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John  M.  Ward 


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Mus  535,296      ■ 

EDA     KUHN    LOEB    MUSIC    LIBRARY 

From  the  library  of 
JOHN   M.  WARD 

'                Wiliium  P&wtU  Mas&n  Professor  of  S4u$k 

HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 

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ALLAN'S 

II.LUSTRATED     EDITION 

OF 

TYNESIDE     SONGS 

AND    READINGS. 

WITH 

Lives,    Portraits,    and  ^utographs 
OF  THE   Writers, 

AND   notes   on   the   SONGS. 


REVISED    EDITION. 


NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE : 

THOMAS    &    GEORGE    ALLAN, 
1 8  Blackett  Street,  and  34  Collingwood  Street. 

SOLD  BT 

W.  Allan,  80  G&ainqer  Street  ;  B.  Allan,  North  Shields, 
London  :  Walter  Scott. 
1891 


Pi (4 -7  ^"^^^  ^^^  ^'■■:   ''•'^ 


EDA  KUHN  LOEB  MUSIC  UBRART 

HARVARD  UNIVERSiry 

CAMBRIr3S,  MASS.  02138 


TO 


^ 


RICHARD  OLIVER  HESLOP,  Esq. 


AN   ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
OF  HIS   LABOURS 

ON 

"NORTHUMBERLAND    WORDS." 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


It  is  close  upon  thirty  years  since  we  brought  out  the  first  edition  of 
this  book.  In  1872  it  was  enlarged,  and  the  following  from  the 
Introductory  Note  will  show  upon  what  lines. 

**  Several  features,  new  in  local  collections,  have  been  introduced. 
In  many  of  the  songs,  particularly  those  of  an  earlier  date,  there  are 
allusions  to  events  and^  persons,  without  a  knowledge  of  which,  the 
interest  of  the  sonc;  is  weakened  or  lost.  These  allusions,  well 
known  at  the  time  the  songs  were  written,  have  now  grown  strange 
to  a  great  many.  To  remedy  this,  notes  explanatory  are  given 
where  necessary. 

"  In  previous  collections,  little  has  been  told  about  the  writers  of 
the  songs — the  local  bards 

• who  swept  the  rustic  lyre, 

Their  natiye  hills  adorning.' 

That  it  should  have  been  so  is  unfortunate,  as,  now,  the  task  of 
supplying  the  omission  is  one  of  difficulty.  Like  their  songs,  the 
singers  were,  with  few  exceptions,  of  humble  life,  and  but  little 
known  beyond  their  own  immediate  circle.  It  is  from  these,  now 
few  in  numbers,  and  difficult  to  trace,  that  the  information  in  the 
brief  notices  now  given  is  obtained.  That  the  information  gathered, 
in  several  instances,  has  been  so  scanty  is  to  be  regretted ;  but,  at 
least,  a  little  has  been  obtained  which  will  be  interesting  to  those 
who  take  an  interest  in  Tyneside  song. 

"  The  older  vnriters  wrote  for  their  own  amusement,  and  sung  their 
songs  at  social  meetings  amongst  their  friends;  now  Tyneside 
songs  are  generally  launched  into  popularity  from  the  stage  of  the 
concert  hall,  music,  and  dressing  in  character,  being  used  to  add  to 
their  effect.  Corvan,  and,  after  him,  Ridley,  followed  this  course, 
and  made  the  writing  and  singing  of  Tyneside  songs  their  means  of 
livelihood.  Joe  Wilson  and  Rowland  Harrison  are  now  pursuing  a 
similar  course,  excepting  that  Joe  never  dresses  in  character,  but 
invariably  sings  his  songs  in  ordinary  dress." 

To  this  we  may  add  : — In  the  new  edition  the  Notes  on  the  songs 
and  the  Lives  of  the  writers  have  been  largely  extended,  while  Portraits 
and  Autographs,  some  of  them  rare,  have  been  freely  added.  For 
these  ad(&tional  attractions  we  have  been  indebted  to  many  kind 
friends ;  their  valuable  help  we  here  b^  to  acknowledge  with  many 
thanks. 

In  the  present  edition  a  fresh  feature  is  introduced — the  writers 
follow  in  order  of  time ;  and  each  song  is  traced  back  to  its 
original  publication,  or  as  near  as  can  1^,  and  the  text  revised 
from  the  best  authority.  The  emblematic  device  on  the  back,  the 
head  of  the  River  God,  Father  Tyne,  showing  its  products  and 
industries,  is  from  Brand's  Newcastle  (1789),  where  it  is  given  as 
designed  by  Sir  Wm.  Chambers. 


CONTENTS. 


A  You  A,  Hinny  Burd 

Adam  and  Eve 

Ahd  Pitman's  Po'try  tiv  ees  Marrah,  The 

Alice  Marley   .... 

Amphitrite,  The 

Andrew  Carr  .... 

Armstrong,  William,  Life  of  . 

Asstrilly;  or,  The  Pitman's  Farewell 

Asstrilly's  Goold  Fields ;  or,  Tommy  Carr's 

Auld  Fisher's  Fareweel  to  Coquet,  The 

Aw's  glad  the  Strike's  Duin  . 

Aw  wish  Pay  Friday  wad  cum 

Aw    Wish    yor    Muther    wad    Cum;    or, 

Notions  aboot  Men  Nursin'  Bairns 
Baboon,  The  .... 
Baggy  Nanny;  or,  The  Pitman's  Frolic 
Barber's  News,  The;  or,  Shields  in  an  Upi 
Barron,  George  Charlton,  Life  of 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  Hawks's  Men  at  the 
Beggars'  Wedding,  The 
Be  Kind  te  me  Dowtor 
Benson,  Michael,  Life  of 
Betty  Beesley  and  her  Wooden  Man 
Bewildered  Skipper,  The 
Billy  Oliver's  Ramble  between  Benwell  and 
Bill  Smith  at  the  Battle  of  Waterloo 
Birth  of  Friendship's  Star,  The 
Blackett,  Ralph,  Life  of 
Blaydon  Races 
Blind  Willie's  Deeth 
Blind  Willie's  Singing 
Blmd  Willie  v.  Billy  Scott 


Letter 


Wor    Geordy'i 


Newcastle 


PAGE 

29 
553 
575 

22 
186 
118 
215 
4CX) 
401 
164 
558 
519 

476 
217 
300 
76 
SOI 
546 
3M 
479 
470 
384 
151 
221 

503 
471 
482 

451 
192 
188 
253 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Bobbies  an'  the  Dogs,  The    . 

Bob  Chambers 

Bob  Crankey's  Adieu 

Bob  Cranky's  Complaint 

Bob  Cranky's  Leum'nation  Neet 

Bob  Cranky's  'Size  Sunday    . 

Bobby  Cure,  The 

Bobby  the  Boxer 

Bobby  Shaftoe 

Bold  Archy  Drownded 

On  the  Death  of  Bold  Archy 

Bonassus,  The 

Bonny  Geatsiders,  1805,  The 
Bonny  Keel  Laddie    . 
Bonny  Pit  Laddie,  The 
Brandling — Family  Motto 
Brandling  and  Ridley 
Burdon's  Address  to  his  Cavalry 
Callerforney 
Canny  Newcastle 
Canny  Sheels 

Cappy;  or.  The  Pitman's  Dog 
Carter's  Well 
Cat-gut  Jim,  the  Fiddler 
Chambers 

Chambers  and  White . 
Chinese  Sailors  in  Newcastle,  The 
Cliffs  of  Old  Tynemouth,  The 
Cliffs  of  Virginia,  The 
Coal  Trade,  The 
Coaly  Tyne 
Colours,  The 

Collier's  Keek  at  the  Nation,  The 
Collier's  Pay  Week,  The 
Collier's  Rant,  The    . 
Collier's  Wedding,  The 
Edward  Chicken,  Life  of 

Comet,  The ;  or,  The  Skipper's  Fright 
Coquet  Side    . 
Coquet  for  Ever,  The 


PAGE 

525 

528 

74 

91 

96 

88 

456 

406 

2 

179 

179 

236 

69 

4 

3 

33 

34 

199 

361 
47 
156 
141 
266 
444 
453 
426 

499 
284 
225 
277 
158 
279 
177 
107 

25 
5 

5 

421 
162 
166 


CONTENTS. 

Corn  Market,  The 
Gjronation,  Euphy's   . 
Corvan,  Edward,  Life  of 

Caller,  The 

CorTan,  Acrostic  on  . 

Corvan,  Ned,  A  Recollection  of 

Craggs,  John,  Life  of  . 

Cuddy  Willy's  Deeth  . 

Cull,  alias  Silly  Billy 

Cullercoats  Fish-Lass,  The     . 

