Four Strong Winds
Told by:
Alan
This was one of the earliest songs I learned to play on the guitar, together with songs such as Early Morning Rain, Catch the Wind and Don’t Think Twice. They all have their own story, none more important than the others, but this one comes to mind with a quickness that probably means something.
Four Strong Winds is a song of its time – the mid fifties to the mid sixties when folk, especially North American folk, had been all but swept away by the avalanche of pop and rock. Yet, like all great songs, it is diminished by neither time nor fashion. For me, though, it’s time was a particular ‘Skinner time’; a time for the seven siblings of change and confusion, sorrow, new horizons and a bond that remains.
I read recently that Four Strong Winds was voted by Canadians as their nation’s greatest ever song. You could do a lot worse. It’s been covered by so many artists: Ian and Sylvia Tyson, of course, and Johnny Cash, The Brothers Four, The Seekers, Judy Collins, Marianne Faithful, The Searchers, Alison Krauss – even Bob Dylan.
One of my favourite versions is the one by Neil Young, whether with his then-wife, Pegi, or with the wonderful Willie Nelson. We had a version on our Kingston Trio LP, though listening to it again recently it seems a little vapid, and doesn’t do the song justice. A few years ago, it was recorded by another Canadian singer, Jessica Rhaye. Hers is a more folk-pop rendition that nonetheless stills works, testament, I think, to the heart of the song and its simplicity and strength.
It was the late spring or early summer of 1968. We were living in Aloah Street in Bayswater. Now, to say our living room was sparsely furnished would be an understatement. There was carpet on the floor, curtains on the window and… well, not much else.
The living room faced west – though Bayswater being what it was, it failed to look any better no matter from which point of the compass you looked out on it. But at least it meant that in the afternoon, the living room was furnished by both sunlight and the Telefunken stereo unit that was an essential, even life-saving, part of our growing up. During the boat trip over when we migrated in 1964, our parents bought it in Suva. (Fiji being world famous, of course, as the place to go for high-quality German stereo gear.)
So, amid the opulence of Telefunken and sunlight, I was alone in the living room, sitting on a cushion, trying to teach myself Four Strong Winds. Being only 14 at the time, I was still possessed of boundless optimism, modest self-confidence, and a tin ear, so I thought I was making a pretty good fist of it. Then, Kelly walked in, guitar in hand. She didn’t say a word. She simply sat down opposite me and, without trying to change what I was doing, played along with me and singing softly. Before I knew it, she had gone from accompanying me to leading me, the way a ballroom dancer can lead a clumsy partner through a graceful waltz. I think we played it through a couple of times more, then she rose and left the room. There was not one word of criticism, correction or cajoling. It was just a moment of taking her younger brother by the hand and leading him home.
It sems to me that that’s what we were like, we seven brothers and sisters, most especially in the few difficult years that followed.
Things that don’t change, come what may…
