This from the excellent 'Golden City' by James TR Ritchie (Oliver and Boyd publishers 1965 – (by the same author The Singing Street) – both well worth looking out for
Jim Carroll


The Girl of the Golden City

The wind, the wind, the wind blows high
The snow comes falling from the sky:
Maisie Drummond says she'll die
For the want of the golden city.

She is handsome, she is pretty
She is the girl of the golden city:
She is handsome, one two three,
Come and tell me who shall be!

R is his first name
His first name, his first name:
R is his first name—
E-I-O, sir!

S is his second name
His second name, his second name:
S is his second name—
E-I-O, sir!

Robert Sinclair is his name
Is his name, is his name:
Robert Sinclair is his name—
E-I-O, sir!

Now's the time to hide your face
Hide your face, hide your face:
Now's the time to hide your face—
E-I-O, sir!

Now's the time to show your face
Show your face, show your face:
Now's the time to show your face
E-I-O, sir!

Now's the time to choose the one
Choose the one, choose the one:
Now's the time to choose the one
E-I-O, sir!

The wind, the wind, the wind blows high
The snow comes falling from the sky:
Libby Cooper says she'll die
For the want of the golden city. ...

Maisie Drummond stands in the middle of the ring as the rest circle round to the first two verses. At "Come and tell me who shall be," the ring slows down for a passing and whispered consultation which settles that "JR." is his first name and that "S" is his second name. At the next verse, Robert Sinclair's name is announced with a stamp of the foot by each player in the ring. During the sixth verse, Maisie hides her face in her hands, and in the next verse shows herself smiling. The last verse chooses the girl who's next to be in the centre, namely Libby Cooper, and the game goes on. For the line "R is his first name," a few streets prefer to say "R is his first initial," and instead of "Now's the time to choose the one," "Now's the time to pick a body."
No ring-game is played so much. The music of the intro¬ductory verses is rather attractive; and, no matter how often they change from street to street, the words always seem to retain some element of poetry. The line that's most varied is "The want of the golden city," in place of which you may

. . . The love of the golden city . . .
. . . The one of the golden city. . . .
. . . For the love of the boy with the rolling eye. . . .
... If she doesn't get the one with the rainbow tie. . . .
—or ". . . the golden tie," ". . . the tartan tie."

The on-looker or the passer-by overhearing the rumours of this golden city must stop to think back, or to ask and wonder what it all means. Children, thank goodness, never try to explain their poetry. It's the art of play that inspires them: in their dancing, in their singing and in their choice of words. Stevenson said of young people, very wisely: "Surely they dwell in a mythological epoch and are not the contemporaries of their parents." So the golden city (which isn't to be found on any map) may be some eternal capital where time is ever¬lasting. Nevertheless, even in a game like this, children show up as cunning realists. For sometimes they sing:

She is pretty, she is ugly
She is one of the ugly sisters. . .

She is ugly, she is pretty
She is the witch of the tin-can city . . .

And, after all, it's in the old industrial maze, it's in this tin-can city that many of us playing as children enjoyed the most glorious visions. When the summer days dragged by like dynasties of Egypt, when the sun and shadow sides of the street eyed each other for a millennium! When beyond such an immense present lay the unbelievable future:

She is handsome, one two three
Come and tell me who shall be?