Come Write me Down

Come write me down, thy powers above.
Which first created man to love.
For I have a diamond in my eye.
Where all my joys and pleasures lie.

I'll give you gold, I'll give you pearls.
If you can fancy me, my girl.
And costly robes too you shall wear.
If you can fancy me, my dear.

Oh it's not your gold shall me entice.
To leave my pleasures for to be a wife.
For I never do intend at all.
To be at any young man's call.

Then go your way you scornful dame.

If you be cruel then I'll be the same.
For I care not but I shall find.
Another fair maid unto my mind.

Now stay young man be not in haste.
You seem afraid that your time you'll waste
Let reasons unroll your roaming mind.
And unto you I will prove kind.

          So to church they went that very next day
          And were married by asking, as I heard say.
          So now that girl she is his wife,
          She will prove his comfort day and night.
When Mabs and Gordon were recorded singing this song Gordon finished with this verse, albeit under his breath. Mabs maintained she had never known the verse.

(Roud 5377). This song has hardly ever turned up in the oral tradition: in fact the only two recordings that seem to exist are this one from Mabs and another of Gordon singing it. Notes in the Roud index indicate that it appears as number 364 in the Such (of London) catalogue of broadsides. It actually appears under the title Study Economy and starts with the opening verse:

          I'm a gent reduced by Railway speculation.

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Royal George

As we set sail from the Rock of Gibraltar.
As we set sail from sweet Dublin Bay.
Oh little did we think of our sad misfortune.

Sleeping on the briny sea.

There was one poor woman a-living in the city.

As soon as she heard her husband was dead.

It would fill your poor old poor heart with grief and pity.

To hear what this poor woman said.

She said: "I'll go and search for me own true lover.

I'll go and search the oceans a-round.

And if my own true lover I do not discover.

All in some salt seas I'll drown."
 

'Twas on the Royal George I met my misfortune.

Sleeping on the briny sea.

Oh little did we think of our sad misfortune.

Sleeping on the briny sea.

There were fourteen hundred men, women and children.

Only four got safe on shore.

Oh little did we think of our sad misfortune.

She went down and was seen no more.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Old John Brown

Now old John Brown was a worn out clown, a clever clown he'd been.

He saved enough to raise a pub, somewhere in Kensal Green.

He never forgot the tricks he done, to earn his daily bread.

And now and then a fit came on, he'd stand upon his head.

The nearest neighbour to old Brown, was a widow Mrs Birch.

He proposed and she said, "Yes." and they toddled off to church.

A parson shouted out, "Oh my!" and the people they did stare.

For there was Brown upside down with his legs sticking up in the air.

(Roud 3354). Mike Yates recorded Oxfordshire's Freda Palmer singing 'Billy Brown' in 1974 (see MTCD 333 The Birds Upon the Tree) which should not be confused with Harry Fragson's Music Hall song which has the same title but a totally different word set and tune. Although the song here is of Music Hall origin it has not turned up often in the oral tradition. In 1981 Ian Russell recorded Arthur Howard of Hazelhead, South Yorkshire, singing Old Jepson Brown. Its opening line is 'Now Jepson Brown were a worn-out clown, but a careful clown 'e'd been' and is obviously derived from the same song. His version has continued to be sung in the area by Will Noble who picked it up from Arthur at a hunt singing session near Holmfirth. The only other recording that has turned up is in the Helen Creighton collection in Nova Scotia, where she recorded Johnson Brown's Baby from Will McQueen of Tatamagouche in 1953. Again the opening line is 'Old Johnson Brown was a worn out clown'.

Song transcribed by John Howson

A Fair Maid walking in the Garden

A fair maid walking in the garden.

A brisk young sailor was standing by.

He stepped up to her, thinking for to view her.

And he said, "My dear, can you fancy I?"

"Oh I have a sweetheart of my own sir.

And seven years he's been gone to sea.

And seven more I will wait for him.

If he's alive he'll return to me."

"Seven long years make great alterations.

Your true love he may be dead and gone.

Or he may be crossing the ocean.

To Botany Bay or where e're he's bound."

"If he's alive I love him dearly.

And if he's dead I hope he's at rest.

For no other man shall e're enjoy me.

Single I'll go to my silent grave."

He put his hand into his bosom.

His fingers being so long and small.

Showed her the ring that was broke between them.

And when she saw it she down did fall.

He picked her up all in his arms.

He gave her kisses, one, two or three.

Saying, " I am your single sailor.

Whose just returned for to marry thee."