Cunningham,  John,  Life  of    . 

Death  of  John  Cunningham,  Lament  on  the 
Elegy  on  a  Pile  of  Buins,  Extract  from 

Curds-and-cream  House  Ghost,  The 

Dance  to  thy  Daddy 

Dandylion  Clock,  The 

Dawson,  William  Henderson,  Life  of 

Days  and  Deeds  of  Shakspere 

Deeth  o'  Billy  Purvis . 

Deeth  o'  Cuckoo  Jack,  The  . 

Devil,  The ;  or.  The  Nanny  Goat 

Dinnet  Clash  the  Door 

Dol  Li  A 

Donocht  Head 

Dowey,  Ralph,  Life  of 

Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O ! 

Dryden,  Matthew,  Life  of 

Elliott,  Edward,  Life  of 

Emery,  Robert,  Life  of 

Answer  to  Canny  Sheels,  Extract  from 

Coll  Billy's  Prize 

Great  Frost  on  River  Tyne,  Extract  from 

Lines  to  Miss  Bell,  Extract  from 

Robert  Emery,  Address  to 

Robert  Emery,  Acrostic  on 

Song  on  opening  of  New  Fish  Market,  Extract 

Trip  to  Warkworth    . 

Exile's  Return,  The    . 

Fiery  Clock  Fyece,  The 

Fire  on  the  Kee,  The 

Fishermen  Hung  the  Monkey,  O I  The 


from 


IX 

PAGE 
196 
251 

892 
898 

548 

564 

522 

81 

405 

18 

19 

19 

210 
561 
484 
368 
412 
428 
223 
478 
28 

23 

568 

335 
493 
466 
284 

289 
82 
286 
290 
290 
290 


348 

338 
422 
419 


X                                         CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Fisher's  Garland,  The             .             .            .            .            .160 

Auld  Fisher's  Last  Wish.  The 

.      161 

Flay  Craw,  The;  or,  Pee  Dee*s  Mishap 

509 

Floatin'  Gninstan,  The 

219 

Fore  Shift,  The 

566 

Forst  ov  Owt  ye  Had,  The    . 

492 

Free  Education 

576 

Geordy  Black 

515 

Gilchrist,  Robert,  Life  of 

169 

Bethlehem's  Star,  Extract  from 

172 

Clennell's  Lines  on  Gilchrist's  Death    . 

176 

Gothalbert  and  Hisanna,  Extract  from 

170 

Gothalbert  of  the  Tyne 

171 

On  St.  Nicholas'  Church 

172 

Petition  from  the  old  House  in  Shieldfield 

174 

Poetic  I^ragments 

176 

Sonnet  on  the  Shortest  Day 

176 

Zion's  Hill,  Extract  from 

172 

Gilroy,  John  Brodie,  Life  of     . 

341 

Glister,  The     .... 

218 

Gone     ..... 

573 

Green's  Balloon            .... 

202 

Greet  Bull-Dog  0'  Shields,  The 

416 

Hackney  Coach  Customers ;  or,  Newcastle  ^ 

V^Tonder 

s 

293 

Half-drowned  Skipper,  The    . 

153 

Hallayuye  Convert       .... 

572 

Hamlick,  Prince  of  Denton    . 

371 

Harrison,  Rowland,  Life  of    . 

513 

Harry  Clasper  and  his  Testimonial    . 

506 

Hay,  Alexander,  Life  of 

56a 

Board  of  Trade,  ahoy  1 

660 

Sonnet  on  Time,  Extract  from 

561 

He  Wad  be  a  Noodle 

394 

Heh  ye  seen  wor  Cuddy? 

518 

Heslop,  Richard  Oliver,  Life  of 

530 

High  Level  an*  the  Aud  Bridge,  The 

442 

High  Level  Bridge,  The 

359 

His  Other  Eye. 

538 

Holiday  Gown 

20 

Horsley,  James,  Life  of 

495 

A  Pilgrimage  to  Jesmond,  Extract  from 

496 

To  the  Angel  of  Death 

496 

CONTENTS, 

Horrid  War  i'  Sangeyt,  The . 

Hot-Trod,  The  .  . 

Howdon  for  Jarrow      .... 

Hydrophobia ;   or.  The  Skipper  and  the  Quaker 

Illektric  Leet,  The     .... 

Impatient  Lassie,  The 

Jack's  Wooden  Leg    .... 

Jack  Simpson's  Bairn 

Jackey  and  Jenny        .... 

Jenny  Howlet,  The;  or,  Lizzie  Mudie's  Ghost 

Jessamond  Mill  .... 

UneBagateUe  .... 

Jocker  ..... 

Joey  Jones  ..... 
Johnny  Luik-Up  1        .  . 

Jimmy's  Deeth  .... 

Keel  Row,  The  New 
Keel  Row,  The  .... 

Keel  Bow  (street  Tersion) 

Keelman's  Reasons  for  Attending  Church,  The 
Kerr,  Thomas,  Life  of  .  .  . 

King  Willy's  Coronation 

Songs  on  George  IV.'s  Coronation,  Extracts  from 

Kipper'd  Herrin',  The 
Lamentation  on  the  Death  of  Captain  Starkey,  The 
Lament,  The  .... 

Lass  that  sell'd  Grozers  upon  the  Aad  Bridge,  Th' 
Leonard,  John,  Life  of  .  .  . 

Lines  on  William  Pitt,  Extract  from    . 
Lietch,  David  Ross,  Life  of  . 

Lines  to  Joe  Wilson,  Extract  from 
Bed  Eric  and  Lord  Delaval 

Little  Moody,  Razor-setter 
Little  P.  D.,  The       .... 
Luckey's  Dream  .... 

Ma*  Canny  Hinny  .... 
Ma  Singin*  Freend  .... 
Mally  and  the  Prophet 


XI 

PAGE 

574 
531 
291 
562 
167 

489 
516 
464 
216 
15 

15 
336 

449 
458 
482 

45 
I 


331 
555 
296 

296 

411 
190 
241 
564 
128 
129 
281 

283 
281 

13 

27 

326 

116 

573 
305 


xii                                      CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Marshall,  Thomas,  Life  of     . 

250 

Manhall  Cresswell    . 

612 

Morpeth  Tiodgings 

.       512 

Market  Day,  The 

. 

275 

Marsden  Rock 

343 

Mayor  of  Bordeaux,  The ;  or,  Mally 

's  Mistake 

145 

Merry  Lads  of  Gyetshead 

. 

318 

Mitford,  William,  Life  of      . 

. 

132 

The  North  Pole,  Extract  from 

134 

William  Mitford,  Acrostic  on . 

• 

186 

Morrison,  James,  Life  of 

. 

198 

More  Innovations 

194 

Movement,  The 

270 

My  Eppie 

8 

My  Lord  'Size;  or,  Newcastle  in  an  Uproar 

71 

Newcastle  and  Carlisle  Railway,  Opening  of  the 

268 

Newcastle  Fair;  October  1811           . 

100 

Newcastle  Improvements        .            .            .            .            . 

244 

Newcastle  Lad,  The;  or,  Newcastle  is  My  Native  Place  . 

.325 

Newcastle  Landlords,  1834    .            .            .            .            . 

211 

Newcastle  Millers,  The          .            .            .            .            . 

240 

Newcastle  Noodles,  The         .            .            .            .            . 

200 

Newcastle  on  Saturday  Night             .            .            .            . 

126 

Newcassel  Props,  The            .            .            .            ,            . 

234 

Newcassel  Races         ...... 

206 

Newcassel  Sang,  A     . 

576 

Newcastle  Toon  nee  Mair        .            .            .            .            . 

532 

Newgate  Street  Petition  to  Mr.  Mayor,  The 

246 

New  Markets,  The     ...... 

243 

Noodle,  The 

342 

North  Shields  Song,  A           .            .            .            . 

21 

Northumbrian's  Sigh  for  his  Native  Country,  The   . 

9 

Nunn,  Robert,  Life  of             .            .            .            .            . 

319 

Death  of  Bobby  Nnnn            .... 

320 

Lines  on  Hawthorn's  Trip,  Extract  from 

323 

Nunn,  Acrostic  on     ...... 

323 

Roby's  Wife's  Lamentation     .              .              .             .              . 

321 

Nursery  Song,  Northern         .            .            .            .            . 

118 

Old  Plan,  References  to 

-     82 

CONTENTS. 

Oliver,  William,  Life  of 

Address  to  Corinthian  Society.  Extracts  from 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Alexander  Donkin,  Extract  from 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  a  J.  Brandling,  M.P. 

BichardTonng 

To  the  Mechanics' Institute    . 

Owl,  The         .... 

