Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads

Subject: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 08:04 PM

From the book of this name by Keith Gregson 1980. This is a collection of songs by Cumbrian authors, with the following contents. Most seem to be constructed using Scottish tunes, and while very few of the lyrics are in the DT I provide this index as a reference at this point.

Regards, John

And Ye shall walk in Silk Attire
Leyle Steebem
Barbary Bell
The Bleckell Murryneet
Blithe Jwhonny Graeme
Ned Carnaughan
The Buck o' Kingwatter
Matthew Macree
Canny Aul Cummerlan
Trafalgar Sea Fight
Christmas Day in the Morning
Madam Jane
The Cockfeght
0' Jenny Dear
Gossip Nan
Miss Gilpin's Song
The Thursby Witch
Feckless Wully
Dick Glendinnin
The Last New Shoon our Betty Gat
English Beer
D' ye ken John Peel
Silly Andrew
Peer Body
Peace
Wey, Ned, man
Barley Broth
Ann o' Hethersgill
The Village Gang
I Trudged up to Lunnon
Wrestling Match between Atkinson and Jackson
Elizabeth's Birthday
I've Gotten a Rock
My love she's but a (Northern) lassie yet
The Peck of Punch
Young Susy
Peggy Pen
Nursery Song

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 09:13 PM

OOps, the book is Cumbrian Songs and Ballads.

Here's an interesting one from the collection. Regards, John

ENGLISH BEER
Tune; The Low Backed Car

A fig for all your treaties
To flood us with French wine
Our lusty trusty Burton brew'd
Will all their lights outshine
Let fops their foreign liquors
Praise in sentimental drawl
A song we'll troll and a chorus roll
To the monarch of them all.

Chorus •

To jolly English beer
So sparkling, mellow and clear
No wine compares
Though never so rare
With jolly English beer.


Although those prim young maidens
May simper o'er their wine
Just wet the lip with a gentle sip
And a grace almost divine
But what makes them such blooming wives
While others shrink and fail Its due no doubt to native stout
To foaming nut brown ale.

(Chorus)

Should wine fed loons invade us
Their force we need not fear
If we but form to meet the storm
Brigades well armed with beer
Our forts will need no Armstrong gun
Our riflemen no ball
For our lusty foe without a blow
Into our arms would fall
When he saw our

(Chorus)

So Englishmen your home brewed
Defend with hearts and hand
Though pump and vine in force combine
To drive us from our land
If bright Bordeaux and Burgundy
Our ancient foes inspired
It was draughts of good October brewed
Our conquering fathers fired.

(Chorus)

Theme: One which applies today as much as it did when the son was written. Good old English Beer lies in danger of extinction a the hands of the demon French wine allowed in at competitive prices for the first time by William Ewart Gladstone's trade treat Tune: A much travelled offspring of the 'Nutting Girl' theme. The tune was used by ballad writers throughout the British Isles.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 10:07 PM

AND another one.

THE THURSBY WITCH
Tune - John Anderson My Jo (in DT)

There's Harraby and Tarraby
And Wiggonby beside
There's Oughterby .and Soughterby
And bys both far and wide;
Of strapping swonsy rosy queens
They all may brag a few
But Thursby for a bonny lass
Can cap them aw I trow.

Her mudder sells a swop o' drink,
It is beath stout an brown;
An Etty is the hinny-fowt
Ov aw the country roun;
Frae east an west, beath rich an peer,
A-horse, a-fit, caw in;
For whea can pass sae rare a lass,
He's owther daft or blin.

Her een er leyke twee Cursmess slees,
But tweyce as breet, an clear;
The rwose cud niver match her cheek,
That yet grew on a breer;
At toun, kurk, market, dance, or fair,
She meks their hearts aw stoun,
An conquers mair nor Bonnyprat,
Whene'er she peeps aroun.

Oft graith'd in aw their kurk-gaun gear,
Leyke nwoble Iwords at court,
Our lads slink in an gaze an grin,
Nor heed their Sunday spwort;
If stranger leets, her een he meets,
An fins—he can't tell how—
To touch the glass her han hes touch'd,
Just sets him in a lowe.

Yence Thuirsby lads wer—whea but we
An cud hae bang't the lave;
But now they hing their lugs, an luik,
Leyke fwok stown frae the greave;
An what they ail, in heed or heart,
Nae potticary tnows—
The leytle glancin Thuirsby Witch,
Is just the varra cause.

