Pace Egging

Happy Easter! To celebrate this Sunday I decided to put together a version of a traditional English song which was used as a calling on song for the mumming plays of the season; these plays celebrate the cycle of life, death and rebirth with a variety of stock characters that took on different guises from year to year and occur at particular points in the year; Christmas, Easter and All Hallows.

Pace egging itself is a custom from the North East where eggs would be boiled in onion skins on Easter Sunday and then used for a variety of games or given to the local players as payment as well as money and food to pay for the play to begin.

Pace itself as a term is a corruption of the old English word "pasch" which means literally "Easter" so here is a literal Easter Egg song for you all, enjoy and have a lovely holiday!

Tim

Ch: Here's one, two, three jolly lads all in one mind
We have come a pace egging and we hope you'll prove kind
We hope you'll prove kind with your eggs and strong beer
For we'll come no more nigh you until the next year

And the first that comes in is Lord Nelson you'll see
With a bunch of blue ribbons tied round by his knee
And a star on his beast that like silver do shine
And I hope he remembers it's pace egging time

And the next that comes in, it is Lord Collingwood
He fought with Lord Nelson till he shed his blood
And he's come from the sea old England to view
And he's come a pace egging with all of his crew

The next that comes in is our Jolly Jack Tar
He sailed with Lord Nelson all through the last war
He's arrived from the sea, old England to view
And he's come a pace egging with our jovial crew

The next that comes in is old miser Brownbags
For fear of her money she wears her old rags
She's gold and she's silver all laid up in store
And she's come a pace egging in hopes to get more

And the last to come in is old Tosspot, you see
He's a valiant old man and in every degree
He's a valiant old man and he wears a pigtail
And all his delight is a drinking mulled ale

Come ladies and gentlemen, sit by the fire
Put your hands in your pockets and give us our desire
Put your hands in your pockets and treat us all right
If you give nought, we'll take nought, farewell and goodnight

Rounding the Horn

Rounding Cape Horn was one of the most treacherous sea navigations that a ship could undertake and was the quickest route to Chile until the dawn of air travel. In this song, despite the ship being kitted out with all new sails and rigging, two souls are lost despite the best efforts of the crew; however the rewards for a sailor seem to fully make up for the journey although on leaving one wonders how they were getting back home! It's certainly a ripping yarn with the camaraderie between the ship mates and those on other ships providing an excellent backdrop to the action. A real spurring tale to have at a sing around!

As a geographical note, it has to be said in the third verse that the Magellan strait is not close to the Horn itself, the term "beating off" must be taken with a pinch of salt methinks (any other suggestions?)

This song, collected from Mr W Bolton in 1907 by Anne Gilchrist was published by Bert Lloyd and Ralph Vaughan Williams in the Penguin Book of English Folk Songs is a surprising rarity in that only one other variation on it has been collected, again by Gilchrist, maybe it was just that good...

Tim and Rob perform this one

The gallant frigate, Amphitrite, she lay in Plymouth Sound,
Blue Peter stood at the foremast head for she was outward bound;
We were waiting there for orders to send us far from home;
Our orders came for Rio, and thence around Cape Horn.

When we arrived at Rio we prepared for heavy gales;
We set up all our rigging, boys, and bent on all new sails.
From ship to ship they checred us as we did sail along,
And wished us pleasant weather in rounding of Cape Horn.

While beating off Magellan Strait it blew exceeding hard;
Whilst shortening sail two gallant tars fell from the topsail yard.
By angry seas the ropes we threw fiom their poor hands were torn
And we were forced to leave them to the sharks that prowl around
Cape Horn.

When we got round the Horn, my boys, we had some glorious days
And very soon our killick dropped in Valparaiso Bay.
The pretty girls came down to us; I solemnly declare
They are far before the Plymouth girls with their long and curling hair.

They love a jolly sailor when he spends his money free;
They'll laugh and sing and merry, merry be, and have a jovial spree.
And when our money is all gone they won't on you impose,
They are not like the Plymouth girls that'll pawn and sell your clothes.

Farewell to Valparaiso, farewell for a while,
Likewise to all the Spanish girls all on the coast of Chile;
And if ever l live to be paid off l'll sit and sing this song:
"God bless those pretty Spanish girls we left around Cape Horn."

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

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