Song transcribed by John Howson

My Old Wife’s a Good Old Creature

Oh my old wife's a good old creature.

My old wife's a good old soul.

Every morning for me breakfast.

She gives me good toast and roll.

Chorus:

Oh my old wife's a good old creature.

My old wife's a good old soul.

Every morning for me breakfast.

She gives me good toast and roll.

And at night when work is over.

She brings me 'bacca and me beer.

So you see I lives in clover.

Ain't my wife a good old dear.

(Chorus)

When now and then it will happen.

I gets beery, even then.

She never says a cross word to me.

But welcomes me with, "Well done Ben!"

(Chorus)

Now when matter runs contrary.

She sidles up so droll and kind.

Give me a buss and gentle whispers.

"Did um vex him? Never mind."

(Chorus)

Now some folks lives in finer houses.

Some folks lives off daintier cheer.

But none of 'em has got such spouses.

No such 'bacca, no such beer.

(Chorus)

Now some folks lives off higher incomes.

Some folks got a lot more gear.

But none of them has got such loving.

As meself and my old dear.

(Chorus)

Song transcribed by John Howson

Ginny Jones

I came to see poor Ginny Jones.

Ginny Jones, Ginny Jones.

I came to see poor Ginny Jones.

On a cold and frosty morning.

Ginny Jones is washing.

Washing, washing.

Ginny Jones is washing.

You can't see her now.

I'll go away. I'll go away.

I'll come back some other day.

I come to see poor Ginny Jones.

On a cold and frosty morning.

Ginny Jones is goffering.

Goffering, goffering.

Ginny Jones is goffering.

You can't see her now.

I came to see poor Ginny Jones.

Ginny Jones, Ginny Jones.

I came to see poor Ginny Jones.

On a cold and frosty morning.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Poor Joe the Marine

Joe, the marine, was in Portsmouth well known.
No lad in the corps dressed so smart.
The lasses never looked on the youth with a frown.
For his manliness won every heart.
Sweet Polly of Portsey he took for his bride.
And sure the like never was seen.
The couple so gay marched to church, side by side.
It was Polly and Joe the marine.

It was Polly and Joe.

It was Polly and Joe the marine.

The orders had come for a fight at the foe.

And the thundering guns they did rattle.

When Joe in an instant was forced to the front.

For to fight the most enemies battle.

When the fight it was over.

And homeward they steered.

How soon they found Portsmouth in sight.

The place was surrounded, each hero to greet.

And the form of sweet Polly was seen.

And the very first sailor she chanced for to meet.

Told the fate of poor Joe the marine.

Told the fate of poor Joe.

Told the fate of poor Joe the marine.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Still I Love him

Oh when I was single I wore a plaid shawl.
But after I married I had none at all.
 

Chorus:
But still I love him.
I can’t deny him.
I’ll go /bide with him
Wherever he goes.

He’s got lots of money, he has a free heart.
Wherever he goes he can get a sweetheart.
(Chorus)

He stands on the corner, for me looking out.
With his hands in his pocket, his shirt hanging out.
(Chorus)

He hits me and kicks me and gives me black eyes.
He swears I go boozing with blokes on the sly.
(Chorus)

(Roud 654). Ewan MacColl & Peggy Seeger published a version of this in their book ‘Travellers' Songs from England and Scotland’ (London, 1977) along with the following comment: “This is probably one of the most frequently reported songs in the British Isles and, undoubtedly, one of the least printed. Texts show considerable regional variation, though the refrains remain consistent and most versions retain the stanza which begins, ‘When I was single I wore a black shawl’. This would seem to indicate a relationship with The Joyful Maid and Sorrowful Wife, a song in which a wife's loss of youth and freedom are symbolically represented through juxtaposed items from her premarital and post marital wardrobe”. For a text of The Joyful Maid and the Sorrowful Wife, see Sam Cowell's ‘120 Comic Songs’ (London, 1850) or Dave Harker's ‘Songs from the Manuscript Collection of John Bell’ (Durham, 1985). Other recorded versions include Johnny Doughty from Sussex on VTC6CD It Was on a Market Day - One and Aberdeenshire traveller Stanley Robertson on EICD003 ‘Rum Scum Scoosh’.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Salonika

Oh me husband's in Salonika.

I wonder if he's dead.

I wonder if he knows he's got.

A kid with a foxy head.

Chorus:
So right away, so right away.
So right away, Salonika, right away.

Me soldier boy.

Now, when the war is over.
What will the soldiers do?
They'll be walking around with a leg in their hand.

