Walter Pardon

Track List:

Introduction:

Most of the recordings on this CD had been recorded either by Bill Leader or myself and I found that listening to Walter again brought back many memories of him.  I also rediscovered pages of notes that I had made whilst talking to him, and these were used as the basis for my sleeve notes. But I was not able to incorporate all this material into the sleeve notes, and so I have selected and edited some of my notes into several of the sections which follow, in the booklet to this MT production:

Walter's Recorded Legacy outlines how Walter's recordings were made and includes some impressions of what it was like to record him.
The Walter Pardon Discography lists all of Walter's recordings that have been issued on record albums, cassettes or CDs.
The Walter Pardon Repertoire contains the titles of 182 songs we are aware that Walter knew.  Details are given of which songs were issued on commercial recordings.  Where the word 'tape' is shown after a song title, this indicates that an unissued recording is known to exist.
The Listing of Walter's 78rpm gramophone records includes of all the records that were in Walter's home in 1979.  Mention is made of a few of these recordings in the notes to Topic's A World Without Horses.

Michael Yates
Berwick-upon-Tweed, February, 2000.

The recent history of this pair of CDs - the start of which can be seen above - is strangely convoluted.  Almost two years ago, after parting with Topic, Jim and Pat asked me if I would be interested in releasing the 'second' CD - and I readily agreed.  We exchanged a letter or two, but they then got involved in a protracted move to Ireland which seemed to take up most of the summer.  I phoned them several times afterwards, but it seemed clear that they had lost motivation for the project.

Some months later, while talking on another subject with Mike Yates, the second CD got mentioned and he suggested that he could do one quite easily.  Again, I readily agreed.  The next thing I heard was that Topic had reinstated the second CD - consisting mainly of Mike Yates recordings!

Some months later … I heard from another source that Topic had decided against the second record as the copyright to four of the Bill Leader recordings they wanted to include was owned by Dave Bulmer of Celtic Music, and thus that its production costs would be too high.  Back to Mike Yates … we agreed that MT would, again, publish the record.

So we had a full CD-R minus four songs.  Mike sent me lists of all his Walter Pardon recordings (now archived at the NSA, with CD-R copies at the VWML), and I selected about eight that I thought would be suitable.  I then asked Malcolm Taylor (VWML's Librarian) to send me copies, and he asked Andrew King to do the transfers.  I'd suggested that maybe he'd like to fill up the CD-R with other songs while he was about it … and so, a week or so later, a second CD-R arrived.

It was immediately apparent that I could not, despite the likely consequences, reject very much of this material - it was too good; too interesting!  Then a third CD-R arrived from Andrew King … an MT double CD became inevitable, and despite all the work involved, it has been an extremely enjoyable experience!

What we have produced here is intended to be a companion to the other available Walter Pardon releases.  These two CDs contain pretty well every song which Mike Yates recorded from him and which is not currently available on CD on another label.  Obviously, this has meant the inclusion of some (not many) fragments, and songs which would never have seen the light of day on a commercial release - in many cases they show a very different Walter Pardon from the one placed before the public by other record companies.  It is our hope that they paint a more realistic picture of the man and his music - perhaps reflecting on that of all traditional singers? - than is often the case.

In deciding a running order for the songs, we agreed that we should try to make CD 1 a more conventional selection - one which the typical folk music enthusiast might find most acceptable (we, too, have to think of sales to some degree) - while the less well-known songs, melodeon tunes and fragments would occupy CD 2.  We hope that this one will be the more interesting to regular readers of Musical Traditions Internet Magazine.

The Knapton Drum and Fife Band article was written by Walter Pardon himself, and originally published in Folk Roots magazine, No 28, October 1985.  The other sections of this booklet are written by me, aided by quotations and information as indicated in the Credits section.

Rod Stradling
Stroud, May, 2000

Walter Pardon:

This was by no means the only unusual thing about him … to begin with, he was an only child - a rarity in that time, place and social stratum.  Perhaps he enjoyed the solitary life, and the independence it brought, since he remained a bachelor all his days.  But the most remarkable thing - perhaps almost unique for a traditional singer - was that he rarely if ever sang outside the family home.  Yet he kept a huge repertoire of songs alive in almost total isolation for over 20 years, between the last of the family singing sessions and his being 'discovered' by the 1970s' folk scene. The circumstances which conspired towards this situation are basically these:

• There was no pub in the village of Knapton.
• The tradition of singing the old songs died out in the immediate area - was ridiculed, in fact.
• His mother's side of the family had a rich store of old songs, particularly her brother, Billy Gee.
• Billy Gee lodged in the Pardon house for many years.
• The Depression threw Walter and Uncle Billy (whom he greatly admired) together in a way which ensured that he thoroughly learned all the family songs.
• Walter was of a thoughtful disposition and independent mind; he loved the old songs and recognised their importance.
• He had a quite phenomenal memory.

Walter also spoke of the singing at family parties in his early days: "At Christmas time they used to shout, 'Our side of the baulk!' - that was the beam, the baulk across the room.  So they had people singing on your side of the room or mine.  So if someone sang on your side of the room, that's what they used to shout 'Our side of the baulk!' - it was appreciation.  Someone had sung that side of the room and someone wanted to sing this side, so it crossed over … I don't know if they done it anywhere else."

Other situations for singing would have included Church Suppers and Harvest Frolics, where the Norfolk Long Dance and the Four Hand Reel featured - though these had largely died-out in Knapton by the time Walter was about 10 years old.

Well before he was old enough for it, pub-singing in that part of Norfolk had faded away, and he commented: "My generation ridiculed songs.  There were no young men forty years ago, when I was twenty, who went near a man of sixty to hear the songs.  That is a fact.  I never did sing out of the house - hardly.  The only time I used to sing in here was Christmastime.  We finished all Christmas parties when Mother died … the last time was 1952.  That just left Father and I here.  Ever since, I've gone to an aunt who lived up the road, and in later years to my cousins.  We never had any singing up there.  I never sang up there or even took the accordeon out of the house.  Nobody seemed to want to know anything about the songs, so they lay dormant until [my nephew] Roger Dixon - he was the one who wanted them - right from a boy."

In the early 1930s, when the Depression was at its worst and young Walter was finding carpentry jobs few and far between, he and Uncle Billy found themselves with time on their hands.  "He worked on the golf course as a groundsman and when times were bad he'd be laid off … We'd sit of an afternoon in one of the sheds. He'd keep a bottle of something or other under the floorboards and he'd get that out and we'd sit there, the two of us, him singing and me listening.  And that's how I got most of my songs."

According to Walter, Billy not only had the largest repertoire, he was also the best singer in the family.  He had a powerful voice and would pitch his songs higher than Walter.  Most importantly, he was able, while singing, to tell a story - something that Walter thought was possibly the most important attribute for a singer to possess.

When Billy Gee died in 1942, nobody outside the family knew that Walter had inherited his repertoire, as well as all the other songs that he had picked up over the years.  In fact, it was not until 1974 that the outside world began to hear of Walter Pardon.

Walter's cousin, a schoolteacher named Roger Dixon, used to hear Walter singing and playing the melodeon when, as a schoolboy, he would visit Walter's parents.  He subsequently gave him a tape-recorder and asked him to record some of the songs for him (some accounts say that Walter refused the gift, but subsequently bought a recorder himself).  According to Walter it took him all winter to remember and record about twenty of them.  A copy of this tape was then passed on to the revival singer Peter Bellamy, who had once been taught history by Roger, and Peter passed on Walter's details to Bill Leader who recorded and issued two seminal LP albums.  By this time Walter had begun to appear at folkclubs and festivals throughout the country, and when, in 1976, he was invited to sing in Washington DC, as part of the US Bicentennial celebrations, one wonders whether any of his American audience realised that Walter's presence there was an indirect result of the 1929 Wall Street crash.

He had a very large repertory of more than 180 ballads, old country songs, parodies, and turn-of-the-century songs - all the more remarkable in the light of his few opportunities for public singing for the greater part of his life.

In his own words:

[Uncle Billy Gee] was an outstanding fellow.  He was born here in this house.  I learned nearly all my songs off him; he was born in 1863.  Most of the songs he got from my grandfather.  My uncle Tom at Bacton, he knew a lot, but they were different from what Billy's were.  Most of them come front the one man; he knew a hundred, my grandfather did, but in them days there was no collecting whatsoever, no tape recorders or anything like that.  When he died, he took a lot with him; my uncle sang a lot to me, but he never learned them all.  My Uncle at Bacton, he sang different ones …  My mother's sister, Ruth, she used to be a fine singer, but my mother's brothers' and sisters' children, they never learned any of the songs; I was the only one who knew any.  The last one!  But I only sang 'em for myself and for the family, never in pubs …

Now Harry Cox, he used to sing up the Catfield Crown [about 12 miles away], I believe, but I never did meet him.  I heard him on the sound radio, and I did see him on television when they gave him a badge or something.  I know Sam Larner [maybe 20 miles away] was singing well, too, but I never did meet him either.  They were the only two I knew about; I don't think there was a great lot in my time, not in this area.  The only old singers I've seen is Percy Webb and Bob Hart - Percy's dead now …

My grandfather got the songs from broadsheets, apparently; that's how they were brought round, so they always told me.  He could read music, you see; that was unusual.  The reason was, he was born so long ago [surprisingly enough he was born when George IV was king, and he died in 1830].  In his young time, Knapton church had a gallery; the choir sat in the gallery - there was no organ or anything like that - they supplied the music with clarinets and string instruments.  He learned to play the clarinet, so you see he could take the music off these broadsheets.  As he could read music, he got the tunes, whereas a lot of these poor old men around here - you never had to go very many mile 'til you hear these tunes altered all out of proportion, because they had 'em just by word of mouth, and I think that's why his tunes were so good.  The playing, in the churches, that finished very early around here, about 1850 I think, when my grandfather would've been a young man in his twenties.  My uncle Billy, he said he remembered when a man-o'-war sunk off Ireland and someone composed a song about it, and two men come along here with one of those broadsheets and sung the song over to my grandfather.  I don't know if he bought it, but I was told the words and music was ruled on it, and they charged a penny.  That was how they got them into the villages.  I asked Uncle Billy how it was that my grandfather managed to learn a hundred, 'cause that was very seldom he went out of the village - perhaps one day in the year to Norwich, or occasionally to North Walsham, and he said that was how they got round: by broadsheets.  None of 'em got saved in the family; there was only one old song that I ever did find.  The Transports [Van Diemen's Land] - wrote out by hand.  I never dial see any of the broadsheets; they must have got destroyed somehow or other.  A lot of the things that were my grandfather's have survived in this house though - that chair, and the grandfather clock, and that old Queen Anne table …

I was born in this house, and my mother was too.  I haven't been out of the village much myself except during the war, when I got sent all over the country, but I was lucky -- they never sent me out of England 'cause I was working my trade.  I was apprenticed in the next village here - Paston. You've heard of the Paston Letters, have you?  There's a very famous old barn here, too, a tithe barn - 1581.  There's not much to see at Towey's Barn - you ought to look in the church roof here, that better than looking in Towey's Barn.

