Heather Ale
After the ballad of Robert Louis Stevenson
directed by Irina Gurvich written by Tadeush Pavlenko art director Genrikh Umanskiy
camera Anatoliy Gavrilov artist A. Vadov animator Adolf Pedan
music A. Muha sound I. Moyzhes Ballad is read by A. Layevskiy
script editor Vladimir Gaidai montage O. Deryazhnaya, ass. Ye. Dyomkina, A. Muhin, production director Ivan Mazepa
The creative association of art animators Kiev Studio for Popular Science Film 1974
From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long-syne,
Was sweeter far than honey, Was stronger far than wine.
Stronger far than wine...
The heather ale forgotten A long, long time ago.
A long, long time ago ...
They brewed it and they drank it, And lay in a blessed swound
For days and days together In their dwellings underground.
Their dwellings underground.
There came a king most cruel, A fell man to his foes,
The Brewsters died in battle, He hunted them like roes.
Upon a field of heather He hunted as they fled,
And strewed the dwarfish bodies Of the dying and the dead.
Summer came in the country, Red was the heather bell;
But the manner of the brewing Was none alive to tell.
None alive to tell... None alive to tell...
The king rode, and was angry, Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather And lack the Heather Ale.
Lack the Heather Ale... Lack the Heather Ale...
It fortuned that his vassals, Riding free on the heath,
Espied the last two Brewsters, The last two that yet breathed.
The two to a steep sea-side For questioning were brought,
But neither of the captives Would speak a single word.
Would speak a single word...
The king remarked with anger: "We'll maim your bodies frail,
If ye not tell, ye vermin, the secret of the ale."
We'll maim your bodies frail...
Father and son were silent, And they looked high and low;
The heather was red around them, The sea rumbled below.
Father and son were silent...
Then up and spoke the father, Shrill was his voice to hear:
"I have a word in private, A word for the royal ear.
Life is a little matter, And death is nought to the young;
And I dare not sell my honour Under the eye of my son.
Take him, O king, and bind him, And cast him far in the deep;
And it's I will tell the secret That I have sworn to keep.
Now in vain is the torture, Fire shall never avail:
In my bosom here will die The secret of Heather Ale
The Heather Ale forgotten A long, long time ago...
The End Subs by Eus & Niffiwan after Russian subs & original ballad