This song was found in the Bristol Radical History pamphlet (#6) ‘The Life and Times of Warren James’ about the Forest of Dean enclosures:
Arouse ye, free miners, who delve in old Dean, and all ye freeholders with rights o’er its green, ‘Tis time to be stirring for danger is nigh; and if ye bestir not, you’ll find by and by, that truth, and truth only, is this now I tell, They’ll suck out the egg if they once prick the shell!
Say will you surrender, or barter away, your Father’s old charter – twelve months and a day, while yours, the bad bargain, to take what they please, in rents and in taxes, in fines, and in fees. Remember, free miners, yea, ponder it well, They’ll suck out the egg if they once prick the shell!
Anon., The Foresters’ Egg! A Timely Warning! Dean Forest Mercury, 23 may 1884
A very old ballad borrowed from the private library of some aristocratby a friend of Roy Palmer’s, who spent years trying to obtain a copy. Probably connected to the Midland Revolt.
You gentlemen that rack your rentes, and throwe downe Land for corne The tyme will com that som will sigh, that ever they were borne.
Small care you have for to maintayne trueth or godlines. Yee seek your gayne and still the poore oppresse.
Yee throw downe townes and houses to, and seek for honors more. When we your tenantes arre constraynde to beg from doore to doore.
Redres we will have, or we will knowe whye no. We will adventure lief & goods and so the matter shall goe.
The king commaundes and wisheth all thinges well he askes if all be don nothing but lies you tell.
Therfoer we have agreed even for the comons sake a blooddye entreprise to take.
Yet meanyng no harme to our gracious King Quene Prince or any of those But to pull downe those hawghty myndes which against his commandmentes themselves oppose.
For usurping Jupiter we will throwe downe and restore dispossessed Saturne to his princely Crowne.
Then will not Ambicious Phaeton seeke Phebus chariot to guide. nor hunger sterved Midas covet gold or worldly pride.
It is that which our Tyrantes have, and we do lack for they cary whole townes upon their back.
They are as Cruell as Titius which never did good nay, worse than Meda for seeking after blood.
They lyve secure and think to mak a golden voiage But what was Scipio Africanus either, when he had won great Carthage
Here they lyve in pompe & glory and may not be Controulde they think scorn of there faultes for to be told.
Lyving the poore doth wante, and lyving they shall have and the prowdest of all at our handes mercie shall crave
Their peacock plumes and golden coates, shall them nought avayll When soden death shall sodenly them call.
Do not Looke to Dye in bed, as others have don before But let som think to hand upon the dore.
This taske shall well be performed eare Martilmas be one fortenight gone. and of your goodly howses we will not leave one stone upon a stone
we will be merry and take our full of ioye (joy) as Priamus had to trayle Hectors body about the walles of Troye
Yee arre lyke to Esops curre in greediness which snatched at the shadow and so lost the flesh
Your Dealinges arre so bad, the peoples harts they break in tyranny you excell Gelon which not let his subiectes speak
what was his end, histories do shew as yyt was with him, so shall yt be with you
you feare naught, but we will make you all to quake with canon shot, we will your greedy myndes oure shak
when we com out, you tyrants to ynvade we neede not feare for helpe, thowsandes have sworn to Ayde
Then let som feare when the night ye hear the Drum or goon to enquire in the woodde that shalbe the true foreteller of his blood.
Yet that tyme you must Leave your whores & dainty dames whose lascyvious apparell & dainty chere, the poore man still maintaynes
therfore take order som, which be very good orelles as we have saied, yt shall cost the price of blood
but we care not, whether you order or noe forwardes the enterprise is lyke to go
yet Pelham & Hatton take courage still to you & Shefford we owe all good will
the howse of the Henneage let us call to mynde men good to the poore & to the commons Kynde
And so all otheres that arre Knighte or stand in Justice stedde Aganst them our sword the cause shall pleade
Oh yt shall do us good to see, these tyrantes wallowed in their Blood
God bless our King Quene and prince all waies God send them happy lief & old Nestors dayes.
Released in 1968 and often referred to as Canada’s first music video, The Ballad of Crowfoot was directed by Willie Dunn, a Mi’kmaq/Scottish folk singer and activist who was part of the historic Indian Film Crew, the first all-Indigenous production unit at the NFB. The film is a powerful look at colonial betrayals, told through a striking montage of archival images and a ballad composed by Dunn himself about the legendary 19th-century Siksika (Blackfoot) chief who negotiated Treaty 7 on behalf of the Blackfoot Confederacy. The IFC’s inaugural release, Crowfoot was the first Indigenous-directed film to be made at the NFB.
