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The Blanchland Murder

While looking thro’ the papers at my home the other day,
I saw there’d been a murder in a cruel and barb’rous way,
About two miles from Blanchland, old Snowball and his son
Did occupy the Belmont Farm where the murder has been done.
This young man, Robert Snowball, from his home did go away.
And join’d some friends at Blanchland to spend the New Year’s Day.
He came home in the afternoon but didn‘t  long remain;
Some neighbours still he wished to see, so he went out again.

Chorus
Young and old, take my advice, and keep from doing harm,
Just think of the cruel murder that’s been done at Belmont Farm

At twelve o’clock he had not come, so then the father said
Unto Jane Baron, the housekeeper, I think I’ll  go to bed;
Perhaps he has joined with some friends, and may be out till late.
Yes you can go to bed, said she, and I will of him wait.
Next morning when the father rose he began to sigh and fret,
When she told him that his dear son had not returned home yet.
I waited lonely by myself till three o’clock this morn,
I thought I need no longer wait, as he did not return.

Chorus

A quantity of blood was found while looking in the byre.
Where it came from the old man then began to enquire;
Ascending to the room above, o’er him there came a dread-
The first thing that his eyes fell on was his son Robert-dead.
The tears came trickling down his cheeks, as near his son he stood.
A hammer also stood close by, bespattered o’er with blood.
We hope that God in heaven will not let the murder rest;
We trust that Robert Snowball’s soul is mingled with the blest.

Chorus
One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

Th’ Row I’ Th’ Gutter

For notation click here
For midi sound click here

One day wen oot waulken aw hard sum foakes tauken.
We voices is lood is th’ one o’clock gun:
For awl aw cud heer thim, aw cudint get neer thim.
For scors iv awl kinds wis injoyin th’ fun.
Wiv pruven en fenden en borren en lenden
Aw axt i’ yund woman wat awl th’ row meend;
Up spoke Mistris Ruttor: It’s just this awd guttor.
Thor’s a row ivory day wen it has to be cleend.

Spoken—Yis, aw spent en ooor an’ a half very canny. Skin and hair wis fleein, an’ ony amaunt e secrits.  If aw kin get te naw the next day it hes to be cleend aw’ll be thare seun eneuf. Af got te naw thor nick nuaims, and whe thae’n been woer kind with, en wen aw saw thim on boxin, aw sed to masel—

Chorus:
Wat need we care aboot Afgans or Zulus,
Let Rushians or Prushians cum neer if thae dar;
We’brum en wi’ bussoms we’ll slay thim be dussons,
Th’ petticote ridgmint’s the boys for th’ war.

Sais young Meggy Robson tiv aud Nanny Dobson
‘Aw lent ye sum buttor a fortnith th’ day;
Then ye gat a shillen, ye drunken aud villan,
Ye promist te cum en pait’t back th’ pay.
Buaith ye en th’ guttor yor shillen en buttor,
Sais aud Nanny Dobson, kin gan to th’ toon;
For yor clais en Jimmey’s yor bedgoons en shimees,
Is awl up th’ spoot, en thae’ll nivor cum doon.

Spoken-She was lit up thare aguain. War wis on e two difforint places.  Thore wis nee big guns, but thore wis sum vary big tongues; en thor neeves wis fleein, so aw torned roond to Jack Scott en aw sais—

Chorus-
Young Meggy Robson feld and Nanny Dobson,
For saying thit hor clais en’ thare Jim’s was in paun;
Then young Janey Dixon en Margit Jane Nixon
Buaith seis’d upon Meggy for striken et Nan.
And Mistris Stoker com oot wi’ the poker,
As suen as she saw there wis two upon Meg;
Bein’ in such a spluttor she fell i’ th’ guttor,
En happind to brick th’ sma’ buain iv her leg

Spoken- Poor, aud body! It wis a bad job for hor but it wis a gud job for th’ tuthors.  She says te this day if she hadint broke hor leg she wud heh broken sum e thor necks.  So wen we heh such gud sowljors as these—

Chorus-

Wile in the bother they feld one anuthor,
‘Twis awful te stand en te lisson thor cries;
And Sally Cairns went yem tiv hor bairns,
She grapil’d the way, wi’ two bonny black eyes
Thim for to friten en stope awl thor fiten,
The Sargint seez’d two for te tuaik them to jail;
But they iviryone seez’d him—bie gum! Hoo they squiz’d him—
He off, en they cudint lay salt iv his tail.

Spoken- Wen he gat yem he had nee hat on, nee buttons on his cote, en three-parts ov his cote lap rovin off; en as money scratches on his fyece as if thord’ been a undrid cats on him. Wen he wis tellin’ the wife where he’d been, she borst oot laffin, en started to sing—

Chorus-

Aud Polly Trumil struck young Besse Humil,
Becaws she had cauld her a dorty nick nuaim;
They ivory one at it, they fit en they bat it,
Till not one amang them wis fit te wauk yem
They sent for the doctor-his nuaim was John Proctor-
An’then for the pollisses-Jacksin en Jones;
An’ they sent a letter for Hall, the bonesetter,
An’ it teuk him three days for te set awl the bones.

Spoken—
The Battle o’ Waterloo was nowt te this one.  There wis ony amount o’ black eyes en broken bones. But for noses-they wor awl shapes; sum was braid reet te one side, en sum was braid as flat as a pen-kyek; en as much skin en hair lyen aboot as wad muaik a hundred shinons. So we gather up the war gear en started te sing
Chorus

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

X: 1
T:Th' Row I' Th' Gutter
M:6/8
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
K:D
||D||:DDD DFA|dcd BAF| DDD dcB|
AFA B2A|ABc ded| cBA AFD|
DED DEF|EDC D2A|DDD DFA|
d\cd BAF| DDD dcB|AFA b2A|
ABc ded| cBA AFD| DED DEF|EDC D2|:

 

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Corry’s Rat

For Notation click here
For Midi Sound click here

It  wis hiteen sivinty, th’ twenty-forst e Mae,
Me en Harry Gibson will not forget th’ dae,
Wen aw wis bissy shiften ewae freh Eden Plaice
Up te little Tanfield-but ye shill heer me caise.

Spoken-Wen ye heer me sad story, aw waint be sorprised te see th’ teers run doon yor cheeks th’ size e cocoanuts, aw cud crie ivory time aw think eboot it; aw wad tee, but aw’s flade onybody sees me, so aw’ll just sing ye a ditty.

Chorus
Stop ‘em thare, catch ‘em, thae awl began te shoot
Th’ drivor en hees pasingors aul com tumelen oot;
If ivor aw shud shift eguain, aw’ll shift them we me hat,
Aw’ll nivor more be flade to deed we Mistor Corry’s rat.

Spoken- Aw’s e terribl chep for floor shoas, but thae alwis heh thim e th’ rang plaice;  thae shud heh thim e th’ tap room-that wid just suite Tommy Martin en me; but thor’s gan te be nowt but pultry it th’ next floor show; be shoor en cum, en aw’ll sing ye—

Chorus
We started then e Shiften we shifted fower lode,
E cumen doon aw saw sum bords sitten on th’ rode;
Thae wor sitten feeden, th’ rat thae nivor seed,
So thae aul floo up tegither on thae flade th’ rat te deed.

Spoken—Aw saw e flock e sparrows geten thor brickfist off sum muck thit sum e th’ horses left lyen on th’ rode.  Thae nivor stord te we gat reet te them, en off thae went, en so did sum body else; th’ bords floo nee sharper than th’ rat went, so aw started te sing-

Chorus
Th’ galewae lade hees lugs back, en cockt hees tail up tee,
Aw saw be hees ipperince thit he wis gan te flee;
Aw was th’ forst thit tumild oot-aw fell emang th’ weels-
Ye wide laft if ye’d been thare, te see me coup me creels.

