Here’s a fine carol from George Dunn, Quarry Bank, Staffordshire. It was recorded in 1971 by Roy Palmer, and included by him in an article entitled ‘George Dunn. Twenty-one Songs and Fragments’, in the 1973 Folk Music Journal.
Some of George Dunn’s songs – recorded by Bill Leader with Roy Palmer in December 1971 – appeared on a Leader LP released in 1973, but I never heard that LP, and of course it has long since been unavailable. Bill Leader’s recording of this carol first appeared on Voice of the People Volume 16, You Lazy Lot of Bone-Shakers. Musical Traditions subsequently released “the complete works”, as it were, on a 2 CD set, Chainmaker (MTCD317-8). Listening to that, I understood why people who had heard George Dunn in the 1970s (especially people from the West Midlands) were so enthusiastic about his singing. To quote Roy Palmer from the Leader LP notes
He is a skilled and precise singer, with an acute sense of pitch and timing, and a feeling for subtle variation and decoration. The sheer quality of his singing is astonishing, particularly for an octogenarian. The strength of his songs and skill of his singing command immediate respect and humility in the listener. They are a living manifestation of the high art and long tradition of English folk music.
I must have heard this song on You Lazy Lot of Bone-Shakers but I think the it first really made an impression on me when I heard the splendid acapella harmony arrangement by Coope, Boyes, Boyes, Fraser, Freya and Simpson on their CD Voices at the Door. I downloaded a copy of the Musical Traditions compilation some time ago – a mere £4 for 51 tracks from www.mustrad.org.uk/download/covers.htm – but only started listening to it properly quite recently. Given that we were coming up to Christmas, I paid particular attention to the carols. George had a very nice version of the normal ‘While Shepherds Watched’ which, like ‘Sweet Chiming Bells’ has a chorus added on, to compensate for Nahum Tate’s oversight in failing to provide one; I plan to learn that another year. But this ‘While Shepherds’, with its dignified tune – and sung in a dignified, but very spirited way on the recording – really stood out. Apart from the first line, this one (like ‘As Shepherds Watched Their Fleecy Care’) is really a different song from the Tate composition. It has its own Roud number and, to date, the only known occurrence of the song is the recording from George Dunn. He recalled that the phrase “great noise” in the first verse ought to have been “great light”. But the end of that line – “which gave them a fright” – really has the ring of the vernacular. A versifier with more literary ambition would surely have written “which did them affright”. I can’t decide if it’s simply a local composition, or a carol which might have appeared in print, but was then moulded through being sung by memory.
George Dunn learned most of his traditional songs learned from his father (who was also a champion whistler). And in his youth he would go out singing for money and sweet treats:
[We used to] sing at the door when we were young. Christmas Eve: they’d run yer off if you went before. Three or four, just a little gang. We just went to them as we knew. They’d gie us ‘a’p’nny or a mince pie or something like that. I remember once it was Christmas and I went a-carol singing and I went with two cousins, Fred Dunn an’ Sam Dunn and we went t’Evans that was the tripe shop. They were a musical family. We went to various doors and got a copper or two, and I can always remember this, because when we all went in all the Evanses were there. They were all choristers and they enjoyed singing we sung by the door an’ they asked us in. After we’d sung a carol they asked me to sing one by meself, so I sung ’em one. After I’d sung it they ‘ad a collection for me, threepence or fourpence. There was a row about that when we came out: they wanted to share it. I said, “Oh no! I sung for this meself.”
All proceeds will be donated to Cancer Research UK.
Download the track on Friday 5th December, and every single penny will go to the charity, as Bandcamp will be waiving their usual commission.
The longer version…
For me, Christmas and communal singing have always been inextricably linked. Whether it’s carol singing with friends door to door, busking in Oxford city centre with West Gallery choir the Christminster Singers, taking part in a rousing pub session, or Magpie Lane’s annual Christmas concerts, singing carols lustily with other people is at the heart of what I love about Christmas.