The church in this village here, it's got the finest roof in the county, double-hammer beam, with about 140 huge angels in, with their wings outspread, all holding something in their hand; one's got a hammer and nippers, and another one is playing an old-fashioned lute, all that sort …  That's one thing this village is noted for, and the other is that it was the headquarters of the smugglers hereabouts - that's about the only thing the parish was noted for!  My uncle told me that when he was young there was old men around here who knew all about this smuggling; I reckon it must have died out about 1830.  Of course they never would own that they'd done any themselves - they was still afraid, you see, even then. I think that was done on a large scale - so was poaching.

My uncle Billy, what had the songs, he was a good man with a gun.  His old double-barrelled twelve-bore, that's still here in the shed, and also his equipment for making his own cartridges: powder-flask; shot-flask, wad-cutters, everything what he used to use.  He told me years ago they had these muzzle-loaders; he showed me how to set a snare.  There was also another instrument here that he used to make bee-skeps with out of brambles.  There was a lot of old things here, but my uncle sold them.  There was an old wheat-dibbler, shaped like an egg on the bottom, they used to push it in the ground and then drop the wheat in.  I've still got a lot of the equipment my mother used to brew beer with - big wooden funnels, and that sort of thing - I've still got the big stone jars she used to put the beer in; some of them came from the brewery at Trunch - they've got primroses on them.  The brewing, that was done just before the harvest started.  The beer was brewed for the harvest, and a lot of it was drank, too!

Uncle Billy worked on a farm most of the time, and then on the Mundesley golf-links, cutting greens, that sort of thing.  His hands were drawn down with rheumatism so he could only move a thumb and finger on each hand.  He was taken away from school, you see, and sent to work on the farm when he was seven or eight year old, and his hands used to get so wet.  He reckoned that's what caused it; at one time he used to play the fiddle, but by the time I was born his hands got locked like that, and he couldn't move his fingers about on the strings.  But he was a very fine singer; had a powerful tenor voice, far away in front of anyone else whatever he sung.  No-one approached him.  He used to do a lot of singing in the pubs in his young-time - I don't know where he got Old Brown's Daughter from; he most probably learned that in a pub in North Walsham called the Mitre Tavern - that's been finished with long ago …  They had a singing room in there - like we have folk clubs now, isn't it?  He said they'd sing songs and go round with a hat, collecting in it.

My favourite of the songs is The Rambling Blade.  I've heard other versions of it on the wireless, but I like this one the best.  I learnt that song sitting on my uncle's knee - that's the truth.  That's how I used to learn 'em.  He used to lift me up, and I'd sit looking up at him while he sung.  He used to sing Caroline a bit, and Bonny Bunch of Roses, and You Generals All ('Marlborough', as you call it).  The Transports he never did sing much - that took too long, I suppose!  Cock-a-Doodle-doo he didn't sing at all, that came from my uncle at Bacton - that's the sort of song he used to like, and The Cobbler - a bit ribald, you know!

I used to play fiddle, years ago, but that was only amateur playing, all on top of the strings.  Do you get a professional, he'd draw his hand right down to the bridge, but I could only play up there.  I always liked the accordions the best.

This accordion - I bought it in Norwich ten year ago this summer; sixteen pound, ten.  My uncle Walter, he paid ten shilling for his, and that's just about equal in value, 'cause that's what his week's wages were.  I still play that, have done for years, in here alone on a Saturday night, never missed. I sometimes sit on the stairs and play, so people can't hear me.  I never bring it out. I've never considered myself good enough to bring it out.

My Uncle Walter always had one.  My Aunt Alice bought me one for about sixpence with-four keys which would just play a tune, a chromatic you see, it would play eight notes [Walter has the terms reversed - he's actually talking about a diatonic instrument].  I learned to play on that and I had one ever since, different ones, some with ten keys, some double-rowed.  I did manage to get a few songs on a piano accordion that I bought about 40 years ago.  The push-in note and the pull-out note is just the same.  If you've got 21 keys on a piano accordion it's just 21 notes.  A chromatic; 21 keys you've got 42 notes, so they don't work the same.

I don't know if anyone can teach you, can they, to play?  I suppose he [Uncle Walter Gee] might have had a hand in it.  I don't know.  Our styles were different.  I can play fairly well, I suppose, but in no comparison to what I've heard - Tony Hall, Chris Morley and all them, or anybody else.  So that's why I don't bring it out.  I don't even compare it to what Oscar Woods can do or Percy Brown, not as good as that, so you know why I just play it for my own amusement.

I never did sing a lot of the old folk songs, not then - not with the older ones alive. That was their perk.  They always sung their own songs, you see.  Uncle Bob Gee would sing Jones's Ale, that was his song.  Tom Gee always sung The Bonny Bunch of Roses - no one else would sing that or dare.  They had special songs they sung.  The brothers would never sing what another brother sung, nor did they like anyone else to.  So I had to sing what no one else wanted to.  The Dark-Eyed Sailor, I was allowed to sing that - no one else wanted to and I always liked the song so that went all right with me.  When the Fields are White with Daisies, that sort of thing - The Old Rustic Bridge by the Mill, In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree - they were more modern songs what they never bothered much about.

Well, Billy - there's a lot what he taught me that he never did sing much.  There were so many repeats, Generals All, Rambling Blade, Young Sailor, Old Brown's Daughter - that was nearly always sung.  Part of The Bush of Australia was considered obscene so that was cut out, a lot of that, never did sing all of that through, but that was then.  Tom's song, he used to sing The Cobbler mostly … another bawdy old song, Cock-a-Doodle-do.  Another one was I Wish They'd Do it Now, that was another one.  The Dandy Man, Jolly Wagoners.  Tom would sing [The Bush of Australia] through but Billy never would, so there was only a fragment going.  He'd tell me the words and I used to write them down because he'd tell me it won't be whole sung through in company.  He told me that used to be stopped in public houses, some of the landlords would ban that - that was a banned song.  Balderdash, they called that.  I don't suppose they'd take much notice now.

He never sung them all [the way through]. He must've known them - he could sing them all [but] I've heard him sing fragments.  It was no trouble to learn a tune 'cos the mother, the two lads, they knew the tunes as well as he did.  So sometimes I'd nearly got the tune off before I knew the words, he'd supply the words.  It was from him and the grandfather that the tunes were got.  I never did hear him sing, not a great many, not through.  Not as many as he let me have anyhow.

You never did hear him sing Van Diemen's Land right through, but it was only through him I knew it, though.  My Aunt Alice would sing a good bit, mother's sister.  She's the last one left alive, I lived with her when I had my house altered and modernised a bit.  She used to tell me a lot about the songs, the tunes too.  She used to enthuse about how well her grandfather used to sing Van Diemen's Land.  So did mother and the other sister.  They all enthused on how well he sung that.  So that was the reason why I liked singing it.

Walter's versions of song tunes:

"Then there were his tunes.  When I first met Walter I was amazed at his large repertoire of songs with their wonderful texts, so much so that I possibly failed to realise not only how important the tunes were, but also how much Walter had consciously, or unconsciously, altered them to his own liking.  Walter had a number of well-known songs in his repertoire, songs which different singers usually sing to the same tunes.  In Walter's case these included songs such as The Dark-Eyed Sailor, The Bold Fisherman or The Trees They Do Grow High, and it is only now, listening to Walter's recordings, that I have become aware of certain repeated musical phrases which seem to occur only from Walter's lips.  It may be, of course, that this is how Walter learnt the tunes in the first place.  But somehow I don't think this to be the case.  What we are hearing, I feel, are deliberate, subtle variations from a singer who was fully in control of his material and of his performance."

So - was this the way Billy Gee sang them?  Do they sound as if they'd been changed that way by a man with "a powerful tenor voice, far away in front of anyone else whatever he sung. No-one approached him! He used to do a lot of singing in the pubs in his young-time"?  Or do they sound like the songs of a quiet, thoughtful, sensitive man, who never sang in a pub bar in his life?

We know that in the 20 years from the last Family Christmas party and Walter's making the 'demo tape' for Roger Dixon, he probably never sang the songs at all - but that he did regularly play them on his melodeon.  As a melodeon player, I know full-well how tunes can get altered on that simple instrument, almost without your realising it.  We also know that it took him all winter to get that tape together, and that he made several attempts at it.  "… that sounded so horrible, I wiped them all out." I'm pretty sure that Walter, possibly quite unconsciously, forged his variations on the old tunes in the process of two decades of melodeon playing and getting the songs back into singable form for his final version of the demo tape.