Pandon  Dene 

Pawnshop  Bleezin',  The 

Peacock,  John,  Life  of 

Pea  Jacket,  The 

Perseveer;  or.  The  Nine  Oors  Movemint 

Picnic  Day,  The 

Pitman  and  the  Blackin',  The 

Pitman  gawn  te  Parliament    . 

Pitman's  Courtship,  The 

Pitman's  Happy  Times,  The  . 

Pitman's  Ramble,  The 

Pitman's  Revenge  against  Bonaparte,  The 
Cameron,  George,  Life  of 

Pitman's  Skellyscope,  The      . 

Pitman's  Tickor  an'  the  Wag-at-the-Wa',  The 

Pitman's  Visit  to  Stephenson's  Monument,  The 

Polly's  Nickstick 

Polly  Technic,  A  Glance  at    . 

Postponed  Goose,  The 

Purvis,  WilUam  (Blind  Willie),  Life  of 

Buy  Broom  Busoms 

Lament  for  Blind  Willie 

Rhyme  by  Blind  Willie 

Quayside  Shaver,  The 
Queen  has  sent  a  Letter,  The ;  or, 
Queen's  Visit  to  Cherbourg,  The 
Rewcastle,  James,  Life  of 
Rhymes,  Children's     . 
Ridley,  George,  Life  of 
Ridley,  Acrostic  on 

Rise  in  Coals,  The     . 
Robert  Chambers 
Robson,  Henry,  Life  of 


The  Hartley  Calamity 


xiu 

PAGE 
228 

230 
231 
233 


310 

16 

363 

343 
272 

494 
568 

323 
571 
143 
379 
294 
102 
10 

147 
485 
486 

354 

273 

550 

54 

55 

68 
57 

121 

432 

434 
464 
117 
446 
449 

398 
527 
106 


CONTENTS. 


RobsoDi  Joseph  Philip,  Life  of 
Lays  of  the  Tyne  Exile,  Extract  from 
Maw  Marras,  tyek  wamin'  be  me 
Parting  Address  to  the  People  of  Tyneside,  Extract  from 
Bobson,  Acrostic  on 

Sair  Fail'd,  Hinney    . 

Sandgate  Girl's  Lamentation,  The     . 

Sandgate  Lass  on  the  Ropery  Banks,  The 

Sandgate  Lassie's  Lament,  The 

Sandgate  Pant ;  or,  Jean  Jamieson's  Ghost 

Sandgate  Wife's  Nurse  Song 

Sandgate,  Ride  through 

Sandhill  Monkey,  The 

Sawney  Ogilvy's  Duel  with  his  Wife 

Selkirk,  John,  Life  of 

Sheels  Lass  for  Me,  The 

Sheep-Killin'  Dog,  The 

She's  Sumboddy's  Bairn 

Shield,  John,  Life  of. 

Bards  of  the  Tyne      . 

Blackett's  Field 

Defence  of  the  Name  of  Jack 

Delia's  Answer 

Lines  on  Gull  Billy    . 

O  no,  my  love,  no 

Oxygen  Gas 

Poor  Tom,  the  Blind  Boy 

Reply  to  Bards  of  the  Tyne 

The  Vanished  Rose  Restored 

ToDelia 

Shipley's  Drop  frae  the  Cloods 
Singin'  Hinney,  The    . 
Skipper's  Dream,  The 
Skipper  in  the  Mist,  The 
Skipper's  Mistake,  The 
Skipper's  Visit  to  the  Polytechnic,  The 
Skipper's  Wedding,  The 
Smith,  John  Kelday,  Life  of 
Whereivvor  hae  they  gyen  ? 

Soop  Kitchin,  The 
South  Shields  Song,  A 

Snnderland  Sailors'  Rhymes   . 


CONTENTS, 

XV 

VhSk% 

Spencer,  John,  Life  of                                    ...    460 

Stagerstruck  Keelman 

.     438 

Stawpert,  James,  Life  of 

,         , 

.      99 

John  Diggons 

100 

.     100 

Stephenson,  John  Atlantic 

.    545 

Stephenson,  William,  Life  of 

.     119 

Age  of  Eighty 

.       180 

The  Betrospect 

.       120 

Stephenson,  William,  Jun.,  Life  of 

.     313 

Ellen,  Extract  from 

314 

Stephenson  Monument,  The  . 

461 

Stiwison  Centennery  . 

571 

St.  Nicholas*  Church 

329 

Biddle  on  St.  Nicholas'  Church 

829 

Sunderland  Song,  A   . 

118 

Swalwell  Hopping 

93 

Tars  and  Skippers 

255 

Tate,  Matthew,  Life  of 

566 

Taylor,  John,  Life  of. 

505 

Thompson,  Thomas,  Life  of  . 

34 

Election  Song,  1812 

89 

Lament  for  Tommy  Thompson 

41 

Reply  to  John  Howard 

36 

Sonnet  to  Thomas  Thompson 

37 

Thumping  Luck 

208 

Till  the  Tide  cums  in 

"5 

Tim  Tunbelly 

238 

Time  that  me  Fethur  wes  Bad,  The 

481 

Tommy  Carr's  Adventures  in  Asstrilly 

403 

Tommy  on  the  Bridge 

572 

Toon  Improvement  Bill,  The ;  or,  Ne  Pleyce 

noo  te 

Play  \ 

395 

Tow  for  Nowt,  A  (Song) 

533 

Tow  for  Nowt,  A  (Recitation) 

547 

Tyne  Exile's  Lament,  The     . 

524 

Tyne  Fair        .... 

136 

Tyneside  Chorus,  The  . 

537 

Tyne,  The  Water  of  . 

31 

Tyne,  The        .... 

32 

Tyne,  Extract  from     . 

577 

Use  an*  the  Abuse,  The  ;  or,  The  Pit 

men  an 

'  the  Pr 

eachers 

366 

CONTENTS. 


Vofage  to  Tjinnm,  A 

Waggoner,  The 

Walker  Pits     • 

Waikwofth  Feast 

Washing-Day,  The 

Wataon,  Wilfiam,  life  of 

Wed  may  the  Keel  Row  that  gets  the 

VHien  the  God  Times  cmn  Agyen    . 

When  we  were  at  the  Shod 

Whitley  Camp 

¥nuttle,  Thomas,  Life  of 

wnBam  Ouslain,  Sehooimaater 

Whuny,  Jemmy  Jonesoo  s      • 
Waiiam  Doabar 

GeoniT's  Fay,  Sxtiaek  tan, 
Nowi  ae  Queer  as  Fbaka   . 

Wife's  Remonstrance,  The 

Wilson,  Joe,  Life  of  . 

WilscHi,  Thomas,  Life  of 

Urns  on  a  Moose,  Bztack  tnm 
lines  on  an  Old  Aim  Chair,  Bztack  fitan 
Petition  of  an  Old  Apple  Tkoe,  Bataek  from 
Pitman's  Fay,  Extcacta  from 

Winlaton  Hoppii^ 

Wizard  of  the  North,  The;   or.  The  Mystic 

Wonderfid  Gutter,  The 

Wondcffel  Tallygrip,  The 

Wor  Tyneside  Champions 

Wreckenton  Hiring 

Wyhun  Geoidy 

X  Y  Z  at  Newcastle  Races,  1814 


Bains  their 


Breed. 


Policeman 


PAGK 

182 
2 
160 
409 
264 

2Q4 
257 

468 
10 
11 

SO 

611 
511 
512 

574 

473 
258 


261 
200 

130 
308 
149 
350 
430 

S70 

138 


TYNESIDE   SONGS. 


IZITEEL    MAY    THE    KEEL    R012ir! 

The  "  Tyneside  National  Anthem,"  as  it  has 
been  called,  has  been  claimed— both  melody 
and  words— as  Scottish.  Mr.  John  Stokoe, 
in  the  Monthly  Chronidey  shows  this  claim  to 
be  unfounded,  and  proves,  by  an  interesting 
reference  to  William  Shield,  the  famous  Swal- 
well  musician,  that  "The  Keel  Bow"  was  a 
popular  Tyneside  melody  before  1760.  Few 
melodies,  he  adds,  are  so  identified  with  a 
district  as  our  simple  and  beautiful  melody 
of  the  "Keel  Row"  is  associated  with  Nor- 
thumbria  and  Tyneside. 

As  I  went  up  Sandgate,  up  Sandgate,  up  Sandgate, 
As  I  went  up  Sandgate  I  heard  a  lassie  sing — 

Weel  may  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 
Weel  may  the  keel  row  that  my  laddie's  in  ! 

He  wears  a  blue  bonnet,  blue  bonnet,  blue  bonnet, 
He  wears  a  blue  bonnet,  a  dimple  in  his  chin: 

And  weel  may  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 
And  weel  may  the  keel  row  that  my  laddie's  in  ! 