The slackers they'll have two.
(Chorus)

Now, when the war is over.
What will the slackers do?
They'll be hanging around the soldiers.

For the loan of a bob or two.

(Chorus)

Now, they've taxed our pound of butter.

They've taxed our ha'penny bun.

But still with all their taxes.

They can't beat the bloody Hun.

(Chorus)

Now, they've taxed the Coliseum.

They've taxed St Mary's Hall.

Why don't they tax the bobbies.

With their backs against the wall?

(Chorus)

Well, now when the war is over.

What will the slackers do?

For every kid in America.

In Cork there will be two.

(Chorus)

Now, they take us out to Blarney.

And they lays us on the grass.

They puts us in the family way.

And they leave us on our arse.
(Chorus)

Now, never marry a soldier.
A sailor or a marine.
Just keep your eye on the Sinn Fein boy.

With his orange, white and green.

(Chorus)

(Roud 10513). The Greek port of Salonika (or Thessaloníki to use its proper name) lies to the west of the Dardanelles, and was used in 1915 by the British Army as a base from which to transport troops to Gallipoli. The song probably originated in Co. Cork and was published in Tomas O' Canainn's ‘Songs of Cork’ (Gilbert Dalton 1978). It became popular with the British Army during the First World War as many recruits came from Ireland. The song seems to be more concerned with what will happen when the troops return home from the fighting rather than an actual battle. Roy Palmer in his book ‘What a Lovely War!’ (Michael Joseph 1990) suggests that the reference to Sinn Fein in the final verse was added later. In recent years this song has had a resurgence amongst Irish singers with probably the most stirring rendition coming from Cork's own Jimmy Crowley.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Ripest Apples

Ripest apples soon gets rotten.

Hottest love it soon gets cold.

Young man's love is soon forgotten.

Since the girls have been so bold.

Twenty, eighteen, sixteen, fourteen.

Twelve, ten, eight, six, four, two, none.

Nineteen, seventeen, fifteen, thirteen.

Eleven, nine, seven, five, three and one.

Though I never went to college, but I heard the poet say:

Twenty, eighteen, sixteen, fourteen, twelve, ten,  eight, six, four, two, none.

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Dumb Wife

Now there was a country blade and he loved a country maid.
And he softly conducted her home, home, home.
She was neat in every part and she pleased him to his heart.
But still the poor old lassie she was dumb, dumb, dumb.

So, to the doctor then they went and he cut her chattering string.
And she rattled in his ears like a drum, drum, drum.
So he prayed both day and night, and he wished with all his might.
That he could make a scolding woman hold her tongue, tongue, tongue.

(Roud 434 - Laws Q5). Although versions of The Dumb Maid are known to have been printed on 17th century Blackletter broadsides, the song's subsequent popularity was no doubt due to its frequent appearance on 19th century ballad sheets. Robert Ford printed a version in his ‘Vagabond Songs and Ballads of Scotland’ (Paisley, 1904) with the note that it was, “sung in Perthshire when I was a very small boy, and which has not escaped my memory since.” It turns up again in Scotland in the Grieg-Duncan manuscripts where there are two versions, one from George F. Duncan collected in 1906 and the other from Mrs Margaret Gillespie collected in 1905. In England it was printed in London by Pitts, Catnach, Fortey, Such and Pigott, and elsewhere by Sergeant (Preston), Bloomer (Birmingham) and Hurd (Shaftesbury) but doesn't turn up in many traditional singers' repertoires, the exception being Oxfordshire's Freda Palmer who had a much fuller song with seven verses. She was recorded by Mike Yates in 1975 and her version is included in Everyman's Book of English Country Songs by Roy Palmer (Dent in 1979).

Song transcribed by John Howson

We Won’t go Home until the Morning /Push the Business On

All the while we can get beer and grub.

We won't go home from Chailey club.

We won’t go home 'til the morning, 'til daylight doth appear.

'Til daylight does appear.

'Til daylight does appear.

We won’t go home 'til the morning.

We won’t go home 'til the morning.

We won’t go home 'til the morning, when daylight does appear.

We'lI hire a horse and steal a gig.

And all the world shall have a jig.

And I'll do all that ever I can to push the business on.
To push the business on.
To push the business on.

We'lI hire a horse and steal a gig.

And all the world shall have a jig.

And I'll do all that ever I can to push the business on.

