My Mother's Country

by Gavin O'Loghlen & Cotters Bequest

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KOYT TREDHEWI (Cornish language) Golow dres an nos mernans rag mynysenn verr tanyow war’n brenn an taran an tabour Geryow a hanas kepar ha mog adro tan myttin towlow parys ynta rag an vyaj dhe dhos Bedhow a with an eskern a syns an bywnans a dhifres an golow meyn kepar ha lagasow an marow a vir dres an nos Gans faglennow yn dorn proseshyon tanek ha rudh hynsyow dres koeswith ha qwern troesya a wrussyn Res erbynn termyn kepar ha bywnans gyllys mar skon ynkleudh an marow kyns kynsa golowyns an howl Meyn hir ha gorherys a with an bedh a sel an golow enter yn nor an morow wolkomm an nos TRETHEVY QUOIT (English translation) A call in the night a moment’s mortality fires on the hill and the thunder of drums Whispering words swirl like smoke around morning fires plans well prepared for the journey to come. Graves guard the bones hold the life shied the light stones, like the eyes of the dead watch through the night With torches in hand a fiery processional pathways through forest and marshes we trudged A race against time like life, all so quickly gone bury the dead before first rays of light Stones tall and capped guard the grave seal the light enter the world of the dead welcome the night.
HOUSESTEADS - HADRIAN'S WALL - NORTHUMBRIA Shadows creep like wanton children stalk the lantern on the wall here alone I wait at midnight hear the footsteps, hear the calls as the conquered roam amongst the shadows through the trees and countryside while the legions huddle locked in mileposts, trying best to hide. Four years since I joined the legion marched a thousand miles or more scaled the mountains, sailed the oceans watched the lions on distant shores from the farmyards of a Frisian forest now with Thracians, Pans and Gauls here we stand forever, backs together lost on Hadrian’s Wall. Shrouded in mists of midnight, Pictish nations heed the call conquerers locked in mileposts - Pans and Goths and Gauls wrapped in our cloaks of conquest here at Housesteads on the Wall pipes of the Caledonias prophesy our fall - evermore. Campfires flicker ‘neath the ridgeline like a universe of stars sharpened steel and bow string nerves rehearse the carnage, death and scars I’m a Frisian boy on German duty for Roman rule on British soil I’m a simple pawn in a mass deception in someone else’s war. Shrouded in mists of midnight, Pictish nations heed the call conquerers locked in mileposts - Pans and Goths and Gauls wrapped in our cloaks of conquest here at Housesteads on the Wall pipes of the Caledonias prophesy our fall - evermore.
Mont Sen Mighal - (St Michael's Mount) - Cornwall (Cornish language) Blydhen peswar naw pymp seyth marner gesys yn bew moryow serrys hag ebrenn dhuhes ha’n arvor re bell aves rag aga sawya Bysyes yeyn a skravin an ayr goelyow regyes ewyn du desper war legh ni a’n givel ena gans ankov du yn golok ev a’gan gelow tre (English translation) A. D. four ninety five seven sailors left alive raging seas and blackened skies and the coast too far away to save them. Cold fingers claw the air torn sails, black foam, despair on a ledge we see him there with oblivion in sight he calls us home.
Ellan Vannin - Isle of Man So they came from the North seeking conquests and gold with the mists in their eyes and we stood on the shore of this magical Isle hundred times our real size saw the missionaries come from the West gave us God took the snakes and the toads Irish Bishoprics took full control ‘til the Norsemen from King Orry’s Road plundered all. So they came from the East with their tartans and kilts - Alexander’s pipe band and soon Magnus had gone and the haggis installed while the English made plans Aristocracy came from the South and like cards we were dealt to new hands English Earls, Lords and Dukes took control we were bartered, dismembered and banned .... we were sold. (Manx Gaelic language) Fodee'd gaggyrt traie as cashtal fodee'd geeck da ronney vrann cha bee nyn greeyn lhieusyn dy bragh ny'n moyrn ain t'ainyn foastagh. (English translation) They may claim our coasts and castles they may buy their shares of dreams but they will never own our hearts or the pride that dwells within.
Stonehenge - Salisbury Plain - Henge Head bowed, the calm before the storm hollowed eyed and bent await the dawn in my mind I hear the spirits call “all will see”. (Welcome to the journey) Come rest my head come soothe my soul my aching bones rest on this cold, wet soil. The bluestone lies ensnared by rope we slaves entwined chained to a life long yoke. Head bowed, the rope bites into flesh heavy steps, we grind towards our quest hear the voice, the dark approaching death “all will see”. (Welcome to the journey) Prescelly Hills the journey’s start the blackness comes choking my throat and heart. Through season’s change through mountain glen through endless pain and I ask .. for what end?
LLanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch Well he went to school, but he never learnt much reading, writing, geography but his maths was great and he hoped to make university so the day arrived - the examination all hinged on the aural score he was just ahead, final question said how do you spell - oh no! LLanfair....... Well he failed the test, he was devastated no future that he could see so his father said “I’ve a friend of mine who could help maybe” so he got a job with the North Wales Railway seventh station along the line and as his train arrived on his first big day he could read the sign - oh no! LLanfair.......
Dun Trodden - Glenelg Scotland - Broch Somewhere in the darkness I could hear a young voice sigh somewhere in the Sound of Sleat the demons lie with their sleek ships of death with their oars, capes and crests and with sword in hand raised to the sky. Somewhere on a hillside we had seen the broad white sails words and legs had scrambled down to tell our tale that the Romans had come and we children had run from the mountain side down to Gleann Beag. Sometimes words have no meaning sometimes truth sounds like lies sometimes life is believing we are not meant to die. Gathering the young and aged we climbed the stony stairs hiding in the darkness of our own despair while the men, swords in hand from their guard cells made plans for the Roman hoards soon to appear. Sometimes .... Somewhere on a mountain top we heard the battle cry heard the crimson tunic call to slavery as we crouched in the gloom of our Dun Trodden tomb a young voice was heard - “man must be free”. Sometimes .....
Silbury Hill - Wiltshire - Earth Works Dawn of Lugnasadh, season of plenty the children rejoice warm breath of summer, season of lovers and light waist deep in grain, feel the rhythm of flailing the slash, the fall, the knife four seasons spinning unravelling the reasons of life. High on a hilltop circles of white chalk reach up to the sky barrows of earth creep like fingers on ropes up the side higher and higher the white chalk is dyed with the kiss of Mother Earth carries our visions our hopes and intentions, our worth. Silbury Hill what a world we can achieve what a way to meet your needs what a view of life I see these are dreams I can believe. On a hilltop, high emotion where the ley lines run in perfect motion on a hilltop high above all the doubts below feel the wind blow warm and free on my cheek and hair, staring ever onwards to the visions far away as the eye can see. Silbury Hill what a world we can achieve what a way to meet your needs what a view of life I see these are dreams I can believe. On a hilltop man has made with his honest toil and sheer devotion see the patterns come and go of the world below like a top that’s spinning faster as the years slip by and forever after little left to leave this world to mark my time. Silbury Hill what a world we could achieve take our share and meet our needs play our part and live our creed these are dreams I can believe.