Ritson's  "  Northumberland  Garland"  1703. 

To  the  above,  which  may  be  called  the  correct  version,  the  following,  as 
heard  in  the  streets  of  Newcastle,  may  be  added— 

As  aw  was  gawn  thro*  San 'get,  thro'  San'get,  thro'  San'get, 
As  aw  was  gawn  thro'  San'get  aw  he'rd  th'  lasses  sing— 

Weel  may  th'  keel  row,  th'  keel  row,  th'  keel  row, 
Weel  may  th'  keel  row  that  maw  lad's  in ! 

He  wears  a  blue  bonnet,  a  bunch  of  ribbons  on  it ; 

He  wears  a  blue  bonnet,  a  dimple  in  his  chin  : 
An'  weel  may  th'  keel  row,  th'  keel  row,  th'  keel  row. 

An'  weel  may  th'  keel  row  that  maw  lad's  in  ! 


2  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE    IZITAGGONER. 

Before  William  Hedley,  with  his  "Puffing  Billy"  at  Wylam,  drove  the 
hone  from  the  waggon- way.  The  waggoners  as  thus  described  would  be 
well  known. 

Saw  ye  owt  o'  ma  lad 

Gang  doon  the  •waggon-way, 

His  pocket  full  o*  money, 
And  his  poke  full  o'  hay  ? 

Chorus — 
Aye,  but  he's  a  bonny  lad 

As  ever  ye  did  see, 
Tho*  he's  sair  pock  brocken, 

An'  he's  blind  of  an  e'e. 

There's  ne  er  a  lad  like  ma  lad 
Drives  to  a  staith  on  Tyne ; 

Tho'  coal  black  on  work  days. 
On  holidays  he's  fine. 

Ma  lad's  a  bonny  lad, 

The  bonniest  I  see, 
Wiv  his  fine  posey  waistcoat, 

And  buckles  at  his  knee. 

BeWs  "  Northern  Bardt,**  1812. 


BOBBY   SHAFTOE. 

According  to  Mr.  W.  Brockie  the  hero  of  this  song  was  one  of  the  Shaf  toe's 
of  BenwelL  A  little  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  Robert  Shaftoe,  the  last 
of  the  family  in  the  male  line,  die<1  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-one ;  and 
Miss  Shaftoe,  afterwards  Mrs.  Adair,  became  heiress  to  the  Benwell  estate, 
which  she  divided  and  sold,  the  notorious  Andrew  Bobinson  Bowes  being 
one  of  the  purchasers. 

Bobby  Shaftoe's  gone  to  sea, 
With  silver  buckles  at  his  knee; 
He'll  come  home  and  marry  me, 
Bonny  Bobby  Shaftoe. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  3 

Bobby  Shaftoe's  bright  and  fair, 
Combing  down  his  yellow  hair; 
He's  ma  ain  for  ever  mair, 
Bonny  Bobby  Shaftoe. 

Bobby  Shaftoe's  gone  to  sea,  etc.,  etc. 

There  are  various  additional  stanzas  to  this  song.  An  apocryphal  verse 
says— 

"  Bobby  Shaftoe's  getten  a  bairn 
For  to  dangle  on  his  arm — 
On  his  arm,  and  on  his  knee  ; 
Bobby  Shaftoe  loves  me." 

"  This  song  was  nsed  for  electioneering  pnrposes  in  1761,  when  Robert 
Shaftoe,  Esq.,  of  Whitworth,  popularly  known  as  'Bonny  Bobby  Shaftoe,' 
was  the  favourite  candidate  at  the  election  here  referred  to." 

"  Bobby  Shaftoe's  looking  out. 
All  his  ribbons  flew  about, 
All  the  ladies  gave  a  shout — 
Hey,  for  Bobby  Shaftoe." 

"His  portrait  at  Whit  worth  represents  him  as  very  young  and  very  hand- 
some, and  with  yeUw)  hair.  Miss  Bellasyse,  the  heiress  of  Brancepeth,  is 
said  to  have  died  for  love  of  him." 

Sharpens  **  Biahoprick  Garland,"  1834. 


THE   BOKTKTY   PIT   LADDUB. 

IRitson's  "  Northumberland  Garland"  gives  only  the  first  verse.] 

The  bonny  pit  laddie,  the  canny  pit  laddie, 

The  bonny  pit  laddie  for  me,  01 
He  sits  in  his  hole  as  black  as  a  coal. 

And  brings  the  white  siller  to  me,  O! 

The  bonny  pit  laddie,  the  canny  pit  laddie, 

The  bonny  pit  laddie  for  me,  01 
He  sits  on  his  cracket  and  hews  in  his  jacket, 

And  brings  the  white  siller  to  me,  O! 

Bell's  "  Northern  Bard»,"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 
BONNY    KEEL   LADDIE. 


The  ked  on  Tyne  and  Wear  was  formerly  used  for  the  conveyance  of  coal 
from  the  dykes,  or  staiths,  in  the  upper  and  shallower  reaches  of  the  river 
to  the  collier  ships  at  their  various  berths  in  the  harbour.  The  foreground 
of  Buck's  view  of  Newcastle,  published  in  1743,  illustrates  the  old  coal  Ixei. 
"These  boats  are  strong,  clumsy,  and  oval,  and  carry  twenty  tons  apiece ; 
they  are  navigated  with  a  square  sail,  but  generally  by  two  very  laige  oars- 
one  on  the  side  plied  by  a  man  and  a  boy,  the  other  at  the  stem,  by  a  single 
man,  serving  both  as  oar  and  rudder."  The  word  ktd  is  in  Anglo-Saxon 
ce6l^  a  ship.    It  is  pronounced  on  the  Tyneside  to  this  day  k^t-vL 

Northumberland  Words  (Weekly  Chronicle),  by  R.  Oliver  Heslop. 

My  bonny  keel  laddie,  my  canny  keel  laddie, 

My  bonny  keel  laddie  for  me,  O ! 
He  sits  in  his  keel  as  black  as  the  deil, 

And  he  brings  the  white  money  to  me,  O ! 

Ha'  ye  seen  owt'  o'  my  canny  man, 

An'  are  ye  sure  he's  weel,  O  ? 
He's  geane  ower  land,  wiv  a  stick  in  his  hand, 

T'  help  to  moor  the  keel,  O ! 

The  canny  keel  laddie,  the  bonny  keel  laddie, 

The  canny  keel  laddie  for  me,  O! 
He  sits  in  his  huddock  and  claws  his  bare  buttock. 

And  brings  the  white  money  to  me,  O ! 

Unknown.  BelVs  "  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  5 

RIDE    THROUGH    SAKTDGATE. 

This  is  a  genuine  fragment  of  a  ballad  relating  to  Newcastle  besieged  by 
Lesley  and  the  Scots  army.  The  blue  caps  (or  Scotchmen)  did,  however,  at 
last  succeed  in  pulling  them  down,  after  a  most  gallant  defence,  10th 
October,  1644. 

Ride  through  Sandgate,  both  up  and  down, 
There  you'll  see  the  gallants  fighting  for  the  crown  : 
All  the  cull  cuckolds  in  Sunderland  town, 
With  all  the  bonny  blue-caps,  cannot  pull  them  down, 

SAorpe'tf  "  Bishoprick  Garland^'*  1834. 


THE    COLLIER'S   HTEDDIIttG. 

Only  brief  extracts  from  this  old  picture  of  pit  life  can  be 
given  here,  as  the  collection  is  one  of  songs ;  but  to  the  spirit 
of  the  work  Elswick  and  Benwell,  with  their  colliers  of  150 
years  ago,  are  so  kindred,  that  at  least  room  must  be  found 
for  a  few  specimens. 

The  author,  Edward  Chicken,  was  born  in  Newcastle  in 
the  year  1698.  What  little  is  known  of  his  life  has  prin- 
cipally been  gathered  by  W.  Cail,  Esq.,  who,  in  1829, 
published  a  new  and  amended  edition  of  the  poem.  It  thus 
opens — 

"  I  sing  not  of  great  Csesar's  might, 
How  brave  he  led  his  men  to  fight. 


'*  I  choose  to  sing,  in  strains  much  lower, 
Of  collier  lads,  unsung  before  ; 
What  sport  and  feasting  doth  ensue 
When  such  life  mortals  buckle  to." 

A  description  of  collier  life  at  that  time  follows,  and  of  that 
life  the  following  verse  gives  a  summary — 

**  And  thus  the  colliers  and  their  wives 
Liv'd  drunken,  honest,  working  lives  ; 
Yet  still  were  fond  of  one  another, 
And  always  married  thro'  each  other. 