The second was a popular singing game amongst school children at the turn of twentieth century and there are reports of it still being played as late as 1969. In ‘The Singing Game’ by Iona and Peter Opie (Oxford University Press 1985) it describes the movements thus: “The dancers hold hands in a ring, boy girl alternately, and circle round. At 'Push the Business on' the boys turn to the girl on their left and clap hands three times. During the repetition the partners dance round together, and during the last two lines the girls are passed to the right of each boy, so that everyone has a new partner for the next turn.”

(Roud 854). It is likely that the Romans or Benedictine monks introduced lavender to England before the Norman Conquest and it was regarded as a safeguard against evil. Traditionally, a cross was made from lavender and hung over the door for protection. It was also thought to ward off the plague and glove makers in London who used lavender oil to scent their leather were remarkably free of the disease. The street cries of lavender hawkers have now become an iconic image of London although they don't often appear in folk song collections. Lucy Broadwood and J. A. Fuller Maitland did include two short Lavender Cries in ‘English County Songs’ and one is credited as being sung in Kensington about 1880. A version recorded from Bill Ellson of Edenbridge, Kent is included in ‘Traveller's Joy’ (EFDSS 2006) and on TSCD661 ‘My Father is the King of the Gypsies’. Phoebe Smith's husband Joe sings a version on VT136CD The Yellow Handkerchief’.

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Outlandish Knight

An Outlandish Knight came from the North land.

And he came a courting of she.

And he pledged he would take her unto the North land.

And there they would married be.

Go get me some of your father's gold.

Some of your mother's dowry.

And two fine steeds from your father's stable.

Where there stand thirty and three.

She's purloined some of her father's gold.

Some of her mother's dowry.

And two fine steeds from her father's stable.

Where there stands thirty and three.

She's mounted on the milk white mare.

He on the (entire?) bay.

And they rode 'til they came to the salt water side.

Six hours before it was day.

A light, a light my pretty fair maid.

And deliver it all onto me.

For it's six foolish virgins I have drown-ed her.

And the seven one you shall be.

Take off, take off, your fine silken gown.

And deliver it over to me.

For it's six foolish virgins I have drown-ed here.

And the seven one you shall be.

Take off, take off, your fine Holland stays.

And deliver them over to me.

For I really do think they're too fine and too gay.

For to rot all in the salt sea.

Take off, take off your fine silken hose.

And deliver them over to me.

For I dearly do think they're too fine and too gay.

For to rot all in the salt sea.

If I'm to take off my gay clothing.

Pray turn your back upon me.

For I really do think that a roughen like you.

A bare suck-ed women should see.

He's turned his back upon the fair maid.

He's turn-ed his back upon she.

And she's caught him around the middle so neat.

And she's tumbled him into the sea.

He's dipp-ed high, he's dipp-ed low.

He's swam unto the side.

Take hold of my hand my pretty fair maid.

And thou shall be my bride.

Lay there, lay there, thou false hearted knight.

Lay there instead of me.

For it's six foolish virgins thou has drown-ed here.

And the seventh have drown-ed thee.

She's mount on the milk white mare.

And led the (entire?) bay.

And she's rode 'til she came to her own father's hall.

Two hours before it was day.

She's return-ed all of her father's gold.

And all of her mother's dowry.

And the two fine steeds to her father's stable.

Where now stood thirty and three.

The parrot being in the window so high.

And hearing the lady did say.

"I thought that some roughen had led you astray.

You being so long away."

"Don't prittle, nor prattle my pretty Polly.

Nor tell any tales upon me.

And your cage shall be of the bright glistering gold.

And your perch of the white ivory."

Her father being in his widow so high.

And hearing the parrot did say.

What ails thee, what ails thee,  my pretty parrot.

That you make so much noise before day.

"'Tis no laughing matter." says pretty Polly.

"'Tis no laughing matter." said she.

For the cats have got in through the window so high.

And I fear that they will have me.

"Well turned, Well turned my pretty parrot.

Well turn-ed up for me.

Now your cage shall be of the bright glistering gold.

And your perch of the white ivory."

Song transcribed by John Howson

William Taylor

If you rise up early in the morning.

Just before the break of day.

You will see young William Taylor.

Walking with his lady gay.

Oh she's handsome and she's pretty.

She's a girl from London city.

She came courting one, two, three.

Pray will you tell, who it may be.

Billy Taylor says he loves her.

All the boys are fighting for her.

Let them say just what they will.

Old Billy Taylor loves her still.

William Taylor, bold young sailor.

Just come courting a lady gay.

William Taylor bold young sailor

William Taylor is his name.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Polly Perkins

I am a broken-hearted milkman, in despair led arrayed.
By keeping the company of a young servant maid.
Who lived on board wages, for to keep the house clean.
In a gentleman's family near Paddington Green.

