American Folksongs & Ballads

Canada I-O

 

Canada I-O

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

Come all ye jolly lumbermen, and listen to my song
But do not get discouraged, the length it is not long;
Concerning of some lumbermen, who did agree to go
To spend one pleasant winter up in Canada-I-O.

It happened late one season in the fall of fifty-three
A preacher of the gospel one morning came to me;
Says he, “My jolly fellow, how would you like to go
To spend one pleasant winter up in Canada-I-O?”

To him I quickly made reply, and unto him did say,
“In going out to Canada depends upon the pay.
If you will pay good wages, my passage to and fro,
I think I’ll go along with you to Canada-I-O.”

“Yes, we will pay good wages, and will pay your wages out,
Provided you sign papers that you will stay the route;
But if you do get homesick and swear that home you’ll go
We never can your passage pay from Canada-I-O.”

“And if you get dissatisfied and do not wish to stay,
We do not wish to bind you, no, not one single day,
You just refund the money we had to pay, you know,
Then you can leave that bonny place called Canada-I-O.

It was by his gift of flattery he enlisted quite a train,
Some twenty-five or thirty, both well and able men;
We had a pleasant journey o’er the road we had to go,
Till we landed at Three Rivers, up in Canada-I-O.

But there our joys were ended, and our sorrows did begin,
Fields, Phillips and Norcross they then came marching in.
They sent us all directions, some where I do not know,
Among those jabbering Frenchmen up in Canada-I-O.

After we had suffered there some eight or ten long weeks,
We arrived at headquarters, up among the lakes;
We thought we’d find a paradise, at least they told us so,
God grant there may be no worse hell than Canada-I-O.

To describe what we have suffered is past the art of man;
But to give a fair description I will do the best I can:
Our food the dogs would snarl at, our beds were on the snow,
We suffered worse than murderers up in Canada-I-O.

Our hearts were made of iron and our souls were cased with steel,
The hardships of that winter could never make us yield;
Fields, Phillips and Norcross they found their match, I know
Among the boys that went from Maine to Canada-I-O.

But now our lumbering is over and we are returning home,
To greet our wives and sweethearts and never more to roam;
To greet our friends and neighbors; we’ll tell them not to go
To that forsaken G—- D— place called Canada-I-O.

If you have any more information to share about this song or helpful links, please post as a comment. Thanks for stopping by the site! ~John Fitz

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

I am indebted to the many friends who share my love of traditional songs and to the many scholars whose works are too many to include here. I am also incredibly grateful to the collector’s curators and collators of Wikipedia, Mudcat.org, MainlyNorfolk.info, and TheContemplator.com for their wise, thorough and informative contributions to the study of folk music. 

I share this scholarly research on my site with humility, thanks, and gratitude. Please cite sources accordingly with your own research. If you have any research or sites you would like to share on this site, please post in the comment box.  

Thanks!

Add links
"Canada-I-O"
Song
Writtenbefore 1700
Songwriter(s)Traditional

"Canada-I-O" (also known as "Canadee-I-O" or "The Wearing of the Blue") is a traditional English folk ballad (Roud 309).[1] It is believed to have been written before 1839.[2]

When her love goes to sea, a lady dresses as a sailor and joins (his or another's) ship's crew. When she is discovered, (the crew/her lover) determine to drown her. The captain saves her and they marry.

Based on similarity of title, some connect this song with "Canaday-I-O, Michigan-I-O, Colley's Run I-O". There is no connection in plot, however, and any common lyrics are probably the result of cross-fertilization.

The Scottish song "Caledonia/Pretty Caledonia" is quite different in detail — so much so that it is separate from the "Canada-I-O" texts in the Roud Folk Song Index ("Canaday-I-O" is #309;[3] "Caledonia" is #5543). The plot, however, is too close for scholars to distinguish.

