by Peter Hill
I came home last night, asked my wife ‘what was that?’ She said, ‘Don’t be suspicious, ’tis nothing but a cat’.
The Northamptonshire version is known as ‘Youks, Bob!’. It is shown here in dialect form; ‘cwots’ are matted fleeces of wool. The song begins:
I went into my che-amber to zee what i cud zee
An’ there I saw cwots hangin’ up one, two and three.
I went in to my lovon wife, to know how they cam there
Wi’out the lafe o’ me.
‘Ya old fool, ya blood fool, why kaint ye very well zee?’
They are three blankets ya mudder sent to me.’
Youks, Bob, an’ that’s fun, blankets wi’ buttons on,
The loke I nivver zee.
The Northamptonshire Poacher
Although other Midlands counties lay claim to this once popular, ancient ballad, inserting their name in the relevant place in the first and last verses of the lyrics, Northamptonshire has avidly asserted its ownership in the past and the song can still be heard occasionally around folk clubs around the county, in the version printed below:
When I was bound apprentice in famed Northamptonshire
Full well I served my master, for more than seven year
Till I took up with poaching, as you will quickly hear.
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year.
As me and my comrades were setting of a snare,
’Twas then we seed the gamekeeper – for him we did not care,
For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, and jump o’er anywhere!
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year.
As me and my comrades were setting four or five,
And taking on him up again, we caught the hare alive;
We caught the hare alive, my boys, and through the woods did steer.
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year.
I threw him on my shoulder, and then we trudgèd home,
We took him to a neighbour’s house and sold him for a crown;
We sold him for a crown my boys, but I did not tell you where,
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year.
Bad luck to every magistrate that lives in Northamptonshire,
Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare,
Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer.
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year.
The Sudborough Poachers
Poaching was a favourite theme in county folk songs. One particularly gory incident that occurred in the county in 1837 was recorded in a ballad that became something of a best-seller at the time and was remembered well into the twentieth century. It happened in Slade Field at Deenethorpe and is a notable example of what could happen to poachers if caught in the act. A group of twenty-five men from Sudborough and Brigstock had met up in a local hostelry and headed along the green lanes with rabbit netting and sticks. However, a keeper on the Cardigan estate at Deenethorpe had received intelligence of the intended incursion and posted fourteen assistants at Burnt Coppice to lie in wait. The gang, with their ‘bag’ of 180 rabbits, were set upon and, after the ensuing mêlée, they fled, leaving yards of netting behind as well as three of their members, who were taken away for interrogation. The next morning, a gruesome discovery was made when a fourth poacher was found disembowelled near the scene of the affray. Strangely, in the ensuing post-mortem, the victim was pronounced to have died from exertion and it was stated that no mark had been found on his body! The three prisoners were tried at Northampton and found guilty but on account of good character references, and having large families, were given a year’s hard labour. One version of the ballad gives the names of other gang members. This version was given to the author by a descendant of one of those involved in the affray on that tragic night long ago and is more in keeping with the village’s original account:
In 1837 it plainly doth appear,
A bloody scene was felt most keen, until death did draw near.
Poor Samuel Mayes of Sudborough town, a lad of well-known fame,
Who took delight both day and night, to hunt the lofty game.
Mourn all you gallant Poacher men, poor Mayes is dead and gone
While our hero brave lies in his grave, as ever the sun shone on.
With nets so strong we marched along, unto brave Deenethorpe town,
With nut-brown ale that never will fail, with many a health drunk round.
Brave lunar light did shine that night, as we to the woods repaired,
True as the sun the dogs did run, to chase the timorous hare.
Then to the Poachers, the keepers they did start,
And in that strife took poor Mayes’ life, they stabbed him to the heart.
For help he cried but was denied, there was no one that by him stood,
And there he lay till break of day, dogs licking his dear blood.
Farewell, dear heart, for I must part, from my wife and children dear,
Pity my doom – it was too soon, that ever I came here.
Farewell, those dear brave lads, whate’er revenge they held,
That cruel man with murderous hand, which cause me for to yield.
The ploughing match at Weldon in 1904
Ploughing matches, in which teams of ploughmen tried to outdo each other in a race to see who could be the first to complete a furrow or more, were very popular in the county until the First World War, after which time they disappeared as mechanisation transformed farming methods and ideas. The following verse was written by W. Dudley after one such event and several copies were made and handed down by descendants of the participants. It has also been set to music:
’Twas at a wedding party, two friends together met
And thereupon decided, to have a little bet.
The wager was on this wise, at a recent ploughing match;
One team just finished in the time, the other were ‘no catch’.
William Northen argued that four hours, was not enough to plough
A half acre in match style and that four and a half they should allow.
John Singlehurst replied that he had a ploughman that could do
An acre and a half of land in eight hours and horses two.