Refrain:

She was as beautiful as a butterfly and as proud as a Queen.
Was my pretty little Polly Perkins from Paddington Green.

Oh I rattle in the morning and I cry "Milk below".
At the sound of my milk pales a fair face would show.
With a smile upon her countenance and a laugh in her eye.
If I thought she hadn't love me, I'd laid down and died.
(Refrain)

Now I ask her to marry me, she said "Oh what stuff".
And told me to drop it, for she'd had quite enough.
Of my nonsense... At the same time, I had been very kind.
But to marry a poor milkman she did not feel inclined.
(Refrain)

But in six months she married, she was a hard-hearted girl.
It was not to a Viscount, it was not to an Earl.
It was not to Baronite, but a thousand times worse.
It was a bandy legged conductor of a tuppenny bus.
(Refrain)

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Horsham Ram

As I went down to Horsham.

'Twas on a market day.

I spied the biggest ram sir.

That ever was fed on hay.

Refrain:

Oh it's a lie, a lie, a lie, sir.

So ringle, dingle ding.

Oh it's a lie. Oh it's a lie.

So ringle, dingle ding.

Now this ram was fat behind sir.

This ram was fat before.

This ram was ten miles high sir.

If not a little more.

(Refrain)

Now the butcher that killed this ram sir.

Was in danger of his life.

He was up to his knees in blood sir.

And called for a larger knife.

(Refrain)

Now all the boys of Horsham sir.

Came begging for his eyes.

To kick about the lanes sir.

For they was football size.

(Refrain)

Now all the girls of Horsham.

Came begging for his ears.

To make them leather aprons of.

To last them forty years.

(Refrain)

Now this ram he had some horns sir.

Would reach up to the moon.

A man went up in January.

He didn't get back 'til June.

(Refrain)

Now the fleece upon that ram sir.

It weighed a million pound.

It took three hundred thousand men.

To carry it out of town.

(Refrain)

Now the tail upon that ram sir.

Was longer than any pole.

And every time he wagged his tail.

He showed his ..........

(Refrain)

Now the hide upon that ram sir.

It was so thick and stout.

Made a million pair of (har?) boots.

For to kit the militia out.

(Refrain)

Now the stones upon that ram sir.

They was so big and round.

Took all the girls of Horsham.

For to roll them out of town.

(Refrain)

Now the clutter on that ram sir.

Was ten yards and a (nell?)

They took it over to Canterbury.

To ring Tom Beckett's bell.

(Refrain)

Now the men that owned this ram sir.

Was counted very rich.

But the man that sings this song sir.

Is a lying son of a .........

(Refrain)

Oh it's the truth, the truth, indeed sir.

For I never was known to lie.

And if you comes Horsham sir.

You shall have a bit of the pie.

(Refrain)

Song transcribed by John Howson

Cecilia

Cecilia on one certain day.

She dressed herself in man's array.

With a braise of pistols all by her side.

To meet her true love.

To meet her true love.

To meet her true love away did ride.

She met him boldly on the plain.

"Stand and deliver." she said young man.

"Stand and deliver, young man." she say.

Or else this moment.

Or else this moment.

Or this very moment your life I'll lay.

She robbed him of his watch and gold.

Gave him the empty purse to hold.

Saying, "There's one thing more on your finger now."

Deliver it to me.

Deliver it to me.

Deliver it to me, your life to spare.

That diamond ring a token was.

Before I'd loose it my life I'd loose.

She being tender hearted, more like a dove.

She rode away.

She rode away.

She rode away from her own true love.

Early next morning, plain to be seen.

That couple walked on the garden green.

When he saw his watch hanging by her clothes.

Which made him blush.

Which made him blush.

Which made him blush, like the damask rose.

How can you blush at such a thing.

More if I'd had your diamond ring.

For it's I that robbed you, upon the plain.

Now take your gold love.

Now take your gold love.

Now take your gold love and your watch again.

(Roud 7, Laws N21). Most Victorian broadside printers, including Pitts, Catnach, Disley and Such, all of London, Lund of York, Wright of Birmingham, and Stenton of Cheltenham, called this Silvia's Request and (Young) William's Denial. One unknown printer used the title Sylvia's Cruelty to Her Kind Lover, while Magee of Belfast simply called it Sylvia. It was once extremely popular in southern England often under the title The Female Highwayman (there are seven versions in Cecil Sharp's collection) and many versions have turned up along the eastern seaboard of Canada and America. Mabs learned her version from her father, and it was one of her favourite songs. Gordon also enjoyed the song and he can be heard singing it on CBCD095 ‘Good Things Enough’.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Cruel Frederick

This is cruel Frederick see.