Broadsides

  • Bodleian, Harding B 11(1982), "Kennady I-o," J. Catnach (London), 1813-1838; also Firth c.12(329), Harding B 11(2039), "Lady's Trip to Kennedy"; Harding B 25(1045), "The Lady's Trip to Kennady"; Firth c.12(330), "Canada Heigho";[4] Firth c.13(240), Firth c.12(331), Harding B 11(2920), 2806 c.16(72), "Canada I, O"

Recordings

Alternative titles

[citation needed]

  • "Canada Heigho!!"
  • "Kennady I-o"
  • "Lady's Trip to Kennady"

Notes

References

  • Sam Henry, Sam Henry's Songs of the People (1990), H162, pp. 333–334, "Canada[,] Hi! Ho!" (1 text, 1 tune)
  • John Ord, Bothy Songs and Ballads (1930; Reprint edition with introduction by Alexander Fenton printed 1995), pp. 117–118, "Caledonia" (1 text)
  • MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast (1965), 90, "Canadee-I-O" (1 text, 1 tune)
  • Maud Karpeles, Folk Songs from Newfoundland (1970), 48, "Wearing of the Blue" (1 text, 1 tune)
  • Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick (1971), 109, "She Bargained with a Captain" (1 fragment, 1 tune)
  • Dick Greenhaus & Susan Friedman (editors), "The Digital Tradition", CANADIO3* CALEDONIA*
  • Roud Folk Song Index #309 and 5543
  • Library and Archives Canada - Amicus #31009060



    Source: Mainly Norfolk

    Canadee-I-O

    Roud 309 ; Ballad Index HHH162 ; Bodleian Roud 309 ; Wiltshire Roud 309 ; trad. arr. Nic Jones]

    The ballad Canadee-I-O was printed in Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast.

    Harry Upton of Balcombe, Sussex, sang Canadee-I-O to Peter Kennedy on September 5, 1963. This recording was included in 2012 on the Topic anthology of songs by Southern English singers, You Never Heard So Sweet (The Voice of the People Volume 21), and the song was included in 1970 in Ken Stubb’s book of English folk songs from the Home Counties, The Life of a Man. Another recording made by Mike Yates in 1974 was included in 1975 on the Topic collection of traditional songs from Sussex, Sussex Harvest, and in 2001 on the Musical Traditions anthology of songs from the Mike Yates Collection, Up in the North and Down in the South. Mike Yates commented in the latter’s booklet:

    Canadee-I-O is something of a hybrid folksong, combining, as it does, two separate motifs; namely the girl who follows her truelove abroad, and the myth of the shipboard Jonah. As in many broadsides, however, there is a happy ending.

    According to Frank Kidson, Canadee-I-O is a song which first appeared during the 18th century. In form, it is related to the Scots song Caledonia—versions of which were collected by Gavin Greig—although exactly which song came first is one of those ‘chicken and egg’ questions that so frequently beset folkmusic studies.

    Harry Upton recalled singing this song in a Balcombe pub in 1940, and remained puzzled as to how a visiting Canadian soldier could join in a song which he believed to be known only to himself and his father. It could be argued that the Canadian might have more reasonably asked the question, since Harry is the sole English singer named among Roud’s 28 instances of the song.

    Canadee-I-O is arguably Nic Jones’ best known song, recorded in 1980 for his Topic album Penguin Eggs. Bob Dylan recorded it also for his 1992 album,Good as I Been to You, John Wesley Harding for his Nic Jones tribute album, Trad Arr Jones, and Éilís Kennedy recorded Canadee-I-O in 2001 for on her debut CD Time to Sail.

    Hannah Sanders sang Canadee-I-O in 2013 on her EP Warning Bells. She commented in her liner notes:

    A beautiful traditional ballad, about a cross dressing sailor gal. This is how all good stories should begin! I doff my cap to Nic Jones’s version here.

    Andy Turner sang Canadee-I-O as the September 6, 2014 entry of his project A Folk Song a Week.