"  A  collier's  daughter,  brisk  and  clean, 
Once  at  a  country  wake  was  seen ; 


6  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

The  maid  was  born  in  Benwell  town, 
Was  not  too  fair,  nor  yet  too  brown  ; 
Of  beauty  she  had  got  her  part, 
Enough  to  wound  a  collier  s  heart ; 
And  then  her  name  was  up  for  this — 
She  loved  to  spin,  but  blushed  to  kiss ; 
Her  pliant  limos,  when  music  played, 
Could  humour  everything  it  said ; 
For  when  she  tripped  it  on  the  plain 
To  ^Jockey's  lost  his  fellow  swairty 
Her  easy  step  and  airy]  wheels 
Showed  she  had  music  in  her  heels. 
She  danced  so  well  so  very  long, 
She  won  the  smock  and  pleased  the  throng. 
"  A  collier  lad  was  standing  by, 
And  viewed  her  with  a  lover's  eye." 

This  viewing  "with  a  lover's  eye"  leads  to  the  collier  lad 
going  home  with  her  to  ask  her  mother's  consent  lo  his  suit. 

"  '  Come,  Bessy,  speak  ;  what  do  ye  think?' 
The  old  wife  cocked  her  chin  and  spoke : 
*Why  surely,  Tom,  you  do  but  joke : 
If  ye're  sincere  as  ye  are  warm, 
And  mean  to  do  my  bairn  nae  harm, 
Ye  knaw  our  Jenny's  on'y  young. 
And  easily  may  be  o'ercome  ; 
So  court  her  first — ^hear  what  she'll  say  ; 
We'll  have  a  drink  and  fix  the  day.' 
Her  daughter  Jane,  with  modest  grace. 
And  fingers  spread  before  her  face, 
Cried  *  Mother,  Tommy's  won  my  heart — 
If  ye'U  consent  we'll  never  part ; 
I  love  him  as  I  do  my  life, 
And  would  like  weel  to  be  his  wife  ! ' " 


The  match  is  settled,  the  customs  common  on  such  occa- 
sions are  described,  and  at  last  the  church  is  reached. 

"  The  gates  fly  open,  all  rush  in — 
The  church  is  full  with  folks  and  din  ; 
And  all  the  crew,  both  great  and  small, 
Behave  as  in  a  common  hall : 
*'  For  some,  perhaps,  that  were  three-score, 
Were  never  twice  in  church  before. 
They  scamper,  climb,  and  break  the  pews. 
To  see  the  couple  make  their  vows. 
With  solemn  face  the  priest  draws  near. 
Poor  Tom  and  Jenny  quake  for  fear : 
Are  singled  out  from  all  the  band 
That  round  about  them  gaping  stand. 


TYNESWE  SONGS. 


**  When  they're  in  decent  order  got, 
The  priest  proceeds  to  tie  the  knot. 
Then  hands  are  joined,  and  loosed  again, 
And  Tommy  says,  *I  take  thee,  Jane' ; — 
Then  Jenny  looks  a  little  shy. 
And  kneels,  and  says,  '  I  take  Tom-my ' ; 
But  here's  the  blessing,  or  the  curse, 
*Tis  done  for  better  or  for  worse ; 
For  now  they're  fairly  in  for  life : 
The  priest  declares  them  man  and  wife. 

"  Our  couple  now  kneel  down  to  pray, 
Much  unacquainted  with  the  way : 
Whole  troops  of  colliers  swarm  around, 
And  seize  poor  Jenny  on  the  ground." 

Rough  scenes  follow,  possibly  true  of  the  times  described  ; 
hut  of  them  it  may  be  truly  said  they  are  now  happily  out  of 
date. 

Mr.  Cail,  in  his  edi- 
tion, gives  some  in- 
teresting information 
about  the  author,  who, 
it  appears,  was  parish 
clerk  at  St.  John's.  He 
also  followed  the  pro- 
fession of  a  teacher  at 
his  residence  at  the 
White  Cross,  Newgate 
Street.  Mr.  Cail  (1828) 
came  upon  an  interest- 
ing  fragment  of  manu- 
script left  by  the  poet. 
It  was  the  title  of  a 
song,  neatly  written, 
beginning  with,  "  This 
song  is  humbly  in- 
scribed to  Mr.  An- 
thony Meggeson  by  E, 
Chicken."  This  refer- 
ence to  it  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  song.  The  author  died 
on  the  2nd  January  1746,  and  was  buried  in  St  John's 
Churchyard,  where  a  tombstone  points  out  his  last  resting- 
place.  To  those  wishing  to  know  more  about  the  author 
and  his  work,  Mr.  Cail's  most  interesting  edition,  which 
forms  one  of  the  Typographical  Reprints,  is  recommended. 


WHITE  CROSS. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


MY    EPPIE. 


"  Acomb,  Fallowfleld,  and  Wall  lie  within  about  two  miles  of  each  other, 
between  Hexham  and  Chollerford." — BaocKlE. 

There  was  five  wives  at  Acomb, 

And  five  wives  at  Wa', 
And  five  wives  at  Fallowfield, 

That's  fifteen  o'  them  a\ 

They've  druken  ale  and  brandy 

Till  they  are  all  fu', 
And  I  cannot  get  home  to 

My  Eppie  I  trow, 

My  Eppie  I  trow, 
And  I  cannot  get  home  to 

My  Eppie  I  trow. 

The  Tyne  water's  se  deep,  that 

I  cannot  wade  through  ; 
And  I've  no  horse  to  ride  to 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 
My  Eppie  I  trow, 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 
And  I've  no  horse  to  ride  to 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 

In  the  Tyne  I  hev  not  a  boat. 

Nor  yet  cou'd  I  row 
Across  the  deep  water  to 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 
And  I've  no  horse  to  ride  to 
My  Eppie  I  trow. 

BeWs  "NoHhem  Bards,"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  c 

THE    NORTHUMBRIAN'S   SIGH   FOR    HIS 
NATIVE   COUNTRY. 

At  home  wad  I  be, 
And  my  supper  made  I  see, 
And  marry  with  a  lass 
Of  my  own  country. 

If  I  were  at  hame, 
I  wad  ne'er  return  again, 
But  marry  with  a  lass 
In  my  own  country. 

There's  the  oak  and  the  ash, 
And  the  bonny  ivy  tree ; 
How  canst  thou  gan  away,  love, 
And  leave  me  ? 

O  stay,  my  love,  stay, 
And  do  not  gang  away ; 
O  stay,  my  love,  stay 
Along  with  me. 

BelV»  **  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


SAIR   FAIL'D,    HINNEY. 

I  was  young  and  lusty, 

I  was  fair  and  clear, 
I  was  young  and  lusty, 

Mony  a  lang  year. 

Sair  fail'd,  hinney, 
Sair  fail'd  now, 

Sair  fail'd,  hinney, 
Sin'  I  kenn'd  thou. 


lo  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

When  I  was  young  and  lusty, 

I  could  loup  a  dyke ; 
But  now,  at  five-an'-sixty, 

Canna  do  the  like. 

Then  said  the  awd  man 

To  the  oak  tree, 
"Sairfail'disI 

Sin'  I  kenn'd  thee !  " 

Sir  C.  Sharpens  "  Bishoprxck  Garland.*' 

Sir  Cuthbert  Sharpe  writes :— •*  This  song  is  *  far  north ; '  it  is  admitted 
in  BeU's  Northern  BardSt  and  may  very  possibly  belong  to  the  bishoprick, 
where  it  is  well  known."  Bitson,  in  Gammer  Gurton's  Garland^  gives  it 
differently,  and  more  quaintly  :— 

"  Says  t'  auld  man  ti't  oak  tree. 
Young  and  lusty  was  I,  when  I  ken'd  thee— 
I  was  young  and  lusty,  I  was  fair  and  clear — 
Young  and  lusty  was  I,  mony  a  lang  year  ; 
But  sair  fail'd  is  I,  sair  fail'd  now — 
Sair  fail'd  is  I,  sin'  I  ken'd  thou." 


THOMAS   laTHITTLE. 

Mr.  Brockie  writes :  **  In  Mackenzie's  Northumberland  we 
are  told  that  Cambo  was  the  favourite  residence  of  the 
ingenious  and  eccentric  Thomas  Whittle,  whose  comic 
productions  often  beguile  the  long  winter  evenings  of  our 
rustic  Northumbrians.  His  parents  and  the  place  of  his 
birth  are  unknown.  His  brother,  it  is  said,  was  parish  clerk 
of  Earsdon,  in  1750.  Shilbottle,  Ovingham,  and  Long 
Edlingham  are  severally  claimed  as  his  birthplace. 