Lyrics
Comes the spring and its warm thaw Around your neck, the eagle claw Upon your head, the buffalo horn Today a great new chief is born So raise him fast towards the sun A heart now beats, a life’s begun It’s eighteen hundred twenty-one Today a Blackfoot soul is, is born
Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
Your years have gone, the years have past Your heart is set, your soul is cast You stand before the Council Fire You have the mind and the desire Of notions wise you speak so well And in brave deeds you do excel And it’s eighteen hundred fifty-three And you stand the chief of Confederacy You are the leader, you are the chief You stand against both liar and thief They trade braves whiskey and steal your land And they’re coming in swift like the wind-blown sand They shoot the buffalo and kill the game And send their preachers in to shame And it’s eighteen hundred sixty-four And you think of peace and you think of war
Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
See the settlers in more numbers He takes whatever he encounters You’ve seen the Sioux all battered, beaten They’re all in rags, they haven’t eaten The Nez Perce’ were much the same It seems like such a heartless game And it’s eighteen hundred seventy-six And the enemy’s full of those death-dealing tricks Today the treaty stands on the table Will you sign it? Are you able? It offers food and protection too Do you really think they’ll hold it true? It offers a reserve, now isn’t that grand? And in return you cede all of your land And it’s eighteen hundred seventy-seven And you know the scales are so uneven
Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
Well, the buffalo are slaughtered, there is nothing to eat The government’s late again with the meat And your people are riddled with the white man’s disease And in the summer they’re sick and in the winter they freeze and Sometimes you wonder why you signed that day But they broke the treaties themselves anyway And it’s eighteen hundred eighty-nine And your death star explodes and then it falls
Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
The years have gone, the years have flown A nation since has swiftly grown but Yet for the Indian, it’s all the same There’s still the hardship, there’s still the pain There’s still the hardship, there’s still the strife It’s bitterness shines like a whetted knife There’s still the hypocrisy, and the hate Was that in the treaties? Was that the fate? We’re all unhappy pawns in the government’s game And it’s always the Indian who gets the blame It’s a problem which money can never lessen And it’s nineteen hundred sixty-seven
Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
Maybe one day you’ll find honesty Instead of the usual treachery Perhaps one day the truth shall prevail And the warmth of love which it does entail Crowfoot, Crowfoot, why the tears? You’ve been a brave man for many years Why the sadness? Why the sorrow? Maybe there’ll be a better tomorrow
The wonderful singer and promoter Sophie Bostock was waxing lyrical about this book to me and I’m so glad that I bought it as soon as she recommended it to me. It is a gem. I learnt so much from this including songs such as The Cutty Wren, The Bitter Withy, and The Death of Bill Brown.
A.L. Lloyd is very thorough and includes lyrics, music and background to all manner of songs from around England and beyond going back as far as he dare go and then some.
This song is traditionally thought to date back to the 1300s and have been sung by participants of the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381. Worth noting that wikipedia and academia are both are keen to point out that there is no evidence of this, but people in the trad folk tradition are equally quick to point out in return that academics historically often have little idea about the oral tradition.
In A.L.Lloyd’s excellent Folk Song In England he states:
(The song) is often thought of as an amiable nursery piece yet when it was recorded from an old shepherd of Adderbury West, near Banbury, he banged the floor with his stick on the accented notes and stamped violently at the end of the verses, saying that to stamp was the right way and reminded of old times.
What memories of ancient defiance are preserved in this kind of performance it would be hard to say , but we do know that the wren-hunting song was attached to pagan midwinter ritual of the kind that the Church and authority fulminated vainly against- particularly in the rebellious perdio at the end of the Middle Ages when adherence to the forms of the Old Religion was taken to be evidence of subversion, and its partisans were violently persectuted in consequence.
In the sleeve notes of an Ian Campbell Folk Group record, A.L. Lloyd had this further explanation:
Some of the most ancient, most enduring and at the same time most mysterious English folk songs are those concerned with the attributes and sacrifice of monstrous animals. At the end of the 14th century, when peasant rebellion was in the air, the old magical song of the gigantically powerful bird (presented by a kind of folklore irony as a tiny wren) took on a tinge of new meaning. For here was the story of a great fowl so hard to seize, so difficult to dismember but so apt for sharing among the poor; and what did that suggest but a symbol of seignorial property?