    The Outside Track sang Canadee-I-O in 2015 on their CD Light Up the Dark. They commented in their liner notes:

    No album from a band with this many x-chromosomes in it would be complete without a story about a feisty girl on a mission. Nor only does she avoid walking the plank, but she arrives at her destination triumphant, ascending from stowaway to Captain’s Wife! One of the rarer cases where the song doesn’t end in death and destruction!

    Matt Quinn learned Canadee-I-O from the singing of Harry Upton and recorded it for his 2017 CD The Brighton Line. He commented:

    A girl escapes being thrown overboard by the ship’s crew when the captain falls in love with her. Well that’s one way to thwart death… Harry sang this to Mike Yates in the mid 1970s and he remains one of the [few] English traditional singers from whom it has been collected.

    Lyrics

    Nic Jones sings Canadee-I-O

    It’s of a fair and handsome girl, she’s all in her tender years:
    She fell in love with a sailor boy, it’s true that she loved him well,
    For to go off to sea with him like she did not know how,
    She longed to see that seaport town called Canadee-I-O.

    So she bargained with a young sailor boy, it’s all for a piece of gold.
    Straightway then he led her all down into the hold,
    Saying, “I’ll dress you up in sailor’s clothes, your jacket shall be blue,”
    You’ll see that seaport town called Canadee-I-O.

    Now when the other sailors heard the news, well they fell into a rage
    And with all the whole ship’s company they were willing to engage,
    Saying, “We’ll tie her hands and feet me boys, overboard we’ll throw her.
    She’ll never see that seaport town called Canadee-I-O.”

    Now when the captain he’s heard the news, well he too fell in a rage
    And with all of his whole ship’s company he was willing to engage,
    Saying, “She’ll stay all in sailor’s clothes, her collar shall be blue.
    She’ll see that seaport town called Canadee-I-O.”

    Now when they came down to Canada, scarcely ’bout half a year
    She’s married this bold captain who called her his dear.
    She’s dressed in silks and satins now, and she cuts a gallant show,
    She’s the finest of the ladies down Canadee-I-O.

    Come you fair and tender girls wheresoever you may be,
    I’ll have you to follow your own true love, when he goes out on the sea.
    For if the sailors prove false to you, well the captain he might prove true,
    You see the honour that I have gained by the wearing of the blue.

    Digital Tradition version

    It’s of a gallant lady, just in the prime of youth.
    She dearly loved a sailor; in fact, she loved to wed,
    And how to get to sea with him the way she did not know,
    All for to see this pretty place called Canadee-I-O.

    She bargained with a sailor all for a purse of gold,
    And straightway he had taken her right down into the hold,
    “I’ll dress you up in sailor suit; your colours shall be blue
    And you soon will see that pretty place, called Canadee-I-O,”

    When our mate had heard this, he fell into a rage,
    Likewise our ship’s company was willing to engage:
    “I’ll tie your hands and feet, my love, and overboard you’ll go,
    And you’ll never see the pretty place called Canadee-I-O.”

    And when the captain heard this: “This thing shall never be,
    For if you drown that fair maid, hanged sure you’ll be;
    I’ll take her to my cabin, her colours shall be blue,
    And she soon will see that pretty place called Canadee-I-O.”

    They had not arrived in Canada more than the space of half a year,
    Before the Captain married her, and called her his very dear.
    She can dress in silk or satin; she caught a gallant show;
    She was one of the fairest ladies in Canadee-I-O.

    Come all ye, young ladies, whoever you may be,
    To be sure and follow your true love, if ever he goes to sea,
    And if your mate, he do prove false, you’re captain he’ll prove true,
    And you’ll see the honour I have gained by wearing of the blue

    Acknowledgements

    Thanks to Garry Gillard for transcribing Nic Jones’ lyrics.

    Performances, Workshops, Resources & Recordings

    The American Folk Experience is dedicated to collecting and curating the most enduring songs from our musical heritage.  Every performance and workshop is a celebration and exploration of the timeless songs and stories that have shaped and formed the musical history of America. John Fitzsimmons has been singing and performing these gems of the past for the past forty years, and he brings a folksy warmth, humor and massive repertoire of songs to any occasion. 