Oh horrid wicked boy was he.

He caught the flies, poor little things.

And then tore off their tiny wings.

He killed the birds, and broke the chairs.

And threw the kittens down the stairs.

And oh! far worse and all besides.

He whipped his Mary 'til she cried.

The trough was full, when faithful Tray.

He came out to drink one sultry day.

He wagged his tail, and wet his lip.

When cruel Fred snatched up a whip.

And whipped poor Tray till he was sore.

And then kicked and whipped him more and more.

'Til good dog Tray grow very red.

And growled and bit him 'till he bled.

Oh you should have been by.

To hear how Fred did scream and cry.

The Doctor came and shook his head,

And made a very great to-do.

And gave him nasty physic too.

But good dog Tray is better now;

He has no time to say, "bow-wow!."

He seats himself in Frederick's chair.

And laughs to see the nice things there.

He eats the gravy, soup by soup.

And all the pies and puddings up.

This strange and dark little poem was first published in 1845 in a collection called ‘Struwwelpeter’ (variously translated as ‘slovenly' or 'shock-headed' Peter) which has become widely recognised as one of the most popular and influential children's books ever written. The author Heinrich Hoffmann was a Frankfurt physician. Unhappy with the dry and pedagogic books available for children at the time, he wrote an illustrated ‘Struwwelpeter’ as a Christmas present for his three year old son. The book relates in words and pictures the often gruesome consequences that befall children who torment animals, play with matches, suck their thumbs, refuse to eat or fidget at meals. The book has gone through hundreds of editions and has been translated into almost every Europeon language.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Coming Home Late

I walked into the stable.

A strange thing standing there.

"What ever is that standing in the stable."

"Why don't you know that's a milking cow my mumma sent to me?"

"Oh many a miles I've travelled.

Some thousands miles or more.

And I've never seen a milking cow with a saddle on before."

I walked into the parlour.

A strange face laying there.

"Who ever is that laying on the sofa?"

"Why don't you know that's a baby that my mumma sent to me?"

"Oh many a miles I've travelled.

Some thousands of miles or more.

And I've never seen a babies face, with whiskers on before."

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Bitter Whaling Grounds

Was on the briny ocean on a whale ship I did go.

I often thought of distant friends, I often thought of home.

Through dreary storm and tempest and manys the heavy gale.

Around Cape Horn we sped away, to look out for sperm whale.

They'll rob you and they'll use you, it's worse than any slaves.

Before you go a whaling boys you'd best be in your graves.

"For it's do it now or damn your hides, I'll flog you 'til you're blue."

Oh boys I could not tell it all and every word is true.

The wind a blow and the great seas grow and you strain upon the oars.

And your heart would bleed at the sperm whales speed.

"And it's pull you sons of whores."

The weary chase is over and the stars begin to glow.

And it's light the flares you lubberly lot. There's try enough to do.

I swore I'd not go back again once we was homeward bound.

For the pleasures are but few me lads, on them bitter whaling grounds.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Little Mike

Little Mikey was born about six in the morning.

Sure him and his mother was there at the time.

Now while I am singing pray don't you be scorning.

For all his adventures I'll sing in my rhyme.

Oh his sister and brother first said to his mother.

"What a wonder he'll be when a man he is grown."

For without hesitation, he'll please the whole nation.

When first he was born he could toddle alone.

Refrain:

Singing, rubdey dub, rowdey dow.

Fife away all the day

Filly eloo, that'll do.

Cut away Mike.

Now he first took a walk to his grandfather's corner.

Who lived about six hundred miles out of town.

I'll tell you no lie, it's the truth on my honour.

I can't tell you where but a place of renown.

He walked there in an hour and lifted a tower.

Then quickly returned with a church in his lap.

And as grand as a squire, he sat down by the fire.

With a large wooden spoon, eat a pale full of pap.

(Refrain)

He then made a contract with butcher and baker.

For all they could bake and for all they could kill.

He never invited one single partaker.

It scarce was enough his own belly to fill.

For he is a great eater as I am a sinner.

And all though thought a man he is only a youth.

But a whole batch of bread he will consume for his dinner.

And stuff a cows tale up the hole of his tooth.