Lyrics
“O where are you going?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “We’re off to the woods,” said John the Red Nose
“What will you do there?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “We’ll hunt the Cutty Wren,” said John the Red Nose
“How will you shoot her?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “With bows and with arrows,” said John the Red Nose
“That will not do then,” said Milder to Maulder “O what will do then?” said Festle to Foes “Big guns and big cannons,” said John the Red Nose
“How will you bring her home?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “On four strong men’s shoulders,” said John the Red Nose
“That will not do then,” said Milder to Maulder “O what will do then?” said Festle to Foes “Big carts and big waggons,” said John the Red Nose
“How will you cut her up?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “With knives and with forks,” said John the Red Nose
“That will not do then,” said Milder to Maulder “O what will do then?” said Festle to Foes “Big hatches and cleavers,” said John the Red Nose
“Who’ll get the spare ribs?” said Milder to Maulder “O we may not tell you,” said Festle to Foes “We’ll give them all to the poor,” said John the Red Nose
That there are algorithms out there on the internet that know so much about us all is shit scary. Some days it can be annoyingly useful though, like the day when it suggested that I might want to buy a 2nd hand copy of this book and I did… and was grateful for the recommendation. Grrrrrrrr….
The book is very geographically focussed on the north east lowlands of Scotland and explores advances in technology and the repercussions for workers through the medium of bothy ballads. Sounds ace, doesn’t it?
It covers the 1800s in detail and really helped me to understand the transition from women working the fields with a sickle, to men working the fields with scythes, and oxen pulling rudimentary ploughs, to a paid of horses pulling a far more modern device. It also explores the beginnings of automation, steam power and machines. All evidenced by songs. Brilliant.
It’s fair to say that Professor Wallace House was probably a bit of a dude. An American who perfected the art of many regional English accents so he could sing his favourite folk songs authetically.
We adapted our version of ‘Robin Hood and the Three Squires’ from this record:
As Robin Hood ranged the green woods all round, all round the woods ranged he He saw a young lady in very deep grief, weeping against an oak tree weeping against an oak tree
O why weepest thou, my dear lady? What trouble’s befallen thee? Well I have three brothers in Nottingham jail, this day all hanged must be this day all hanged must be
O what have they done , my dear lady, to pay such a costly fee? Why they have killed three of the King’s fallow deer their children and wives to feed
Take courage, take courage, says bold Robin Hood, oh weep not against the oak tree, And I will away to Nottingham fair, the High Sheriff for to see
Then Robin Hood hastened to Nottingham town, to Nottingham town went he And there with the high master Sheriff he met and likewise the squires all three
One favour one favour I have to beg. One favour to beg of thee That thou wilt reprieve these three young squires, this day and set them free
O no, o no, the high Sheriff says, their lives are forfeit to me, For they have killed three of the King’s fallow deer and this day all hanged must be
One favour more I have to beg. One favour more of thee That I may blow thrice on my old bugle horn that their spirits to heaven may flee
O granted, o granted, the High Sheriff said. O granted O granted said he Thou mayest blow thrice on thine old bugle horn that their spirits to heaven may flee
Then Robin Hood climbed the gallows so high and blew both loud and shrill Three hundred and ten of bold Robin Hood’s men came marching across the green hill
O whose men are these? The High Sheriff asks. And Robin Hood answered with glee, They’re all of them mine and they’re none of them thine and they’ve come for the squires all three
O take them, O take them, the High Sheriff said. I’ll have no quarrel with thee, For there’s not a man in fair Nottingham that can do the like of thee.
Mo mhallachd aig na caoraich mhòr My curse upon the great sheep Càit a bheil clann nan daoine còir Where now are the children of the kindly folk Dhealaich rium nuair bha mi òg Who parted from me when I was young Mus robh Dùthaich ‘IcAoidh na fàsach? Before Sutherland became a desert?
Tha trì fichead bliadhna ‘s a trì It has been sixty-three years On dh’fhàg mi Dùthaich ‘IcAoidh Since I left Sutherland Cait bheil gillean òg mo chrìdh’ Where are all my beloved young men ‘S na nìonagan cho bòidheach? And all the girls that were so pretty?