    Festivals & Celebrations
    Coffeehouses School
    Assemblies

    Library Presentations
    Songwriting Workshops
    Artist in Residence House
    Concerts
    Pub Singing
    Irish & Celtic
    Performances

    Poetry Readings
    Campfires

    Music Lessons
    Senior Centers
    Voiceovers & Recording

    “Beneath the friendly charisma is the heart of a purist gently leading us from the songs of our lives to the timeless traditional songs he knows so well…”

     

    Globe Magazine

    Join Fitz at The Colonial Inn

    “The Nobel Laureate of New England Pub Music…”

    Scott Alaric

    Adventures in the Modern Folk Underground

    On the Green, in Concord, MA Every Thursday Night for over thirty years…

    “A Song Singing, Word Slinging, Story Swapping, Ballad Mongering, Folksinger, Teacher, & Poet…”

    Theo Rogue

    Songcatcher Rag

    Fitz’s Recordings

    & Writings

    Songs, poems, essays, reflections and ramblings of a folksinger, traveler, teacher, poet and thinker…

    Download for free from the iTunes Bookstore

    “A Master of Folk…”

    The Boston Globe

    Fitz’s now classic recording of original songs and poetry…

    Download from the iTunes Music Store

    “A Masterful weaver of song whose deep, resonant voice rivals the best of his genre…”

    Spirit of Change Magazine

    “2003: Best Children’s Music Recording of the Year…”

    Boston Parent's Paper

    Fitz & The Salty Dawgs Amazing music, good times and good friends…

    Listen here

    TheCraftedWord.org

    Writing help

    when you need it…

    “When the eyes rest on the soul…that’s Fitzy…”

    Lenny Megliola

    WEEI Radio

    How To Be Human

    Mark Twain once wrote that it is good to be a good person, but it is better to tell people how to be good--"and a damn sight easier!" So much of my life is lived in response to the moment and not in a practiced and cultivated wisdom. I sat here this morning looking...

    Paris: 11/13/15

    It is a sad day for humanity. Another sad day on top of many others happening every day--many in places we hear about only obliquley and sometimes not at all. Paris is that much closer to home for most of us here and in Europe, but freedom and tolerance has to...

    Raccoon

    I’ve stopped the chinks with newspaper and rags wedged tightly against the wind blowing cold three days now. I feed the fire and curse its hissing and steaming mixing green oak with sticks of dried pine calling myself Raccoon grown fat in the suburbs sleeping in...

    Reflecting on Literature

    I am constantly asking my students (and myself) to reflect on the literature they, and I, read. As I have grown older—and not necessarily wiser—I find myself only reading literature that I am sure will prod me out of my intellectual and emotional torpor, like a lizard...

    The Right Side of the Inevitable

      Like birds of a feather, we gather together, 'Cuz they're feeling exactly like you... ~John Prine   I am not afraid of being a white minority. I had lunch today with a Jamaican drummer, a Ugandan farmer, and a Senagalese potter. I don’t say this out of...

    China Journal: Part Three

    III My teachers could have ridden with Jesse James For all the time they stole from me... ~Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America      Today it was a temple built into the mountainside west of West Lake. Mr. Toe drove us out there. In most ways I just follow Rob...

    Supermoon

    Last night the August supermoon reminded me of the fickleness of time and how substance becomes shadow and memories begin to etch themselves immutably into the hardness of what is already lost.

    Yesterday did not become a poem

    Nothing became something else; No thoughts filled my head With wonder or wisdom. Listless sky. Jumbled frames. Fleeting images: Chattering squirrels, Distant rumbling Of rush hour traffic. Today I am more determined, But all that is left Is the promise Of...

