It was the hamlet's gain. One of the boys was musical, an aunt had bought him a good melodeon, and, every light evening, he played it for hours on the youths' gathering ground in front of the 'Wagon and Horses'.
Before his arrival there had been no musical instrument of any kind at Lark Rise, and, in those days before gramophones or wireless, any one who liked 'a bit of a tune' had to go to church to hear it, and then it would only be a hymn tune wheezed out by an ancient harmonium. Now they could have all the old favourites—'Home, Sweet Home', 'Annie Laurie', 'Barbara Allen', and 'Silver Threads Among the Gold'—they had only to ask for what they fancied. Alf played well and had a marvellous ear. If the baker or any other caller hummed the tune of a new popular song in his hearing, Alf would be playing it that night on his melodeon.
Women stood at their cottage gates, men leaned out of the inn window, and children left their play and gathered around him to listen. Often he played dance tunes, and the youths would foot it with each other as partners, for there was seldom a grown-up girl at home and the little ones they despised. So the little girls, too, had to dance with each other. One stout old woman, who was said to have been gay in her time, would come out and give them hints, or she would take a turn herself, gliding around alone, her feet hidden by her long skirts, massively graceful.
Sometimes they would sing to the dance music, and the standers-by would join in:
I have a bonnet, trimmed with blue,
Why don't you wear it? So I do.
When do you wear it? When I can,
When I go out with my young man.
My young man is gone to sea
With silver buckles on his knee,
With his blue coat and yellow hose,
And that's the way the polka goes.
Or perhaps it would be:
Step and fetch her, step and fetch her,
Step and fetch her, pretty litle dear.
Do not tease her, try and please her,
Step and fetch her, pretty little dear.
And so they would dance and sing through the long summer evenings, until dusk fell and the stars came out and they all went laughing and panting home, a community simple enough to be made happy by one little boy with a melodeon.
IX Country Playtime
'Shall we dance to-night or shall we have a game?' was a frequent question among the girls after Alf's arrival. Until the novelty of the dancing wore off, the old country games were eclipsed; but their day was not over. Some of the quieter girls always preferred the games, and, later, on those evenings when Alf was away, playing for dancers in other villages, they all went back to the games.
Then, beneath the long summer sunsets, the girls would gather on one of the green open spaces between the houses and bow and curtsey and sweep to and fro in their ankle-length frocks as they went through the game movements and sang the game rhymes as their mothers and grandmothers had done before them.
How long the games had been played and how they originated no one knew, for they had been handed down for a time long before living memory and accepted by each succeeding generation as a natural part of its childhood. No one inquired the meaning of the words of the game rhymes; many of the girls, indeed, barely mastered them, but went through the movements to the accompaniment of an indistinct babbling. But the rhymes had been preserved; breaking down into doggerel in places; but still sufficiently intact to have spoken to the discerning, had any such been present, of an older, sweeter country civilization than had survived, excepting in a few such fragments.
Of all the generations that had played the games, that of the 'eighties was to be the last. Already those children had one foot in the national school and one on the village green. Their children and grandchildren would have left the village green behind them; new and as yet undreamed-of pleasures and excitements would be theirs. In ten years' time the games would be neglected, and in twenty forgotten. But all through the 'eighties the games went on and seemed to the children themselves and to onlookers part of a life that always had been and always would be.
The Lark Rise children had a large repertoire, including the well-known games still met with at children's parties, such as 'Oranges and Lemons', 'London Bridge', and 'Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush'; but also including others which appear to have been peculiar to that part of the country. Some of these were played by forming a ring, others by taking sides, and all had distinctive rhymes, which were chanted rather than sung.
The boys of the hamlet did not join in them, for the amusement was too formal and restrained for their taste, and even some of the rougher girls when playing would spoil a game, for the movements were stately and all was done by rule. Only at the end of some of the games, where the verse had deteriorated into doggerel, did the play break down into a romp. Most of the girls when playing revealed graces unsuspected in them at other times; their movements became dignified and their voices softer and sweeter than ordinarily, and when hauteur was demanded by the part, they became, as they would have said, 'regular duchesses'. It is probable that carriage and voice inflexion had been handed down with the words.
One old favourite was 'Here Come Three Tinkers'. For this all but two of the players, a big girl and a little one, joined hands in a row, and the bigger girl out took up her stand about a dozen paces in front of the row with the smaller one lying on the turf behind her feigning sleep. Then three of the line of players detached themselves and, hand in hand, tripped forward, singing:
Here come three tinkers, three by three,
To court your daughter, fair ladye,
Oh, can we have a lodging here, here, here?