Walter's Recorded Legacy:

The first album - titled A Proper Sort (Leader LED2063) - was recorded at Walter's home by Bill, Reg Hall and Peter Bellamy and contained eleven songs, all of which could be classified as 'folk songs'.  The song had been chosen by Walter.  For the second album, Our Side of the Baulk (Leader LED2111) we find seven or eight 'folksongs', as well as three Victorian tearjerkers, Balaclava, Grace Darling and I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree, all of which I heard Walter sing in public.  On one occasion I was sitting next to A L Lloyd when Walter sang Balaclava.  'Why is it,' Bert whispered, 'that singers like Walter love to sing such appalling songs?' And therein, of course, lies one of the great problems for folklorists.  How do we reconcile our own likes and dislikes with those of singers from a different background and upbringing?  Cecil Sharp and many of his contemporaries avoided the problem by only noting down those songs which fell within their own tight definition of the term 'folksong'.  Many later collectors have taken a far broader approach in their collecting.  Interestingly, according to Jim Carroll and Pat Mackenzie, Walter prefered to sing 'folksongs' and was well aware of the distinctions between then and the other types of song he sang.

I first met Walter in the Spring of 1978. We had both been invited to a Folk Festival, and I think that I only accepted the invitation knowing that Walter would be there.  Like Walter, I am an early riser and I first saw him at eight o'clock one morning, when we were both walking around the campus grounds where the Festival was being held.  Having introduced myself, I was slightly taken aback when Walter said that two or three people had already mentioned my name to him and mat he had been looking forward to meeting me.  I told Walter that one of my great-grandfathers had left Norfolk to seek work in Lancashire and that, to my shame, I had never actually visited Norfolk myself.  We talked about his songs and about Uncle Billy, who taught Walter so many of them, and of Walter's trip to Washington.  In fact, we seemed to talk for most of that morning, the only interruption being when he was asked to sing for half an hour.  I will never forget the first song that I heard, Jack Hall, and I became determined that I too would record Walter and that Jack Hall would be one of the songs that I would issue on an album.

Walter invited me to visit him in June, 1978, and I began to try to record as many of his songs as possible.  Sometime before meeting Walter, Bill Leader had taken time out to teach me the rudiments of sound recording.  One of the things discussed, I remember, was the placement of microphones.  When I first recorded Walter I spent some time moving my microphones around his living room in order to find where the acoustics were at their best.  When I eventually settled I was pleased to be told by Walter that I had chosen the same place where Bill had placed his microphones!

We would usually spend each morning talking about songs, seeing just what Walter knew and what we could later record.  The recordings were made in the afternoon or at night.  One morning I mentioned the song Thorneymoor Woods that Harry Cox used to sing.  Walter said that he had heard the piece, but that he did not know it.  I left him for an hour or two over the lunch period and when I returned it was to find him surrounded by pieces of paper, each sheet bearing a verse to the song.  During that short period of time he had managed to remember the whole of what was quite a long song.

One pleasant surprise was to discover that Walter knew a number of songs that dated back to the formation of the early Agricultural Workers' Union.  An Old Man's Advice, Hold the Fort and Sons of Labour were complete songs that had once been sung by Uncle Billy.  Walter also knew a number of song fragments that seemed to be written from the workers' point of view, such as Slave Driving Farmers that had been sung by Uncle Tom:

They would drive over poor folks
Who stand in the way.
You slave driving farmers,
You pot-bellied farmers,
You're forced to give way
To the labouring men.

Soon the ships will be coming in,
Laden with foreign corn.
We'll make those farmers rue the day
That ever they were born.

I'll have no Union rascal mind,
I've just sent them adrift.
And if the Union you're in league,
I'll send you off as swift.
If you will work, do as you're told,
Nor use your tongue awry
You can plough and sow and reap and mow
And be a farmer's boy, and be a farmer's boy,

Your brother John was like a lamb,
And you are like a lion.
Your men must work two days in one,
As if they're made of iron.

Fare you well, old boys, for really I must go.
Work it is so scarce and the wages are so low.
I'll cross the briny ocean, let it hail, rain, blow or snow.
I'm bound to emigrate to New Zealand.

Walter had also been visited by Jim Carroll and Pat MacKenzie who continued to record him when I was unable to do so and, on one occasion, Walter was recorded singing at the Torquay folksong club by Sam Richards (released on People's Stage Tapes 11, Up to the Rigs).

As a result of all this work we now know the titles to 182 songs that Walter knew.  A small proportion of these songs were only known as fragments, usually of one or two stanzas, but the majority were known to him as complete songs, about 70 of which would probably have been considered to be 'folksongs' by Cecil Sharp.  Of the remaining hundred or so songs, most were either parlour ballads or else were from the late Victorian Music Hall.

The Knapton Drum and Fife Band: A Reminiscence by Walter Pardon

(Walter wrote the following account after he and Mike Yates had spent an evening together talking about past events in Knapton.  In common with other East Anglian musicians, he uses the term 'accordeon' to describe the melodeon.  Walter can be heard playing one of the band's tunes on these CDs. Mike titled it Uncle Walter's March on the LP, but it may, in fact, be The Grand March that Walter mentions here.)

During the late 1800s the Rolf family came to Knapton and took over the village grocer's store, which is still in existence.  They came, as far as I know, from south Norfolk.  Jack Rolf, one of the grocer's sons, was a musician and a very fine flute player.  He slowly got to know some of the young men in Knapton and found out that some played musical instruments.  Jack had the idea that they should form a village band.  There were no other bands in the villages around here, so the idea was very welcome especially as all the members were well known.  The band was eventually formed with Jack Rolf as the bandmaster and flute player.  They also had Albert Sexton (flute), Horace Watts (flute), Billy Mace (flute) Billy Gee (fiddle), Charlie Stewart (fiddle), Walter Gee (accordeon), Ben Mace (big drum), Billy Sexton (3/4 drum) and Nelson Rolf (kettle drum).  There were others, but I can't recall their names.

A brick and tiled shed in the yard behind the grocer's shop was known and used as the Band House.  It joined the wall of the house that my grandfather John Pardon and my grandmother lived in.  As the band practised sometimes until eleven at night, my grandmother used to complain about the noise of the big drum banging and keeping her awake!

Marching tunes and song tunes were played.  Some of the tunes were Boys of The Old Brigade, The Grand March, Under The Double Eagle, Yankee Doodle, Hearts of Oak, Tramp The Boys Are Marching and The Thunderer.  A board was hung up in the Band House and Jack Rolf would write down the music.  He tried to explain to the rest of his band what it was all about, but none had much idea.  The only way was to listen to Jack play the tune over several times and learn from him the timing and the tune.  One tune, The Grand March, was played when they assembled outside the Band House and as they marched up the village street.  At times they played fairly well.  Sometimes their playing would break down.  This mostly happened if half the band got drunk in a pub before they started to perform.

On Sundays in the summer they played on the concrete, a wide area that led down to Mundesley beach.  The older people used to say it was a good band to listen to.  No-one minded a few breakdowns and they would shout out for them to try another tune when this happened.  One Bank Holiday half the band was drunk before they arrived at Mundesley.  A big crowd had gathered round when a quarrel broke out between Ben Mace, who was in charge of the big drum, and one of the other bandsmen.  Ben struck the other with the drumstick and broke it.  After a few attempts to play they broke down and made for home.  Ben was tired of the big drum, and when they got to the top of Larter's Hill he just let the drum roll to the bottom on its own!

At Christmas the band would play carols at the big houses in Knapton, Paston and Mundesley.  They were always given money for this.  One farmer at Paston would send a message to Jack Rolf to be sure to bring the band at Christmas.  He always referred to them as "My Whistles".  His Whistles were always given food, beer and money.  One year they had enough money to have a dinner as well as beer.  One Christmas, Tom Gee, who as far as I know was never in the band, insisted on coming.  He brought an old accordeon with no reeds in.  He stood near to Walter when they were playing and kept time by pulling and pushing the bellows at the same time.  They played at a big house at Mundesley.  They were given money from the gentleman who owned the house and when they had finished playing he said, "I have heard accordeons played, but never had I heard two accordeons keep time so well.  They sounded like one." In fact they were but one, if he did but know.

After a while a shed was put up on an allotment for the band to play in.  This was because the people in the nearby houses had complained about the late-night noises.

The bandsmen all had little round hats with 'Knapton Drum and Fife Band' on in gold letters.  The hats were red, though I never saw any of them.  Jack Rolf would want to club for paraffin oil in the winter for the lamp.  Someone would say, "We'll have neck-oil. Never mind the lamp." A lot of neck-oil was put down at practices.  All the bandsmen stood in a semicircle when playing.  All watched Jack and when the tune was played for the last time he always moved his left foot forward.  One night the noise was so loud that my uncle Bob Pardon flung some stones on the Band House roof to shut them up.  Billy Sexton came out and roared like a lion.  Made more noise than the band.  Once they played on a wagon.  That was for the celebrations for King Edward VII in 1902.

How much longer the band lasted I do not know.  I don't think there is anyone alive who can remember it.  In time men moved from the village.  Some got tired of playing and the band finished.  The Rolf family gave up the shop and moved to Norwich.  Jack Rolf gave Walter and Billy the big drum and the 3/4 drum.  The 3/4 drum I have seen.  It was sold to the Salvation Army.  I still have the old big drum and broken drumstick hanging in my garden shed. All this was told to me by Uncle Walter.

By the time I first met Walter I was aware of his major status as a singer. He had already recorded two albums and he was being compared to many of the greatest folksingers of previous generations.  Within a very short time he had almost become a legendary name.  He was 'England's finest folksinger', 'The last great traditional singer' and 'The best of the bunch'.

We first met, early one morning, it was with some trepidation that I went up to him to introduce myself.  My first surprise was to be told by Walter that he knew who I was, that people had already mentioned my name to him in connection with the study of folkmusic and folksongs.  Secondly, I was surprised that Walter was quite small in stature.  Listening to his voice on his Leader albums I had somehow imagined a much larger man.  And, thirdly, I was surprised how modest Walter seemed to be.  If this was 'England's finest folksinger' then he was handling his new-found fame with remarkable ease.  I remember asking Walter about some of the songs that he knew and was promptly invited back to his room where he had a listing of them all.  Quietly spoken and outwardly rather shy, there was, nevertheless, a gentle sense of pride as he showed me page after page of song titles.  It did not take long for us to be swapping tunes and verses and I think that we would have spent the whole morning together had not somebody called to take him to a session elsewhere.  Walter was extremely easy to get on with. There were no 'airs or graces', just a man who was at ease with himself and with anyone else, for that matter.