Shellar, tha thu nist nad uaigh Sellar, you are in your grave Gaoir nam bantrach na do chluais The wailing of your widows in your ears Am milleadh rinn thu air an t-sluagh The destruction you wrought upon the people Ron uiridh ‘n d’ fhuair thu d’ leòr dheth? Up until last year, have you had your fill of it?
Chiad Dhiùc Chataibh, led chuid foill First Duke of Sutherland, with your deceit ‘S led chuid càirdeis do na Goill And your consorting with the Lowlanders Gum b’ ann an Iutharn’ bha do thoill You deserve to be in Hell Gum b’ fheàrr Iùdas làmh rium I’d rather consort with Judas
Bhan-Diùc Chataibh, bheil thu ad dhìth Duchess of Sutherland, where are you now? Càit a bheil do ghùnan sìod? Where are your silk gowns? An do chùm iad thu bhon oillt ‘s bhon strì Did they save you from the hatred and fury Tha an diugh am measg nan clàraibh? Which today permeates the press?
Mo mhallachd aig na caoraich mhòr My curse upon the great sheep Càit a bheil clann nan daoine còir Where now are the children of the kindly folk Dhealaich rium nuair bha mi òg Who parted from me when I was young Mus robh Dùthaich ‘IcAoidh na fàsach?
He came across an essay about a political pageant from the 1930s which has an interesting overlap with the structure of our show. The published essay is behind an academic paywall here but the author Mick Wallis has kindly provided his private copy of the essay which you can download from here if you don’t have an academic login to download from the link above.
Taken from the essay, here is the structure of a pageant performed to thousands of people in a stadium in the late 1930s:
Music and the People
Introduction
1. Feudal England. A canon from 1350; songs ‘that have lived in the peasant tradition for centuries, only lately collected because they were beginning to be forgotten’; a primitive fertility ritual dance; a Hebridean spinning song. (No dramatic action.)
2. The Massacre of the Innocents. Parts of two pageant-plays are performed, as if to the villagers: after the famous complaint from the Second Shepherds’ Play, Herod and the Innocents – ‘no doubt much of its popularity owed much to the memory of the massacres of their own people after the rising of 1381’; the song King Herod and the Cock in which ‘the invincible spirit’ wins against the oppressor; a choir of early Christians, following an introductory verse by Paul Robeson; and, since ‘the play’s not finished yet’ (i.e., of history) the Basque Lullaby.
3. Peasants in Revolt. A return to 1381: John Ball addresses the crowd; a signal arrives from him; the march on London, singing The Cutty Wren; Tyler’s meeting with Richard II, and murder (‘All words spoken in this scene, except for the commentary of the Speaker, are taken from authentic records’); all the men of the Mass Chorus (nine choirs) sing The German Peasants’ Song.
Interlude. ‘The ancient ritual carried on / And the forbidden message spoke’: members of the Woodcraft Folk ‘come on in small numbers, like conspirators, and perform the Stag-Dance’, part of the cult which was ‘the bond of unity between the harassed peasants’.
4. Soldiers of Freedom. Two Announcers briefly set the scene for 1649 (the episode is not concerned with celebrating Cromwell). ‘One king may be dead, but who still owns the land? Six Levellers and the actor-singer Parry Jones sit at tavern tables and sing; an Announcer recounts their talk as they remain in tableau; a group of dancers; some Diggers brought on in ropes by soldiers; an Announcer hails them in verse while the soldiers order drinks; the Diggers sing Stand up Now.
5. Village Green to Concert Hall. Announcer’s verse reports the break-up of rural communities and the appropriation of their culture by bourgeois institutions; ‘A group of dancers enters and performs to the tunes from which The Beggar’s Opera was concocted. At the end of their dance, a proscenium arch appears over the platform, and a scene from the play is performed to the dancers as audience.
Interval
6. Changing Europe. 1792. French revolution, singing the Carmagnole, verses 1 and 2, dressed as French peasants of 1790
7. Prisoners. ‘Ludwig van Beethoven descends from rostrum’; ‘But who are these / In modern clothes appearing / Their haggard eyes / The brand of torture like a web of scorpions wearing?’; prisoners from the Nazi concentration camps enter and sing the Peat-Bog Soldiers’ Song.
8. Slaves. ‘Following this train of thought’, John Payne and his Negro Choir enter as slaves, singing a chain-gang song, a cotton-picking song, and some ‘songs of freedom, led by one of the foremost champions of freedom’, Paul Robeson’.