Oh, can we have a lodging here?
Upon which the fair lady (pronounced 'far-la-dee') admonished her sleeping daughter:
Sleep, sleep, my daughter. Do not wake.
Here come three tinkers you can't take.
Then, severely, to the tinkers:
You cannot have a lodging here, here, here.
You cannot have a lodging here.
And the tinkers returned to the line, and three others came forward, calling themselves tailors, soldiers, sailors, gardeners, bricklayers, or policemen, according to fancy, the rhymes being sung for each three, until it was time for the climax, and, putting fresh spirit into their tones, the conquering candidates came forward, singing:
Here come three princes, three by three,
To court your daughter, fair ladye,
Oh, can we have a lodging here, here, here?
Oh, can we have a lodging here?
At the mere mention of the rank of the princes the scene changed. The fair lady became all becks and nods and smiles, and, lifting up her supposedly sleeping daughter, sang:
Oh, wake, my daughter, wake, wake, wake.
Here come three princes you can take.
And, turning to the princes:
Oh, you can have a lodging here, here, here.
Oh, you can have a lodging here.
Then, finally, leading forward and presenting her daughter, she said:
Here is my daughter, safe and sound,
And in her pocket five thousand pound,
And on her finger a gay gold ring,
And I'm sure she's fit to walk with a king.
For 'Isabella' a ring was formed with one of the players standing alone in the centre. Then circling slowly, the girls sang:
Isabella, Isabella, Isabella, farewell.
Last night when we parted
I left you broken-hearted,
And on the green gravel there stands a young man.
Isabella, Isabella, Isabella, farewell.
Take your choice, love,
take your choice, love,
Take your choice, love. Farewell.
The girl in the middle of the ring then chose another who took up her position inside with her, while the singers continued:
Put the banns up,put the banns up,
Put the banns up. Farewell.
Come to church, love,
come to church, love. Farewell.
Put the ring on, put the ring on,
Put the ring on. Farewell.
Come to supper, love, come to supper, love,
Come to supper, love. Farewell.
Now to bed, love, now to bed, love,
Now to bed, love. Farewell.
With other instructions, all of which were carried out in dumb show by the couple in the middle of the ring. Having got the pair wedded and bedded, the spirit of the piece changed. The stately game became a romp. Jumping up and down, still with joined hands, round the two in the middle, the girls shouted:
Now they're married we wish them joy,
First a girl and then a boy,
Sixpence married sevenpence's daughter,
Kiss the couple over and over.
In that game the Isabella of the sad farewell to whom the sweet plaintive tune of the rhyme originally belonged had somehow got mixed up in a country courtship and wedding.
A pretty, graceful game to watch was 'Thread the Tailor's Needle'. For this two girls joined both hands and elevated them to form an arch or bridge, and the other players, in single file and holding on to each other's skirts, passed under, singing:
Thread the tailor's needle,
Thread the tailor's needle.
The tailor's blind and he can't see,
So thread the tailor's needle.
As the end of the file passed under the arch the last two girls detached themselves, took up their stand by the original two and joined their hands and elevated them, thus widening the arch, and this was repeated until the arch became a tunnel. As the file passing under grew shorter, the tune was quickened, until, towards the end, the game became a merry whirl.
A grim little game often played by the younger children was called 'Daddy'. For this a ring was formed, one of the players remaining outside it, and the outside player stalked stealthily round the silent and motionless ring and chose another girl by striking her on the shoulder. The chosen one burst from the ring and rushed round it, closely pursued by the first player, the others chanting meanwhile:
Round a ring to catch a king,
Round a ring to catch a king,
Round a ring to catch a king——
and, as the pursuer caught up with the pursued and struck her neck with the edge of her hand:
Down falls Daddy!
At the stroke on the neck the second player fell flat on the turf, beheaded, and the game continued until all were stretched on the turf.
Round what ring, to catch what king? And who was Daddy? Was the game founded on some tale dished up for the commonalty of the end of one who 'nothing common did or mean'? The players did not know or care, and we can only guess.
'Honeypots' was another small children's game. For this the children squatted down with their hands clasped tightly under their buttocks and two taller girls approached them, singing:
Honeypots, honeypots, all in a row!
Who will buy my honeypots, O?
One on each side of a squatting child, they 'tried' it by swinging by the arms, the child's hands still being clasped under its buttocks. If the hands gave way, the honeypot was cast away as broken; if they held, it was adjudged a good pot.