Walter, on his home ground, was just the same.  His house was simply furnished, with not too many nick-nacks.  Everything was arranged neatly.  His radio, his pipe and his kettle were all kept close to his favourite chair.  On the wall hung a Victorian print of the young Nelson being dressed by his mother, in readiness for his first commission.  There were a few books and magazines and I soon learnt that Walter was a keen reader with a retentive memory.  Not that this should have come as a surprise, considering how many songs he knew.  He had read all of Thomas Hardy and most, I suspect, of H E Bates.  According to Peter Bellamy he did not care too much for Kipling's work and was quite prepared to argue fiercely about the respective merits of any of these writers.

His garden, like his house, was Spartan, but neat and trim.  The lawns were well-cut and there were few, if any, flowers, just the occasional honeysuckle and flowering fruit tree.  There were a number of sheds in the garden, where Walter kept his tools and other mementoes from his past.  The big drum from the Knapton drum and fife band hung from the roof of one shed.  In another there was a large jar full of Victorian clay marbles that he had inherited as a child.  A broken cricket bat was a reminder of his deep love of cricket.

Walter's life, like his home and garden, was also neat and ordered.  Some mornings he would pedal into North Walsham to collect a local paper and a pint of milk.  Lunch would be taken with his cousin Hubert's family in a nearby house.  The afternoons were for pottering around the house and garden and the evenings were spent either listening to the radio or else reading a book.  Once he had been discovered as a singer by the outside world this pattern would be broken by trips to folksong clubs and festivals.  He soon limited these occasions to the summer months - he did not like to return to a cold house in winter!  It must be said, though, that he did enjoy the attention that he received at festivals and clubs and it was only when his voice began to fade that he stopped singing in public.

Shortly before I met him, Walter had visited America as part of a British folk contingent that was invited to participate in America's bicentennial celebrations.  In many ways this was the highlight of his life and Walter was quite happy to relive the experience by telling me stories about the other, American, singers that he had met.  He was especially impressed by one singer - 'a real cowboy' - who let him borrow a Stetson to protect his head from the strong sunshine.  Interestingly, he was not too impressed with the Appalachian ballad singer Nimrod Workman who liked to 'act out' a ballad on stage. Songs, according to Walter, were for singing - and that was exactly what he did.  Eyes half-closed, hands clasped firmly behind his back, he would let the song tell its own story at its own pace.  In many ways, Walter was a private singer - he had not performed much in public and had learnt his songs at home, from his mother and from his various uncles.  And, of course, each song carried a meaning for Walter and the family.  Having sung Two Lovely Black Eyes for me - which tells of a punch-up between a Liberal and a Conservative - Walter shook his head and muttered, "They're still at it today."

I heard Walter sing in many different situations, in his home, in the cosy atmosphere of the Library at Cecil Sharp House, at Folk Festivals and on large concert stages in the presence of hundreds of listeners.  According to Martin Carthy, "If you saw him singing in his shirt sleeves you could hardly fail to spot the goose pimples on his arms as he sang."  I cannot say that I recall seeing any goose pimples - rather, I remember a man who seemed to treat every situation in the same way.  I never noticed any stage fright, but rather felt that Walter approached each performance as a job of work; something to be carried out to the best of his ability.  Calm he may have been, but there was also a deep passion lying just below the surface, and this was what made him so good.  Walter loved the songs, and he loved to sing them, no matter where.

I recall an interview with Moe Asch of Folkways Records, where he said that no matter how much Ewan MacColl fooled around before making his records, as soon as he started to sing his personality changed and he became thoroughly professional in his attitude.  And I feel that it was the same with Walter. There was nothing innate in his singing - Walter knew exactly what he was doing.  He knew what constituted good singing and, as a singer, he was working within a set of specific criteria that he had learnt from Uncle Billy and all the other singers.  It is sometimes said that folksingers sing 'spontaneously', that they have a natural ability, untarnished by external forces.  But this is surely not the case.  When Walter was listening to Uncle Billy he was learning not only the words and tunes to his songs, but he was also learning how to sing.  At family gatherings Walter soon discovered that certain songs were only suitable for certain types of occasions, and he learnt how singers would vary their songs in regard to different audiences.  This is why he was able to sing so well, no matter where he found himself.

Walter was passionate about his music and singing.  It should not, however, be forgotten that he had a great sense of humour and that he loved nothing better than to hear a good joke.  Once, after singing The Cunning Cobbler, he began to laugh so much that I thought he might be in danger of choking!  Walter later told me that he was laughing at a memory of the way his uncle used to sing the song, rather than at the content of the song itself.

Walter could also handle himself well in unexpected situations.  I recall John Cohen, a somewhat verbose American folklorist and film maker, becoming extremely excited with Walter's version of the ballad The Broomfield Wager.  "Walter," John exclaimed, "I can see it now.  You are encapsulated in the world of the ballads!"  Walter, who probably had no idea what John was talking about, made no reply, but began to light his pipe.  Then, glancing at me, he slowly said, "Well John, I dare say that you're right." On another occasion, when Walter had stopped to talk to a neighbour, John pulled out a Leica camera and began almost pushing it into Walter's face as he clicked away taking any number of photographs.  I suspect that Walter was a little taken aback by this, but, typically, he said nothing at the time.  Instead he simply took out his pipe, lit up, and let the smoke drift about his head until John was unable to take any more pictures.

There was a sense of spontaneity in many of Walter's actions.  Once, after recording a song about a shipwreck, Walter began to tell me of the carvings in Knapton Church which, according to local tradition, had been salvaged from a ship that had sunk close to a nearby beach.  Within minutes of telling me the story we were out of the house and heading down the road so that he could show me the carvings.  I am certain that Walter, who had been a carpenter for all his working life, took a delight in seeing a continuity between the church carvings - and the magnificent double hammer-beam roof, for that matter - and his own working experiences.  Walter had learnt a trade, of which he was proud, and it was typical that he should wish others to share in that sense of pride.  On another occasion, when we were driving along a country road a few miles from Knapton, Walter pointed out another church where some of his own work could be seen.  Again, it was typical that Walter should only have mentioned this as an afterthought.

It came as something of a surprise to be told that Walter wanted to be buried in Swafield Churchyard, rather than in Knapton. I mentioned this to a number of his friends and, eventually, was told the following story.  It seems that when Walter was a young man he fell in love with a local girl who apparently did not reciprocate his feelings (his song Alice Grey - CD 2, track 9, echoes this situation exactly).  I cannot say if she was later married to somebody else or not, but, when she died she was buried in Swafield and it was Walter's wish that if they could not be united in life, then they would be together in death.

I may be wrong, but over the years did Walter think, consciously or unconsciously, about the ballads of Barbara Allen or Lord Lovel when he asked to be buried close to someone he had loved for more than half a century?

And from her grave there grew a red rose,
And from his a briar.
They grew and they grew into a true-lover's knot,
For all true-lovers to admire.

During his life Walter gave us so much.  For the reasons that I have explained above, I think that he also taught us something in his final passing.  I once said elsewhere that, so far as Walter was concerned, things were never quite as simple as they appeared.  It now seems that, even in death, he was able to confirm that statement.

When Walter Pardon died in 1996, his grave was without a memorial stone.  On Sunday 5th April 1997, a Celebratory Memorial Concert was held at Conway Hall, London, to raise funds to contribute towards to cost of a headstone.  Within a few months, this much-loved man had a fitting and permanent memorial in the Swafield churchyard.  The inscription reads:

The Songs:

Roud Numbers quoted are from the databases, The Folk Song Index and The Broadside Index, continually updated, compiled by Steve Roud.  Currently containing over 200,000 records between them, they are described by him as "extensive, but not yet exhaustive".  Copies are held at The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library, London, Taisce Ceoil Dúchais Éireann, Dublin, and the School of Scottish Studies, Edinburgh.  They can also be purchased direct from Steve at Southwood, Maresfield Court, High Street, Maresfield, East Sussex, TN22 2EH, UK.

Child Numbers, where quoted, refer to entries in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads by Francis James Child, 1882-98.  Laws Numbers, where quoted, refer to entries in American Balladry from British Broadsides by G Malcolm Laws Jr, 1957.

CD One - MT CD 305:

As I walked out one May morning,
When may was all in bloom,
I walked into some meadows gay
To take the sweet perfume.
I walked into some flowery fields,
I turned my head awry,
There I saw Cupid the ploughboy,
There I saw Cupid the ploughboy,
That did my heart beguile.

As Cupid was a ploughing
Those furrows deep and low,
Breaking those clods to pieces,
Some barley for to sow.
And as he was a-ploughing,
These words I heard him say:
"No life is like a ploughboy,
No life is like a ploughboy,
In the pleasant month of May."

A worthy rich young gentleman
A-courting to me came.
Because I would not marry him
My parents did me blame.
Adieu young man for ever,
And for ever adieu.
It's Cupid the pretty ploughboy,
It's Cupid the pretty ploughboy,
Who has caused my heart to rue.

Should I write him a letter,
My tale to him unfold?
Perhaps he will take it scornful
And think it is full bold.
I wish he would take it kindly
And return my heart again,
It's Cupid the pretty ploughboy,
It's Cupid the pretty ploughboy,
With his arrows sharp and keen.

The ploughboy heard this lady
In sorrow and complain,
Said he, "My darling jewel,
I'll ease you of your pain.
If you would wed a ploughboy,
Forever I'll prove true.
For you my heart has wounded,
For you my heart has wounded,
And I'll have none but you."

The lady very soon gave consent
To be his lawful bride.
They went into the village church
And there the knot was tied.
And now they live in plenty,
They have got gold in store.
The ploughboy and his lady,
The ploughboy and his lady,
Each other do adore.

2  A Country Life (Eggs for Breakfast)  (Roud 1752)

I love to roam through the bright, green fields
I love to live on the farm
I love to take a stroll where the primroses grow
For the country life's a charm
I love to wander through the old farmyard
Round by the old hay stacks
And listen to the cackle of the chickens and the chucks
While the pretty little ducks quack quack.