Spoken—Ye tuak eboot yor mountybanks tornin summorsets en dabing on thor feet! Aw divint naw hoo mony times aw torned owere, but aw wis ganen ower th’ sivinth time when aw lost me senses. Aw mite gan ower mony e time eftor that, but a dabd on me heed en noct aul th’ wull off th’ top.  Wen aw com eroond aw started te sing-

Chorus-
Aw teuk me left leg e me hand, en did me best te wauk.
Wen aw feel in we Harry he ad ardly strength te tauk;
Th’ blood wis runnen doon hees fuaice-‘twis pitiful te see-
En wen aw tried te lift ‘im up, he sade, O let me be.

Spoken-Poor Harry! Aw wis sorry for ‘im, he wis shoor te be stupified-we th’ sharp ride en th’ sudint stop.  If th’ rat had been runen for th’ Derby; it wid been like King Charles-it wid guain fors past th’ post we nee jock on its back; poor me, th’e jock, wis lyen ootside th’ ring singen-

Chorus-
Hee’s fuaice wis full e scratches; he sais, Aw’ve smasht me rist.
Aw teld him if we’d buaith been kild, we nivor wad been mist.
Then Mistress Watson at th’ farm she cried oot What’s th’ mattor?
Aw sais, Plees, ma’am just be se kind is fetch e drink e wattor.

Spoken- Aw sade wattor, but aw ment whisky; but she browt wattor.  Aw tost it aul ower hes heed en fuaice, en wen aw browt him eboot we started te sing-

Chorus
Thanks to Mistor Emory, the memorisen man,
For stoppen Corry’s galewae he had e clivor plan;
He stopt it in e moment, en th’ fokes began to stare,
En thanks te Mistor Corry, but aw’ll hev hees rat nee mare.

Spoken—He saw th’ rat cumen, en he set hiself e th’ middle e th’ rode en shooted. Fixt-you can’t stor, It wis troo; It stud tiv aw teuk im be th’ heed, en aw teukt yem backwards; aw muaid e Haly-e-loo-lye on im.---
Chorus

X: 1
T:Corry's Rat
M:2/4
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
O:A>A A>A|A>A A>A
K:F
|A>A A>A|A>A >A>A|A>G F>E|D4|G>G G>G|G2 F>E|
D>E F>G|A3 A|D>E F>G|A2 c>c|d>d c>c|A4|
A>G F>E| D2 G>G|A>G F>E|D4||A>A A2|
A AAA| A>G F>E|D>E F>G|A>=B c>c|d>d c>c|
A3 A| A>G F>E|D>E F>G
A>G F>E|D4||
One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
 

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Tanfeeld Lee Silvor Modil Band
Wen it Forst Startid

Aw canit tell hoo glad aw is
Te goin we ye th’neet
For te help wor fella working men
We think its nowt but reet,

Th’ reeson we’ve met heer th’ neet
Ye ken is wel is me
It’s for te help wor men to pae
For the band it Tanfeeld Lee.

Chorus
Thare’s big drums en cornits,
Tenor orns en bass;
Then thares two ufoamioms
Thare’s nowt cin them surpass.
Elang we two bumbardins,
Thare te tuaik thor torn,
Trambones en baritons
En one flugil orn.

Chorus

Th’ vary beest thits in the feeld
Thor shoor te run awae,
Th’ little dogs il grunge en bark
Wen the band begins te plae.
Th’ men en wives il dance en sing
Th’ bairns il run te see,
Thail plae th’ troon te stop te heer
Th’ band it Thanfeeld Lee.

Chorus

If ye gan to West Peltin
Te Pit Hill or th’ Sykes
Cum back owor be Stanla
Th’ Hobsin or the Dykes
Yil heer thim boast eboot thor bands
But seun we’l let them see,
Thit we cin rais e champyen band
E wor awn it Tanfeeld Lee.

Chorus

Sum e these big instruments
Is vary ard te blaw
But if yil oanly parseveer
En keep eway yor jaw
En watch th points e musick
We yor teechers aul agree,
Vary seun yil plae sum tuens
Wi th’ band it Tanfeeld Lee.

Chorus-

Thare’s credit due te Mistor Goice,
He’s lent e helping hand,
His sais his honist workin’ men
Dis disarve e band.
It band contests aul roond eboot
Aw hope we’l liv te see
Aul th’ prises browt ewae
We th’ band it Tanfeeld Lee.

Chorus.
 
 
 

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Th’ Skeul Bord Man

For notation click here
For midi sound click here

One morning if haulf-past hite, aw sade te maw bit bairn.
On we thee clais en get off te skeul, for thoo naws thit aw want th’ te lairn

Man: Thoo news aw like for te see th’ be in time, so thee beuk en thee slate’s e th’ drawer.

Spoken- Man: Get off te skeul is sharp is ivor thoo can.
Boy: Aw can’t gan this mornen.
Man: Thoo cannot gan this mornen! Wats th’ mattor wi th?
Boy: Aw he th’ tic.
Man: Thor’s alwis something th’ mattor we th’ wen thoo hes to gan te skeul: if thoo dissent gan aw’ll be getten a lump of paipor, en it th’ boddom thare’ll be ritten on-

Chorus

Send your bairns te skeul, lairn thim aul ye can;
Send your bairns te skeul, lairn thim aul ye can;
Scholorship is e faithful friend, en yil nivor see th’ Skeul Bord man
(when repeated leave off first line)

Boy: Aw’ve been vary bad for e week.
Man: Wei, aw thowt thoo’d getten th’ torn; En if aw let thee bide et yem th’ dae.
Boy: Wei, aw’ll trie for te gan th’ morn.
Man: If thoo bides it yem th’dae, th’ morn aw’ll muaik thee gan. For thoo naws vary weel th’ next thing we’ll get, is e summons freh th’ Skeul board man.

Spoken—Hees Uncil Jack gat e summons th’ tuthor day, but th’ canny aud judge set im cleer effor he pade sivin-en-sixpence, en he teld them if he didn’t send hees bairns te skeul, en wis browt te Lanchestor eguain, he wid get hees sivin-en-sixpence back—mebbee. So wen he com away he wis singen-

Chorus

So it apint that very dae. Boy: Wen aw wis plain it th’ dor.
Man: Thare wis ae man, wiv e buek iv hees hand, thit aw nivor seed before;
So aw kindly invited im in, en te tauk he seun began;
Aw suen gat te naw, be th’ soond ifv hees jaw, thit he wis th’ Skeul Bord man.

Spoken-He nockt it th’ dor.  Aw shoots, Cum in. In he cums he sis Gud mornen, Mistor Airmstrang. Aw said, hould on, thoo’s getten te th’ rang hoose. But he wadint be stopt; he sais, Hoo meny children heh thoo got? Aw sais, Man, that’s en impitint question.  He sais, Well, but you know what I mean; I mean how many have you had? Aw sais. Be oot e this, or aw’ll vacsinate th’. So he tornd te wor Bess, en saiss. What family have you had. She sais, We’ve ad two put hes fuaice eguain th’ window en sais—

Chorus:

Man: Wen aw axt im te sit doon—No aw’ve got nee time to spare; Aw’ve been at skeul en lookt throu th’ books .
Boy: en aw warnd thor’s e lot not thare.
Man: Ye can tuaik maw word freh th’ day, te skeul he’ll heve to gan.
Boy: Aw shoor aw will, for aw’s flade te deed wen aw meet we th’ Skeul Bord man.

Spoken—He hes awl th’ bairns e th’ cuntry side flade te deed, en not only th’ bairns but thor fethors en muthors disint care eboot seein im.  He sent poor Billy Potts e summons th’ tuthor week for thair little Bob being off Skeul haulf e shift, en fined im five shillen en costs.  Hee’s been off hes meet ivor since, en that’s e bad job, for im, for th’ mare he eats th’ mare checks he gets.  Aw met im th’ tuithor dae; aw wis sorry for him, awl he cud sae wis-

Chorus:

Man: Noo, aw want th’ te gan te skeul.
 Boy: Yis en aw alwis gan.
Man: Aw want th’ te be a bettor scolar than me—that is if aw possibly can.
Boy: If ye hadint e plade th’ troon wen like me ye wair yung:
Ye wid muaid bettor sangs, en poatry tee, en your sangs wid e been bettor sung.

