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)

Bold Riley

Bold Riley by A Sunday Song

Today's song is Rob's take on the shanty Bold Riley:

"'Oh the rain it rains, all day long' - how English is that. The English folk tradition is rich in nautical songs, notably The Shanty, although most have come a long way since being sung by the Jolly Jack Tars of yesteryear. To paraphrase the great Tom Lewis, if the sailors in those days had sung 'em at the pace we sing 'em now, they'd have died of exhaustion within the hour!

Shanties were work songs, and there were three main types, short haul, halyard and capstan, some were only ever sung on the outward voyage, others on the homeward leg, sailors being very superstitious. On the other hand, singing "Goodbye my darling" when you're on your way home does seem a bit daft.

Bold Riley is a great favourite at the Sunday Star session, backed here by Ali singing harmony and Tim's beautiful guitar work filling in the spaces.
And who was bold Riley? We don't know, and we don't care, but we do hope he made it safely back home to Mary."


Oh the rain it rains all day long,
Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley,
And the northern wind, it blows so strong,
Bold Riley-o has gone away.

Chorus
Goodbye my sweetheart,
goodbye my dear-o
Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley,
Goodbye my darlin',
goodbye my dear-o,
Bold Riley-o has gone away.

Well come on, Mary, don't look glum,
Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley,
Come White-stocking Day you'll be drinkin' rum
Bold Riley-o has gone away.

Chorus

We're outward bound for the Bengal Bay,
Bold Riley-o, Bold Riley,
Get bending, me lads,
it's a hell-of-a-way,
Bold Riley-o has gone away

Words taken from Kate Rusby's Bold Riley on the album Hourglass

Polly Vaughan

Polly Vaughan by A Sunday Song


The song this week was brought to my mind during one of the many gale driven storms this week. I've always thought this a strange song with the hunter mistaking a woman (and his true love no less) for a swan due to her apron being wrapped around her. Reading further into the history there are two main threads of theory surrounding the subject matter: firstly that it echoes previous myths and legends involving metamorphoses of a maiden into a swan (highlighted in other versions of the song by the lady's fair skin) or of a hunter shooting and killing his love by accident. The other thread of thinking is the proliferation of rifles amongst hunters simply lead to a greater number of accidents... You can make up your mind as to which version you think is more probable, more interesting or just sounds better when introducing the song!

This song is performed by the excellent Rosemary Lippard with Tim on guitar, of the song Rose says:

"I first heard Polly Vaughan sung by Anne Briggs whose version I've adapted. I was caught by the haunting tune and her clear, steady voice which perfectly complements and gives such gravity to the melancholy lyric. I love the origins of the tale, which go back to a folklore which says that some magical maids transform into swans or white deer by night and are hunted by a brother or a lover and are killed before re-assuming their human shape."

Come all you young fellows that would handle a gun,
Beware how you shoot as the night's coming on,
For my Jimmy met me in the woods, he mistook me for a swan
And he shot me and killed me and my spirit comes to warn

As I was a-walking in a shower of rain
I sheltered in a green bush, my hair and clothes to save
My white apron thrown over me, he mistook me for a swan
And he shot me, killed me at the setting of the sun

Then Jimmy bore my body with his dog and his gun
Crying "Uncle dear Uncle oh what have I done?
I met my love in a dark wood; I mistook her for a swan
And I shot her and killed her for sport and the hunt"

Then out rushed her uncle with his locks hanging grey
Crying "Jimmy dear Jimmy don't you dare run away
Don't let them cry guilty 'til the trial do come on
For they never will hang you for the shooting of a swan"

Well the trial came on and my spirit could not rest
To think of my true love taken under arrest
Crying "let Jimmy go free whom I've loved my life long
For he never would have shot his own Polly Vaughan"

A Bright and Rosy Morning

A Bright and Rosy Morning by A Sunday Song

I racked my brains over which song to start with, for some reason every song connected to January that I know is miserable! In the end I went for 'On a bright and rosy morning' which I found whilst flicking through 'The Foggy Dew': the third book of songs collected in Dorset and Hampshire by Gardiner and the Hammond Brothers edited by the late Frank Purslow. Though not strictly January based, I was reminded of it after reading about the New Year hunts; I love songs that celebrate the countryside and, notwithstanding my views
on hunting today or those of others, this is one of those songs, with its final refrain, that inspires the sort of joy of the new day that folk songs seem to hold so simply and give so gracefully.

This is a song that appears around and about in various guises, such is the case of any good song in the folk canon!

On a bright and rosy morning the sun shone o'er the hills
Just as the day was dawning across the meadows and fields
   [Whilst the merry, merry, merry horn cries 'come, come away'
    It's awake from your slumbers and behold some new day.] x2

The fox rose from his cover, he seem'd for to fly,
Our horses at full speed. my boys, our hounds in full cry

He led us a chase, my boys, for fifty long miles,
Over hedges and ditches, over gates and over stiles

Our day's sport being over, our horses at their ease,
We will call for a bowl, my boys, to drink when we please

Tim

January 1st 2012

Welcome one and all to 'A Sunday Song', a new project based around a small group of singers who meet up in Bath, in a pub, around a table most Sundays in any given month. After meeting each other at every tune session and folk concert happening in the fair city, we decided to get together of an evening in order to sing the songs we love.

Over the last two years, the session has been a steady occurrence and date in our weekly diary, we have had nights when the room is filled and nights when the room has been empty, nights with drunken sing-alongs and nights with slow ballads reigning supreme and, best of all, nights when people enjoying a quiet pint come over and join in (sometimes in different tongues... our Swedish isn't any better for it though!).

As we rapidly approached the end of the year, Tim had the idea of recording our songs somewhere that they would be accessible to everyone. Recording a folk song and releasing it over a set period of time is not a new idea in this city, in England or even in the world but included in this blog will be the different interpretations, tunes and lyrics, a few mixes of songs that we have found and maybe some original numbers along the way as well!

It seems appropriate that each song is released on a Sunday, the night we meet and the first day of the new year, we all hope that you will enjoy the songs, maybe discover something new and share your thoughts with us in turn... we may even meet you one day!

As for now, enjoy the first offering and here's to a prosperous 2012.