Monday, 9 November 2009

Harry Safari

Harry Glasson take tourists interested in learning about his home county of Cornwall on tours in his minibus. This is where he came to be known as Harry Safari. However he also writes and performs his own songs, in a folk type style. He has 3 CD's of his own songs all of which are very good. On this website you can find lyrics to his songs and links to other places you might be interested in.


:other lyrics and more Cornish singing.

:information about Harry Safari

:myspace page for Harry Safari

: official website.

Islands of Scilly

Oh beautiful islands of Scilly
Golden sand washed by the sea
These islands of stone
Are the islands of home
You always are calling to me
And wherever I travel
In this world wherever I roam
There's none can compare
To those Islands so fair
The islands of Scilly my home

St Agnes, Bryher and Tresco
Samson, St Marys and Gugh
Islands apart
But here in my heart
I'm always thinking of you
From the day mark that stands
On St martins
To the bishop that stands to the west
In the clear summer light
Or a rough winters night
It's the way I remember you best

Terraced fields of the spring flowers
Your heather clad hills in the fall
I'll be thinking of you
Out there in the blue
In the west wind, I hear you call
You stand out there in the Atlantic
A beautiful fortress alone
And though far and wide
Your folks may abide
The islands of Scilly are home

Oh beautiful islands of Scilly
Golden sand washed by the sea
These islands of stone
Are the islands of home
You always are calling to me
And wherever I travel
In this world wherever I roam
There's none can compare
To those Islands so fair
The islands of Scilly my home

Monday, 2 November 2009

Simple Pleasures

Simple pleasures like a pasty in the hand,
While you sit and watch the fulmar swoop and glide.
With your children building castles in the sand,
See a fishing boat returning on the tide.


Someday when I'm older, when I'm wise,
And maybe passing time will dim my eyes.
It's memories like these I'll call to hand,
The memories of a simple Cornish man.

To hear a lark sing high up on the moor.
The perfumed honeysuckle in the lane.
To stand and watch a mewing buzzard soar,
Just walking in the gentle summer rain.


Simple pleasures like a little fall of snow,
That turns the barbed wire fences into lace.
Sitting talking in the flickering candle glow,
As the dancing shadows play across her face


The dog that curls itself around your toes,
When that eastern wind blows underneath your door.
A frosty morning nipping at your nose,
As you walk across the winter Sennen Shore.


Bury Me When I Die

Bury me when I die
Upon a hillside high
So that I can look down from above
To the meadow and the moor
And the craggy Cornish shore
That surrounds this granite county that I love

Where the old mine chimneys rise
And are pointing to the sky's
Where the gorse is blooming golden in the spring
Where bronze age men of old
Built their shelters from the cold
On that hillside where the meadow larks will Sing


Where the kestrels glide the breeze
And the busy honey bees
On the perfumed autumn heather get their fill
Where the evening sun will shine
On the yellow Celandine
Please bury me right up there on the hill


And from my lofty perch
I will look out ore the church
To the harbour lights reflected in the sea
Where the fishing boats will ride
Bobbing gently on the tide
Please up there on the hillside bury me


On the hillside I shall hear
The hymns I hold so dear
From the chapel in the valley down below
Oh how happy I shall be
Nearer my god to thee
On the hillside, in the Cornwall, I love so.

Harry's Song For Cornwall

When I sing of Cornwall,
It's one way to begin,
To tell the story of the men,
Of copper, fish and tin.
From the sea that's all around us,
To way below the ground,
The memory of these mighty men,
Is gathered all around.

So let's hear it for Trelawney,
May his army never die.
Let's hear it for Trevithick,
With his engine steaming by.
Let's hear it for the farmers,
and for the fishermen.
Let's hear it for the miners,
Who we hope will mine again.

Oh from the engine houses,
That lay scattered 'round Carn Brea,
To the white St Austell landscape,
Sculpted in the china clay.
From the harbours here at Newlyn,
At Portreath and at Looe.
The lighthouse on the Wolf Rock,
Proves what Cornishmen can do.


Cornish past is mighty,
It was built by mighty men,
And as Cornishmen we yearn,
For those times to come again.
Or do we let our mining,
And our fishing 'round us fall,
Not if we stick together,
In our motto, "One And All".

Now when you cross the Tamar,
Into this promised land,
There's one thing to remember,
One thing to understand.
That Cornwall's not a county,
Just sited in the west.
That Cornwall is a country,
The land we love the best.


Monday, 12 October 2009

Cornwall My Home

I've stood on Cape Cornwall in the sun's evening glow,
On Chywoone Hill at Newlyn to watch the fishing fleets go,
Watched the sheave wheels at Geevor as they spun around
And heard the men singing as they go underground.

And no one will ever move me from this land
Until the Lord calls me to sit at his hand.
For this is my Eden, and I'm not alone.
For this is my Cornwall and this is my home.

I've left childish footsteps in the soft Sennen sand,
I've chased the maids there, all giggly and tanned.I
've stood on the cliff top in a westerly blow
And heard the wave thunder on the rocks far below.

First thing in the morning, on Chapel Carn Brea
And gaze at the Scillies in the blue far away.
For this is my Cornwall, and I'll tell you why
Because I was born here and here I shall die.

Chorus(repeat last line of the chorus)