Chorus:
"Quack, quack, quack" go the pretty little ducks
The hens' "Chuck, chuck" give you warning
When the old cock crows, then everybody knows
There's eggs for your breakfast in the morning.

I love to gaze on the ripe, yellow corn
I love to roll on the grass
I love to take a ramble through the new mown hay
With a pretty little country lass
I love to wander by the old mill-stream
And catch every breeze that blows
And see the lambs as they gambol in the fields
In the morning when the old cock crows.

I love to live on the little white farm
With ivy twined round the door
I love to hear the lark when it soars on high
And listen to the old bull's roar
I like to hear the milkmaid's song
The humming of the busy little bee
You can have your cities, you can have your towns
But a country life for me.

3  The Poor Smuggler's Boy  (Roud 618)

One cloudy cold morning abroad I did steer
By the wide rolling ocean so deep and so fair
I met a poor boy, who in sorrow did weep
"Alas, my poor father was lost in the deep."

"Mast, sails and rigging, all sunk in the wave
And found, with poor father, a watery grave.
I jumped from the wreck and clasped him to me
But his form it was lifeless - sank into the sea."

"I clung to a plank and swam for the shore
Bad news for poor Mother, dear Father no more.
She died broken-hearted, nor heeded the moan
Of the poor smuggler's boy left to wander alone."

A fine wealthy lady who heard him complain
Took him in for shelter from the cold and the rain
"I will care for this orphan, 'til the day that I die
No more shall he wander with his sad lonely cry."

The lady did die - he the Master became
She left everything in her will to his name
And she kept her promise 'til the day she did die
To care for the orphan with this sad lonely cry.

"Poor Father did venture, all on that salt sea
With a cask of good whiskey to the land of the free.
The lightning did flash and the thunder did roar
Our ship it was wrecked while far off from the shore."
"Oh pity, I crave - won't you give me employ
Alone I must wander" cries the poor smuggler's boy.

4  I'm Yorkshire Though in London  (Roud 1640)

When first in London I arrived,
On a visit, on a visit.
When first in London I arrived,
Midst heavy rain and thunder.
I spied a bonny lass in green,
The nicest lass I e'er had seen.
I'd oft heard tell of beauty's queen,
Dash me, thinks I, I've found her.

Chorus:
Fol the raddie, fol the raddie,
Right fol the riddle-ol,
Fol the riddle-i-do.

She blushed and smiled, and smiled and blushed,
Else 'twas fancy, else 'twas fancy.
She blushed and smiled, and smiled and blushed,
And I looked very simple.
Her cheeks were like the new-blown rose,
Neglected on the hedge that grows.
Her eyes were black as any sloes,
And near her mouth a dimple.

She stood stock still and so did I,
Gazing on her, gazing on her.
She stood stock still and so did I,
Thinks I, I've made a blunder.
And then her lips turned deadly pale.
I says, "My love what do you ail?"
And then she told a dismal tale,
That she was scared of thunder.

"Madam" says I, and made a bow,
Scraping to her, scraping to her.
"Madam" says I, and made a bow,
"I quite forgot the weather.
If your permission you will give
I'll see you home, where-e'er you live"
And then she took me by the sleeve
And off we went together.

Bonny wild goose chase had we,
In and out so, in and out so.
A bonny wild goose chase had we,
The London stones so galled me.
And then we came up to a door
Where twenty lasses, aye and more,
Came out to have a better glore
At Bumpkin, as they called me.

"Walk in, kind sir" she said to me,
Quite politely, quite politely.
"Walk in, kind sir" she said to me,
Folks said "Poor lad he's undone."
"Walk in" said she. "Not so" said I
"For I've other fish to fry.
"I've seen you home, so now goodbye.
I'm Yorkshire though in London."

My pockets then I rummaged o'er,
Cautious ever, cautious ever.
My pockets then I rummaged o'er,
And found a diamond ring there.
I had this precaution took
And sewed in each a small fish-hook,
And when she groped for pocket book
The barb it stripped her finger.

Three weeks I've been in London Town,
Living idle, living idle.
Three weeks I've been in London Town,
'Tis time to pack for work, sir.
I've sold the ring, I've got the brass,
I have not played the silly ass.
'Tis time to toast the London lass
When I get back to Yorkshire.

Mike Yates thinks that Walter could only remember the tune plus a few of the words and that he got the bulk of the words from Frank Purslow's book The Wanton Seed.  The music hall singer Tom Foy - 'The Yorkshire Lad' - recorded a four-part (two 78 rpm records) The Yorkshire Man in London in 1912.  Foy died, aged only 28 years, in 1917.

5  Seventeen Come Sunday  (Roud 277, Laws O17)

As I walked out one May morning, one May morning early
'Twas then I spied a pretty maid, so handsome and so clever ...

Chorus:
With my rue-rum-ray, fol-the-riddle-ay
Whack-fol-lura-lido

Her shoes were black, her stockings white and her buckles shone like silver
She had a dark and rolling eye and her hair hung down her shoulders ...

How old are you, my pretty fair maid, how old are you, my honey?
She answered me, quite cheerfully, I am seventeen come Sunday ...

Will you marry me, my pretty fair maid, will you marry me, my honey?
She answered me, quite cheerfully, I dare not for my Mammy ...

If you come down to Mammy's house, when the moon is shining brightly
Then I'll come down and let you in and my Mammy will not hear me ...

Oh Soldier, will you marry me, for now's your time, or never
Oh Soldier, will you marry me, or I'm undone for ever ...

And now she is the soldier's wife and sails across the brine-O
The drum and fife is my delight and a married man is mine-O

A Parson preached to his flock one day, on the sins of the human race
The Clerk was standing piously, with a solemn look on his face
The Clerk would venture now and then to give a big remark
"Sin is sweet" said the Parson. "Then it's sin for me" said the Clerk ...
"Amen, Amen - Then it's sin for me" said the Clerk "Amen."

"Oh never covet thy neighbour's goods," the Parson said "nor his maid..
To rob a man of what is his, a fellow should then be afraid.
Nor covet ye no man of sin, I venture this better to 'mark
Thy neighbour's wife" said the Parson. "The skivvy for me" said the Clerk ...

Oh never scythe the dross called gold, for blest is the man that is poor
Nor cast you away the loaves of bread, nor the fishes away from the door
I grieve to say that I should drive in a carriage and pair in the park
And a thousand a year" said the Parson. "Oh give it to me" said the Clerk ...

My friends and Christian brethren, forever be humble and meek
And do not strike the sinful man when he smiteth you one on the cheek
But turn my friends, the erring one you stands the sinner so dark
Thy other cheek" said the Parson "I'll land 'im one" said the Clerk ...

"The boys they are so troublesome" the Parson said with a groan
"And often in the Sunday School, they won't leave the young hussies alone.
I've watched them grin behind their books, I've seen them at their larks
They were kissing the girls" said the Parson. "The Maid for me" said the Clerk ...

"And now my sermon's ended, Friends, now all go to work and to pray
Don't always do what your Parson does, but do what your Parson will say.
Before I leave you all, my friends, I'll venture this better to 'mark
Never take strong drink" said the Parson "A gallon for me" said the Clerk ...

7  Blow the Winds I-O  (Roud 1778)

Hey ho for a gay and gallant barque
A brisk and lively breeze
A valiant crew and a Captain, too,
To carry me over the seas
To carry me over the seas, my boys
To my sweetheart, young and gay
She's taken a trip on a sailing ship
Ten thousand miles away

Chorus:
Blow the winds I-O, roving I will go
I'll stay no more on England's shore
So let your music play
I'm off by the morning train
To cross the raging main
I'm on the move to my own true love
Ten thousand miles away.

My sweetheart she is beautiful
My sweetheart she is fair
Her eyes are blue as the violet's hue
And golden is her hair
And golden is her hair, my boys
And while I sing this lay
She doing the grand in a foreign land
Ten thousand miles away.

I wish I were a captain bold,
And then I do declare
I'd hire a boat and away I'd float
To my own true-love so dear
To my own true-love so dear, my boys
Where the fishes lark and play
The whales and sharks are having larks
Ten thousand miles away.

The sun may shine through the thickest fog
The rivers run bright and clear
The ocean's brine be turned to wine
Before I forget my beer
I'll never forget my beer, my boys
While I have means to pay
I'll never part with my own sweetheart
Ten thousand miles away.

8  Hold the Fort (We Meet Today in Freedom's Cause)  (Roud 1774)

We meet today in freedom's cause
And raise our voices high.
We join our hands in Union song
To battle or to die.

Chorus:
Hold the fort, we are coming
Union men be strong
Side by side, keep pressing onward
Victory will come.

Look my comrades, see the Union
Banner waving high.
Reinforcements are appearing
Victory is nigh.

See our numbers still increasing
Hear the bugle blow.
By our Union we shall triumph
Over every foe.

Fierce and long the battle rages
But we do not fear.
Help will come whene'er it's needed
Cheer my comrades, cheer.

9  All Among the Barley  (Roud 1283)

Come out, 'tis now September, the Hunters' moon's begun
And through the wheat and stubble is heard the frequent gun
The leaves are pale and yellow, and kindling into red
And the free and golden barley is hanging down its head

Chorus:
All among the barley, oh who would not be blythe?
When the free and happy barley is smiling on the scythe.

The Spring she is an old maid and does not know her mind
The Summer is a tyrant of most outrageous kind
The Autumn is an old friend and does the best he can
To bring the golden barley to cheer the heart of man.

The wheat is like a rich man, all sleek and well-to-do
The oats are like a pack of girls, laughing and dancing too
The rye is like a miser, all sulky, lean and small
And the free and golden barley is monarch of them all.

10  Black-eyed Susan  (Roud 560, Laws O28)

All in the Downs the fleet lay moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board;
"Oh, where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me you jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William ...
If my sweet William sails among your crew."

William, who high upon the yard,
Rocked with the billows to and fro,
'Twas then her well-known voice he heard,
Then he sighed and cast his eyes below.
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And swift as lightning ... on the deck he stands.

How swift the lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast.
By chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
Then he drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's ... lips those kisses sweet.