A homely game was 'The Old Woman from Cumberland'. For this a row of girls stood hand in hand with a bigger one in the middle to represent the old woman from Cumberland. Another bigger girl stood alone a few paces in front. She was known as the 'mistress'. Then the row of girls tripped forward, singing:
Here comes an old woman from Cumberland
With all her children in her hand.
And please do you want a servant to-day?
'What can they do?' demanded the mistress as they drew up before her. Then the old woman of Cumberland detached herself and walked down the row, placing a hand on the heads of one after another of her children as she said:
This can brew, and this can bake,
This can make a wedding cake,
This can wear a gay gold ring,
This can sit in the barn and sing,
This can go to bed with a king,
And this one can do everything.
'Oh! I will have that one', said the mistress, pointing to the one who could do everything, who then went over to her. The proceedings were repeated until half the girls had gone over, when the two sides had a tug-of-war.
'The Old Woman from Cumberland' was a brisk, business-like game; but most of the rhymes of the others were long-drawn-out and sad, and saddest of all was 'Poor Mary is A-weeping', which went:
Poor Mary is a-weeping, a-weeping, a-weeping,
Poor Mary is a-weeping on a bright summer's day.
And what's poor Mary a-weeping for, a-weeping for, aweeping for?
Oh, what's poor Mary a-weeping for on a bright summer's day?
She's weeping for her own true love on a bright summer's own true love.
She's weeping for her own true love on a bright summer's day.
Then let her choose another love, another love, another love.
Then let her choose another love on a bright summer's day.
'Waly, Waly, Wallflower' ran 'Poor Mary' close in gentle melancholy; but the original verse in this seems to have broken down after the fourth line. The Lark Rise version ran:
Waly, waly, wallflower, growing up so high.
We're all maidens, we must all die,
Excepting So-and-So [naming one of the players]
And she's the youngest maid.
Then, the tune changing to a livelier air:
She can hop and she can skip,
She can play the candlestick,
Fie! Fie! Fie!
Turn your face to the wall again.
All clasping hands and jumping up and down:
All the boys in this town
Lead a happy life,
Excepting So-and-So [naming some hamlet boy, not necessarily present]
And he wants a wife.
A wife he shall have and a-courting he shall go,
Along with So-and-So; because he loves her so.
He kissed her, he cuddled her, he sat her on his knee,
And he said 'My dearest So-and-So, how happy we shall be.'
First he bought the frying-pan and then he bought the cradle
And then he bought the knives and forks and set them on the table.
So-and-So made a pudding, she made it very sweet,
She daren't stick the knife in till So-and-So came home at night.
Taste, So-and-So, taste, and do not be afraid,
Next Monday morning the wedding day shall be,
And the cat shall sing and the bells shall ring
And we'll all clap hands together.
Evidently in the course of the centuries 'Waly, Waly, Wallflower' had become mixed with something else. The youngest maid of the first verse would never have played the candlestick or been courted by such a lover. Her destiny was very different. But what?
'Green Gravel' was another ring game. The words were:
Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green,
The fairest young damsel that ever was seen,
Sweet So-and-So, sweet So-and-So,
your true love is dead,
I send you a letter, so turn round your head.
And as each name was mentioned the bearer turned outwards from the middle of the ring and, still holding hands with the others, went on revolving. When all had turned, the girls jigged up and down, shouting:
Bunch o' rags! Bunch o' rags! Bunch o' rags!
until all fell down.
Then there was 'Sally, Sally Waters'; who 'sprinkled in the pan'; and 'Queen Anne, Queen Anne', who 'sat in the sun'. The local version of the first verse of the latter ran:
Queen Anne, Queen Anne, she sat in the sun,
She had a pair of ringlets on.
She shook them off, she shook them on,
She shook them into Scotland.
Which seems to suggest that the Q
ueen Anne intended was Anne of Denmark, consort of our James the First, and not the last of our Stuart monarchs, as sometimes supposed. When the founders of the new royal house first arrived in England, there would certainly be gossip about them, and Queen Anne would most probably be supposed to favour Scotland, Scots, and things Scottish.
The brisk and rather disagreeable little game known as 'Queen Caroline' must have been of comparatively recent date. For this two lines of girls stood facing each other, while one other one ran the gauntlet. As she dashed between the lines the girls on both sides 'buffeted' her with hands, pinafores and handkerchiefs, singing:
Queen, Queen Caroline,
Dipped her head in turpentine.
Why did she look so fine?
Because she wore a crinoline.
An echo of the coronation scene of George IV?
Contemporary with that was 'The Sheepfold', which began:
Who's that going round my sheepfold?
Lark Rise to Candleford Page 16