Spoken—Aw sae, wat memory’s bairns hes!  Thor wis an aud skeul-mate e mine come inte wor hoose one dae next week, when aw wasint in, en we gat on e tauken aoboot plaen th’ troon e wor yung daes. Aw nivor noatessed im being in, becaws he wis oot it th’ time. But shoor enug aw wis e bad scholar.  Aw once put buaith stockens on te one lef, en eftor that aw went to th’ neet skeul three weeks throo th’  dae tiv aw wis muaid perfect; en noo aw kin read a publick-hoose sine is weel is onybody, en gan in en stop in lang is onybody; en aw think it’s maw duty, since aw’ve fund see much gud freh educaisoon, te tell ye thit hes bairns for te-

Chorus:
 
 

X: 1
T:Th' Skeul Bord Man
M:4/4
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
K:D
|A2|FF A2 F2 E2|D6 A2|d3 d d2 c2|B8|
d2 dd d2d2| c2 BB B2 BB} A2 AA G2 FF|E6 A2|
F2A2F2E2|D6 AA|d2d2d2 cc|B6 A2|d2d2d2 AA|
cc BB B2 FF| A2 AA G2 EE|D6|| F2 A2 G2 E2|
D8|d2 d d2 c2|B6 A2|d2d2d2 AA|c2B2B2 GG|
AA AA G2 E2|D8||

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
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Bobby and Bet

Bob Nicholson alwis like’t his beer,
Their Betty wis fon iv hor gin;
They had ne bairns te bother thor lives,
An neboody used to gan in.
Bob was a regilar quiet man,
Their Betty wis quite the revarse;
Aw’ve heerd folks say the Devil wis bad,
But Bob swore Betty wis warse.

Chorus
So Bobby an’ Bet wis exactly met,
To pairt them it wad be a shem;
For if Bob gets drunk it th’ public hoose,
Their Betty gets drunk it yem.

Bob went one neet an’ gat mortil drunk
Their Betty cried oot for shem;
He wis lyin drunk ipon the road,
And she was drunk it yem.
She jump’t off hor seat en on tive hor feet,
Wi the candil an’ knife iv hor hands,
For te cut a bit meat for Bobby te eat,
But sh didn’t knaw wen he wid land.

Chorus:

She cut the meat an’ fetch’t the plate,
An started te scrub the pan oot:
She torn’d that duzzie, she fel back ower,
Sh’ had te leeve go iv the cloot.
Aw’s clivvor, sh’ sais, so she put off hor clais—
She showt thit she’d finished hor job-

Thor wis nowt but the dish cloot left I’ the pan.
An’ a forst rate supper for Bob.

Chorus
When Bob com yem he teuk off his claes,
He thowt she’d fried him sum pork;
So he clapt the dish-cloot on te plate,
An luck’d for his knife an’ fork
He started te eat his little bit meat,
My word, but, he sais it’s teuf,
The butchor’s either muaid a mistake
Or else it isn’t eneuf.

Chorus:

Bob jumpt on the flor an’ cursed an’ swor,
Thit his suppor wid cawse his deeth;
There wis lumps ev cloot the size o’ me airm
Stickin between his teeth,
He nearly went mad wi’ the support he’d had,
He wisht awl the butchors wis deed;
He teuk up the sissors an’ went te their Bet,
An cut awl the hair off hor heed.

Spoken- Betty’s joined the Blue Ribon Army an drinks nowt but bittor beer; she sais gin used te muaik hor drunk.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Funny Nuaims It Tanfeeld Pit

For notation click here
For midi sound click here

If yil be quiet aul try te sing e vorse,
If yor nee betttor wid aw shoor yil be nee worse
Its aboot sum faimis workmin we had it oor pit,
We little picks, or bigins, that cud eethor stand or sit.

Chorus:
Cal the dal, the day,
Fal th’ dal, the dido

Th’ forst thit aul menshun he stands eboot e yard,
He cums freh Caimbridge, his nuaim yiv oftin ard;
Hees is stiff eboot th’ back, is th’ neb iv a duck;
Sum daee he will be eeten becaws th’ cawl im Pluck.

Th’ next is e straingor, his nuaim aul not forget,
He wis catcht it Timmith, but hees getting oot th’ net.
Th’ Pluck is vary tuaisty, but if aw ad me wish,
Ad wid raithor eet the straingor, becaws th’ cawl ‘im Fish.

Th’ next is e pumpor, th’ moast pitmin kens,
Browt up in his cuntry, feedin’ ducks en hens;
He cums te the’ pit it mornens wiv his botil en his box;
Ye wid think th’ hoons wis eftor ‘im becaws th’ cawl im Fox.

Th’ next is e foringor, but hees nees warse for that;
His wark’s alwis plaicd like th’ tuthors in th’ flat.
Hees quiet in sivil buaith in dae leet en dark;
Hees cum’d oot th’ wattor for his second nuaim is Shark

Th’ next is a champyin, he gans be Butchor Bob.
He once wis e butchor, but he tired iv hees gob;
He fettid beef en muttin for te fill up hungry holes,
But noo hees in th’ Busty muaiking roondy coals.

So thares Bob, th’ butchor, en thares Eligea Tuck;
Kaity o, Gigor, o Shagor o, en Pluck;
Th’ fox en the Fish, en thare th’ monstor Shark,
Th’ puttor cannot keep them ganen wen thor aul it wark.

It’s Kaity O, en Gigor O, en Shagoros’s wish
For te hev e suppor we th’ Pluck en the Fish;
Thave engaged bob, the butchor, for te cum en kill;
Ivory man it Tanfeld cin cum en hev thor fill.
 
 

X: 1
T:Funny NuaimsIt Tanfeeld Pit
M:4/4
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
K:D
|D2 D>D F2 F>F|G>G G>G A2 A>A|D2 D>D F2 F2|
G>G G>G A2 A>A|B>B B>B A2 A>A| G>G G2 A>A|
A>A A>A A>A G>G|F>F E>E D4|D>C D>E F2 A2|
E>G F>E D4||

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
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Th’ Wheelbarrow Man

Yil aul heh ard e Gimmy Gordin ganen freh Dundee,
He wis oot e wark en cudint keep his wife en familee,
Aul he got wen on th’ road he reely did disarv;
He sade thit he wid raithor dee than let his bairneys starv
It wis in November, en ipon th’ second dae,
Wen Gordin en hees wheelbarrow fixt te set ewae;
Butchors, grocors, draipors, stopt thor wark te gan en see
Gordin start for Lundin wi’ hees barrow freh Dundee.

Spoken- Wen Gimmy wis riddy for th’ road he sais, Gid dae for a wee, stand back ye bairneys, th’ road wis cleerd en Gimmy sade.

Chorus-

Heers of te Lundin en yid bettor clear th’ wae
Aw want to be it yem aguain ipon Nue yeer’s dae,
If aw wis once ipon th’ road aw muaik me barrow gan
Awl let thim see thit aws th’ champyon wheelbarrow man.

Gimmy en his barrow went it such e clivor stile
Th’ bairens aul ran eftor im for lump ebuv e mile
Sum wis pullen at his cote, en runnen biv hees side.
Shooting Gimmy, stop th’ cairt, en let us hev a ride.
Gimmy tuek nee heed e them he still kept wheelen on;
En wiv a champyon stroke or two freh them he seun wis gone,
Thae shooted, Gan on, gimmy lad, is far is thae cud see,
Th’ bairnes aul declaird this Gordin muaid his barrow flee.