As December 2020 approached, the prospect of a Christmas where we weren’t able to sing with others was not a happy one. So, given that we were having to do almost everything virtually at that time, I decided to assemble a virtual choir. My choice of song was simple – it had to be ‘Shepherds Arise’, from the repertoire of the Copper Family, and my favourite carol since I first encountered it almost 50 years ago. I wrote out an arrangement, prepared a backing track, and invited a bunch of friends to record themselves singing one of other of the parts. Almost everyone I asked came up with the goods. There were people I had sung with at school when I first got interested in folk music; fellow members of Magpie Lane and the Christminster Singers, who I would in normal circumstances have been singing with that Christmas; and a handful of professional singers and musicians who I’ve got to know through the folk scene – Jon Boden, Jackie Oates, Jim Causley, George Sansome and Ian Blake. I stitched together all the parts – there were twenty individual singers in all, some of whom had recorded more than one take – and made the finished track available as Week 300 of my A Folk Song A Week blog. As I wrote at the time
I reckon we’ve captured the spirit of a really good carol-singing session – the kind of session I love to be part of, and which we’ll all be missing this year (although, as one contributor has quite rightly commented, “I ain’t never been to a pub carol-session as tight as that before!!!”).
Five years on, it still sounds good to me, and the track is now being released on Bandcamp as a charity single – all proceeds will be donated to Cancer Research UK.
Download the track on Friday 5th December, and every single penny will go to the charity, as it’s a Bandcamp Friday, when Bandcamp waive their usual commission.
Why Cancer Research?
We all know someone who has had cancer. Thankfully, with advances in medical science, the chances are we know someone whose cancer has been successfully treated (I’m fortunate in being able to count myself in that group). But sadly most of us will also know at least one person who was not able to defeat the disease. Cancer Research UK is the world’s largest independent cancer research organisation, actively working to prevent, detect and treat over 200 types of cancer.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who contributed to the original recording.
Singalong-a-Shepherds
You are encouraged to sing along to the recording at home – or even to download the harmony parts and sing ‘Shepherds Arise’ with your own friends or carolling group. Sheet music, a backing track, and various other resources are all available in this shared Google Drive folder.
There’s also a YouTube video where you can see exactly where you are in the score as you sing along.
50 years a folky? Well, that’s maybe not strictly accurate, but 50 years ago today, on 13th November 1975, something happened which not only changed my musical tastes, but fundamentally altered the way my life would develop. And it all came from watching Top of the Pops…
I was 15 years old, and although my parents were absolutely not into pop music, I usually tried to watch Top of the Pops on a Thursday evening. That particular evening the programme started at ten past seven, and was presented by Noel Edmonds (thank you BBC Genome project). The entertainment began with glam-rockers Hello miming to ‘New York Groove’, then George Mccrae miming to ‘I Ain’t Lyin’. This was followed by Pan’s People dancing to ‘This Old Heart Of Mine’ by Rod Stewart, providing a bit of Dadisfaction, as the Chart Music podcast would say. Then we got ‘Happy To Be On An Island In The Sun’ by Demis Roussos, ‘Why Did You Do It’ by Stretch, ‘God’s Gonna Punish You’ by The Tymes, and a video of ‘Darlin’’ by David Cassidy, who, at 25 years old, was already past the peak of his UK teen idol chart success. Following Cassidy came Justin Hayward & John Lodge with ‘Blue Guitar’, ‘Right Back Where We Started From’ by Maxine Nightingale, and ‘All Around My Hat’ by Steeleye Span. To finish, we saw a video of that week’s number 1 (of course), the re-released ‘Space Oddity’ by David Bowie, and finally ‘Rocky’ by Austin Roberts played over the closing credits.