"Oh Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows forever true remain.
Let me kiss off this falling tear,
We only part to meet again.
Love turns aside the cannon balls that fly,
Lest precious tears ... should fall from Susan's eye."

"Heed not the landsmen when they try
To tempt away thy constant mind.
They tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find.
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present ... whereso'er I go."

"If to fair India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are like the diamonds bright.
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous objects that I view,
Wakes in my soul ... some charm of lovely Sue."

"Though battle calls me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn.
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harm,
I to my love will safe return.
Love turns aside the cannon balls that fly,
Lest precious tears ... should fall from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread.
No longer must she stay on board,
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land:
"Adieu", she cries ... and waves her lily hand.

The song did not survive well into modern times - Roud lists 141 sightings, but almost all are from old broadsides and books.  Only seven are collections from the tradition and none are very recent, although Bob Hart of Snape, Suffolk, had it in his repertoire in the 1970s.  Walter's is the only known sound recording - reading through these notes you will find that this is very often the case.  He sings the song beautifully, clearly relishing its gorgeous soaring tune, and utterly involved in the emotional impact of the final verses.

11  Caroline and Her Young Sailor Bold  (Roud 553, Laws N17)

It's of a rich nobleman's daughter,
Uncommonly handsome, we hear
Her father possessed a large fortune
Of thirty-five thousands a year
He had only one daughter
Caroline her name, so we're told
One day, from a drawing-room window,
She admired a young sailor bold.

His cheeks they appeared like the roses,
His hair it was black as jet
Young Caroline watched his departure
Walked round until William she met
She said "I'm a nobleman's daughter,
Possessed of ten thousands in gold
I'll forsake both my father and mother,
To wed with a young sailor bold."

Said William "Young lady, remember,
Your parents you are bound to mind.
On sailors there is no depending,
When their true-love they've left far behind.
Be advised, stay at home with your parents
And do by them as you are told
And never let anyone tempt you,
To wed with a young sailor bold."

She said "There's no one shall persuade me,
One moment to alter my mind
I'll ship and proceed with my true-love,
He never shall leave me behind."
She dressed like a gallant young sailor,
Forsook both her parents and gold.
Four years and a half on the salt sea,
She ploughed with her young sailor bold.

Three times with her love she was shipwrecked
And always proved constant and true.
Her duty she did like a sailor,
Aloft in her jacket so blue.
Her father long wept and lamented,
From his eyes tears in torrents long rolled,
'Til at last they arrived safe in England
Caroline and her young sailor bold.

Then Caroline went to her father,
All dressed in her jacket so blue
He received her and momently fainted
When first she appeared in his view.
She said "Dear father, forgive me,
Deprive me forever of gold.
Grant me my request, I'm contented,
To wed with my young sailor bold."

With all troubles at sea far behind them
And a love that would last throughout life
With fond parents' joy and their blessing
Caroline soon became William's wife
They wedded, and Caroline's fortune
Was five hundred thousands in gold.
And now they live happy together,
Caroline and her young sailor bold.

12  Lord Lovel  (Roud 48, Child 75)

Lord Lovel stood by his own castle gate
Combing his milk-white steed
When up came Lady Nancy Belle
To bid Lord Lovel Godspeed, Godspeed
To bid Lord Lovel Godspeed.

"Where are you going Lord Lovel?" she said
"Where are you going?" said she
"I'm leaving my Lady Nancy Belle
Strange countries for to see ..."

"How long you'll be gone Lord Lovel?" she says
"How long you'll be gone?" said she
"Year or two, or three at the most
I'll return to my Lady Nancy ..."

He hadn't been gone but a year and a day
Strange countries for to see
When this thought came to his head
He'd return to his Lady Nancy ...

He rode and he rode on his milk-white steed
'Til he came to London Town
And then he heard the church bells all ring
With the people in mourning all round ...

"Ah, who is dead?" Lord Lovel said
"Ah, who is dead?" said he
"Lady is dead", an old woman said
"They call her the Lady Nancy ..."

He ordered her coffin to be opened wide
Her shroud to be turned around
And then he kissed her clay-cold cheeks
While the tears came trickling down ...

Lady Nancy died as it was on today
Lord Lovel died as tomorrow
Lady Nancy died from a broken heart
Lord Lovel died from sorrow ...

They buried lady Nancy in the high chancel
Lord Lovel they buried the lower
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose
And out of Lord Lovel's sweet briar ...

Then out of her bosom there grew a red rose
And out of Lord Lovel's sweet briar
And both of them grew to the top of the church
'Til they could not grow any higher ...

And after they'd grew to the top of the church
'Til they could not grow any higher
They tied themselves into a true-lover's knot
For true lovers all to admire ...

The history of the parodies of this ballad is fascinating.  In 1846, the same year as the appearance of the broadside in London, a comic actor in Vauxhall Gardens, jumped into the fray with a normal text with the following insertion:

Then he flung his self down by the side of the corpse,
With a shivering gulp and a guggle,
Gave two hops, three kicks, heaved a sigh, blew his nose,
Sung a song and then died in the struggle - uggle - uggle
Sung a song and then died in the struggle

13  The Skipper and his Boy  (Roud 2680)

The sea ran high and the winds waved wild
When the Skipper calls to his only child
"My boy, if fear doth assail thee now
Go pray in silence down below"
"Fear, Fear!" cried the boy "I know no fear
Father, when thy right hand is near
For o'er the green wave 'neath the morning sky
We'll ride together, my father and I
We'll ride together, my father and I"

"And Mother will watch from the door and pray
For us both, dear Father, 'til break of day
She will be the first when her prayer is done
To catch sight of our sail 'neath the morning sun"
"Yes, yes" quoth the Skipper, brief and stern
Tomorrow will see our back return
For o'er the green wave 'neath the morning sky
We'll ride together, my boy and I
We'll ride together, my boy and I"

She's watching, watching, but never more
Will that gallant skipper return to shore
The boy's black handkerchief lies on the sand
It was tied round his neck by her parting hand.
And all that there of the Skipper remains
The compass that he will ne'er use again
For she knows that full well on the jasper sea
They're riding together, the boy and he
They're riding together, the boy and he.
... That's all there is to that one, Mike.

14  Thornaby Woods  (Roud 222)

In Thornaby Woods in Nottinghamshire
Whack-folural-I, whack-fol-laddle-dee
In Thornaby Woods in Nottinghamshire
Whack-folural-I-day
Three keepers' houses stood three-square
About a mile from each other they were
Their orders were to look after the deer
Right-fol-the-rol-riddle-al-day

Me and my dogs went out one night
The moon and stars were shining bright
Over hedges and over stiles
With my three dogs all at my heels
To catch a fat buck in the Thornaby fields ...

The very first night I had bad luck
One of my very best dogs got shot
He came to me all bloody and lame
And sorry I was to see the same
For he wouldn't be able to follow his game ...

I looked at his wounds, and I found them slight
'Twas done by a keeper all out of spite
I'll take my pike-staff in my hand
And I'll search the woods 'til I find that man
I'll tan his old hide right well if I can ...

We hired a butcher to kill the game
Likewise another to skin the same
The very first joint we offered for sale
Was to an old woman who sold bad ale
She had us all up into Nottingham gaol ...

Now Nottingham 'sizes are drawing nigh
An' us three chaps have got to be tried
The Gentlemen laughed her all to scorn
That such an old woman should be forsworn
Into little pieces she ought to be torn ...

Now Nottingham assizes are over and past
An' us three chaps are clear at last
Neither bucks nor does will ever go free
For a poachers' life is the life for me
A poacher I will always be ...

A poacher I am and a poacher I'll be
A poachers' life is the life for me
A poacher I will always be ...

Although the song appears in 57 entries in Roud, it has only been recorded five times in the tradition - unsurprisingly, two of these are from Travellers.  It's also unusual that the song is never found in Ireland, Scotland or Wales - and the same is true of The Oakham Poachers, Hares on the Old Plantation, etc.  Somewhat surprised by this, I tried a data search on all those songs with the word 'Poacher' in the title and found 130 instances in Roud's database - only three of which could be identified as not being English!  Are we the only thieves in these islands - or just the only ones who enjoy singing about it?  It could, of course, be because Ireland and Scotland weren't hammered by Parliamentary enclosure of common lands to anything like the extent that England was, and may also be do with the way in which the English, alone in Europe if not the world, have accorded to landowners rights of ownership over the wild animals which happen to be on their domains at any particular time.

15  An Old Man's Advice  (Roud 1482)

My grandfather worked when he was very young
And his parents felt grieved that he should.
To be forced in the fields to scare away the crows
To earn himself a bit of food.
The days they were long and his wages were but small
And to do his best he always tried.
But times are better for us all
Since the old man died.

Chorus:
For the Union is started, unite, unite.
Cheer up faint-hearted, unite, unite.
The work's begun, never to stop again
Since the old man died.

My grandfather said in the noontide of life
Poverty was a grief and a curse.
For it brought to his home sorrow, discord and strife
And kept him poor with empty purse.
So he took a bold stand and joined the Union band
To help his fellow men he tried.
A Union man he vowed he'd stand
'Til the day he died.

My grandfather's dead - as we gathered round his bed
These last words to us he did say:
"Don't let your Union drop, nor the agitation stop
Or else you will soon rue the day.
Get united to a man, for it is your only plan.
Make the Union your care and your pride.
Help on, reform, in every way you can"
Then the old man died.

16  If I Were a Blackbird  (Roud 387)

I am but a poor girl, my life it is sad
Many months I've been courting a fine sailor lad
I courted him truly, by night and by day
And now on a transport, he's gone far away

Chorus:
If I were a blackbird, I'd whistle, I'd sing
I'd follow the vessel my true love sailed in
High on the top rigging I'd there build my nest
I'd lay all night long on his lily-white breast.

My love he was handsome in every degree
But my parents despised him because he loved me
And let them despise him and say what they will
Whilst I've breath in my body I'll love my lad still.

He promised to take me to Donnybrook fair
With a bunch of pink ribbon to tie up my hair
And if I could see him, I'd greet him with joy
Upon the fond lips of my young sailor boy.