Spoken-
Wen he gat oot e seet e th’ spectators he ad five
Minits blaw, en hees nose cleend, en e spit oot then be sais—

Chorus:

When Gimmy landed in Newcasil he wis welcum thare,
He sais he nivor seed se mony fokes it Glasgow fair.
He neethor seed e hoose or shop for thare wish such a thrang,
Th’ bobbies ad t muaik a rode for im te pass elang.
Rotten eggs en oranigis, clarts en lumps e breed,
Brocken pipes, en baccy chows wis stottin off his heed,
Sum wid crie oot wat e shem en strugil ard te see,
Gordon th’ wheelbarrow man, cumen freh Dundee.

Spoken- Gimmy stopt aul neet e Nuecasil, the next mornen thare wis hundrids waiten te see im off, he thenkt thim for thair kindness, then he lifted his barrow frev its int legs en sais-

Chorus

Wen Gimmy gat te Lunden he wis met we great sorprise,
Th’ cocknies stud en luckt it im is if he wasint wise.
Thae put nee muny in his box thave arts is ard is stuain,
He sais he’l dee in Scotland twice before he’l gan eguain.
He sais he ad sum hevy daes we wet en wind en snaw,
But what he teuk ipon th’ rode we’l nivor get te naw,
But hees landed yem en glad he is his wife en bairns te see,
En thenks th’ fokes ipon th’ Tine for being see kind en free.

Spoken- Gimmy sais, if it wis barrow shuving esteed e boat pulling he wid be champyon. He wants te shuv Hanlon or Beech on th’ suaim wattor. If he defeeted Saw Dust Gack, en Bob Black, an ansor throo th’ Sunda Companion will be etendid tee-

Chorus.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
 
 

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Stanla Markit

For notation click here
For midi sound click here

If ye be bad en off yor meat
En wid like te be put reet
Tuaik e wauk sum Fridae neet
Up te Stanla Markit.
Aul kines e doctors thare yil see,
Thor aul is buisy is can bee
Its we te tell th’ bigest lee,
While tellin ower wat thae cin dee.
Te heer thim on thae ar that clivor
Thae cin muaik nue lungs en livor
En fact thail muaik ye liv for ivor
Up it Stanla Markit

Chorus:
Fol de rol de rol de ray
Fol de rol de rol de ray
Fol de rol de rol de ray
Up it Stanla Markit.

Thare thail stand en guap en shoot,
En wen th’ crood get roond eboot
Thae tell ye thae cin cure th’ goot
Up it Stanla Markit.
Thae preech awae en nivor smiles,
Its reely grand te se thor stiles;
Thae tell ye thae cin cure th’ piles,
Tumors, ulsord throtes, or biles.
Thare thail stand freh six te ten
En tell th’ good thiv deun for men;
Thae think th’ pitmin disent ken
Thit gans the Stanla Markit.

Chorus

En when ye get mixt up e th’ thrang
Yil find it ard te travil elang;
En yil heer sum stranger singen a sang
Up it Stanla Markit.
Thares e chep we second hand clais,
And beuts en shoos hees full e praise;
But tuaik nee noatis what he sais
He onaly wants yor bits e pais.
Thares sasage ducks, en savilois,
En thares e stall we nowt but tois
Te plees th’ little girls en bois
Up it Stanla Markit.

Chorus

Thares bulits en spice en pies en wigs,
Taity chopers, braiks, en gigs,
En yil oftin see a chep we pigs
Up it Stanla Markit.
Thares black puddings, neerly wite,
Thor muaid te suit yor appetite,
One il sarv fre six tiv hite Thae suit e chape
Thits rithor tite.
In rain or snaw ye needn’t fret
Thares umborelas for ye te get
Te keep ye drie emang th’ wet
Up it Stanla Markit.

Thare yil see e grand Masheen
It shines like silvor, nice en cleen;
It tries th’ narves e fat en leen
Up it Stanla Markit.
Thares legs e pork, fra Rotterdam,
Baicon, beef, en home-fed ham;
Black corant, en strwberry gam,
En ony emoont e veel en lam.
Ye cin get e tip, but dinit hed
If ye dinit naw hoo th’ horse is bred;
Thares pots to stand belaw th’ bed
Up it Stanla Markit.

Chorus.

X: 1
T:Stanla Markit
M:6/8
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
K:G
B2 A| G2FG2E|D3 C2 C| B,2 A, B,2 C|(D3D3)|
E2 E G2 G| D2 D G3|A2 A DEF|G3 G2 A|
B2 B B2 B|B2 B2 B2 B2| c2 B2 A2 G|F2 G A2 D|
G2 G G2 G|G G2 G2 G| A2 A A2 G|F2 E D2 D|
G2 G2 G2 G| G2 GGG| A2A A2 G|F2 E2 DDD|
E2 E G2G| D2D G2G|A2A DEF|G3 G2 z z ||
B2 A G2 F|G2 E D3| C2 C B,2 A,| B,2 C D3|
E2 E G2 G| D2 D G3| A2 A DEF| G3 G2 z z|
One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Th’ Borth E Th’ Lad

For notation click here
For midi sound click here

Aw’ll de me best to please ye, en th’ best cin de ne mair,
Aw’s gan te sing eboot messel—wen aw wis born, en wair;
Aw wis born at Shotley, aw’ve ard me muther sae,
Twas in th’ munth iv August, en on th’ fifteenth dae.

Spoken- Aw cin mind that mornen aw wis born is if it wis th’ neet. Th’ pits wis aul idle th’ next dae-because it was Sunda;
But ye wadn’t thout it wis  Sunda’ it wor hoose, thor wis that much tee en gingor beer drunken aw wis forst te stop th’ tap.  Dolly Pots got tite en flung a saucer it Betty  Green, but it mist hor en catcht me between th’ ies en mooth, en aw’ve ad a greet lump thare ivor since. But we seun muaid hor en ootside passengor, en we ingoid worselves we singen-

Chorus:

He is th’ best if ony,
For his fuaice it is se bonny,
We’ll caul ‘im Tommy,
Hees th’ pictor iv hees dad;
So th’ popt on th’ kettil.
Is seun is things wis settled,
En th’ tee wis fettled.
Ower th’ borth e th’ lad.

Aw mind it was warm wethor wen thae receev’d this lad,
Me fethor danc’d th’ flor te show thit he wis glad;
Me muthor she lae, smilen, en cauld me be nuaim,
She sais God bless the little heart, aw’s plees’d thoo’s landed yem.

Spoken—Ye naw thae expected me three munth before that (aw’s e twelve munth bairn- but ye can see that be me size) That wis th’ forst time aw seed Betty Lee, th’ mid-wife.  She tuek me up en lade me ecross hor nee, en saaid te me muthor. Aw think aw’ll wesh im.  Aw thowt she sade. A think aw’ll thresh im—aw teuk hor up rang. If she’d lad e finger on me aw wid guain strite back to wair aw com freh. Aw gad e gud wesh en e nue sute on, en we started te sing.

Chorus

Th’ neibors com te brickfast, this nue-born bairn te see,
Mistres Wite gat mortal drunk we drinken Stewart’s tee;
Miss Watson wis religyis, en so wis Mistris Kae,
En is seun is deun we brickfast, th’
 Buaith nelt doot te prae.

Spoken- Th’ brickfast wis’ ardly ower te thae doon on te thor nees en began te prae it th’ top e thor voise.  Is seun is thae startid to prae, aw started te sing. Johnny cums marchin hoam. It wis a great favorite  e mine at that time.  Nan Watson shooted tive aud Betty Lee th’ mid-wife, Stop that child from crien, or I must cease praying; and Betty shoots, Get ewae wi thou: th’ bairn’s not cryen- hee’s singen th’ bairn naws is weel is me thoo’s prayen  e cheet, so thoo’d better get on te thee feet en sing esteed e prayen.