Ov Black-eyed Susan—Mary Scott—
The Lass o' Peatie's Mill,
Ov Barb'ry Allan,—Sally Gray—
The Lass o' Richmond-hill.
Ov Nancy Dawson—Molly Mog,
Tho' monie sing wi' glee,
The Thuirsby beauty, out an out,
Just bangs them aw to see.

Theme: The landlord's beautiful daughter whose charms are appreciated by all the lads of the village. Thursby lies on the road from Carlisle to the west coast,

Tune: A well known Scottish tune which, in all probability, has an earlier English root.

Subject: Lyr Add: CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE MORNING (JP White)^^
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 10:38 PM

Anti slavery song peppered with sentiments of Christian revenge.

CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE MORNING

Lyrics - John Pagen White
Tune - Christmas Day In The Morning

The Betsey Jane sailed out of the Firth,
As the Waits sang, "Christ is born on earth"
The Betsey Jane sailed out of the Firth
On Christmas day in the morning
The wind was East, the moon was high,
Of a frosty blue was the spangled sky,
And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
And the day was Christmas morning.

In village and town woke up from sleep,
From peaceful visions and slumbers deep-
In village and town woke up from sleep,
On Christmas day in the morning,
The many that thought on Christ the King,
And rose betimes their gifts to bring,
And "peace on earth and good will" to sing,
As is meet upon Christmas morning.

The Betsey Jane pass'd village and town,
As the Gleemen sang, and the stars went down—
The Betsey-Jane pass'd village and town,
That Christmas-day in the morning;
And the Skipper by good and by evil swore,
The bells might ring and the Gleemen roar,
But the chink of his gold would chime him o'er
Those waves, next Christmas morning.

And out of the Firth with his reckless crew,
All ready his will and his work to do—
Out of the Firth with his reckless crew
He sailed on a Christmas morning!
He steer'd his way to Gambia's coast;
And dealt for slaves; and Westward cross'd;
And sold their lives, and made his boast
As he thought upon Christmas morning.

And again and again from shore to shore,
With his human freight for the golden ore—
Again and again from shore to shore,
Ere Christmas-day in the morning,
He cross'd that deep with never a thought
Of the sorrow, or wrong, or suffering wrought
On souls and bodies thus sold and bought
For gold, against Christmas morning!

And at length, with his gold and ivory rare,
When the sun was low and the breeze was fair—
At length with his gold and ivory rare
He sailed, that on Christmas morning
He might pass both village and town again
When the bells were ringing, as they rung then,
When he pass'd them by in the Betsey-Jane,
On that last bright Christmas morning.

The Betsey-Jane sailed into the firth,
As the bells rang "Christ is born on earth"—
The Betsey-Jane sailed into the Firth,
And it was upon Christmas morning!
The wind was west, the moon was high,
Of a hazy blue was the spangled sky,
And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
Just breaking on Christmas morning.

The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
Of Christ the King, of Christ the King—
The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
Hailed Christmas-day in the morning;
When the Betsey-Jane with a thundering shock
Went ripping along on the Giltstone Rock,
In sound of the bells which seemed to mock
Her doom on that Christmas morning.

With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
On the foundering ship, in the waters lone—
With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
They sank on that Christmas morning!
The Skipper with arms around his gold,
Scared by dark spirits that loosed his hold,
Was down the deep sea plunged and roli'd
In the dawn of that Christmas morning:—

While village and town woke up from sleep,
From peaceful visions and slumbers deep—
While village and town woke up from sleep,
That Christmas-day in the morning!
And many that thought on Christ the King,
Rose up betimes their gifts to bring,
And, "peace on earth and good will to sing,"
Went forth in the Christmas morning!

Theme: The author, a West Cumbrian and, according to a biographical note, 'a true Christian', was a youth when slavery was finally abolished in the British Empire. His hatred of the slave trade comes out in the song wherein the slavers 'get their just des

Tune: Traditional Carol.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: GUEST,Bruce O.
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 11:42 PM

X:1
T:Christenmiss Day in the Morning
S:Northumberland MS, c 1772
Q:1/4=120
L:1/8
M:6/8
K:Ephrygian
d|c2de2a|gfec3|defe2A|defe2A|c2de2a|g2f efg|afd gec|d3e2::\
c/d/|ece ece|ece efg|fdf fdf|fdf fga|ece ece|ece efg|\
agf gec|d3e2:|]

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 12:07 AM

Thanks Bruce. Am I duplicating material on your site?