The foregoing information comes, not from my memory, but from the Top of the Pops Archive online. I have to say, I have very little recollection of most of those songs, although I had bought a 7” vinyl copy of ‘Space Oddity’, with ‘Changes’ and ‘Velvet Goldmine’ on the B-side. The performance which really grabbed my attention that night was, of course, ‘All Around My Hat’. Oddly, I remember thinking “this is folk music”, even though at that time I had very few reference points for knowing what folk music was (I’d seen morris dancing once or twice, I’d probably seen the Spinners on TV – although they never floated my boat – and I’d seen a bunch of sixth formers at school singing ‘The Nutting Girl’). Next day at school, as was customary, the previous night’s TotP provided a basis for start of the day conversation. On saying that I’d really liked the Steeleye Span song, my best friend Mike announced that his Dad had a copy of one of their earlier records, and he’d see if I could borrow it (Mike’s Dad Trevor Eaton was a teacher at the school, and a really good teacher too, although at that point I don’t think I’d ever been in his class). And so it was that a few days later I went home clutching a copy of Steeleye’s 1972 LP Below the Salt. I may not have been hooked after just one listen, but I doubt that it took more than a couple of plays before I’d decided that this was the best thing I’d ever heard. A few days after Christmas, I went to W.H. Smith in Canterbury armed with some Christmas present cash (or more likely, I suppose, a record token) and came home with a copy of the All Around My Hat LP. There’s some jolly good tunes on there (the vocal harmony plus French horn arrangement of ‘Cadgwith Anthem’ is absolutely sublime), but I think I recognised immediately that it wasn’t as good as the less poppy, more folky Below the Salt. A few weeks later, browsing, as I often did, through the record racks in The Turntable (later Richards Records) in Bank Street, Ashford, I found a copy of Ten Man Mop. Sadly this was not the gatefold sleeved original issue, but even so it was still an arresting cover, and the music within was just great. I liked what some people have disliked about the album – the fact that it’s divided roughly 50/50 between tracks that are more or less acoustic, and others where Martin Carthy straps on his electric guitar and the band delivers wonderfully brooding, atmospheric arrangements of songs like ‘Gower Wassail’, ‘Captain Coulston’ or – the greatest of them all – ‘When I was on Horseback’. That record introduced me to Martin Carthy and Ashley Hutchings, both of whom would crop up over and over again as my explorations of folk music continued, and it remains my favourite Steeleye album to this day.
I’ve written elsewhere on this blog about how I moved on from Steeleye Span to Tim Hart and Maddy Prior, The Chieftains, Planxty, and The Watersons (that man Carthy again) before realising that there was no 18+ age limit on joining the local public library’s record section, which meant that I was soon listening to the cream of the 1970s UK folk revival (Carthy, John Kirkpatrick and Sue Harris, Nic Jones, Dick Gaughan, Shirley Collins etc. etc.) but also field recordings of singers such as Harry Cox, Thomas Moran, Bob and Ron Copper, and Pop Maynard. And in a lengthy blog post accompanying the song ‘The Barley Raking’ I talked about how I started singing in harmony with my friend Mike – our friendship and singing going very much hand in hand for several formative years (if you really want to immerse yourself in reminiscences about my formative years, and the importance of harmony singing in particular, there’s more in these blog posts: Week 284 – Down in Yon Forest, Week 285 – Shepherds Rejoice).
In other words, I never looked back. And while, as an academic friend expressed it recently, my interest in folk music is not monomaniacal it’s fair to say that in many ways my interest in folk music defines me, and has defined the way my life has developed. (These days you’re as likely to find me listening to Country, or Soul, Reggae, Township Jive or Mbqanga, but when I’m not listening to music, it will almost always be a traditional tune that’s running through my head). Over the years I’ve made many friendships through music, I’ve got to sing and play with a whole range of talented and inspiring musicians and once, briefly, I appeared morris dancing live on Japanese TV (the internet has no record of this, but I believe it to be true!). Oh, and not least, I met my wife through folk music.
But what was it about that Steeleye Top of the Pops appearance that first drew me in? I’ve pondered on this frequently in recent years. My feeling is that, while as an arrangement of a traditional song, Steeleye’s version is, frankly, a bit crass, it helped that the production on the record (by Wombles hitmaker Mike Batt) was very pop-friendly. Sure, they were singing a traditional song, but the track wasn’t so outré that it was ever going to frighten the horses when presented to the Top of the Pops / pop music radio audience of the day, and that may well have made it more palatable to me as well at the time. However, while the accompaniment is pure Glam Rock, the fiddle and mandolin make it distinctive, and I’ve no doubt they helped to attract my intention. But primarily, I think, it would have been the voices that really made a difference. Maddy Prior has never sung in a heavily stylised, idiosyncratic folky way; but her voice is very much that of an English folk singer, not a pop singer. Add in the harmony backing vocals and, while the single doesn’t sound horribly out of place amongst the rest of the Top of the Pops fare, it also undeniably has something extra.