"About  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  he  appeared  at 
Cambo,  nK)unted  on  an  old  goat,  and  was  engaged  by  a 
miller,  with  whom  he  continued  some  years.  About  the 
close  of  his  servitude  he  became  a  disciple  of  Bacchus,  and 
continued  attached  to  the  service  of  the  drouthy  god  while 
he  lived  Possessing  a  fertile  imagination,  brilliant  wit,  and 
a  happy  command  of  language,  the  temptations  to  assume 
the  character  of  a  boon  companion  were  irresistible.  His 
talents  were  versatile.    Some  relics  of  his  workmanship  in 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  ii 

painting  maybe  seen  at  Belsay  Castle,  Hartburn,  Ponteland, 
and  other  churches  in  Northumberland.  He  died  at  East 
Shaftoe,  and  was  buried  at  Hartburn  on  the  19th  April  1736. 
An  edition  of  his  poetical  works  was  published  in  181 5."  On 
a  contemporary  of  his,  William  Carstairs,  he  wrote  a  song, 
three  verses  of  which  are  given — 

WILLIAM  CARSTAIRS,   SCHOOLMASTBR. 

Ye  muses  nine,  if  ye  think  fit, 

Instruct  my  pen  to  write ; 
Apollo,  thou  great  god  of  wit, 

Come  help  me  to  indite. 
Let  poets,  pipers,  fiddlers,  come, 

In  priols  or  in  pairs. 
And  echo  forth  as  with  a  drum 

The  praise  of  Will  Carstairs. 

But  first  I  must  his  pardon  crave, 

For  making  bold  and  free, 
For  William  was  his  Christian  name. 

And  shall  be  so  for  me. 
But  manners  must  to  rhyme  give  place, 

Or  else  we  spoil  our  wares, 
And  Will  and  William's  all  one  case. 

And  equal  to  Carstairs. 

His  face  is  like  the  midnight  moon, 

And  stars  that  shine  so  bright ; 
His  nose  is  like  a  flaming  fire, 

That  casts  both  heat  and  light ; 
It  sparkles  like  the  Syrian  seas 

When  he  gets  in  his  airs, 
A  clown  has  not  the  heart  to  buy 

A  beak  like  Will  Carstairs. 


Carstairs,  though  a  poor  poet,  was  vam  of  his  abilities  as 
such.  About  the  year  1731,  Thomas  Whittle  and  he  being 
in  a  large  company  at  the  Burnt  House*  in  Newcastle,  the 
conversation  turned  on  their  respective  merits  as  disciples 
of  the  muses.  A  wager  was  soon  bet  on  the  subject,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  an  hour  should  be  allowed  for  each  of  them 
to  write  satirical  verses  on  the  other.  The  two  poets  were 
accordingly  placed  in  separate  apartments,  and  at  the  expira- 
tion of  the  time  specified  it  was  determined,  by  the  throwing 
of  a  halfpenny,  which  of  the  two  should  first  read  his  lay. 

*  The  Banit  House  finished  its  long  career  some  twenty  years  ago,  when 
Messrs.  Bobinson  <fe  Co.,  Side,  bought  it,  rebuilt, and  added  it  to  their  large 
stationery  warehouse. 


12  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

It  fell  to  Whittle's  lot,  but  before  he  had  got  to  the  end,  his 
competitor  was  so  chagrined  that  he  put  the  concoction  of 
his  less  fertile  brain  into  the  fire.  The  wager,  of  course,  was 
won  by  Whittle's  party. 


SAiarHTEY  OOILVY'S  DUEL  BTITH    HIS   lariFE. 

Good  people  give  ear  to  the  fatalest  duel 

That  Morpeth  e'er  saw  since  it  was  a  town  ; 
Where  fire  is  kindled,  and  has  so  much  fuel, 

I  wou'd  not  be  he  that  wou'd  quench  for  a  crown. 
Poor  Sawney,  as  canny  a  North  British  hallion 

As  e'er  crossed  the  border  this  million  of  weeks, 
Miscarried  and  married  a  Scottish  tarpaulin. 

That  pays  his  pack-shoulders,  and  will   have  the 
breeks. 

It  fell  on  a  day,  he  may  well  it  remember, 

Tho'  others  rejoiced,  yet  so  did  not  he, 
When  tidings  was  brought  that  Lisle  did  surrender. 

It  grieves  me  to  think  on't,  his  wife  took  the  gee. 
These  bitches  still  itches,  and  stretches  commission, 

And  if  they  be  crossed  they're  still  taking  peeks, 
And  Sawney,  poor  man,  was  out  of  condition. 

And  hardly  well  fit  for  defending  the  bfeeks. 

She  mutter'd  and  moung'd,  and  looked  damn'd  misty. 

And  Sawney  said  something,  as  who  cou'd  forbear ; 
Then  straight  she  began,  and  went  to  hand-fisty, 

She  whither'd  about  and  dang  down  all  the  gear. 
The  dishes  and  dublers  went  flying  like  fury. 

She  broke  more  that  day  than  would  mend  in  two 
weeks ; 
And  had  it  been  put  to  a  judge  or  a  jury. 

They  cou'd  not  tell  whether  deserved  the  breeks. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  13 

But  Sawney  grew  weary,  and  fain  would  be  civil, 

Being  auld  and  unfeary,  and  failed  of  his  strength ; 
Then  she  couped  him  o'er  the  kale  pot  with  a  kevil, 

And  there  he  lay  labouring  all  his  long  length. 
His  body  was  soddy,  and  sore  he  was  bruised, 

The  bark  of  his  shins  was  all  standing  in  peaks, 
No  stivat  e'er  lived  was  so  much  misused, 

As  sare  as  auld  Sawney  for  claiming  the  breeks. 

The  noise  was  so  great  all  the  neighbours  did  hear  them, 

She  made  his  scalp  ring  like  the  clap  of  a  bell ; 
But  never  a  soul  had  the  mense  to  come  near  them, 

Tho'  he  shouted  murder  with  many  a  yell. 
She  laid  on  whisky-whasky,  and  held  like  a  steavy, 

Wight  Wallace  could  hardly  have  with   her  kept 
streaks. 
And  never  give  over  until  she  was  weary, 

And  Sawney  was  willing  to  yield  her  the  breeks. 
Whittle.  Bea%  "  Nwihem  Bards,"  1812. 


LITTLE   MOODY,    RAZOR-SETTER. 

Good  Master  Moody, 
My  beard  being  cloudy. 
My  cheeks,  chin,  and  lips 
Like  moon  i'  the  'clipse, 

For  want  of  a  wipe. 
I've  sent  you  a  razor. 
If  you  be  at  leisure 
To  grind  her,  and  set  her, 
And  make  her  cut  better, 

You'll  e'en  light  my  pipe. 


14  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Dear  sir,  you  know  little 
The  case  of  poor  Whittle — 
Fm  courting  Tantivie, 
If  you  will  believe  me, 

Pray  mark  what  I  say  \ 
Tm  frank  in  my  proffers, 
And  when  I  make  offers 
To  kiss  the  sweet  creature, 
My  lips  cannot  meet  her, 

My  beard  stops  the  way. 

You've  heard  my  condition. 
And  now  I  petition 
That  without  omission, 
With  all  expedition, 

You'll  give  it  a  strike ; 
And  send  it  by  Tony, 
He'll  pay  you  the  money ; 
I'll  shave  and  look  bonny, 
And  go  to  my  honey 

As  snod  as  you  like. 

If  you  do  not  you'll  hip  me. 
My  sweetheart  will  slip  me ; 
And  if  I  should  smart  for't. 
And  break  my  poor  heart  foi^t, 

Are  you  not  to  blame  ? 
But  if  you'll  oblige  me. 
As  gratitude  guides  me, 
I'll  still  be  your  servant, 
Obedient  and  fervent, 

Whilst  Whittle's  my  name. 

Whittle.  BtfXi  "  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  15 

JESSAMOND    MILL. 

Tbanks  to  the  muniflcenoe  of  her  foremost  son,  Jesmond  Dene,  with  its 
"  Jessamond  Mill,"  is  for  ever  preserved  to  Newcastle,  Lord  Armstrong,  in 
1881,  presenting  it  to  his  native  town.  Years  ago  Lord  Armstrong,  before 
be  bad  won  his  title,  bought  the  Dene,  then  a  wild  neglected  place.  With 
rare  taste,  at  much  cost,  assisted  by  Lady  Armstrong,  he  planted  trees, 
cat  walks,  built  bridges,  and  studded  the  banks  with  flowers  and  shrubs, 
until  the  wild  heauties  of  the  rugged  valley  were  softened  by  art,  and  the 
place  was  made  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

To  Hr.  O.  J.  Bell,  of  Gk>sf orth,  we  are  indebted  for  a  copy  of  the  original 
issue  of  this  song,  which  appeared  120  years  ago  in  the  Ladi6»*  Own  Memor- 
andum Book,  1772,  published  by  S.  Hodgson,  of  Newcastle.  There,  along 
with  other  two  pieces,  it  appeared  under  the  signature  of  "Primrose." 
Who  "Primrose"  was,  Bell  tells  us  in  his  Northern  Bards,  1812,  where  he 
reprints  the  song  as  written  by  Phill  Hodgson.  The  shorter  of  the  other 
two  pieces,  *'  Une  Bagatelle,"  which  appeared  with  "  Jessamond  Mill,"  is 
bere  given. 