Regards, John

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 12:41 AM

The Buck O' Kingwatter
Lyrics - Robert Anderson
Tune - The Breckans O' Branton

When I was single I rid a feyne naig
And was caw'd the Buck o' King Watter, *
Now the cwoat o' my back has got but ae sleeve
And my breeks are a in a tatter.

Chorus -
Sing Oh! The lasses! The lazy lasses,
Keep frae the lasses o' Branton,
I ne'er wad hae married, that day I married
But I was young, feulish and wanton.

I courtet a lass an angel I thowt—
She's noo turn'd a picture ov evil;
She geapes, yen may coont ivry tuith in her heed,
An bawls fit to freeten the deevil.
Sing.—Oh! the lasses, etc.


To-day she slipt oot, some 'bacco to buy,
An bade me meynd rock the cradle;
I cowpt owre asleep, but suin she corn in,
An then brak mey heed wi' the ladle.
Sing,—Oh! the lasses, etc.


1 ne'er hed a neart to hannel a gun,
Or I'd run away an leave her,
She pretens to win purns ** but that's aw fun,
They say she's owre keynd wi' the weaver.
Sing,—Oh! the lasses, etc.


I dinnerless gang ae hawf o' the week;
If we get a bit collop on Sunday,
She cuts me nee mair ner wad physic a sneype;
Then we've tateys an point, on Monday.
Sing,—Oh! the lasses, etc.


Tho' weary o'leyfe, wid' a guid-fer-nowt weyfe,
I wish I cud git sec anudder,
An then I cud give the deevil the teane,
For teakin away the tudder!
Sing,—Oh! the lasses, the lazy lasses!

Keep frae the lasses o' Branton!
I ne'er wad hae married, the day I married,
But I was young, feulish, an wanton.
^^
• The river King near Gilsland.
** Purn-(l) a Quil or Reed (2) the yarn wound on a Reed.

Theme: A far from kind commentary upon the qualities of the ladies of Branton (Brampton - a market town to the east of Carlisle).

Tune: Possibly one of the few truly Cumbrian tunes, long popular with Northumbrian pipe players.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 01:07 AM

YOUNG SUSY
Lyrics - Robert Anderson
Tune - Dainty Davie

Young Susy is a bonny lass
A canny lass, a teydey lass,
A mettled lass, a hearty lass,
As onie yen can see, man'
A clean heei'd lass, a weel spak lass,
A bulk learn'd lass, a kurk gaun lass,
I watna hoo it come to pass
She meade a fuil o' me, man.
Chorus -
I's tired o' workin, plewin', sowin',
Deetin', deykin, threshin', mowin';
Seeghin, greanin', niver knowin',
What I's going to de, man.

I met her—ay, 'twas this day week;
Od die! thowt I, I'll try to speak!
But tried in vain the teale to seek—
Oh, sec a lass is she, man!
Her jet-black hair hawf-heydes her broo,
Her een just thurl* yen thro' and throo'!
But, O! her cheeks an churry mou
Are far owre sweet to see, man!
I's tir'd o' workin, etc.

Oh! cud I put her in a sang!
To hear her praise the heale day lang,
She mud consent to kurk to gang;
There's puirer fwok than me, man!
But I can nowther rheyme ner reave,
Luive meks yen sec a coward sleave;
I'd better far sleep in the greave,
But yet, that munnet be, man!
I's tired o' workin, etc.

To Carel market I gang doon,
An hunt fer Susy, roon an roon;
But nin sae fair as she, man!
They're stiff as buckrem, Susy says,
Thur female dandies widoot stays;
Toon fwok leyke oor fwok, hae their ways.
An sae it aye mun be, man! I's tired o' workin, etc.
^^
*Thurl or thirl-pierce.

Theme: The tragic love of the bashful wooer.