Chorus

My word, said Mistris Robson is she lade me on hor airm.
If aul me time aw nivor met we such  t witey bairn.
Th’ doctor just had landed, so aw sees’d im be th’ cote.
But littl wair thae thinking thit th’ bairn wis e pote.

Spoken- Is seun is ivor th’doctor com within th’ door  aw grab’d im be th’ neck, en aw didn’t forget to shaik im; but ye naw aw wis e vary big lad wen aw wis vary littil.  Aw axt ‘im hoo he wid like to stop in prison three month eftor hees time wis up but we seun gat aul reet-en me fethor wissil’d Betty en th’ doctor danc’d to cloasen time. Aw wis sair we laffin, so we finish’d  we singen-

Chorus
One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

Th’ Nue Ralewae Te Anfeeld Plane

It wis in the month e November.
En ipon th’ thorteenth dae,
Th’ eer in hiteen ninety three,
When th’ nue ralewae
Wis oapind oot for minoril,
For th’ cumpiny wis flade
Te trust th’ lives e wor cany aud wives,
Th’ line been nuely lade.

Spoken-
It wis vary thowtfil e th’ ralewae cumpiny te trie th’ line we deed stock forst, but thor wid nivor been e ralewae muaid tiv Anfeeld Plane if it hadnit been Billy Bulmore, Ridily, th’ owerseeor, en Bil Indyan, West Stanla, en th’ oanly wae thit we cin recompense thim is we singen th’ chorus-

Chorus:
We’ll sing in praise e Bully Bulmore,
Ridily en Indyan th’ suaim,
We shud trie it th’ next big elechshin
Te put M.P. te thor nuaim,
If ther awn expense for th’
 Cuntry-side
Thae laibor’d neet en dae,
Lang mae th’ liv for te ride up en doon
Ipin th’ nue ralewae.

Wen hitten ninety fower cum in
The tauk wis neet en dae,
Wunderen wen the tranes wid start
Ipon th’ nue raleway.
Genueiry past en went,
En eesed es e wor pane,
Februairy th’ forst com in,
En browt es th’ mornen trane.

Spoken—Ye shud see th’ cany aud wives gigin eboot, sum
We th’ glass e thor hand—hauf tite, drinken e helth te th’
Nue raleway. Tripey Nan shoots: join we me en we’ll sing-

Chorus
Mony e scor freh Stanla went,
Likewis freh Tanfeeld Lee,
En met it Sheel Raw staishin,
Th’ mornen trane te see.
Wen thare ard th’ wussil blaw
It set th’ plaice elive,
Three cheers went up freh yung en aud,
Wen th’ forst trane did erive.

Spoken—Aw wis stanen beside a chep wen th’ shooten started, aul nivor forget it, he vary neer shifted my nolidge box off its plaicem, he had hes mooth wide oapen, it just put e th’ mind iv e  empty hoose, he had nee teeth in, aw cud see reet doon hes throate en neerly throo th’ back door, but aw shifted me stand en began to sing—

Chorus

There wis money a score got in
Te ride the Annfeeld Plane,
Just te sae thaid ad e ride,
In th’ forst nue ralewae trane.
Two cany awd fish wives, like the rest
Th’ sade thaid geten thor wish,
Thae wid oftin be oot e th’ cuntry noo
We thor baskets en thor fish.

Spoken- Jack Smith had a gam cock clocken, en he wis doon it  Bob Johnstin’s it Sheel Raw, geten e clecken e weel bred eggs, he ad six e one pockit en sivin e the turthor, but wen he got tiv Anfeeld Plane he oanly ad two, the carrigis war that full his eggs wis awl broken, when he gat yem he put he’s cote under the clocker, he still expects te git th’ breed, aw wish he may, aw left im thare singen—

Chorus-
If ye want to gan te th’ peopil’s paliss,
Or th’ Neugit Street Impire,
Ye heh nee caul te bothor yor heed,
E cab or e trap te hire.
Th’ tranes is runen for te sute es awl
Ipon th’ Sheel Raw line,
Ye can gan e th’ mornen or the eftorneun,
For te’ see th’ pantomime-

Chorus

X: 1
T:Th' Borth E th' Lad
M:2/4
L:1/8
C:Tommy Armstrong
K:D
|D|FA AF| E(DD)E/2E/2| FA BB|A3A|
B>c dc|BA FB|BA dF| E3 E| FA AF|
E(DD)E| FA BB|A3 A| B>c dc|BA FD|
FE DC|D4||m: 6/8 F2 F F2E| F (A2A2) A|
B2 B B2A| B (d2d3)|m: 2/4 d4|c2 d2| B A3|
F2 A2| B2A2|d2 F2|(E4|E2) A2|F2 A2| A2 F2|
E2(D2|D2) D2|D2 F2| A2 d2| B2 (A2|A4)|B3 c|
d2c2| B A3|F2 A2|B4|c3 c|d4||
 

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Tanfield Braike

Twis in the munth if Awgist, in hitenteen sixty-nine,
Aw thowt thit aw wid hev e ride, th’ mornen wis se fine;
So aw catch’t th’ braik it Tanfield, before it went eway, Te hev e
Ride inte th’ toon, just te spend th’ day.

Chorus

Oh! Dear, oh! Ye shud’ard them shoot,
Aud Bessy Ferguson dabb’d ipon hor snoot;
Nan Smith wis lyen on the top e’ Meggy Waik,
She sais sh’ll not forget th’ day th’ wheel cum off the braik

We set away fra Tanfield before he gat his lode,
But thore wis plenty waiting’ for him ipon the rode;
Wi’ men fokes en women fokes, th’ braik wis nearly fill’d,
We adin’t getten far eway, te we wor nearly kill’d.

Thare wis fowerteen that day drivon off thor crack—
Bill Car, Jack Car, Graim, en Coffee Jack;
Th’ wumen fokes wis tauken eboot baicon being’ se cheep,
Wen aul it once th’ wheel cum off, en cowpt is aul iv e heep.

Wen Coffee jack fell te th’ ground he started for te sweer,
Is seum is he cud speek, he shooted, What’s th’ mattor heer?
Graim wis lyen speechless, on Coffee lost hees hat,
En if he adin’t  fund it he wis gan to rib aud Mat.

‘Twas ard to see th’ wumen fokes e ganen te th’ toon—
One shoots, Aw’ve lost me hat, enuther rove hor goon;
That’s nowt for ye to tauk eboot, aw’s warse than that mesel.
Sais Janey Wood, Aw’ve lost me porse, en smash’t me umborel.

Aw felt for Nanny Wilkinson, she gat e nasty crack,
Jack Car fell cross-leg’d reet on Nanny’s back;
That wis accidental, but he dorty’d aul her goon,
If thae and’t got th’ weel put on , she wad ridden im te th’ toon.

Th’ drivor lost hees senses, en didden’t naw ware te gan,
So e euk ‘ad e Coffee’s heed, en shoots wo oi maw man;
Coffee struck oot we th’ left, he appined te miss hees mark,
En muaid th’ blud flee fres th’ snoot e poor aud Bessy Clark.

Coffee sais, Let’s drive away, jump in en tuaik yor seet.
Graim sais We cannit gan until th’ wheel’s put reet.
Coffee sais, It’s  nonsense; aw’ll tell ye wat te dee;
Put th’ lowse wheel in th’ braik, en gan te th’ toon we three.

We sent away for Stoker, he lived at Sunnyside,
We had te get th’ wheel put on before we gat e ride;
He wasn’t lang e putint reet, en then we set sway,
We brokin ribs en flatten’d snoots, we spent e jolly day.

