. I’d asked some songwriter colleagues if they had any songs on supernatural subjects and Tom turned the tale (which he heard from local man Wull Baxter) into this song. Knowing my interest in whisky he gave the tale the whisky twist thus bringing together two different kinds of spirit.
This suggests that there may be a local legend about sounds made along the riverbank made by a ghost with a squeaky wheelbarrow, although it does not say that the appearances were only in midwinter.
It is the second verse that makes this a midwinter ballad. It sets the events depicted as being in the early hours of January 1, after the midnight bells, and after Wull had been first-footing. That would be a reference to a traditional Scottish Hogmanay custom in associated with Hogmanay, a local name for New Year’s Eve. The source of that name is unknown, and it is only used by Scots, but it may be of Gaelic or Norse origin. According to the Oxford English Dictionary the first record of that name is from 1443.
Because of very strict religious prohibitions against celebration of Christmas by the Kirk (the Church of Scotland) which lasted from the 16th until well into the 20th century, old customs for celebrating Christmas migrated to celebration of Hogmanay. This included old pagan customs that had been attached to Christmas when the Picts and other local peoples were Christianized. In fact, Hogmanay is still a bigger social holiday than Christmas in Scotland, and January 2 is a statutory holiday, giving people time to recover from it.
One of the Hogmanay customs which still survives is first-footing. It takes various forms but involves after-midnight ritualistic “luck visits” to people’s homes. According to legend, it is considered to be a good omen if the first person to cross the threshold in the new year is a dark-haired male, bringing traditional symbolic gifts of a silver coin, a black bun (or shortbread), coal, salt, and whisky.
I suppose that it would help to understand the song if you know a little about how Scotch whisky is made. (I am a former member of the Victoria Single Malt Club, and still enjoy the occasional wee dram, so I guess I am qualified to do that.)
There are two ways to do it. The first, malt whisky, is the old way. Malted barley (barley grin that has been soaked in water, let to begin growing, and then dried). is then put in a large tub with water and allowed to ferment into beer. The beer is the distilled in large copper stills, and just the right “cut” of alcohol/water steam is cooled and the then aged in wooden oak casks, usually for ten years or more.
The copper stills need to be cooled and cleaned between each batch. This technique is about 400 years old, but doing it on an industrial scale dates back only about 150 years, and many Scotch distilleries still use equipment that is more than 100 years old. Whisky is expensive to make this way but it is very flavourful. It is called malt whisky. If all of the whisky in a bottle comes from the same distillery it is called single malt.
The second way is to take some malt whisky that is made that way, but blending it with other alcohol that can be made from any grain (usually corn, rye or barley), and where the beer is distilled in a newer type of still called a column still. It works continuously - beer goes in one end, and alcohol comes out the other. It is also aged in barrels, but usually for a shorter time, and the result is more subtly flavoured.
This “blended whisky” has just as high of alcohol content, but has a less robust taste and but is much less expensive. The chorus of the song says “blended whisky's power is slight.” It was “good malt” that Wullie poured on the wheel to quieten it.
Here are the original lyrics (Robin made some minor changes):
The Ghost wi the Squeaky Wheel
by Tom Clelland
Now Wullie was a fearless man.
While other fellows turned and ran,
He'd shake the shiver from his hands
And stand up straight and weel.
All superstitions he disdained
As spooky stories fit for weans
Till he met a phantom of his ain,
A ghost wi' a squeaky wheel.The bells had claimed the Old Year end
And Wullie gone first-footing friends
Then, blithely, turning home again
He took the river road.
The moon was full with frosty bite,
The water deep and still and iced,
His breath like silver stars at night,
No living soul abroad.Now blended whisky's power is slight
Guid malt could face the deil,
Should you meet on a winter's night
A ghost wi' a squeaky wheel.
Past Crossford park and village sign,
The iron brig and wall behind,
The Silver Birch and old hedge line,
Wull sauntered worry -free,
When in the distance came a grate -
A sound that made him stand and wait,
Like the swinging of some hellish gate
A rasping, rhythmic gree.Wull stood transfixed as it drew near.
The squeaking growing ever clear.
A piercing echo through his ears,
From the depths of hell it rang
And a sight that gripped him to the marrow.
A figure, ghostly grey and hollow,
A grisly shape that pushed a barrow
With the face of old Boab Lang.Now blended whisky's power is slight
Guid malt would face the deil
Should you meet on a winter's night
A ghost wi' a squeaky wheel"Well Boab", says Wull, and shows no fear
"It's unco strange tae greet you here.
We have nae met these twenty years
And mony's an Auld Lang Syne."
The ghost looked Wullie in the eye
And, in a mournful voice, did cry
"Beware poor sinner, born to die
Be ready for your time.We all maun pass, each single yin,
Our earthly pockets filled wi' sin,
That drags us doon and draws us in
To this world and its sorrows.
Damned selfishness that breeds despair,
Transgressions, greedy, cruel and sair
We a' hae sins but I had mair -
Enough to fill this barrow."Now blended whisky's power is slight
Guid malt could face the deil
Should you meet on a Winter's night
A ghost wi' a squeaky wheel"The Clyde, the burn and Nethan River
Will bind me on this road forever
Running water I can never
Cross nor bridges breach.
Tween these three points, traverse I must.
These chains and torture serve me just
But the worst is this infernal rust
And this old wheel's hellish screech."Says Wull, "My freen, I cannae judge -
I'll try help you with your drudge"
But the barrow Wullie could nae budge
Like it was solid steel.
"I have the very dab" cries he
"The finest whisky's what you need"
His good malt Wullie freely gied
and poured it on the wheel.The whisky stopped the squeaking dead.
The ghostly figure smiled instead
The screeching ceased in Wullie's head.
And silence once more reigned.Wull crossed the bridge at Hazel burn
His good deed done, his sleep well earned.
and watched the ghost as he did turn
and start back down again.Now blended whisky's power is slight
Guid malt could face the deil
Should you meet on a Winter's night
A ghost wi' a squeaky wheel [x2]
No essay today: Poetry contest instead! - Comment a poem - Haiku or not
Today let’s have a poetry contest. Everyone is their own judge. If you decide that you wrote the best poem you can add to your resumé: Gold Prize winner: 2021 Midwinter Short-form Poetry Contest. [Note: I googled that phrase and checked AllPoetry.com: No one else is using it for their contest so I am claiming the name.]
If you write a poem that is pretty good but you don’t think it is the winner you can award yourself a silver or bronze prize. Enter as many poems as you want. No essay today is my first entry. I also created a free account and published it at AllPoetry.com.
A ghostly midwinter ballad