    Garden Woman

    I woke today and had my tea
    and at the window spent the morning:
    the same scene I’ve seen so many times
    is each day freshly born;
    from the ground I turn each spring and fall
    come the flowers sweetly blooming;
    you disappear among the weeds—
    you are the garden woman.

    The Small Potato

    Maybe there is a God. I just came home and sat down in the kitchen to grade some papers and input some grades, but the internet is buggy and slow, and I thought, "maybe this is the message" that I am trading my soul for work. I even remember myself  pontificating in...

    Get Back in the Game

    Out on the back porch, not as cold as earlier today, waiting for the storm to arrive in a few hours--curious if I will get that call at 2:00 AM to head out and plow the Concord streets. Most of me hopes for the call; another side of me wants a day stuck at home,...

    Denise

    There is something about coming hometo this empty house, yesterday'sheavy downpours scouringclean the alreadyweathered deckwhere I sitwishing for,wanting,you.

    Redefining Literacy

     My life is the poem I could have writ, But I could not both live and utter it ~Henry David Thoreau    The common man goes to an orchard to taste the fruit. The rich man man learns how to plant his own orchard. The poet, however,  grows an even better fruit and gives...

    When the same thing happens again

    I wonder if God is testing me, giving Me some affable warning Or, perhaps, a more Stern rebuke, replaying A foolish mistake, Rehashing and reminding me Of a harsher possibility. It is only a small 10 mm wrench tightening A loose bolt on the throttle body, slipping...

    Fenn Speaks…

    I am You, and You are me... Give a damn & figure it out        I feel like one of my students: it’s the night before my big presentation at All-school-meeting, and I still don’t know what I am going to talk about. I just know I am supposed to talk about me......

    Marriage & Magnanimity

    If we want to have the freedom to marry whom we want to marry, why is it so important that the state (government) recognise that marriage? Is it simply the expediency of dispensing the entitlements of a marriage certificate: tax benefits, employment benefits, or the...

    Trawler

    Leave the fog stillness
    of a cold harbor town;
    cup our hands
    in the warm diesel sound—
    leave while the children
    are calmed in their dreams
    by light buoys calling:
    “Don’t play around me.”

    The Night Music

    The house is quiet earlier than usual. I can hear Margaret playing her guitar and singing in her bedroom—door closed as she would have it, but still beautiful to hear. It reminds me of Kaleigh when she was younger singing her heart out, as if the world didn't really...

    Practice Doing

    Someday, someone might fire you for not doing what you should have done.    There are some days when a teacher might wonder whether it is worth giving the extra effort if the students are not giving the extra effort. I am lucky--and cursed--that I get to live and...

    Joshua Sawyer

    I doubt I’d ever have taken this road
    had I known how fallen it really was
    to disrepair: driving comically,
    skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
    at every bang on the oil pan.
    I tell you it’s the old road to Wendell —
    that they don’t make them like this anymore.

    The Mystery Within

    EJ wanted a banana tree for Christmas so that early morning brought a plastic bag, a few meager roots and no directions. I bought some potting soil and a square cedar box EJ placed deliberately by a westward window. He gently splayed the roots, pressed the soil, and...

    To a teacher

    This shift from fall to winterIs the cruelest month:Long days and nightsIn a blather of responsibility’s I hoist from a murky holeAnd sort and siftOn a messy desk. I pity my students who trembleMy red pen of vengeance;Who wait with fetid thoughtsFreighted by what they...

    There is in an easiness

    When I begin to think of myself. My girded shell squeezing Oysters in a jar; My oily viscera Jammed and joggled Into impossible places. My pancreas Is never where it should be; My esophagus cut cleanly Swirls in a diaspora. My tongue is a trapped In a tangle of...

    In the unfolding chores

    The day sometimes slip away from me, a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard, the kids old tree fort cut into slabs, a ton of coal waiting to be moved in a train of buckets to the bin. Sipping cold water on the back deck I hear Emma rustling for soccer cleats and...