If I were a scholar and could handle my pen
Such a fond, loving letter to him I would send
I'd tell him my troubles, my joys and my woe
On the wings of a blackbird together we'd go.

It has been found all over these islands and several other important singers must have valued it enough to learn it - Robert Cinnamond, Jean Ritchie, Belle Stewart, May Bradley ... even Paddy Tunney!  Listen to 'Diddy' Cook's version on the Voice of the People and relish that amazing chorus-singing (recorded in Eastbridge Eel's Foot in 1939) - then try to tell me that folk clubs were a sixties invention.

17  Bonny Bunch of Roses-O  (Roud 664, Laws J5)

The dangers of the ocean,
One morning in the month of June
The feathery warbling songsters
Their charming notes so sweet did tune
There I espied a female,
Seemingly in grief and woe
Conversing with Young Bonaparte,
Concerning the bonny bunch of roses-O

Then up steps young Napoleon
And takes his mother by the hand
"Oh Mother, pray have patience
Until I'm able to take command.
I'll raise a terrible army
And through tremendous dangers go
In spite of all the universe
I'll gain the bonny ...

"Now son, don't speak so venturesome,
Old England is the heart of oak
England, Ireland and Scotland -
Their unity never has been broke
Now Son, look at your Father
On Saint Helena his body lies low
Soon you may follow after,
So beware of the bonny ..."

"The first time you saw great Bonaparte
You went down on your bended knee
And asked your father's life of him -
Which he did grant most manfully
He said 'I'll take an army
And over the frozen Alps we'll go
Then I will conquer Moscow
And return to the bonny ...'"

He took five hundred thousand men
Likewise kings to join his throng
He was so well provided
Enough to sweep this world along
But when they came near Moscow
They were overtaken by driven snow
All Moscow was a-blazing
So they lost the bonny ...

"Oh Mother, adieu for ever
Now I'm on my dying bed
If I had lived I should a-been clever
But now I must drop my youthful head
And as my bones do moulder
The weeping willow o'er me grow
The deeds of bold Napoleon
Shall sting the bonny ...

Napoleon Bonaparte was unquestionably a hero - or potential liberator - to sections of the English working classes (we may presume that this attitude extended to oppressed classes throughout Europe).  This may be attributed to the social and economic conditions of the time; Combination Acts, Transportation, inhuman floggings, the Peterloo massacre … everything in fact that Shelley had in his sights when he wrote The Mask of Anarchy.

The times were extremely oppressive: ideals of freedom and democracy for the lower orders were anathema to the ruling class; and aspirations of liberty and equality had filtered down to the lower orders from a then undemocratised emergent bourgeoisie.  Revolutions never happen in vacuums, and the conditions which gave rise to the French and American Revolutions, and indeed the abortive Irish one, were at work all over Europe.  Also, the success of the first two was fed into the consciousness of oppressed peoples everywhere.  The French Revolution had acted as a beacon to the contemporary English working class in just the same way that the Russian Revolution mobilised left wing labour a century or so later.  Thus, Napoleon was viewed as the emblem of liberty and the saviour of the working classes in the same way as Lenin and Stalin eventually were.

It is likely that many Napoleonic songs are Irish in origin, yet it would seem that they had a common currency throughout these islands. For instance, Robert Cinnamond's Napoleon Bonaparte was learnt by him from someone who'd picked it up in England.  Henry Burstow’s repertoire included seven Napoleonic songs and Holloway & Black in Later English Broadside Ballads list about a dozen, all from English printers.  In this context it’s worth remembering that the working poor of both Ireland and England suffered very similar oppressions, for much the same reasons, from much the same people … and sometimes from exactly the same people!  Whatever the case, it's interesting to note that of the literally dozens of Napoleon ballads printed in England at the time (mostly jingoistically opposed to 'The Little Corsican'), almost all those remaining in the country singers' repertoires a century later were either ambivalent or actually pro-Bonaparte.

If Napoleon provided the basis for many broadside ballads, none has survived so well as this supposed conversation between Marie Louise of Austria, Bonaparte's second wife and her son Napoleon II (1811-1832).  Following Bonaparte's abdication in 1814, the Allies refused to recognise Napoleon II who was left alone in Vienna.  Like his father before him, the young Napoleon's dreams of power were dashed - in his case, by an early death from tuberculosis.

The 'Bonny Bunch of Roses' refers to the Act of Union, passed in 1800 and enacted in 1801, and was seen by the Irish as a reaction to Napoleon's intervention in Ireland on behalf of the United Irishmen.  Hence, Irish singers tend to sing 'The deeds of bold Napoleon will enshrine the bonny bunch …'  The point being that Napoleon's attempts at liberation ended up having the opposite effect of that which was intended.  That point was naturally lost on English singers (like Harry Cox and Phil Tanner) who took the Bonny Bunch to simply mean the three nations, and tended to sing 'sting' instead.

The melody, basically the same as the one Cox, Tanner and Poacher used to sing, derives from the Irish slow air, An Beinsín Luachra (The Little Bunch of Rushes).  Curiously enough, the text seems to be derived from an English language translation of this song, a version of which was published by Donal O'Sullivan in Songs of the Irish.  A text of The Bonny Bunch of Roses, printed by Haly of Cork and republished in Zimmermann Songs of Irish Rebellion has 'the bonny bunch of loughero' (corruption of luachra - rushes).  It also has the opening line 'By the Danube as I wandered' (Danube becomes 'Dangers' perhaps?).  The text is undated, but Zimmermann estimates it to be circa 1830.  Cyril Poacher sings a splendidly terse version on Plenty of Thyme (MT CD 303).  Walter uses an almost identical text, but has included elements of Black-eyed Susan into the first and third lines of his tune.

18  The Green Bushes  (Roud 1040 / Laws P2)

As I was a-walking one morning in Spring
To hear the birds whistle and the nightingales sing
I met a young damsel and sweetly sang she
"Down by the green bushes, he thinks to meet me."

I stepped up to her and this I did say
"Why wait you so long, love, on this sunny day?"
"My true-love, my true-love" so sweetly sang she
"Down by the green bushes, he thinks to meet me."

"I'll buy you fine dresses and a new silken gown
I'll buy you a fine petticoat with a flounce to the ground
If you will promise you'll be true to me
And leave the green bushes, and marry to me."

"I want none of your dresses nor your fine silken hose,
I ne'er was so poor as to marry for clothes.
But if you will promise you'll be true to me,
Then I'll leave the green bushes and married we'll be."

"Come let us be going, kind sir, if you please
Come let us be going from beneath these green trees
For my true love is coming and plainly I see
Down by the green bushes, he thinks to meet me."

And when he arrived there and found she had gone
He stood there so lonesome, so sad and forlorn,
"She's gone with another and forsaken me
So adieu to green bushes, for ever" cried he.

It was fairly popular in Ireland due, possibly, to a 78 recording.  It has been seen published in a 'Sing a Song of Ireland' type book and has been sung at fleadh competitions, where it seems acceptable as an authentic Irish ballad.  It appears in Irish Fireside Songs No 8, published by Walton's Musical Instruments - not dated, but probably '40s or '50s to judge from the cover illustration.  Roud lists 81 oral sources, of which only four are Irish.  He also notes an Australian version from the superb Sally Sloane of New South Wales.

Mike Yates comments that this song (along with Lovely Joan, The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter, Seventeen Come Sunday, etc) is similar to the old French Pastourelles that date from the Middle Ages.  In the Pastourelle a knight meets a shepherdess; the setting is usually Spring time (especially May).  He tries to court her and offers her all sorts of presents (see Green Bushes) but she says that she is in love with a local shepherd.  Usually that is the end of the affair.  She goes off with the shepherd and the knight rides off alone.  The themes are certainly mediaeval and some scholars have noted the similarity between them and the Song of Solomon.

19  Polly Vaughan  (Roud 166, Laws O36)

Come all you young sportsmen who carry a gun
I'd have you go home by the light of the sun
Young Jimmy was out fowling by the moon
When he shot his own true-love in room of a swan.

Then straight to his Uncle young Jimmy did run
Oh Uncle, dear Uncle, have you heard what I've done
Curse that old gunsmith who made me this gun
For I've shot my own true-love in room of a swan.

Then out come old Uncle with his locks hanging grey
Oh Jimmy boy, Jimmy, don't you run away
Don't you leave the old country 'til the trial comes on
For they never shall hang you for shooting a swan.

20  The Saucy Sailor  (Roud 531, Laws K38)

"Come my dearest, come my fairest
And tell unto me
Will you wed a poor sailor lad
Who's just come from the sea?"

"You are ragged, love, you're dirty, love,
And your clothes smell of tar
So be gone, you dirty sailor lad
So be gone you Jack Tar."

"If I'm ragged love, if I'm dirty, love
And my clothes smell of tar,
I've silver in my pocket, love
And I've bright gold in store."

When she heard him thus address her,
Down upon her knees she fell
Saying "Ragged, dirty sailor lad
You I love oh so well."

"Do you think I am foolish?
Do you think I am mad?
That I'd wed a poor country girl
With no fortune to be had?"

"I will set sail in the morning
When the meadows are green
Because you have refused me, love
Not for you the gold ring."

21  Little Ball of Yarn  (Roud 1404)

In the merry month of May
When the birds they sing all day
I rose up very early in the morn.
A pretty maid I spied
And she lay there on her side
She was winding up her little ball of yarn.

Chorus:
The blackbird and the thrush
They sang out on every bush
"Keep your hand on your little ball of yarn"
The blackbird and the thrush
They sang out on every bush
"Keep your hand on your little ball of yarn"

As soon as it was o'er
Then the maid pulled down her clothes
And straightway to her mother she did go.
I ran across the green
For fear I should be seen
Winding up her little ball of yarn.

Now all you maidens fair
Take a warning from me here
And never rise too early in the morn
When your front-line starts to swell
You will wish that bloke in hell
Keep your hand on your little ball of yarn.
... All right, Mike - laughs ...

