While Gamekeepers are Sleeping

Everyone enjoys a tale of the rogue who comes out on top and this is one of my favourite examples of those stories, the chap in this one shows himself to have a heart as well as a smart mind.

The main character in this song is a poacher who, despite all odds, comes up good and always has a trick up his sleeve to help out. A good natured man at heart wherever he appears in the various versions of this song, in this version he helps out a couple in need despite one of them being an officer of the law who once arrested him, the words certainly point to a generous nature rather than guilt for on the part of his deception earlier in the plot, certainly a positive message and one that resonates kindly with all who hear the words.

This version, recorded in 1977, was sung by Bob Roberts on the Isle of Wight though there are several different versions recorded in Hampshire, Sussex, Kent and Suffolk. Roberts himself came from Dorset originally so this is clearly a song born the the fields in the Southern counties.

The singer this week is Rosemary Lippard with guitar by Tim. Rose cites June Tabor's excellent version on 'airs and graces' as one of her inspirations for her vocals on the song.

Tim

I've got a long-legged lurcher dog
And I keeps him in my keeping
He'd run a hare on a winter's night
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

One day a policeman collared me
To have me in his keeping
Your brindle made a moonlight raid
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

I seen her come out of the wood
Across the fields right speeding
A partridge she had in her mouth
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

But my dog's black and white you see
So I'm not for your keeping
He couldn't see I'd brindled she
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

One day his wife fell mortal ill
He had to give up policing
But I dropped on by his door each night
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

She fed so well on pheasant broth
Her colour come back creeping
So long as my dog roamed abroad
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

My bitch she pupped, I gave him one
For to have in his own keeping
He left the force and now roams like me
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

Many thanks to Elliott Kember for this recording

When Spring Comes in

I was feeling rather Springy this week and so asked Rob for some notes on this pretty little number that he sings so well:

"Still a while to go before Spring gets sprung, but the days are begining to lengthen, and we are seeing one or two bright clear days.

'When Spring Comes In' is from the collection of the Copper family of Rottingdean, Sussex, and may not even have been collected anywhere else. It heads up the chapter for April in Bob Copper's book A Song For Every Season, and is one of my favourite seasonal songs, and though it does have a somewhat 'lost England' faux nostalgia feel to it now, I don't think there's anything wrong with a bit of romanticism now and again.

It is not a particularly complex song, either musically or lyrically but it does remind us rather neatly that although Spring is a time of new life and new beginnings, nevertheless "..the daffa-down dillys which we admire, will die and fade away". Alan Seeger the American poet killed in action in World War I, wrote that "I Have a Rendezvous with Death ... When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear". It may be Springtime, but the old guy with the scythe is never far away.

Nonetheless, it is a great upbeat and fun song to sing, especially when surrounded by good ale and good company. As Bob copper says in that same chapter:

"Although a song sung alone on the hillside under the wide blue sky helps the day along, a song with good companions in the hot smoky atmosphere of the tap-room is something altogether more cheery and satisfying."

I'll second that."

Rob

When Spring comes on then the birds do sing,
The lambs do skip and the bells do ring
While we enjoy their glorious charm so noble and so gay.

Chorus: The primrose blooms, the cowslips too,
The violets in their sweet retire, the roses shining through the briar,
And the daffodown-dillies which we admire will die and fade away.

Young men and maidens will be seen
On mountains high and meadows green,
They will talk of love and sport and play
While them young lambs do skip away,
At night they homeward wend their way
When evening stars appear.

(Chorus)

The dairymaid to milking goes, her blooming cheeks as red as a rose,
And she carries her pail all on her arm so cheerful and so gay,
She milks, she sings, and the valleys ring.
The small birds on the branches there sit listening to this lovely fair
For she is her master's trust and care,
She is the ploughman's joy.

(Chorus)

The Two Sisters

One of the most popular of the popular ballads, Child #10, this song has spawned hundreds of variants, especially in the Norse speaking countries, Child himself points towards versions in Iceland, Norway, the Faroe Islands and Sweden.

Hell hath no fury like a jealous sister and when a suitor chooses her younger sister over her, the balance is tipped! This version is taken from Miss Louisa Chisholm in Virginia in one of Cecil Sharp's expeditions to the America and was published in the second of his 'Appalachian Folk Songs' series.

