My mother, although unknown, had one of the most beautiful 'A' tenor voices I've heard. Unfortunately, my father would not allow her to pursue a musical career. I was fortunate enough to learn from her some of what she learned from her grandfather. One song I learned was what I know as, 'The Butcher Boy'. She learned by ear and amateur instruction from her family and friends in a hollow called 'Kate's Run' (I believe) somewhere in W. Virginia. I must have heard her version of the song at least a thousand times, of which five hundred were by my request. She has passed away now, but I can still hear her beautiful voice wrapped around this melody and trembling with the pain she must have felt from empathy she had for the subject. The original words long lost and forgotten she did the best she could with the storyline she learned from William Whackart her grandfather. I loved the song so much I revised it to a masculine point of view so I could sing it every chance I got to those who appreciate vintage music. Searching for the original words brought me here. I am pleased that I have found what I was looking for and yet somewhat set back by the diversity of the lines compared to what I learned (and modified). And so I would like to offer my version. It's not very different from what I was taught as a child I'm now 42 and still sing this version every chance I get, although, I can not achieve what I so love to recall of My mothers melodic presence. I wish to thank any and everyone who made this possible.

Thank you and God Bless.

THE BUTCHER'S BOY, as sung by Freda Reynolds, revised

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In London town, where I used to dwell,
Lived a butcher's boy and a lovely girl.
He courted her young life away
But with this girl he would not stay.

One day when her father came home,
He wondered where his daughter had gone.
He rushed upstairs and her door he broke
And found his daughter, hanging from a rope.

He took his knife and he cut her down
And in a note, these words he found:
"Oh what a silly maid am I, you know,
To kill my self for a butcher's boy.

"There is a house in this same town
Where he walks right in and sits right down.
He takes another girl on his knee
And tells her things he won't tell me.

"I pray and grieve, please tell me why.
Is it because she has more gold than I?
Her gold will melt, and her silver fly,
And in time of need, she'll be poor as I.

"Now dig my grave both wide and deep.
Place a marble stone at my head and feet,
And on my grave, a snow white dove,
To prove to the world that I died for love."

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I hope the post isn't too long, and that someone will appreciate what I've done. In future, I will also add what I have discovered here. Many thanks, Ron---Ronorlynn@netins.net