    Rainmaker

    I loved the rain last night. Last week, in a bow to reality, I reclaimed my gardens and made them into yard. Four of my kids got poison ivy in the process and I (and more "they") got an extra ten feet of width to add to the soccer field--for really that is about the...

    A New Paradigm

         Sometimes, like right now, I long for a pile of papers on my lap that I could speed through, grade with a series of checks and circles, a few scribbled lines of praise or condemnation, and drop into a shoebox on my desk and say, "Here are your essays!" But I...

    Life Outside the Curriculum

    “My teachers could have written with Jesse James for all time they stole from us...” ~Richard Brautigan, “Trout Fishing in America”        My classroom is often a bit of a mess—a mass of sprawled bodies scattered around like casualties of battle, ensconced in various...

    The Tide

    They are building a world and the plastic is fading: Margaret and Eddie's buckets are split, pouring out the warm Atlantic as they race along the tidal flat, filling pools connected by frantically dug canals. Tommy squats naked and screams in guttural joy at the...

    Quit Your Whining

    Anything worth succeeding in is worth failing in~Ben Franklin     "Quit your whining and complaining" is probably a clause that can easily be translated into every language in every culture on earth, for, from what I know and have seen in the world, bitching about...

    Hallows Lake

    Foreward Thanks for taking a look at this "work in progress. It originally started out as an experimental one-man play. Maybe it still will be. Later I thought of making it into a novel, but it's hard to see it happening as there is (intentionally) no real plot, and...

    The Next Time Around

            I wonder what the years have really taught me about writing and music. I have gotten so used to preaching and teaching that I am a bit looped by the thought of writing—as in how I wrote before (or how I will claim I wrote) before settling into this somewhat...

    The Inn

    Every Thursday, for some thirty years, I have been spending this same time each week wrapping up the loose ends of the day before heading down to the inn to play to whomever and whatever shows up. Tonight looks like a fun night: Maroghini will be with me for his last...

    Waiting for a Poem

      It’s not like a poem to come curl by my feet on this morning too beautiful to describe, though I am looking and listening and waiting: A rooster crows above the low hum of morning traffic; the trash truck spills air from brakes and rattles empties into bins; my...

    Dad

    Moaning like a lost whale the thin ice bellowed behind us then cracked and rang as if spit from a whip. The sharp steel of my over-sized skates etched unspeakable joy into the slate-grey, reptilian skin of Walden Pond. Our mismatched hands gripped together in the...

    The Snow

    has dropped a seamlessness before the plows and children can patch it back to a jagged and arbitrary quilting putting borders to design and impulse. I imagine myself falling everywhere softly, whispering, I am here, and I am here.

    Pruning

    These trees have driven so many friends batty, wedged in unstable crotches, embracing hollow, heart-rotted limbs, reaching tentatively, maddened with indecision. From a distance your gestures are very lobsterlike— waving a last embattled claw, as if dueling some...

    Guns, Me, and Rural America

         Sometimes I start writing without knowing where I stand—unsure of even where I stand. I have to trust some innate wisdom or audacity will cull through the bullshit we are all heir to in what Hamlet laments is “this earthly coil” we are forced to face when we wake...

    A Perfect Mirror

    Do not mistake the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself~BuddhaLast night you were so lucky. You didn't have to worry about your grumpy, tired teacher going through hours of journals ands doling out poor grades for what I am sure qualifies for good efforts...

    If you don’t stand, you cower…

         Maybe it is time to be less forgiving. I have rarely agreed with our president, but I held on to the shreds of truth that shore up his arguments: we can’t welcome every immigrant who makes it to our border; we cannot bow to the audacity of corrupt governments in...

    The Most Unoriginal Teacher

    Yes, that's me. I am a fraudster, thief, and plagiarizer of the worst magnitude. I copy the very styles of classic poets; I steal from Noble Laureate novelists, and I copy words from every and any source I can. And even worse, I steal from myself. If you even dare to...

    Contact John Fitzsimmons...and thanks!