Spoken- Th’ time th’ blacksmith was putton th’ wheel, aw pickt up fower young pillas.  Aw thowt thae wor bags e sawdust.  Coffee sais: Tommy, them’s Bussils. Aw thowt, for cureosity, aw wad open e one oot en see that wish inside-proper paunshop.  Aw gat a foweer hippens, e bairn’s slipper, e gimlick, e black leed brush, shoo horn, a pair e stockens, en Aud Moor’s Alminack, so aw tied them up, en we aul began to sing th’ korus.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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The Kaiser and the War

Kaiser Bill is busy still, he tells us what he means,
By building all those floating mines and likewise submarines;
He thinks he can defeat the world and rule both land and sea,
We know what he is trying for-and what he will not be,
To murder and destruction he is doing all he can,
This has been his motto ever since the war began,,
His weapons are all special made, the innocent to kill,
God send the gout to both the feet of dirty Kaiser Bill.

It makes our very blood run cold each day to read the news;
The ships which they are putting down, their passengers and crews;
Not a living soul on board will they attempt to save,
They stand and laugh to see them go down to a watery grave.
They say it is their orders that every ship they see,
Which they camn, they must put down, no matter whose it be,
Whatever he tells us to do we must obey his will,
May the gout run up the legs of selfish Kaiser Bill.

To be the King of England was German Bill’s ambition,
He was coming through by Belgium without asking their permission;
From there he had to fight his way until he got to France—
To England he was coming next but did no get the chance.
Britons never shall be slaves we very often sing,
But we would have a German song if German Bill was King;
Instead of being on Britain’s Throne—he’ll be put through the mill
Every German sausage made will taste of Kaiser Bill.

On the sea, and in the sea, and high up in the air,
If any murders can be done you will find them there;
The Zeppelins do their work by night, they keep inside all day,
It suits them best, when dark and late, for taking lives away.
But we have got his master now, and he has got to know
That we can fly above his Zepp, and send it down below;
There’s nothing that he can invent the Zeppelin’s place to fill—
It’s nearly broke the tender heart of dirty Kaiser Bill.

He was the first to start to war, the first to cry for peace,
Since he knew it was refused-his vengeance has increased;
The war will soon be over and the Allies will have won,
Then he will have time to sit and think of what he’s done.
He has made himself a name which he will always keep,
His murders will be talked about at both sides of the deep;
May he suffer night and day the Scriptures to fulfill,
When he is dead the name will live of Dirty Kaiser Bill.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Murder of Mary Donnelly

While live exists and memory god, we ever shall remember,
The cruel murder that was done on the fourteenth of December;
A man as lodger once in West Stanley used to dwell,
He stayed with Thomas Donnelly, a man that we know well.

Donnelly had a little girl, she was but ten-year-old.
When we think about her death, it makes our blood run cold.
It was on a Monday night, a cruel part to play,
This lodger left West Stanley and enticed the girl away.

This loving little creature was far too young to know,
What the man was going to do, or whare  she had to go.
She was taken to a lonely place, the murderer had a knife,
And when he had done as he choosed, he took away her life.

At nine o’clock she had not come, the mother thought her long;
At ten o’ clock the father said, there must be something wrong,
The father to the mother said, go tell Inspector Stark
And I will go in search of her although the night is dark.

Inspector Stark and Officers, along with working men,
Commenced their search that evening shortly after ten.
Close upon a week was spent, searching night and day,
By scores of willing helpers, at home and far away.

Ponds were dragged both far and near for many miles around.
And Reservoirs run dry to see if the body could be found.
Whickham, Swallwell, Rowland’s Gill, likewise Gibside Wood,
Was searched by officers and men without rest or food.

On the Nineteenth of December, the man for which they sought,
Near Barcus Close and Tanifield by officers was caught.
They took him up to Consett, and locked him in a cell,
But how his thoughts and mind was, there’s no one can tell.

The searchers still continued on  they n’ere seemed to tire,
To find the body of the child was all they did desire.
The twentieth of December which was on a Sabbath Day,
Inspector Stark with volunteers from West Stanley bent their way.

While searching near the Pea Farm, the mystery was revealed,
The body of the child was found in the corner of a field.
From the field the villages, the news was spread around.
That the body of the child that morning had been found.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
 

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Old Folks Tea at West Stanley

I’ve been at grand suppors, grand dinnors and teas;
In chapels and churches, likewise in marquees;
Enjoyment and pleasure I always could  find
If the company I met with were lively inclined;
I’ve had some grand treats in the days that’s gone by,
But I went to a tea, the thirteenth of July;
I never saw such a grant set-out before,
Like the Old people’s Treat at West Stanley Store.

Seven hundred old people, all hearty and gay,
Some were bald-headed, while others were grey;
With sticks and with crutches, ‘twas grand forto see
The way that they hobbled upstairs to the tea.
On entering the hall where the tables were set,
The sight which I saw I shall never forget;
People from sixty to eighty, and more,
Were all at the tea in West Stanley Store.

White bread, well buttered, and brown bread the same,
And many more spices than what I can name;
There was teacakes and custard, seed bread and rice,
Tarts made of apples, biscuits and  spice.  There was all kinds of
Jellies and blackcurrant jam,
Beef, tongue and mutton, pickles and ham;
Tomatoes bananas, was there in galore
At the Old People’s Tea in West Stanley Store.

I would like to have mentioned each working man’s name,
But to mention the Clubs will perhaps do the same;
The Excelsior and Norman, and Empire true;
The central, Oxhill, and the Social, South Moor,
The Union, Victoria and the Pioneer sure;
Are working together as they have done before,
For the Old People’s Tea in West Stanley Store

The Old People’s Treat has been on seven year,
It is not provided by the brewers of beer,
All is provided by Workingmen’s Clubs,
There’s not much to get from the owners of pubs.
Those owners have men to look after each bar,
While writing it is not to them I refer;
For, like other workmen, they just have a wage,
Paid by the owners who do them engage.

Thanks to each steward, each stewardess as well,
The good they have done there’s no one can tell;
Likewise the committees and members the same,
For helping old people, they’ve made a good name.
The waiters, God bless them, we should not forget
The way the old people was cared for and treat;
If we live till next year, I will meet you once more
At the Old People’s Tea in West Stanley Store

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.

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Consett Choir Calamity

A scripture tells us very plain to Think not of to-morrow
Because our happiness and joys may quickly turn to sorrow
How many cases have we known up to the present time
Where Death has called away young men and women in their prime.
Some we knew that suffered long in bed, both night and day,
And others, in the best of health were suddenly called away,
When the appointed time has come, to Death we cannot say;
I’m not prepared to go just yet, call back some future day.

Death will take no bribery, or one thing would be sure,
The Rich would live, and Death would only call upon the poor.
We know there’s danger everywhere, no matter where we go,
Look at the sad calamity—going to Prudhoe Show.
A happy band of Vocalists from Consett went away,
To join a Singing Competition which was held that day.
The vehicle which they’d engaged at Consett did arrive,
The weather was both fine and fair, and pleasant for a drive.

The vehicle with its passengers which numbered twenty-eight,
Delayed no time at Consett, lest they should be too late;
A pleasant smile was on each face, all hearty so gay,
They all joined in with one accord, to sing while on their way;
They sang with voices loud and sweet, in praise of God on high;
But little thought that afternoon that some of them would die.
Death was riding with them, but little did they know,
That not a one amongst the lot would see the Prudhoe Show.

When they arrived at Medomsley, five passengers were there,
Waiting for to join their friends, their pleasures for to share;
The vehicle stopped and took them in, they each one took their seat,
The moved away, but never thought of danger, or the troubles they would meet.
All went well until they reached a bank both steep and long,
On going down it could be seen that there was something wrong;
The vehicle ran much faster than what it ought to go;
The danger that their lives were in not one of them did know.

The driver did his very best, the vehicle for to guide,
Thinking of the passengers that he had got inside;
The brake refused to do its work, none of the company knew,
The driver sat and did his best to bring them safely through;
There was no chance of jumping out ‘twas useless for to try,
They had no other chance but sit, which made their end so nigh;
And when he had lost all control- exhausted as could be-
The vehicle and its passengers ran smash into a tree.

