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|Listen to the song: "The Age of the Grand Carousel"
Info about the artists and the song
Folks Together Homepage
|The Age of the Grand Carousel
|The dobby horse lives by the sound of the bell,
Always at ready, we know our job well.
So sit down and listen to the story I'll tell
About the days of the Grand Carousel.
|I'll speak of a time, an earlier day,
When side-wheeling steamers cruised up the bay;
Families would come for a bright holiday
And ride on the Grand Carousel.
|The fine ladies dressed in satin and lace,
The children in knickers, with dirt on their face,
Perpetual motion whirling through space;
A ride on the Grand Carousel.
|They would go for a ride on the Grand Carousel,
Floating over the ground;
The world hasn't changed on the Grand Carousel,
It keeps going around and around,
As the horses go up and go down.
|So turn around, slow it down, hard on the rein,
Frozen forever, so to remain, as a child,
They cling to the mane and promise to savor it well,
Their ride on the Grand Carousel.
|The park is a memory, the midway long gone,
Saplings grow wild where rides once belonged;
But, there, like a goddess minding the bay,
Stands the Grand Carousel
|It calls them together, the young and the grey,
To build on the legacy in their own way,
To sample the style of an earlier day,
The age of the Grand Carousel.
|-- Jeff & Donna Olson
|I like folk music, especially when it has the ethereal, haunting quality
that a beautiful voice and poignant lyrics can produce. Such songs
can be very personal to us, can elicit emotions about things long
forgotten. And especially about things that are no more.
|Unlike the subject of this song, the carousel at New Orleans' Pont-
chartrain Beach amusement park wasn't "grand." But, it was one
of my favorite places when I was a chld.
|In 1983, on the last day the park was open, the final ride on the roller
coaster set off at 11:30 p.m. and, in typical New Orleans fashion,
a Jazz funeral was held at midnight, according to a newspaper
article, "laying Pontchartrain Beach and its memories to rest."
|It's true, they laid the park to rest. No more rides, no more midway.
The dobby horses no longer gallop to the music of the calliope.
|But, in the hearts of those who once savored those magical carousel
moments, the horses go around still. And always will. -- Nancy
|And, like the park in these lyrics, Pontchartrain's "midway is long
gone and saplings grow wild where rides once belonged." Maybe
that's why I found the song so touching.
|(There's a link to an MP3 of the song at the bottom of the page.)