Until a couple of days ago I’d not listed to Hat in years. I’d completely forgotten that it actually starts with the whole band singing unaccompanied in harmony. Now, that sound definitely contributed to making the record stand out, attracting the attention of this 15 year old schoolboy. Subsequently, when listening to Steeleye albums, unaccompanied tracks such as ‘Rosebud in June’, ‘Cadgwith Anthem’ and ‘The King’ were often amongst my favourites (incidentally, another single I bought in 1975 was ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, which was Number 1 from late November that year into January the next, and one of the things I really liked about the record was the vocal harmony sections).
I’ve not found a video of either of Steeleye’s November 1975 Top of the Pops appearances on the web, but here they are miming ‘All Around My Hat’ in January 1976 on the children’s TV show Crackerjack.
I distinctly remember seeing that performance. I used to visit my grandparents most Friday afternoons on the way home from school and, while I was rather older by then than the intended audience for Crackerjack, the TV would be on, and my ears would definitely have pricked up on hearing Ed ‘Stewpot’ Stewart announce that Steeleye Span were on the bill.
Anyway, I’ve no idea if these ramblings will be of interest to anyone but me but, in conclusion, thank you Serendipity, and thank you Steeleye Span.
The title track from the 1974 Topic LP, featuring Mike Yates’ recordings of George Spicer, and one of several songs which I learned when I first heard the record, circa 1979 (had it not been for this version, I’d have almost certainly learned the Harry Cox version, which I’d heard on the Peter Bellamy LP The Fox Jumps Over The Parson’s Gate – it’s an indication of how much I liked that version, that I subsequently adapted the tune for a completely unrelated song, ‘Allan MacLean’). Back in the 1980s I used to sing this with Chris Wood providing a typically polished guitar accompaniment. Sadly I don’t have a recording of us doing the song, although I’m pretty sure it was broadcast on Folk on Two, probably in 1985, in a live recording from the National Festival at Sutton Bonington. When Chris and I stopped performing together I pretty much singing the song, but for a long time I’d been thinking I really ought to revive it, and over the last year I’ve worked up a concertina arrangement.
George Spicer learned the song from his mother, Elizabeth Matilda Spicer, née Chambers. Mike Yates’ notes say that pretty much all collected versions seem to derive from the mid-nineteenth century broadside printed by Henry Parker Such.
Squire And Milkmaid Or Blackberry Fold – broadside printed by H. Such, from the VWML Archive Catalogue
George Spicer was born and raised at Little Chart, about 7 miles from where I was brought up. A very similar version of this song was noted down in the 1940s from William Crampton, from Smarden (less than 5 miles away from Little Chart), although Mr Crampton could only remember 3 verses. In fact William Crampton knew versions of two other songs which would later be recorded from George Spicer – ‘The Folkestone Murderer’ and ‘Outward bound’ (‘The Faithful Sailor Boy’) – in both cases, with similar tunes. And when I recorded songs from Charlie Bridger in the 1980s, he also sang those two songs, in very similar versions. Little Chart and Smarden are close enough to be considered part of the same local area. Charlie’s home territory was a bit further away, but the fact that the same versions crop up with all three singers suggests that they may well have been pretty widely known in East Kent at one time.
I forgot to note that, in George Spicer’s version, the verse where the squire and the milkmaid go walking down Blackberry Fold is immediately followed by the “huggling and struggling verse” – omitting the usual verse where the squire warns her that he intends to have his will with her, by force if necessary. In the Such broadside shown above that verse starts “Oh Betsy, oh Betsy, let me have my will”, while Harry Cox sang
As they were a-walking the squire did say,
“There is one thing I would warn you, my pretty maid,
If ever I force you in this open field,
The first time I force, I will cause you to yield.”
I’m not sure why I didn’t just insert the Harry Cox verse at that point (we’re talking about 45 years ago, so I genuinely can’t remember). Instead I made up the verse starting “As they were a walking by some open field” and ending with a couplet which I must admit I was rather proud of, “Oh no sir cries Betsy don’t you cause me no strife / For I love my sweet virtue as I do love my life”.