9. The People Advance. As Robeson’s Kneelin’ Low ends, the Mass Chorus sings the Chartist We’re Low and the Speaker takes up a prose narrative to take us forward to trade unionism – ‘To every trade its club, to every club its song’ – and ‘the Trades Unionists sit round a table and sing their song’ (unspecified), ‘the verse sung solo’; ‘the tide rose apace’, and in a few sentences taking in the Co-operative Movement, the Speaker takes us to the late 1880s – a crowd headed by William Morris enters, singing People of England; the Speaker relates the killing by the police of the demonstrator in Trafalgar Square in 1880, and William Morris gives his famous ‘Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay’; the Chorus marches off to the Russian 1905 Funeral March, ‘that now commemorates all those who have fallen in the fight for freedom’.
The Speaker makes a summation in verse of the Pageant, and reflects on its meanings for us now:
And having present struggles and despairs Sharp in our minds, remember too The past whose urgent influence prepares The issues of today, and know that you By today’s action map the future’s road…. Never so needed was that single will That unity of the people, to fulfil The claim for freedom, and to ensure our peace… It is time we answered, as they answer now In Spain, in China, in every tortured land…. Let our song rise whose simple power Can flood the boundaries that divide us still And make our common hope, our single will.
Then a procession of groups: Christian Hymn; Levellers’ Song; Marseillaise; People of England; ‘Bandera Rossa’ ; German Solidarity Song; Chinese Student Song; Spanish National Anthem; (and now not representations but actual) veterans of the International Brigade led by Fred Copeman; the Negro Choir. Paul Robeson sings The Land of Freedom, ‘the great song of liberated Soviet humanity’, with the Acting Chorus (twelve choirs); Tom Mann, the Dean of Canterbury, and Fred Copeman speak briefly on the theme ‘Music and the People’ . Finally, all (audience included) sing the American Men Awake! the Day is Dawnin
This is a lovely old Germany song which may be super old, but as ever, no one really knows… Here is what wikipedia has to say, and below is Pete Seeger’s adaptation into English. Note that these words are slightly different to the version embedded above. You can hear another version here but for some reason it will not embed outside of YouTube.
Die gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely flower Die gedanken sind frei, my thoughts give me power No scholar can map them, no hunter can trap them No man can deny, die gedanken sind frei
I think as I please and this gives me pleasure My conscience decrees, this right I must treasure My thoughts will not cater to duke or dictator No man can deny – die gedanken sind frei
Tyrants can take me and throw me in prison My thoughts will burst forth like blossoms in season Foundations may crumble and structures may tumble But free men shall cry – die gedanken sind frei
Original German lyrics (with translation below)
Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten, Sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten. Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger sie schießen Mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!
Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket, Doch alles in der Still’, und wie es sich schicket. Mein Wunsch und Begehren kann niemand verwehren, Es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!
Und sperrt man mich ein im finsteren Kerker, Das alles sind rein vergebliche Werke. Denn meine Gedanken zerreißen die Schranken Und Mauern entzwei: Die Gedanken sind frei!
Drum will ich auf immer den Sorgen entsagen Und will mich auch nimmer mit Grillen mehr plagen. Man kann ja im Herzen stets lachen und scherzen Und denken dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!
Ich liebe den Wein, mein Mädchen vor allen, Sie tut mir allein am besten gefallen. Ich sitz nicht alleine bei meinem Glas Weine, Mein Mädchen dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!
Thoughts are free, who can guess them? They fly by like nocturnal shadows. No person can know them, no hunter can shoot them With powder and lead: Thoughts are free!
I think what I want, and what delights me, Still always reticent, and as it is suitable. My wish and desire, no one can deny me And so it will always be: Thoughts are free!
And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon, All these are futile works, Because my thoughts tear all gates And walls apart: Thoughts are free!
So I will renounce my sorrows forever, And never again will torture myself with whimsies. In one’s heart, one can always laugh and joke And think at the same time: Thoughts are free!
I love wine, and my girl even more, Only her I like best of all. I’m not alone with my glass of wine, My girl is with me: Thoughts are free!
Join us for a Sunday afternoon show at Canon Frome Court. Tea and cake will be for sale in the interval and the show will be followed by a tour of the farm.
Robin and Roo will be leading a sing-a-long this Sunday by The Major Oak in Sherwood Forest to mark the 800th anniversary of the 1217 Charter Of The Forest and linking this to land rights, fracking and universal basic income in our present day.
You must be logged in to post a comment.