A musical voyage through the Celtic areas of Great Britain exploring the ancient monuments of Cornwall, Wales, Scotland, England and The Isle of Man.
This CD is dedicated to the women of my daughter’s families. It takes its inspiration from the Celtic areas of Great Britain and explores the ancient monuments of Cornwall, Wales, Scotland, England and The Isle of Man. It is one Australian’s attempt to understand the mystery and history of the places that shaped those women and so, in turn, my daughter.


released September 1, 1998

Gavin O'Loghlen : Acoustic 6 & 12 string guitars, electric guitars, drums, bass, bodhran, percussion, keyboards, vocoders, programming, Prophet 5, kalimba, highland pipes, low and tin whistles, vocals
Angelee Theodoros : Cello, vocals
Stephanie Graeber : Violin
Suzannah Graeber : Violin
Anne Dormer : Fretless bass, vocals
Harry Theodoros : Accordion
Liesl Warner : Harp
Daniel Seymour : Military snare
Jack Brennan : Uilleann pipes
Lillian James : Cornish translations
David Hathaway : Manx translations
Elen Shute : Welsh pronunciations
Art work and illustrations by Anne Dormer

We would like to sincerely thank : Lillian James and Graham Sandercock for the Cornish translations, David Hathaway and Phil Kelly for the Manx translations, Elen Shute for the Welsh pronunciations; Harry Theodoros, Ian Woods, Diana Hunter for equipment ; Liesl Warner, Jack Brennan, Daniel Seymour for their performances; and my family for their support, patience and endurance.


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Gavin O'Loghlen & Cotters Bequest Australia

Cotters Bequest is a seven piece progressive Celtic band playing 28 instruments including Highland, Uilleann, Northumbrian and Scottish smallpipes, Irish whistles, violin, cello and accordion wrapped in layers of acoustic and electric guitars, vintage keyboards and rich vocal harmonies.

In the style of "a Celtic King Crimson..a Pink Floyd with bagpipes.. with a sprinkling of Peter Gabriel."
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