For some reason, I’ve never had a version of Roud number 1 in my repertoire, despite having been familiar with the song for many many years – from the classic Martin Carthy and Dave Swarbrick LP Prince Heathen, the first Planxty album, and John Kirkpatrick and Sue Harris’s excellent version on the LP Shreds and Patches (possibly the best melodeon-based song accompaniment ever). I would also have heard Walter Pardon’s version of the song, later recorded to very good effect by Waterson:Carthy and Jim Causley. It’s surprising that I never learned one or other of those versions in my youth, but bizarrely I never did. Mind you, it’s got to be 20 years or so since I came across the version which Cecil Sharp collected from Shepherd Haden, and decided that it was the one for me. Indeed, I distinctly remember telling Peta Webb in January 2015 that this was going to be the next song I learned. Clearly that was not the case but finally, in the last few weeks, I decided to grasp the nettle and get the song firmly under my belt. I think that previously I’d been thinking I’d work up a concertina accompaniment for the song, or even that I’d introduce it to the Magpie Lane repertoire, but actually I’ve found that I really enjoy singing it unaccompanied – it gives me a lot more rhythmic freedom.
Like quite a lot of Shepherd Haden’s songs the tune of the first verse is slightly different to the following verses. That was probably because he was getting on, and took a while to properly get into the songs, but it’s a feature I really like. I’ve mostly stuck to Shepherd Haden’s words, although I’ve not been strict about this so undoubtedly some variations have crept in, and I very deliberately included the woman’s “don’t give a fig” line, which wasn’t in the original. Oh, and I couldn’t resist adding one more “toddle” right at the end.
Wraggle Taggle Gipsises as noted by Cecil Sharp from Shepherd Haden, August 1909. Image from the VWML Archive Catalogue
I would have first heard this song in the late 1970s on the Leader LP Our Side of the Baulk, which alongside the first Walter Pardon LP A Proper Sort, was included in the stock of the record section of Ashford public library. I was very attracted to Walter’s gentle singing style, and even more so after seeing him at the first Downs Festival of Traditional Singing in the summer of 1980.
I didn’t learn the song (as far as I recall) until prompted to do so by hearing it on the Topic CD A World Without Horses, which was released in 2000. I always associate that album with Mike Yates, but on checking I see that many of the tracks were actually recorded by other collectors. This one was recorded in 1974 by Bill Leader, Peter Bellamy and Reg Hall – so actually three years earlier than the version featured on Our Side of the Baulk.
Having learned the song I very soon introduced it to the Magpie Lane repertoire. I remember doing it when we played a concert as part of the Hastings Jack-in-the-Green weekend, and I think that must have been in May 2000. The band line-up changed the following year, and unfortunately this song somehow got left behind. Recently I started working out a concertina accompaniment, but then wondered if in fact it might be a song that I preferred to sing unaccompanied – if nothing else, just having to concentrate on one thing at a time makes life much simpler!
I’ve inadvertently changed Walter Pardon’s melody a little, but I think I’ve stayed fairly true to Walter’s words. In fact, that other great Norfolk singer, Harry Cox, sang a very similar version of the song, and in both cases the 20th century singer’s words don’t seem to have departed very much from the lyrics as printed on broadsides – such as the one shown below from Frank Kidson’s collection.
The Pretty Ploughboy, from the Frank Kidson Broadside Collection, via the VWML Archive Catalogue
Ten and a half years ago I posted a recording of the song ‘The Gentleman Soldier’ which had been collected by Anne Gilchrist from a Mr Thomas Coomber, at Blackham in Sussex. At the time I failed to register that, although he lived in Sussex, Thomas Coomber had been born at Penshurst, in Kent. However this fact did come to light once I started researching for my Kent Trad project, and you can read about Thomas Coomber (and his wife Elizabeth, and daughter Florrie, who also sang songs for Anne Gilchrist) at https://kenttrad.org/thomas-coomber. In fact, thanks to Thomas’ great grandson Richard Coomber, who maintains a Blackham village history website, we know quite a bit about the Coombers, and even have some photos of them.