‘Five pounds you can’t!’ Billy Northen said,
‘Five pounds I can!’ said John,
‘Here, Clark, just take these two five pounds, and now the bet is on’.
The bet was made, the day was fixed, the ground was measured out,
John Clark was made the referee, to see it carried out.
The day was fixed for Saturday, October twenty nine,
At seven o’ clock the whistle blew, the day was bright and fine.
Clem Burbridge with the reins in hand, kept forging well ahead,
At ten o’ clock a respite had, and had his horses fed.
Then Dr. Stokes came on the field with camera in hand,
The team, the boss and referee, to snapshot on the land.
Among the goodly crowd we saw Ted Chapman, Binder, Branson,
Nor could we fail to miss him out, and that was old John Preston.
He wins, he wins with time in hand, at half past one was done,
And no-one now can honestly say, the match was not well won.
Charles Henry Montagu-Douglas-Scott.
The Witch of Weldon
Among the many ballads written by Charles Henry Montagu-Douglas-Scott of Warkton, grandson of the fifth Duke of Buccleuch and an enthusiastic collector and writer of county tales and legends, were two about local witches. Neither of the stories can be verified as fact but like so much of local history, who knows what may have been lost in the mists of time or never recorded in written form – after all, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence! One of the tales takes place in Stanion and is about an attractive young lady whose gaze at any young man wo
uld cause him to ‘fall into dire calamity’ of some kind. When matters come to a head, the villagers accost her and lead her blindfolded down to Harpers Brook, where she is ducked in the water several times, causing her to expire, whereupon the spells on the bewitched men are undone.
The Weldon ballad tells of two witches, one young, the other old, both having mixed fortunes within the community:
There lived a young Witch in old Weldon town – Heyday and be merry!
Her eyes they were black and her skin it was brown, As smooth and as brown as a berry!
Light was her tread and her lips were as red, As ripe and as red as a cherry!
With a folderol doll and a rumbelow, And a folderol dee, doo-day!
Over all the young shepherds she cast her spell – Heyday, and be merry!
Not a woman in Weldon that wishèd her well – As bonny and brown as a berry!
At the women she hissed, but the laddies she kissed – And luscious her lips as a cherry!
With a folderol doll and a rumbelow, And a foldero dee, doo-day!
There dwelt an old Witch in old Weldon town – Heigh-ho and aweary!
Her eyes they were black and her skin it was brown, All wrinkled and dirty and dreary!
Heavy her tread, not a tooth in her head, And her haunts and her habits were eerie!
With a folderol doll and a rumbelow, And a foldero dee, doo-day!
The shepherds laughed out when she passed them by, Heigh-ho and a weary!
Not a woman in Weldon but fearèd her eye, So black and so wicked and eerie!
She cursed as she went, all crippled and bent, All withered and tattered and dreary!
With a folderol doll and a rumbelow, And a foldero dee, doo-day!
The May songs of Northamptonshire
At one time, it was customary to take a May garland around the parish to call at the more prosperous houses, such as a farm or manor house, where the leader of the group would receive a dish of cream from the dairymaid. There is a reference to this custom in the old May procession songs. Puritanism made its effect felt in the words of the standard May song, especially in the northern area of the county. Instead of reflecting the joy of the season, the lyrics were laden with admonition against sin, and an emphasis on humility and repentance, some villages more so than others. The versions sung at Nassington, Geddington, Oundle, Polebrook and Northampton were long and full of reprimand:
Here comes us, for May is up,
Repent before you die,
There’s no repentance to be had,
When in the grave you lie.
To die in sin is a fearful thing,
To go where sinners mourn,
It would have been better for our souls
If we had never been born.
Now we’ve been travelling all the night
And best part of the day,
And now we’re returning back again
And have brought you a bunch of May.
The tunes to two May songs. The tune above, top is sung around much of the county; the one below is a version from Brigstock.
A bunch of May, which looks so gay,
Before your door to stand,
’Tis but a sprout, but well spread-out
The work of our Lord’s hand.
Repent, repent ye wicked men
And now we do begin,
To lead our lives in righteousness,
For fear we die in sin.
Take a Bible in your hands
And read a chapter through,
And when the Day of Judgement comes,
God will remember you.
Arise, arise you dairy maid,
Out of your drowsy dream
And step into your dairy quick
And fetch a cup of cream.
The tune to the Gretton and Pytchley May song.
A cup of cream, it looks so white
And a jug of your brown beer,
And if we live to tarry in the place,
We’ll call another year.
We’ve begun our song, we’re almost done -
No longer can we stay.
God bless you all, both great and small -
We wish you a joyful May.