22 The Huntsman (Tally Ho, Hark Away) (Roud 1182)

The sun had just peeped its head o'er the hills
The ploughboys whistling 'cross the fields
The birds they are singing so sweet on each spray
Said the Huntsman to his hounds "Tally-ho, hark away."

Chorus:
Tally-ho, hark away, Tally-ho, hark away
Tally-ho, Tally-ho, Tally-ho, hark away.

Come my brave sportsmen, come, make no delay
Quick, saddle your horses and let's brush away
For the fox is in view and he's kindled with scorn
Come my brave sportsmen, come, join the shrill horn.
He led us a chase for sixteen long miles
Over hedges, over ditches, over gates and over stiles.

The Huntsman came up with his musical horn,
We shall soon overtake him, for his brush drags along.
He led us a chase, six hours in full-cry
Tally-ho, hark away, now, soon he must die.
We will cut off his brush with a hallowing noise
And we'll drink a good success to all fox-hunting boys.

CD Two - MT CD 306:

The talk of all the neighbourhood
Is my old Father's phiz
You'd have to travel far away
To find a nose like his
It's one of those nice noses
That bloom but never die
And as he goes to work each day
We gather round and cry ...
"Put a bit of powder on it Father
A little bit of powder, do
Put a bit of powder on it Father
Now let me beg of you
For now the cold's got round it
It's gone red, white and blue
Like a Doctor's lamp in the frost and damp
Just a little bit of powder, do."

Now Father, in a raffle
Won such a lovely duck
He put it in the rabbit's house
'Til Sunday, just for luck
On Sunday, to the baker's
He took that duck with pride
To get it cooked so nice and brown -
"Before you go", we cried ...
"Put a bit of powder on it Father
A little bit of powder, do
Put a bit of powder on it Father
Now let me beg of you
For if the neighbours smell it
They'll want to summons you
Put some eau de Cologne on its old wish-bone
And a little bit of powder, do."

One night in our back garden
I saw father quietly crawl
He gave a sign, Mrs Green
Bobbed up against the wall
Pa kissed her and he pinched her
And murmured "Dearest Lou
My heart is all on fire with love"
And I screamed "If that's true ...
Put a bit of powder on it Father
A little bit of powder, do
Put a bit of powder on it Father
Now let me beg of you
For if your heart's on fire
You're not insured too
Where your heart goes wag, put a piece of wet rag
And a little bit of powder, do."

Now Mother went to Music Hall
And Father stayed indoors
The baby woke when she'd gone
And filled the house with roars
Then on his knee he nursed it
And bath'd it nice, as well
And as he put its nightgown on
We all began to yell ...
Put a bit of powder on it Father
A little bit of powder, do
Put a bit of powder on it Father
Now let me beg of you
For the baby won't stop crying
Oh Daddy, 'til you do
So dab it on nice, on the same place twice
Just a little bit of powder, do."

However, it doesn't seem to have remained in the tradition to any degree.  We only know of one other instance - Paul Marsh recorded it from Bob Mills of Winchester, Hants, in 1980 and published it on Let This Room Be Cheerful, Forest Tracks FTC 6025.

2  The Cuckoo  (Roud 413)

The cuckoo is a pretty bird, she singeth as she flies
She telleth us good tidings, she telleth us no lies
She sucketh all sweet flowers to keep her throttle clear
And every time she singeth "Cuckoo, cuckoo"
The Summer draweth near.

The cuckoo is a pretty bird, no other is as she
That flits across the meadow, that sings on every tree
A nest she never buildeth, a vagrant she doth roam
Like her, I would be singing "Cuckoo, cuckoo"
I nowhere have a home.

Bob Lewis has a very good version of this, from his mother.  It's on his Veteran Tape A Sweet Country Life (VT120).  As so often, Walter is the unique East Anglian source, even if it is only two verses.

3  Old Joe the Boat is Going Over  (Roud 1777)

Melodeon tune.  Then ...

"Oh, Joe, the boat is going over
Oh, Joe, you naughty man" she cried
"Oh, Joe, I wish you'd been in Dover
Had you ever took me on the water for a ride."

Like I Wish They'd Do it Now, this is a polka tune which became extremely popular among southern English country musicians, particularly in East Anglia, but for which almost no-one seemed to know the words - although they did appear on a Such broadside that Mike Yates once saw.

The only other example of the song (a fuller version) being collected, and recorded in this instance, is from Harry Green of Tilty in Essex, recorded by John Howson, and released on Harry Green (Veteran VT135).

4  Cock-a-Doodle-Do  (Roud 3464)

When walking out the other day, along Victoria Park
Along with a very old friend of mine, we went out for a lark
We saw a man a-selling fowls, he had a lovely stock
I gave him a half-a-crown, he handed me a ...

Chorus:
Cock-a-doodle-do, cock-a-doodle-do,
Hickety, pickety, you know what, 'tis quite enough for you
Cock-a-doodle-do, cock-a-doodle-do,
Hickety, pickety, you know what, 'tis quite enough for you.

I put the old cock under my arm, a-walking along the street
Along with a very old friend of mine, my Judy I did meet
She put her arm around me and she gave me quite a shock
She put her hand right up my coat and then she got hold of my ...

I took the old cock home with me, and I put him in a cage
Along with another old hen of mine, and they went in a rage
Some lady friends were passing by and thought it quite a lark
And one of them, she said to me, the hen had got hold of the ...

Kind friends, what I am telling you is only a bit of chaff
The reason why I'm here tonight is just to make you laugh
And when I come this way again, I'll have a better stock
And just to please you, one and all, I'll show you all my ...

5  The Harland Road (Roud 13654) / Wheel Your P'rambulator (Roud 1496) (fragments)

Two fragments of songs that Walter remembered:

Come and see the Kaiser, all on the Harland Road
Come to the back and [?] the place where I abode
You mustn't touch a rabbit, or anything that's there
'Til up to Harland Sitting, you surely will appear.


Lies when you're sleeping, lies when you're dead
Lies all around you, lies on your head
Oh, if you are a liar, you know you're very wrong
For liar is the Kaiser's song.

The tune is Rosalie the Prairie Flower, which Scan Tester used to play, and Reg Hall later found the song of this name in a broadsheet, and confirms that Scan had it pretty well note for note.  Tune and words were by 'GF Wurzel' - George Frederick Root, 1820-1895, Massachusetts.  Billy Ballantine also played it, as The Plain Schottische.

Wheel your p'rambulator, Fred, wheel your p'rambulator
Just be careful how you go - wheel it a little bit straighter
That's the way we carry on, when ever we go out
So wheel your p'rambulator, Fred, and mind what you're about.

Percy Webb of Tunstall, Suffolk, sang (on the Topic LP Flash Company, 12TS243) the only other example of P'rambulator found in Roud of this music hall song - one of many which seem to be unique to East Anglia.  The late Al Sealey told me of an informally organised 'pub circuit' of music hall gigs which used to operate in East Anglia right up to the early 1930s, where second-string semi-pro performers would put on shows of their own songs together with the popular hits of the day.  This might help to explain the huge number of good, though not widely known, music hall type songs still to be found in the area.

Walter's tune and words are noticeably different from Percy's, though they are clearly both versions of the same song.

6  Ben Bolt  (Roud 2653)

Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt
With her hair and eyes, eyes hazel brown
How she wept with delight when you gave her a smile
And trembled with fear at your frown?

In the old churchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt
In the corner obscure and alone
They have fitted a slab of granite so grey
And sweet Alice lies under the stone.

Oh, don't you remember the wood, Ben Bolt
Near the green, sunny slope of the hill
How oft we have sung neath its white spreading shade
And kept time to the click of the mill?

The mill has gone to decay, Ben Bolt
Sad silence and gloom reigns round
See the old rustic porch with its roses so sweet
Lies scattered and fallen to the ground.

Oh, don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt
With the master, so kind and so true
And the sweet little nook, by the clear-running brook
Where we gathered wild flowers as they grew?

On the Master's grave grows the grass, Ben Bolt
And the little running brook is dry
And of all our friends who were schoolmates then
There remains none but you, Ben and I.

7  Uncle Walter's Tune (melodeon)

A nice little three-part polka tune - its first part, at least, is very familiar to a number of friends, but no-one can quite put a name or place to it.

8  Two Lovely Black Eyes  (Roud 13631)

Strolling so happy down Bethnal Green
This gay youth you might have seen
Tompkins and I, and his girl between
Oh, what a surprise
I praised the Tories, frank and free -
Tompkins got angry so speedily
And all in a moment he handed me
Two lovely black eyes ...

Chorus:
Two lovely black eyes
Oh, what a surprise
Only for telling a man he was wrong ...
Two lovely black eyes.

Next time I argued, I though it best
To give the Tory side a rest
The merits of Gladstone I freely pressed
Oh, what a surprise
The chap I'd met was a Tory true
Nothing the liberals right could do
And this was my share of that argument, too
Two lovely black eyes ...

The moral you've caught, I can hardly doubt
Never on politics rave and shout
But let the others fight it out
If you would be wise
Better, far better, if you should let
Lib'rals and Tories alone, you bet
Unless you're willing and anxious to get
Two lovely black eyes ...

Walter has changed the tune and chord pattern of the chorus from the original - very effectively too, I would suggest.  Roud's only other traditional source is Michael Leahy of Indian River, Ontario, Canada.

9  Alice Grey  (Roud 13755)

She's all my fancy painted her, she is lovely, she's divine
Her heart it is another's, she never can be mine
Yet loved I as man never loved - a love without decay
My heart, my heart is breaking for the love of Alice Grey
My heart, my heart is breaking for the love of Alice Grey.

Her light brown hair is shaded o'er a brow of spotless white
Her dark brown eye now languishes, now flashes with delight
Her hair is braided, not for me, the eye is turned away
My heart, my heart is breaking for the love of Alice Grey
My heart, my heart is breaking for the love of Alice Grey.

I've sunk beneath the summer sun, I have trembled in the blast
The weary pilgrim [?] the early conflict's past
And when the green sod wraps my head, may pity haply say
His heart, his heart was broken for the love of Alice Grey
His heart, his heart was broken for the love of Alice Grey.