Mill race
A mill race, millrace or millrun is the current of water that turns a water wheel, or the channel (sluice) conducting water to or from a water wheel. Compared to the broad waters of a mill pond, the narrow current is swift and powerful. The race leading to the water wheel on a wide stream or mill pond is called the head race (or headrace), and the race leading away from the wheel is called the tail race (or tailrace).
A mill race has many geographically specific names, such as leat, lade, flume, goit, penstock. These words all have more precise definitions and meanings will differ elsewhere. The original undershot waterwheel, described by Vitruvius was a run of the river wheel placed so a fast flowing stream would press against and turn the bottom of a bucketed wheel. In the first meaning of the term, the millrace was the stream; in the sense of the word, there was no channel, so no race.
As technology advanced, the stream was dammed forming a weir. This increased the head of water. Behind the weir was the millpond, or lodge. The water (millrace) was channelled to the waterwheel by a sluice or millrace- this was the head race. From the waterwheel, the water was channelled back to the stream by a sluice known as the tail race. When the tail race from one mill led to another mill where it acted as the head race this was known as the mid race. The level of water in the millrace could be controlled by a series of sluice gates.
Podcasts:
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by Emmylou Harris
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by Cinema Strange
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by Domenico Modugno
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by Terrace Martin
1917
by: Emmylou HarrisThe strange young man who comes to me
A soldier on a three day spree
Who needs one night's cheap ecstasy
And a woman's arms to hide him
He greets me with a courtly bow
And hides his pain by acting proud
He drinks too much and he laughs too loud
How can I deny him?
Let us dance beneath the moon
I'll sing to you, "Claire de Lune'
The morning always comes too soon
But tonight the war is over
He speaks to me in schoolboy French
Of a soldier's life inside a trench
Of the look of death and the ghastly stench
I do my best to please him
He puts two roses in a vase
Two roses sadly out of place
Like the gallant smile on his haggard face
Playfully I tease him
Hold me neath the Paris skies
Let's not talk of how or why
Tomorrow's soon enough to die
But tonight the war is over
We make love too hard too fast
He falls asleep his face a mask
He wakes with the shakes and he drinks from his flask
I put my arms around him
They die in the trenches and they die in the air
In Belguim and France the dead are everywhere
They die so so fast there's no time to prepare
A decent grave to surround them
Old world glory old world fame
The old worlds gone gone up in flames
Nothing will ever be the same
And nothing lasts forever
Oh I'd pray for him but I've forgotten how
And there's nothing, nothing that can save him now
But there's always another with the same funny bow
And who am I to deny them
Lux aeterna, Luce-at e-is
Domine cum sanctic tu-is in aeternum
Qui-a pius es
Requiem aeternaum dona e-is Domine
Qui-a pius es
Tonight the war is over
Requiem aeternaum dona e-is Domine
Qui-a pius es
Et lux perpetua luce-at- e-is Cum sancris tu-is in
Aeternum qui-api-us es