Further south in the county, the religious content appears to have virtually disappeared. The version at Bozeat gives a good idea of what was sung:
A branch of may, my dear, I say
Before your door to stand,
It is but a sprout, but well spread out,
By the work of our Lord’s hand.
Arise arise your pretty maiden eyes
Out of your drowsy dream,
And step across your pretty dairy room
And fetch a bowl of cream.
Beside a cup of your fine cream
A glass of water clear,
And if I live to tarry round the town
I’ll call on you next year.
I have a purse which hangs on my arm
It’s lined with a silken thread,
And all I want is a silver piece
To line it well instead.
So now I’ve sung my pretty maiden song
I can no longer stay,
So goodbye to you, God bless you all
This merry, merry month of May.
Of course there were other May songs. In The Story of Blisworth, written by Mona Clinch in 1939, Mona recalled the time when decorated pushcarts and May dolls were carried round the village. Apart from the standard May song, she remembered the lyrics to two others. The first song is:
This is May, fresh and gay
All is sweet and bright today
Come away, do not stay
Come abroad with us today.
The May Day parade outside Warmington School, c. 1916.
The second is the enchantingly hypnotic:
Here we come a-Maying, through the meadows straying,
Maying, maying, you and I.
When the daisies grow, and drive away the snow,
When the blackbirds sing for the dear warm spring,
Then we come a-maying through the meadow,
Straying, maying, maying you and I.
A fragment survives of a Woodford May song which was recorded by John Cole, a folklorist who died in 1848. He had a great interest in the customs and festivals of the village, publishing a great wealth of material. Though no tune was written down, the words have been set to music by Robin Hillman of the county folk group Ock ‘n’ Dough:
Blackbirds and thrushes sing early in the morning,
All go weeping with my garland, for the lad that I love.
Here’s cowslips and roses, and sweet smelling posies,
All go weeping with my garland, for a lad that I love.
These lilies and roses, and sweet blooming posies
All go weeping with my garland, for a lad that I love.
These bobbins and spangles, hang over these flowers,
All go weeping with my garland, for the lad that I love.
The folk music scene today
Continuing a fine tradition in the county, there has been a tendency for modern folk groups based in the area to write songs about past events, which were notorious at the time but have long since been forgotten, and facets of everyday county life from a bygone era.
Sandy Denny, former singer in the renowned British folk-rock band Fairport Convention, lived for a while in a cottage in the south-west of the county at Byfield, where members of the band frequently stayed and became familiar with the county and its traditions. For many years now, the band have held an annual public get-together at Cropredy just over the county boundary near Banbury. Over the years, they have got to know the locality and some of its history. One such story was later turned into a song, ‘Close To The Wind’ by writer Stuart Marsden, which they duly recorded. It deals with the notorious Culworth Gang, a band of ten to fifteen local men who committed at least forty-seven robberies in the south-west of the county between 1777 and 1787. All were eventually caught af
ter two of the gang were arrested at Towcester. They were all hanged, except for one member who was reprieved and transported to Australia.
The words of the song are the thoughts of one of the men as he lies ‘in a darkened dungeon’ awaiting his execution, musing about the gang’s deeds which have finally come to an end. Some of the gang wrote ‘letters of repentance’ to their wives and families which still exist, including one by John Smith to his wife, Elizabeth, begging his children not to follow in his footsteps and to live a righteous life. In a postscript to the letter he added:
I desire my Son John to marry Elizabeth Beard and beg of him to be good to her and the Child, and take warning by me that they may live in Comfort. I desire you will take care of these lines and cause them to be read to all my Children every Sabbath Day.
Unfortunately, John ignored his father’s request and and became a highwayman, finally being caught and executed, his mother bringing home the body in a donkey cart to Culworth.
In 1995, workshops were held around the county by Empty Pocket, a three-piece folk singing group consisting of Paul Rogers, who plays guitar, mandola and mandolin;Yasmin Bradley, playing guitar and keyboard; and Mike Milne, playing guitar and bodhran. Their mission was to tease out tales and other information about Northamptonshire village life, both past and present. The visits proved fruitful and inspiring and led to the writing and recording of thirteen songs, all of which had catchy lyrics and tunes, with themes ranging from Mary Queen of Scots to the Ashton World Conker Championships. One of the songs was ‘Boiled Egg and Rook Pie’, considered by one reviewer to be a potential county anthem, comparable to ‘On Ilkla Moor Baht ’At’. The pie was once very popular around the county, especially with menfolk, and consisted of pastry containing the aforesaid ingredients, minus the feathers, of course! The humorous lyrics by Paul Rogers sing its praises, with a rousing chorus introducing the song and repeated after each verse:
(Chorus)
Boiled egg and rook pie is the village delight,
You can eat it by day and dream of it by night.
Of all English dishes there’s none ranks so high
As a slice of old Ashley’s boiled egg and rook pie.