Tune: One of the most beautiful of Scottish tunes known and used by songwriters during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: GUEST,Bruce O.
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 12:48 PM

No, John. That tune is not one I put on my website, and I have very little that could be called Cumbrian on my website.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John J
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 01:41 PM

Going off at a tangent....a couple of years ago I spent the weekend walking / climbing around Buttermere. It was the same weekend as Buttermere Fair (the second Saturday in October). In the evening I trotted off to the pub for some beer and found to my great delight that it was full of 'locals' singing. The most outstanding performers were a small group of elderly gentlemen who I believe to be retired shepherds, although there were a number of much younger singers who were very good indeed. The songs varied from well known songs like 'Dido, Bendigo' to songs I had never heard of. All 'folk' songs, all sung by people who really had a right to sing them, if you know what I mean. It was a brillaint evening, I'm hoping to get up there again for that weekend. Next time I'll bring a tape recorder and a camera. Lovely people, lovely songs, superb area, great beer. John

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 02:10 AM

John J, no your story is far from tangential - but someone beat you by about 200 years. Together they make for a good yarn. I'll post lyrics and tune to The Bleckell Murrymeet in the next day(ish). Regards, John

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: Catrin
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 04:45 AM

John - This thread is a treasure! The anti-slavery one brought tears to my eyes. Thank you.

Catrin

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Cumbrian Sings and Ballads
From: John in Brisbane
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 10:01 AM

Glad you like it Catrin - this stuff does have a certain charm. Here's the song I promised John J. Regards, John

The Bleckell Murrymeet (merry night)
Lyrics: Robert Anderson
Tune: Bleckell Murrymeet

Aa, Lad! sec a murry neet we've had at Bleckell,
The soun' o' the fiddle yet rings in mey ear;
Aw reet clipt and heel'd were the lads and the lasses,
An monie a cliver lish hussy was theer;
The bettermer swort sat snug in the parlour,
I'th' pantry the sweet hearters cutter'd sae saft;
The dancers they kickt up a stour i' the kitchen;
At lanter the card-lakers sat i' the loft.

The clogger o' Dawston's a famish top hero,
He bangs aw the player fwok twenty to yen;
He stampt wid his fit, an he shoutet an roystert,
Till the sweet it ran off at. his varra chin en:
He held up ae han leyke the spout of a teapot
An danc'd "cross the buckle" an "ledder te spatch"
When they cried "Bonny Bell" he lap up to the ceilin,
An aye snapt his thoums fer a bit ov a fratch.

The Hivverby lads at fair drinkin are seypers;
At cockin the Dawstoners niver were bet;
The Buckabank chaps are reet famish sweet hearters,
Their kisses just sound leyke the sneck ov a yeat;
The lasses ov Bleckell are sae monie angels;
(this line would appear to be missing in this rendition)
God help the peer fellow that gleymes at them dancin,
He'll slink away heartless as suir as a gun!

The 'bacco was strang an the yell it was lythey,
An monie a yen bottom! a whart leyke a kurn;
Daft Fred i' the nuik, leyke a hawf-rwoasted deevil,
Telt sly smutty stworie, an meade them aw gurn;
Then yen sang "Tom Linton" anudder "Dick Walters"
The aul farmers bragg'd o' their fillies an fwoals,
Wi' jeybin an jwokin, an hotchin, an laughin,
Till some thowt it teyme to set off to the cwoals.

But hod! I forgat—when the clock strack eleebem,
The dubbler was brong in wi wheyte breed an brown;
The gully was sharp, the girt cheese was a topper,
An lumps big as lapsteans the lads gobbl'd down:
Ay the douse dapper lanleady cried "Eat and welcome,
T' God's neame step forret; nay dunnet be bleate!"
Our guts aw weel pang'd we buckt up fer Blin Jenny,
An neest pay'd the shot on a girt pewter plate.

Now full to the thropple wi' heed warks an heart aches
Some crap to the clock-kease instead o' the duir;
Then sleepin an snworin tuik pleace o' their rwoarin;
An teane abuin tudder e'en laid on the fluir.
The last o' December, lang may we remember,
At five o' the mworn, eighteen hundred an twee;
Here's health an success to the brave Jwohnny Dawston,
An monie sec meetings may we leeve to see.
^^
Theme: The murryneet (merry night) has long been a feature of Cumbrian and social life and the song tells what happened (and still happens) at such an event (Blackwell or Bleckell is part of Carlisle).

Tune: Appears on the same sheet as Barbary Bell (song 3) in the Broadwood collection. Written down in 1907. Andersen's works only put the words to 'a popular tune'.