Thomas Marshall Coomber and Elizabeth Coomber, photo courtesy of Richard Coomber
This 1910 Ordnance Survey map of the area shows that Blackham is less than a mile from the River Medway – which forms the county border between Sussex and Kent. Penshurst, where Thomas Coomber and a few of Miss Gilchrist’s other singers were born, is just off the map, about 4 miles to the North East. It appears that Thomas moved to Blackham in the late 1880s in order to work as a labourer on the extension of the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway. Subsequently he worked as a farm labourer, and as a cowman at Willetts Farm, Blackham; he and his family lived in a cottage on the Willetts Farm estate.
Anne Gilchrist took down half a dozen songs from him, including this version of William Taylor. She noted that he was illiterate, which perhaps explains the occasional somewhat odd choice of words in his songs – William Taylor isn’t pressed as a sailor, he is “expressed”, and in the original his sweetheart doesn’t dress herself in man’s apparel but in “man’s sweet peroles”.
I’ve always sung Lincolnshire singer Joseph Taylor’s version of ‘Bold William Taylor’ (although I’d failed to record it for this blog). But I do rather like this tune. And I also find myself drawn to the unusual last verse, starting “He rolled over, she rolled under, under and over they both did ride”. Although I have to say, my favourite conclusion to the song is that given by Maud Karpeles in The Crystal Spring:
If all young folks in Wells or London
Were served the same as she served he
Then young girls would all be undone
How very scarce young men would be.
Following on from yesterdays’ post about KentTrad.org, here’s a song which you’ll find on the site: ‘Bold Fisherman’, collected by Cecil Sharp at Warehorne, Kent, on 23rd September 1908. Unsurprisingly, it was not the only time this song was collected by the early 20th century collectors in Kent: George Butterworth noted down a version in the Minster Workhouse in 1910 but, inexcusably, failed to make a note of the singer’s name; and Frank Collinson had it from Harry Baker in Maidstone, in February 1946. All three tunes are (mostly) in 5/4, but all three are different. The Minster version has what we could call the “usual tune”, Mr Baker’s version does not, and neither does Mr Beale’s. I did wonder if James Beale’s tune was a harmony of the normal tune, but I tried putting the two together and while it works in some places, there are other places where it really doesn’t!
The Bold Fisherman collected by Cecil Sharp from James Beale, 23rd September 1908, from the VWML Archive Catalogue
James Beale had been born in Wivelsfield, Sussex, but had come to the Hamstreet area by July 1860, when he married Charlotte Hall in Orlestone parish church. He worked as an agricultural labourer, as a poulterer, a wood dealer, a higgler (“An itinerant dealer; esp. a carrier or a huckster who buys up poultry and dairy produce, and supplies in exchange petty commodities from the shops in town” – Oxford English Dictionary), and probably turned his hands to all sorts of work. Cecil Sharp had 8 songs from him, including ‘The Woodman’s Daughter’ and ‘Cold blow and a rainy night’. Sharp came back in October 1911 – coincidentally or not, shortly after James Beale’s death – and took down three carols from his married daughter Alice Harden. And then in 1954 Peter Kennedy and Maud Karpeles visited James’ son Albert Beale at nearby Kenardington, and recorded half a dozen songs from him.
I’ve been singing this version for a long time now. Sharp only noted the first verse – most likely because James Beale’s words didn’t materially differ from the standard version; I completed the song with verses from the Copper Family. I recorded the song in 1990 on – so far – my only solo album, with my wife Carol singing harmonies (“spine-tingling harmonies” according to Dave Arthur in his review in ED&S, and I’m not about to argue). Here’s that 1990 version from Love Death and the Cossack and then a solo version recorded about an hour ago.
Regular visitors to this site will be aware that I sing quite a number of songs collected in my native county of Kent. My interest in songs and singers from Kent dates back to my 18th birthday when I was given a copy of Maud Karpeles’ collection The Crystal Spring. This book contains the song ‘Stroll Away the Morning Dew’, collected by Cecil Sharp from a singer called James Beale, at Warehorne – a village which I knew reasonably well, and which is just a few miles from Ashford, where I lived. That led me to visit the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library, from where I returned with copies of around a dozen songs noted down by Sharp on that same collecting expedition in September 1908 – songs that included ‘The Woodman’s Daughter’ and ‘Cold blow and a rainy night’ from James Beale, and ‘Nobleman and Thresherman’ from Clarke Lonkhurst (who I now know was a distant relation of mine – his grandfather’s brother was the grandfather of one of my great grandmothers!)