As soon as the disaster, the news was quickly spread
That twenty-five were injured, and nine were lying dead;
The ambulance and doctors too, were soon upon the ground
With stimulands and bandages to dress  up  each one’s wound.
One young man named Pearson, was injured so that day,
On going to the Infirmary, he died upon the way.
Owe hope those Ten have landed save into the Home above,
Where all is Happiness, and Peace, and Everlasting love.

One Good Source:Polisses & Candymen, The Complete Works of Tommy Armstrong, The Pitman Poet,  ed. Ross Forbes, TommyArmstrong Memorial Trust, 1987.
 

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The Angler's Song- In Praise of the Coquet

For midi sound  click here

The lambs they are feeding on Lanely Shiel Moor,

And the breezes blaw softly o'er dark Simonside;

The birds they are lilting in ilka green bow'r,

And the streams o' the Coquet sae merrily glide.

The primrose is blooming near Halystane well;

The birds on the saugh and the bonny birk tree:

The muir cocks are calling frae Harbottle Fell,

And the snaw wreaths are gane frae the Cheviot sae hie.

 

The mist's on the mountain, the dew's on the lea;

The lasses hae kilted their coats to the knee;

The shepherds are piping near Baraburn brae,

And the sunbeams are glinting far over the sea:

Then we'll aff to the Coquet, wi' hoo, hair and tackle,

Wi' our neat taper'd gads and our weel-belted creels,

And far frae the bustle and din o' Newcassel,

Begin our campaign at the streams o' Linshiels.

 

Mair big o' our conquests than great Alexander,

We'll rise to our sport wi' the morning's first beam,

Our creels will grow heavier as onward we wander,

And we'll levy large tributes frae pool and frae stream,

We'll plunder the deep, and the shallows we'll tax well,

Till Sharperton, Hepple, and Thropton are past,

And we'll halt near the Thrum for a dinner wi Maxwell,

And land at our auld hame of Weldon at last.

 

The nimrod may boast o' his horse and his hounds;

About louping o'er hedges and ditches may rave,

But what's a' his clamour, his rides and his rounds,

Compar'd wi' the murmur o' Coquet's pure wave.

And ramrod may brag o' his pointer sae staunch,

And tramp untill weary o'er stubble and lea;

But what's a' his fun wi' his dog and his gun,

Compar'd to the lang rod and thrawing the flee.

 

Now the crag-end is past and auld Brinkburn is nearest,

Near the green braes o' Todstead the pride o' the vale

Then hey for auld Weldon, to anglers the dearest,

Auld Weldon whose cellars and streams never fail,

Here we'll talk o' our triumph and boast o' our slaughter,

How we hook'd him, and play'd him and kill'd him sae fine

And the battle sae gloriously finish'd in water,

Again and again we'll fight over in wine.

 

Here's success to the gad, and a health to each friend on't,

If e'er prayer o' mine can have interest above;

May they run their lines smoothly, nor soon see an end on't,

And their course be as clear as the stream that they love.

May the current o' life still spread gliding before them,

And their joys ever rise as the season draws nigh;

And if ever, as may happen, misfortune comes o'er them,

Oh may her darts fall on them, light as the fly.

 

llka=each

Halystane-small village on the south bank of the Coquet below Harbottle

Saugh= willow

Birk= birch

Brae= steep bank

Gad= fishing rod

Creel- wickerwork basket for fish

Loup-= leap

Lang=long

Flee= fly

For midi sound click here

For midi sound click here

As I was a walking one evening alone,

Down by the banks of Coquet I heard a fine song,

She's the beautifullest damsel that ever I did see,

She was walking for pleasure the same road as I.

 

I boldly step'd up to her said I my pretty maid,

How far art thou going no answer she made;

But still she kept singing, still keeping up the song,

By the bonny banks of Coquet as we walked along.

 

With rapture I fell on her footstep a trace,

Desiring this fair maid would not take this amiss,

Then hand and hand we join'd still keeping up the song,

By the bonny banks of Coquet as we walked along.

 

Oh where is thy dwelling, sweet lasse tell to me,

That I may partake of your sweet company;

It wo'd ease my fond heart, or forever I'm undone,

By the bonny banks of Coqauet quite distracted I run.

 

My dwelling said she from this it is a mile,

I live with my mammy, I am her only child;

No father have I, death has made him his own,

Which with sorrow makes me wander these banks all alone.

 

Then I beg'd of the lasse a time for to keep,

All on the banks of Couet again for to meet;

But she's turned away and her answer she's made none,

And she's left me for to wander these banks all alone.

 

Oh! then said the lasse it's time that we were gone,

That true lovers were parted and gone to their home,

By the sweet pleasant river she has walked along,

And away to bonny Brinkburn this damsel is gone.

 

In verse 1 sometimes I at the end is replaced with me.

For midi sound click here

For Midi Sound click here

For Midi Sound click here

As I was coming home from the fair of Barquetha,

I met a comely lass, she was fairer than Dianne,

I ask'd her where she liv'd as we jogg'd along together

By yon bonny mountainside, she replied, amongst the heather.

 

Lasse I'm in love with you, you have so many charms;

My heart is in a love with you, my bosem to you warms,

The blythe blinks of your een, and your person is so clever,

I'd fondly wed with you, you're my lassie o'er the heather.

 

Dinna think, young man, I believe what you have spoken;

Nor dinna think, young man, I would be so easy taken,

For I'm happy and I'm weel, with my father and my mither,

It wo'd tak' a canny chiel to wile me frea the heather.

 

Lassie condescend with me and dinna be sae cruel;

Spare to me one kiss my dear, one kiss of thee my jewel.

If I were to give you one you wo'd surely ask another:

And may be closely join, to tent me mong the heather.

 

Now here my bonnie lass, I have houses I have land,

And whatever else I have, I will put into your hand,

Oh if that be your will, here's my hand, let's join together,

Then he hugg'd and kiss'd his fill, and she's his lassie o'er the heather.

 

Blythe= glad

Blink=Glance

Een=eyes

Chiel=friend

tent=tempt

For Midi Sound click here

For Midi Sound click here

For Midi Sound click here

X: 1

T:The Fisherman's Boy

M:2/4

L:1/8

S:Polwarth

K:Bb

|D| G2 A F| G2 A {=B} c| d2 c A|

(GF) D2| G2 A A| G2 A {=B} c| d2 =e e|

d2 A A| d d =e e| (d>c) A A| c c d> G|

G F D D | (G>B) A F | G G A c|

d> A =B G| G3||

 

For Midi Sound click here

When I was a walking one morning in May,

To hear the birds whistle and nightingales play,

I heard a young damsel so sweetly sang she,

'Down by the green bushes where he thinks to meet me'.

 

I'll buy you fine beavers and fine silken gowns,

I'll buy you fine petticoats flounced to the ground,

If you will prove loyal and constant to me,

Forsake your own true love and marry with me.

 

I want none of your beavers nor fine silken hose,

For I ne'er was so poor as to marry for clothes,

But I will prove loyal and constant to thee,

Forsake my own true love and married we'll be.

 

Come let us be going, kind sir, if you please,

Come let us be going from under these trees,

For yonder is coming my true love I see,

Down by the green bushes, where he thinks to meet me.

 

But when he got there and found she was gone,

He stood like some lambkin was left quite forlorn,

She's gone with some other and forsaken me,

So adieu the green bushes, for ever, adieu.

 

I'll be like some school boy, spend my time in play,

For I never was so foolishly deluded away,

There's no false-hearted woman shall serve me so more,

So adieu the green bushes, it's time to give o'er.

 

Sometimes said he is substituted for adieu

For Midi Sound click here

If I had gold a' gowpens,

If I had money in store,

If I had gold a' gowpens,

My laddy should work no more.