(Refrain)

Song transcribed by John Howson

Banks of Inverness

I am a brave young sailor bold, who’s lately arrived on shore,
To take my recreation and to spend my gold in store.
When, by chance, I spied a damsel all in a silken dress,
Lamenting for a sailor gay on the banks of Inverness.

Of her I took no notice, but steer-ed on my way.
But when I thought it was young Mary Ann, I unto her did say,
"Are you in love, my fair one?" She modestly said, "Yes.
With a sailor gay who’s far away from the banks of Inverness."

"Oh, if your true-love’s a sailor, pray tell me your love’s name."
"My true-love’s name's William. Young William is his name.
A mark on his little finger, may God my sailor bless.
For a ploughboy was young William on the banks of Inverness."

"If your true-love’s named William, you’ll ne’er see him anymore;
For He’s heavy bound in irons strong upon a Turkish shore."
Then said Mary, "I will wander and mourn my love’s distress."
So in despair she tore her hair on the banks of Inverness.

By gazing on her features I could no longer stand.
Showed the mark on my little finger, which was on my right hand.
Then said Mary to her sailor, "Pull off that tarry dress.
Put on your true blue trousers on the banks of Inverness."

To church they went that very day and marri-ed were with speed.
Young sailor boy, our company we happy were indeed.
Now we have gold and plenty, to live without distress,
Blessed with our lot, in a humble cot, on the banks of Inverness.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Blandford in the Mud

There's an isolated, desolated spot I'd like to mention.
Where all you hear is, "Stand at ease! Slope arms! Quick march! Attention!"
With sludge up to your eyebrows, you get it in your ears.

But into it you have to go, without a sign of fear.

Week in, week out, from morn 'til night, with full pack and a rifle.

You gallop up and down the front, of cause that's just a trifle.

Now when you've had bath of sludge, you just set to and groom.

"And get cleaned up for next parade! or else it's orderly room!"

Now when this war is over and we've captured Kaiser Billy,
To shoot him would be merciful and absolutely silly.
Just send him down to Mud camp, there among the rats and clay,

And I bet it won't be long before he droops and fades away.

But we're all merry and bright.

(Roud 10512). Gordon had the words to this song from a letter that had been written to his mother by a friend, Joe Driscoll, who was fighting in France. Sadly, news of Joe's death had arrived before the letter. No tune was given with the text and Gordon added his own. Roy Palmer writes in ‘What a Lovely War’, “Relentless drill, exhausting PT, spartan living conditions and the constant threat of punishment all emerge in vivid detail from this anonymous printed sheet from the First World War”. After the war the sheet was re-issued under the title Blandford Camp with the revised last verse:

          Now the war is over and we've whacked old Kaiser Billy,

          To shoot him would be merciful and absolutely silly.
          We'll hook him out of Holland and bring him Blandford way,
          And I'll bet it won't be long before he droops and fades away.

Song transcribed by John Howson

A Sailor from Dover

A sailor from Dover from Dover he came.
He courted pretty Sally and Sally was her name.
Sweet Sally grew lofty, her portion grew high.
'Til she, on her sailor, would scarce cast an eye.

Oh, six weeks were over and six weeks were past.
That beautiful damsel she grew sick at last.
Her heart was entangled, she knew not for why.
She sent for the sailor that she had denied.

"Oh Sally, sweet Sally, sweet Sally." said he.
"Don’t you remember when you first slighted me?
When you first slighted me love and treated me with scorn.
And now I shall reward you for what you have done."

"But what is past and gone love forget and forgive.
And I will prove constant as long as I live."
"Oh no pretty Sally not while I have breath.
I’ll dance on your grave love, where you lie underneath."

(Roud 180 - Laws P9). Edwardian song collectors have linked this song with the ballad The Brown Girl (Child 295). According to Maud Karpeles, “The main difference lies in a reversal of the sexes. Here it is the woman and not the man who falls sick and is spurned by a former lover. Otherwise there are many common elements.” (’Cecil Sharp's Collection of English Folk Songs, Vol.1’, 1974). Word sets have been collected not only in England, but also in Scotland (by Gavin Greig), in Newfoundland (by Maud Karpeles) and in the Appalachian Mountains of North America (by Cecil Sharp). An American recording, by Archie Sturgill, can be heard on the CD ‘Close to Home’ (Smithsonian Folkways SFCD 40097). This song was a particular favourite in the Hall family and Mabs can be heard singing it solo on VTC5CD When the wind blows.

Song transcribed by John Howson

Sweet Mother Dear

Pray mother buy me a milking pail.

A milking pail. A milking pail.