When interpreting this song, I made the choice to consider the fact that it is never explicitly stated that the young girl dies to bring the old maxim "Tragedy + Time = Comedy", the idea being that the young girl is looking back on this experience with humour because she stayed "true to her love". This brings us to the refrains of the song and particularly the final one; that will be true, true to my love, love and my love will be true to me. I discussed with Rob what it could possibly mean and why the second 'love' was in there. I decided that it made more sense to split the refrain into two voices, one saying "that will be true love and my love will be true to me" and the other voices joining in full chorus to support the statement that love wins the day!

This is a popular song in our sessions so you'll hear that everyone knows the words (or there abouts!)

Tim

There was an old lord by the Northern sea
Bow down
There was an old lord by the Northern sea
The boughs they bend to me
There was and old lord by the Northern sea
And he had daughters one, two, three
That will be true, true to my love, love and my love will be true to me

A young man he came a-courting there
And he made a choice of the youngest fair

Bought the youngest a beaver hat
The eldest she thought much of that

Bought the youngest a gay gold ring
Didn't get the eldest anything

"Sister oh sister shall we walk out
To see the tall ships sailing about?"

And as they walked down by the water's brim
The eldest pushed the youngest in

"Sister oh sister lend me your hand
And I'll give you my houses and land"

"I'll never give you my hand nor glove
And I will steal your own true love"

So down she sank and away she swam
Swam right into the miller's dam

The miller he pulled her out of the brook
pulled her on out with his long fishing hook

And off of her hand pulled her gay gold ring
And into the water he pushed her again!

The miller was hung by his own mill gate
And the sister was burned right at the stake

Pretty Polly

This week's Sunday song comes from Matthew Bragg, over to him!

'So, “Pretty Polly”: it’s a Murder Ballad also known as "The Gosport Tragedy" or "The Cruel Ship's Carpenter" (documented as “Round #15”http://bit.ly/zdiF5x ), telling of a man who murders his girlfriend when he discovers she’s preggers. The song itself travelled from Britain to Appalachia, and the murderer’s profession changed from being a ship’s carpenter to a gambler or rambler. The British version usually ends with the murderer returning to sea and being confronted by the dead girl’s ghost, whereby he either goes mad or is torn limb-from-limb in a storm. The American version, which it seems my rendition more closely resembles, is vague about the reason for the murder and features no supernatural retribution, the murderer simply gallops off, leaving only the birds to mourn. American versions also tend to begin in the “first person”, before switching to the “third person” in the lead-up to the murder.

I got my version from Bert Jansch’s rendition on 1966’s “Jack Orion” album http://bit.ly/xqTOH3 (Jansch previously performed a different arrangement of the song before he moved to London, as heard on the “Young Man Blues: Live in Glasgow 1962-1964” CD (1998))http://bit.ly/yAHQeI . I also incorporated a couple of verses from the American “Old-Time” banjo player Dock Boggs’ 1928 recording.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMdfPavA-Gc
The guitar riff was just something that I came up with yonks ago that fitted with a bit of tweaking; I kept the melody more-or-less as Jansch performed it.

The song is a fine, archetypal Murder Ballad, trusting victim and all, and has been much covered, not least by Woody Guthrie, The Stanley Brothers, The Byrds and Bob Dylan (who almost certainly based “The Ballad of Hollis Brown” on it.)'

Pretty Polly

Once there was a gambler who courted around
Once there was a gambler who courted around
He courted Pretty Polly, her body’s never been found

“Polly, Pretty Polly, won’t you go along with me
“Polly, Pretty Polly, won’t you go along with me
“Before we get married, some pleasures to see”

She jumped up behind him and away they did ride
Jumped up behind him and away they did ride
Over the hills and the valleys so wide

They rode on a little further and what did they spy
Rode on a little further and what did they spy
But a new-dug grave, with a spade lying by

“Willy, oh Willy, I’m scared of your ways
“Willy, oh Willy, I’m scared of your ways
“Scared you might leave my poor body astray”

“Polly, Pretty Polly, you guessed about right
“Polly, Pretty Polly, you guessed about right
“I’ve been digging that grave the best part of last night”

“Now, there’s no time to talk and there’s no time to stand
“No time to talk and there’s no time to stand”
And he pulled from his cloak a dagger in his hand

He stabbed her through the heart and the hot blood did flow
Stabbed her through the heart and the hot blood did flow
And into her grave, Pretty Polly he did throw

He threw a little dirt over her, started for home
Threw a little dirt over her, started for home
Leaving nothing behind, but the wild birds to moan (mourn 1)

A debt to the Devil, and Willy must pay
Debt to the Devil, and Willy must pay
For killing Pretty Polly and running away

1 I've always sung moan but mourn would make more sense!