 

gowpens=handfulls

For Midi Sound click here

braw=fine

Mutches=womens' caps

Tak tent- take care

Kent=knew

Dang=hit

Lap and leugh- leaped and laughed.

but and ben- both outside and inside

cuif=lout

keckling=cackling

clocking=sitting

swither = fear

een = eyes

peugh= pooh

deave= deafen

syne- thereupon

X: 1

T:Jenny Dang the Weaver

M:4/4

L:1/8

S:Polwarth

K:G

|D| G< G B G A< A c A|G< G B G c2 B A|G< G B G A> B c A|

d> e d c B2 A:|| B| d D D> E D> E D> E|

d< D D> D c2 B A| c< E E E E E G E|

D> E G A B2 A|| B| G< G B2 A2 z B|

G< G B> G c2 B A | G< G B G A> B c A|

d< e D> c B2 A||

B| G< G (3 BAG) A> B (3cBA)| G< G (3BAG) c2 B> A|

G< G (3BAG) A> A (3cBA)|B> d d> c B2 A||

 

For Midi Sound click here

The Mouse's Song

For Midi Sound click here

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Cow and there she cam,

Cow ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I not said the Cow,

Unless you'll go to the Stack and bring me some Hay.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Stack and there she cam,

Stack ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I not said he Stack,

Unless you'l go to the Barn

And bring me some Sticks.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Barn and there she cam,

Barn ge me Sticks,

I'll ge Stack Sticks,

Stack it ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I not said the Barn,

Unless you'l go to the Smith

And bring me a Lock.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Smith and there she cam,

Smith ge me a Lock,

I'll ge Barn a Lock,

Barn it ge me Sticks,

I'll ge Stack Sticks,

Stack it ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I not said the Smith,

Unless you'l go to the Sea

And bring me some Coals.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Sea and there she cam,

Sea ge me Coals,

I'll ge Smith Coals,

Smith'll ge me a Lock,

I'll ge Barn a Lock,

Barn it ge me Sticks,

I'll ge Stack Sticks,

Stack it ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I notr said the Sea,

Unless you'l go to the Crow

And bring me a Feather.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Crow and there she cam,

Crow ge me a Feather,

I'll ge Sea a Feather,

Sea it ge me Coals,

I'll ge Smith Coals,

Smith'll ge me a Lock,

I'll ge Barn a Lock,

Barn it ge me Sticks,

I'll ge Stack Sticks,

Stack it ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

Spoken

Indeed will I not said the Crow,

Unless you'll go to the Sow

And bring me a Pig.

 

Sung

Away she lap and away she ran,

Unto the good Sow and there she cam,

Sow ge me a Pig,

I'll ge Crow a Pig,

Crow'll ge me a Feather,

I'll ge Sea a Feather,

Sea it ge me Coals,

I'll ge Smith Coals,

Smith'll ge me a Lock,

I'll ge Barn a Lock,

Barn it ge me Sticks,

I'll ge Stack Sticks,

Stack it ge me Hay,

I'll ge Cow Hay,

Cow'll ge me Milk,

I'll ge Cat Milk,

Cat'il ge me my own tail again.

 

lap= leaped

X: 1

T:The Mouse's Song

M:6/8

L:1/8

S:Polwarth

K:G

|D| D2 G G A G| A2 B G2 D|

D E F G2G|A2 B G z| B2 G A2 G|

B2G A2 G| G A B d e c| B2 A G2||!

D| D2 G G A G | A2 B G2 D|

D E F G2 G| A2 B G2 z | B2 G A2 G|

B2 G A2 G| B2 G A2 G

B2 G A2 G|G A B d e c| B2 A G2||!

|D| D2 G G A G| A2 B G2 D| D E F G2 G|

A2 B G2 z||: B2 G A2 G :|| G A B d e c| B2 A G2||

For Midi Sound click here

X: 1

T:Nice Young Maidens

M:4/4

L:1/4

S:Polwarth

K:F

|C F F F| F A c2| (G> A) (BG) | E2 C2|

|C F F F| F A c2| f2 e2 | d2 c2|

c (d/2e/2) f A| B c d2| B A G F| E D C2|

F F F F| A c f2| (c> B) (AF)| G2 F2|

For Midi Sound click here

Rest! Warrior, Rest

For Midi Sound click here

He comes from the wars from the red field of fight,

He comes thro the storm and the darkness of night,

For rest and for refuge now fain to implore,

The warrior bends low at the cottagers door.

Pale, Pale, Pale is his cheek with a gash on his brow,

His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow,

And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye,

Like a languishing lamp that just flashes to die,

Rest, warrior, Rest, Rest, warrior, Rest.

 

Rest in silence and sleep in the cottagers bed,

Oblivion shall visit the war weary head;

Perchance he may dream but the vision shall tell,

Of his lady-loves hour and her latest farewell.

Pale, Pale, Pale, is his cheek with a gash on his brow,

His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow,

And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye,

Like a languishing lamp that just flashes to die,

Rest, warrior, Rest, Rest, warrior, Rest.

 

Illusion and love chase the battles alarms,

He shall dream that his mistress lies lock'd in his arms,

He shall feel on his lips the sweet warmth of her kiss,

Oh! warrior wake not from such slumber as this.

Pale, Pale, Pale is his cheek with a gash on his brow,

His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow,

And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye,

Like a languishing lamp that just flashes to die,

Rest, warrior, Rest, Rest, warrior, Rest.

 

X: 1

T:Rest! Warrior, Rest

M:6/8

L:1/8

S:Polwarth

K:C

G| B> A G G D G|B> A G G2 G|

B> c B B2 A/2 G/2| B c B A2 D|

B> A G G D G| B> A G G2 (G/2A/2)|

B B A c c B| A>G A G2 z| A3 B3|

c> d c c B A| B> c B B (AB)|

c d c B A G| A d d D2 G/2 A/2)

B> c B B A G| B> C B B G A|

B B d d> C B| A G A G z| G3 D2 D|

G2 z z z z | (B2 A) G2 A| (G3G2)||

Sit ye down here my cronies and gie me your crack,

Let the win' tak the care o' this life on its back,

Our hearts to despondency we ne'er will submit,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet,

And sae will we yet and sae will we yet,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet.

 

Let the miser delight in the hoarding of pelf,

Since he has not the soul to enjoy it himself;

Since the bounty of Providence is new every day,

As we journey through life, let us live by the way,

Let us live by the way and sae will we yet,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet.

 

Then bring us a tankard of nappy good ale,

For to comfort our hearts and enliven the tale,

We'll aye be provided for the longer we sit,

For we've drank togither mony a time, and sae will we yet,

And saae will we yet and sae will we yet,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet.

 

Success to the farmer, and prosper his plow,

Rewarding his eident toils a' the year through;

Our seed time and harvest we ever will get,

For we've listen'd aye to providence, and sae will we yet,

And sae will we yet and sae will we yet,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet.

 

Long live the King, and happy may he be,

And success to his forces by land and by sea,

His enemies to triumph we ne'er will submit,

Britains aye hae been victorious and sae will they yet,

And sae will they yet and sae will they yet,

For they've been provided for and sae will they yet.

 

Let the glass keep its course, and go merrily roun',

For the sun has to rise, though the moon has gane down,

Till the house be rinnin' round about, 'tis time enough to flit,

When we fell we aye get up again and sae will we yet,

And sae will we yet and sae will we yet,

For we've aye been provided for and sae will we yet.

 

crack=gossip

Nappy= frothy

Eident= industrious

X: 1

T:And Sae Will We Yet

M:4/4

L:1/4

S:Polwarth

K:F

|AG|(FA) A c|(BA) G F| (FA) cc|

c2 c c | (de) f c| c2 B A| (AG) GA|

G2 (AG))| (FA) A c| B A G F | (FA) cc|

c2 A c| (de) f d| c B A G| (GF) FG|

F2|| (fe) | (dc) c d| c2 (FG)| (AG) GA|

G2 A B|(cB) A c| d B A G|

(GF) FG| F2||