Pray mother buy me a milking pail.

Sweet mother dear.

Where's the money to buy it?

Buy it. Buy it.

Where's the money to buy it?

Sweet children dear.

Sell father's feather bed.

Feather bed, feather bed.

Sell father's feather bed.

Sweet mother dear.

Where will your father sleep?

Father sleep, father sleep.

Where will your father sleep?

Sweet children dear?

Sleep in the wash tub.

The wash tub, the wash tub.                                                     

Sleep in the wash tub.

Sweet mother dear.

What shall I wash in?

Wash in, wash in.

What shall I wash in?

Sweet children dear?

Wash in the river.

The river, the river.

Wash in the river.

Sweet mother dear.

Supposing the clothes should float away?

Float away, float away.

Supposing the clothes should float away?
Sweet children dear?

Get the boat and catch it.

Catch it, catch it.

Get the boat and catch it.

Sweet mother dear.

Supposing the boat tips over?

Over, over.

Supposing the boat tips over?

Sweet children dear.

Serve you ruddy well right.

Serve you jolly well right.

Serve you jolly well right.

For getting drunk on Saturday night!

(Roud 3515). Another children's singing game from Mabs which dates back to at least Victorian times. In Iona & Peter Opie's ‘The Singing Game’ a text learned by Alice Gomme from a London nursemaid in 1876 is given with twenty one verses and this is noted as being typical. This song was wide spread in England and America where it was often called Buy me a China Doll. In England Cecil Sharp collected five versions in the early twentieth century, three in Somerset, one in Staffordshire and one in Cambridgeshire. Mabs' cheeky final lines about serving her mother right for getting drunk seem to be unique to her, although in another version from ‘Gammer Gurton's Garland’ the final repeated lines are “Then take a rope and hang yourself” so maybe Mabs version is not too outrageous after all.

Song transcribed by John Howson

The Molecatcher

Now the week after Easter the weather some-what thin.

I met an old ommicker ugly as sin.

He sat down on his barrow, told me and old yarn.

To which you young buggers should listen and learn.

Refrain:

Right tool er lye, ool er lye, ool er lye aye.

Right tool er lye, ool er lye, ool er lye aye.

Right tool er lye, ool er lye, ool er lye aye.

Right tool er lye, ool er lye, ool er lye aye.

This jovial ommicker's name was George Plum.

I sat down beside him, bye Christ he did hum.

He told me an old yarn which I now will relate.

About a young ploughboy so cruel was his fate.

(Refrain)

It seems that in Sussex at the sign of the plough.

There lived a mole catcher, I knowed him quite well.

He'd been a mole catching be night and be day.

And the ploughboy would come with his wife for to play.

(Refrain)

Old mole catcher was jealous of the very same thing.

So he hid in the midden to watch him come in.

And when the young fellow jumped over the stile
Well it caused the molecatcher so crafty to smile.
(Refrain)

Old boy knocked at the door and thus he did say.
Where is your husband, good woman, I pray.
He be a-molecatching, you need have no fear.
But little she knew the molecatcher was near.
(Refrain)

She went on upstairs gave the old boy the sign.
At that molecatcher came close up behind.
When the sharp fast young fella was at the height of his rollicks.
The molecatcher trapped him quite fast by the ...........
(Refrain)

As the trap it squeezed tighter old mole catcher did smile.

He says it's best the mole I've caught in a while.

I shall make you pay dear-ly for tilling me ground.

Now your antics will cost you the best part of ten pounds.

(Refrain)

Says the young fella, "The money I don't mind.
'Cos it only works out about tuppence a time.
So all you young fellas, just mind what you're at.
And never get caught in the molecatcher's trap.
(Refrain)

Old mole catcher went down to the Plough for a drink.

And he said to his cronies, "Lads what do you think?

I paid that young bugger for ploughing me ground.

Now we'll all have a drink off his old ten pound."

(Refrain)

Old mole catcher got drunk and stood up for to sing.

Some young bugger throwed a tomato at him.

When tomatoes ain't ripe, well you won't break the skin.

But this bugger did, it was still in the tin.

(Refrain)

Old mole catcher dragged himself offen the floor.

And the young bugger he took a bolt for the door.

But as through that door well he made for a pass.

He got six lace holes of mole catchers boot up his ...........

(Refrain)

Now all you young fellows that follows the plough.

Take heed of the warning I'm giving you know.

Never make free with the mole catcher's wife.

Or you'll have sore ..... tonsils for the rest of your life.

(Refrain)

Song transcribed by John Howson

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