**UNE  BAQATBLLE." 

"  As  Cynthia  roam'd  her  course  one  night 
Along  her  pale  domain, 
Earth  held  an  object  to  her  sight 
That  rivaird  all  her  train. 

"  Cynthia,  amaz*d,  stood  still  to  gaze, 
Then  Mercury  bade  to  rise  ; 

*  See  !  see ! '  says  she,  *  see  yonder  blaze, 

Go  fetch  it  to  the  skies.* 

"  The  silver  chain  that  bore  the  star, 
Announc'd  a  violent  rent ; 

*  Hold  I  hold !  *  cried  Venus  from  her  car, 

*  'Tis  only  Jenny  K— t. ' " 

Possibly  this  Jenny  K— t,  is  the  "  Jenny  of  Jessamond  MilL" 

To  sing  of  the  nymph  and  her  cot, 
Each  bard  will  oft  flourish  his  quill ; 

I'm  glad  it  has  fallen  to  my  lot 
To  celebrate  Jessamond  Mill. 

When  spring  hither  winds  her  career, 
Our  trees  and  our  hedges  to  fill, 

Vast  oceans  of  verdure  appear 
To  charm  you  at  Jessamond  Mill. 


1 6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

To  plant  every  rural  delight, 

Here  Nature  has  lavish 'd  her  skill ; 

Here  fragrant  breezes  unite, 
And  wanton  round  Jessamond  Mill. 

When  silence  each  evening  here  dwells, 
The  birds  in  their  coverts  all  still. 

No  music  in  sweetness  excels 
The  clacking  of  Jessamond  Mill. 

Reclin'd  by  the  verge  of  the  stream, 
Or  stretch'd  on  the  side  of  the  hill, 

I'm  never  in  want  of  a  theme. 
Whilst  leering  at  Jessamond  Mill. 

Sure  Venus  some  plot  has  designed, 
Or  why  is  my  heart  never  still, 

Whenever  it  pops  in  my  mind, 
To  wander  near  Jessamond  Mill  ? 

My  object,  ye  swains,  you  will  guess. 
If  ever  in  love  you  had  skill ; 

And,  faith,  I  will  frankly  confess, 
*Tis  Jenny  at  Jessamond  Mill. 


pahtdon  dene. 

This  appears  in  Bell's  Northern  Bards  as  "  a  song  published  in  September 
1776,  under  the  name  of  'Bosalinda.'"  Richardson's  Table  Book  has  it— 
*'  From  Newcastle  Weekly  Magazine,  mi:*  Neither  attempt  to  tell  who 
**  Rosalinda"  was.  If  a  guess  might  be  hazarded,  perhaps  Miss  Harrey, 
of  Newcastle,  might  be  named.  Her  life  Mr.  Welford  has  lately  given  in 
his  "  Men  of  Mark  "  series.  But  whoever  the  writer,  the  beauties  of  Pandon 
Dene,  of  which  she  sings,  are  now  no  more.  Elderly  inhabitants  recollect  it 
something  like  >» hat  it  appeared  to  "Bosalinda,"  when  it  extended  from 
Barras  Bridge  to  about  Trafalgar  Goods  Station.  But  for  some  fifty  years 
the  fliling-up  process  has  been  going  on,  until  now  the  beautiful  ravine  or 
valley,  with  its  "  purling  rill,"  lies  buried  some  seventy  feet  below.  In 
Maekemie^s  Newcastle  a  fine  view  and  description  of  Pandon  Dene,  as  it 
appeared  in  1821,  is  given. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  17 

When  cooling  zephyrs  wanton  play, 
Then  oft  in  Pandon  Dene  I  stray ; 
When  sore  depressed  with  grief  and  woe, 
There  from  a  busy  world  I  go : 
My  Qiind  is  calm,  my  soul  serene, 
Beneath  the  Bank  in  Pandon  Dene. 

The  feather'd  race  around  me  sing, 
They  make  the  hills  and  valley  ring ; 
My  sorrow  flies,  my  grief  is  gone, 
I  warble  with  the  tuneful  throng ; 
All,  all  things  wear  a  pleasing  mien ; 
Beneath  the  Bank  in  Pandon  Dene. 

At  distance  stands  an  ancient  tower, 
Which  ruin  threatens  every  hour ; 
I'm  struck  with  reverence  at  the  sight, 
I  pause  and  gaze  with  fond  delight  \ 
The  antique  walls  do  join  the  scene. 
And  make  more  lovely  Pandon  Dene. 

Above  me  stand  the  tow'ring  trees, 
And  here  I  feel  the  gentle  breeze ; 
And  water  flows  by  chance  around. 
And  green  enamels  all  the  ground ; 
Which  gives  new  splendour  to  the  scene^ 
And  adds  a  grace  to  Pandon  Dene. 

And  when  I  mount  the  rising  hill, 
And  there  survey  the  purling  rill ; 
My  eye's  delighted — but  I  mourn 
To  think  of  winter's  quick  return, 
With  with'ring  winds,  and  frost  so  keen  5 
I  sighing  leave  the  Pandon  Dene. 


i8 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


O  spare  for  once  a  female  pen, 
And  lash  licentious  wicked  men ; 
Your  conscious  cheek  need  never  glow, 
If  you  your  talents  thus  bestow : 
Scarce  fifteen  summers  have  I  seen, 
Yet  dare  to  sing  of  Pandon  Dene. 


JOHN   CUNNINGHAM. 


John  Cunningham, 
"whose  name  and 
fame  will  for  ever  be 
identified  with  New- 
castle," was  bom  in 
Dublin  in  1729.  His 
parents,  who  were  of 
Scottish  extraction, 
seem  to  have  had  their 
share  of  "fortune's 
buffets  and  rewards" 
— his  father  rising 
through  winning  a 
prize  in  a  lottery,  and 
falling  again  as  a 
bankrupt.      The    son 

was  recalled  from  the 

Grammar  School  at 
Drogheda— drifted  to  the  theatres,  at  seventeen  wrote  a 
play,  "  Love  in  a  Mist,"  which  was  performed  at  Dublin, 
and  afterwards  at  Newcastle — took  to  the  stage,  and  finally 
settled  at  Newcastle  as  a  member  of  the  dramatic  company 
which  then  travelled  the  North. 

At  Newcastle  he  seems  to  have  won  the  friendship  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Slack,  and  fof  the  Newcastle  Chronichy  of  which 
Mr.  Slack  was  owner,  he  wrote  short  notices,  and  trifles  in 
verse,  which  added  to  his  income.  In  1766  he  published  his 
poems  by  subscription.  He  was  advised  by  his  best  friends 
to  dedicate  the  volume  to  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Montague,  of 
Denton  Hall  (just  outside  of  Newcastle),  but  preferred  to 
dedicate  it  to  David  Garrick,  and  walked  the  distance  from 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  19 

Newcastle  to  London  with  a  copy,  elegantly  bound,  only  10 
iind  himself  treated  with  indifference  and  neglect  The 
following  extracts  from  his  volume  show  its  character  : — 

EXTRACT  FROM  AN  ELEGY  ON  A  PILE  OP  RUINS. 

*'  No— tho'  the  palace  bar  her  golden  gate, 

Or  monarchs  plant  ten  thousand  guards  around, 
Unerring  and  unseen  the  shaft  of  fate 
Strikes  the  devoted  victim  to  the  ground. 

*'  What,  then,  avails  Ambition's  wide-stretched  wing, 
The  Schoolman's  page,  or  pride  of  Beauty's  bloom  ? 
The  crape-clad  hermit  and  the  rich-robed  king, 
Levelled,  lie  mixed  promiscuous  in  the  tomb. 


**  Search  where  Ambition  raged  with  rigour  steeled ; 
Where  Slaughter  like  the  rapid  lightning  ran : 
And  say,  while  mem'ry  weeps  the  blood-stained  field. 
Where  lies  the  chief?  and  where  the  common  man  ? 

"  Vain,  then,  are  pyramids  and  motto'd  stones. 
And  monumental  trophies  raised  on  high : 
For  Time  confounds  them  with  the  crumbling  bones 
That,  mix'd  in  hasty  graves,  unnotic'd  lie. 