While at the VWML I also listened to Peter Kennedy’s recordings of James’ son Albert made in 1954, including ‘The Moon Shines Bright’. This led to me interviewing Albert’s son Charles, and that led me to meet and record Charlie Bridger from Stone-in-Oxney in 1983. Since then I’ve benefitted hugely from the research done by George Frampton while he was living in Kent, and from the availability of the VWML Archive Catalogue online, and from being able to access online genealogical sites…
I’ve long said that my retirement project would be to put together a resource for those interested in songs and singers from Kent, and as my retirement came closer I realised that I’d better get on with it. And so over the last few months I’ve been building a new website, Kent Trad, which is now online at https://kenttrad.org.
The site has been launched as I approached the completion of Phase One – namely to cover songs which were noted down on paper, rather than recorded onto tape. The earliest that I’ve located have been from the 1760s, the most recent were collected in the very early 1950s. The site provides
biographical details of the singers (including a few whose songs were collected in Sussex, but who had grown up, and almost certainly acquired their repertoire of songs, in Kent)
transcriptions of the songs themselves (words and/or music, according to what the collector took down), available as downloadable PDFs.
Even for this first phase, I know that there’s more to add – in fact having publicised the site on some local history FaceBook sites I’ve already been given leads which have enabled me to supplement the information I’d originally provided on a couple of singers; while the most recent version of the Roud Index includes a version of ‘Dido Bendigo’ from a singer in Seal near Sevenoaks – this was a new addition to the Roud Index, and there’s no reason to suppose there won’t be more to come in future.
Do have a look at the site. Even if you’re not from Kent, you might find the odd version of a song you’re not familiar with, and fancy learning. And if you spot any errors, or if you have more information which I could add to the website, do please let me know, via [email protected].
Needless to say, the launch of the website has prompted me to record a few more Kentish songs to upload here – the first of these should be coming soon.
I’ve been spending a lot of time recently looking at songs collected in my native county of Kent. This song was mentioned by Anne Gilchrist in the Journal of the English Folk Dance and Song Society, Vol. 5, No. 1 (December 1946). Her source was a letter in Notes and Queries, Series 3 Volume 3, No 53 (January 3rd 1863), which ran as follows:
EXTRAORDINARY CHRISTMAS CAROL. — In a town in Mid Kent some children were going from house to house the other day, singing carols; one of them struck me as very odd; I took down the words as well as I could collect them, which ran thus, —
“As I sat under a sycamore tree [the last three words three times]
I looked me out upon the sea,
A Christmas day in the morning.
“I saw three ships a-sailing there, [three times, as above]
The Virgin Mary and Christ they bare,
A Christmas day in the morning.
“He did whistle and she did sing [three times]
And all the bells on earth did ring,
A Christmas day in the morning.
“And now we hope to taste your cheer [three times]
And wish you all a happy new year,
A Christmas day in the morning.”
The children said there were a great many more verses, which they did not know. Has this very singular production ever been printed? The tune was that generally known among children as “A cold and frosty morning.” A. A.
Who the letter-writer “A.A.” was, or which Mid-Kent town he was in when he heard the song, I’m afraid I don’t know.
For more information on this family of songs, see Week 270 – As I sat on a sunny bank. Although the children thought that they had omitted a large number of verses, it seems to me that they’d captured all the salient points, just compacted them into fewer verses than usual.
Once again, I’ve indulged in a bit of multi-tracking with this song. I promise I won’t make a habit of it – normal service will resume in the new year.
May I echo the sentiments of the song in wishing all visitors to this blog a merry Christmas and a happy new year.
As I sat under a Sycamore tree
Andy Turner – vocal, C/G and F/C anglo-concertinas, Hohner Regulation Band harmonica in F, darbuka, morris bells