Johnny Blue’s Well
Back in 2016, I took part in my first ‘Vox Session’ at HMP Castle Huntly — Scotland’s only ‘open prison’, where people are prepared for release. Vox Sessions are 2 or 3 day songwriting workshops with people caught up in or affected by the criminal justice system; they’re run by Vox Liminis. I’ve had the privilege of being part of many Vox sessions since. On this occasion, our them was ‘reentry’ (a term used to refer to the process of leaving prison and returning home). The session was being led by Alison Urie and Graeme McKerrachar, with the song-writing expertise provided by Louis Abbott, Donna Macocia and Findlay Napier. Louis helped me out with the lyric writing, and Alison also advised on the music.
Johnny Blue’s Well is based on a childhood memory of running away around the age of about 8. As I recall it, my best friend John and I used to sometimes grow frustrated with the (doubtless trivial) injustices of family life. Sharing those frustrations, we’d conspire to run away to freedom from the tyranny of parents and elder siblings.
Rather than packing our bags and sneaking off, we’d share our plans with our mums -- aiming, I suppose, to punish them with the knowledge that they had driven us away. Looking back, I guess they too must have conspired (more amused than concerned?) since, in our separate houses, they provided packed lunches and helped us pack our bags. This was not, I should stress, because they were callous. Rather, it was because they knew we’d be home in time for tea, much the better for exhausting our grievances through our adventures. The pattern became so familiar that these outings were referred to as our ‘run away for a day’ scheme.
The verses of the song reflect the typical narrative arc of our adventures. We left energized by whatever new slight we had suffered and excited by the prospect of an open road and an uncertain, undetermined, unsupervised future. The route was immediately uphill -- into the hilly farmlands that bordered our 60s housing estate -- and, in my memories, the sun was always shining warmly. We tired quickly but not so quickly that we didn’t get to our usual destinations; the darkest corners of Arthurlie Park, the summit of the Craigie, or, as in this song, Johnny Blue’s Well (more of which below).
In verse 2, I seem to cast John as the more reluctant runaway, but I suspect that’s just an echo of my 8-year-old ego: I always saw him as the Little John to my Robin Hood.
The third and fourth verses reflect our predictable sense of unease and disenchantment as our resolve melted like chocolate or soured like the plastic cheese ‘pieces’ (meaning sandwiches) in their Tupperware boxes. By the time we had eaten our lunches, the freedom was already weighing too heavily on our hands. We never had a plan for the next step: where to go, what to do, where the next meal might come from, where we might sleep that night?
And then comes the cleg (Scots for ‘horsefly’) and its painful bite, sucking away the last of the poisonous rage in my blood and making me want my mum and all that she represented: comfort, security, love, home -- and the promise of meat and two veg.
After writing the song, I googled ‘Johnny Blue’s Well’, curious to know the origin of the name. Local legend has it that Johnny was a worker in one of the cloth-dyeing works in Neilston. He stopped at the well every day to wash away the blue dye stains before heading home to his sweetheart.
Johnny lost his stain; John and me walked off our rage -- and all of us found our way home. But we did that through being freed from the confinements of work or home. And our rages and stains were trivial, so our reentries were as swift and easy as our exits had been. We were welcomed with ‘open homes, open arms’ (to quote another song).
So, it’s not the same as ‘prisoner reentry’, except maybe that it reflects somehow on some of the things that drive us away; some of the mixed feelings associated with being away; and some of the things that draw us home, if we can get back there.
Last Friday night, I had the privilege of playing a support slot for Yvonne Lyon at Cottiers Theatre in Glasgow, with Alison on BVs and Les Back on dobro steel guitar. It was a glorious evening — it felt like the perfect place to share my songs, and the perfect audience to share them with; and, of course, I had a ring-side seat for Yvonne and her band’s stellar performance. Brian Doig filmed us performing Johnny Blue’s Well. If you’d like to watch it, you can find it here:
Lyrics
The gate latch metal slaps behind us
Creosote air, the wind in our hair, blowing
Carefully packed, rages intact
And we are never, never going back
The long hill, heat spills on Tarmac
Burnt feet, sweat beads, soul aching
Come on now John, the job’s nearly done
And we are never, never going back
The chocolate melt rung bells of summer
Plastic cheese pieces ripen… sour
Tupperware smells at Johnny Blue's well
And we are never, never going back
Wings whirr, sick stirs inside me
The tickled neck; a black cleg plugging me
Drawing my blood: Oh Jesus, this sucks
Come on John, I think I'm going back [home].
(c) Fergus McNeill 2023