"  Rests  not  beneath  the  turf  the  peasant's  head 
Soft  as  the  lord's  beneath  the  labour'd  tomb  ? 
Or  sleeps  one  colder  in  his  close,  clay  bed 
Than  t'other  in  the  wide  vault's  dreary  womb  ? " 


On  June  20th,  1773,  ^^  ^ook  his  last  benefit  at  Darlington, 
and  returned  to  Newcastle  unwell,  where,  at  his  lodgings  in 
Union  Street,  on  September  i8th,  1773,  ^^  died,  in  his  44th 
year,  and  was  buried  in  St.  John's  Churchyard,  a  monument 
being  placed  over  his  grave  by  Mr.  Slack,  of  the  Newcastle 
Chronicle,  At  this  monument,  about  the  year  1820,  the  poet 
Gilchrist  composed  the  following  : — 

**  Lament  him,  ye  valleys,  ye  hills,  and  ye  mountains, 

And  mournfully  echo  his  name  through  the  groves; 
Lament  in  your  murmurs,  ye  soft  winding  fountains. 

Sweet  themes  of  his  songs  and  dear  scenes  of  his  loves. 
Now  jocundly  Mirth  may  out-carol  his  numbers. 

And  fancy  with  flowerets  his  bust  may  entwine — 
But  these  ne'er  shall  wake  from  chill  Death's  icy  slumbers 

The  Poet  who  sung  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

"  Here  sleeps,  sons  of  genius,  a  spirit  undaunted ! 

What  availed  all  his  merits,  so  blushing  and  fair,. 
Consigned  to  the  earth,  with  his  honours  untainted, 

The  subject  of  praise  which  he  never  must  hear ; 
Though  his  name  and  his  f^me  will  be  sung  in  each  ballad 

In  ages  remote  still  immortal  to  shine. 
And  the  green  turfy  pillow  will  ever  be  hallowed 

Of  the  Poet  who  sung  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne." 

Ninety-two  years 
after,  the  monu- 
ment falling  into 
decay,  Jos.  Co  wen 
the  younger,  then 
as  now  (189 1 )  pro- 
prietor of  the 
Chronicle^  placed 
in  his  memory  a 
memorial  window 
in  St.  John's 
Church.  In  1887 
a  subscription, 
originated  by  Mr. 
John  Robinson, 
raised  sufficient  to 
restore  the  decay- 
ing tombstone,, 
and  thus  he  lies 
commemorated 
both  in  the  church 
and  in  the  church- 
yard. 


ers     J  OMBSTONE, 


HOLIDAY  Goiarnr. 

In  holiday  gown,  and  my  new-fangled  hat, 

Last  Monday  I  tript  to  the  fair : 
I  held  up  my  head,  and  I'll  tell  you  for  what- 

Brisk  Roger  I  guessed  wou*d  be  there. 
He  woos  me  to  marry  whenever  we  meet. 

There's  honey,  sure,  dwells  on  his  tongue  ; 
He  hugs  me  so  close,  and  kisses  so  sweet, 

I'd  wed — if  I  were  not  too  young ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  21 

Fond  Sue,  I'll  assure  you,  laid  hold  on  the  boy 

(The  vixen  would  fain  be  his  bride), 
Some  token  she  claimed,  either  ribbon  or  toy, 

And  swore  that  she'd  not  be  deny'd. 
A  top-knot  he  bought  her,  and  garters  of  green. 

Pert  Susan  was  cruelly  stung ; 
I  hate  her  so  much,  that,  to  kill  her  with  spleen, 

I'd  wed — if  I  were  not  too  young ! 

He  whispered  such  soft,  pretty  things  in  mine  ear, 

He  flatter'd,  he  promis'd,  and  swore ; 
Such  trinkets  he  gave  me,  such  laces  and  gear. 

That,  trust  me,  my  pockets  ran  o'er. 
Some  ballads  he  bought  me,  the  best  he  cou'd  find, 

And  sweetly  their  burthen  he  sung ; 
Good  faith  !  he's  so  handsome,  so  witty,  and  kind, 

I'd  wed — if  I  were  not  too  young  I 

The  sun  was  just  setting,  'twas  time  to  retire 

(Our  cottage  was  distant  a  mile) ; 
I  rose  to  be  gone — Roger  bowed  like  a  squire, 

And  handed  me  over  the  stile. 
His  arms  he  threw  round  me — love  laugh'd  in  his  eye; 

He  led  me  the  meadows  among; 
There  pressed  me  so  close,  I  agreed,  with  a  sigh. 

To  wed — for  I  was  not  too  young  ! 
John  Cunningham.  Settynd  Edition. 


A   NORTH   SHIELDS   SONG. 

We'll  all  away  to  the  Lowlights, 
And  there  we'll  see  the  sailors  come  in  ; 

We'll  all  away  to  the  Lowlights, 
And  there  we'll  see  the  sailors  come  in. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

There  clap  your  hands  and  give  a  shout, 
And  you'll  see  the  sailors  go  out ; 

Cla|)  your  hands  and  dance  and  sing, 
And  you'll  see  your  laddie  come  in. 


A  NEW  SONG  MADE  ON 

ALICE     MARLEY, 

AN  ALEWIFE  AT  PICTREE,   NEAR  CHESTER-LE-STREET. 

The  maiden  name  of  Alice,  famoos  as  Elsey  or  Ailcie  Marley»  was 
Harrison.  Her  husband,  Ralph  Marley,  kept  the  "  Swan  "  public-house  at 
Pictree.  Alice  was  a  handsome,  buxom,  bustling  landlady,  and  brought 
good  custom  to  the  house  by  her  civility  and  attention.  Her  end  was  a  sad 
one.  She  suffered  from  a  long  illness,  and  was  found  drowned  in  a  pond 
near  Biggs,  into  which  it  was  supposed  she  had  fallen,  and  could  not 
extricate  herself. 

To  its  own  tune. 

Elsie  Marley  is  grown  so  fine, 
She  won't  get  up  to  serve  her  swine, 
But  lies  in  bed  till  eight  or  nine, 
And  surely  she  does  take  her  time. 

Choitis — 
An*  div  ye  ken  Elsie  Marley,  honey  ? 
The  wife  that  sells  the  barley,  honey  ; 
She  won't  get  up  to  serve  her  swine, 
And  do  you  ken  Elsie  Marlie,  honey  ? 

Elsie  Marley  is  so  neat, 

It  is  hard  for  one  to  walk  the  street, 

But  every  lad  and  lass  they  meet, 

Cries  "  Div  ye  ken  Elsie  Marley,  honey  ?  '* 

Elsie  keeps  rum,  gin,  and  ale, 
In  her  house  below  the  dale, 
Where  every  tradesman,  up  and  down> 
Does  call  and  spend  his  half-a-crown. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  23 

*Elsie  Marley  wore  a  straw  hat, 
But  now  she's  gotten  a  velvet  cap ; 
The  Lambton  lads  mun  pay  for  that, 
Do  you  ken  Elsie  Marley,  honey  ? 

The  farmers,  as  they  come  that  way, 
They  drink  with  Elsie  every  day. 
And  call  the  fiddler  for  to  play 
The  tune  of  "  Elsie  Marley,"  honey. 

The  pitmen  and  the  keelmen  trim. 
They  drink  bumbo  made  of  gin. 
And  for  the  dance  they  do  begin 
To  the  tune  of  "  Elsie  Marley,"  honey. 

The  sailors  they  will  call  for  flip. 
As  soon  as  they  come  from  the  ship, 
And  then  begin  to  dance  and  skip. 
To  the  tune  of  "  Elsie  Marley,"  honey. 
An'  div  ye  ken,  etc. 
Unknown.  RUson's  **Bxshopric  Garland,'*  1784. 

*  This  verse,  not  in  Bitson,  is  given  by  Sharpe  as  current  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. By  the  Lambton  lads  were  meant  the  five  brothers  of  the  house 
of  Lambton,  all  bachelors  to  a  certain  period,  and  all  admirers  of  Elsie 
Marley. 


DONOCHT   HEAD. 

Donocht  (or  Dunnet)  Head,  the  most  northerly  point  of  Great  Britain. 

"  *  Donocht  Head  '  is  not  mine ;  I  would  give  ten  pounds  if 
it  were."  So  wrote  Bums  in  1794  to  his  friend  Thompson, 
and  further  added :  ^  It  appeared  first  in  the  Edinburgh 
Herald^  and  came  to  the  editor  with  the  Newcastle  post- 
mark on  it"  The  writer  of  the  piece  thus  praised  by  Burns 
was  Mr.  George  Pickering,  at  that  time  a  clerk  with  the 
brothers  Davidson,  attorneys,  Newcastle.  Dr.  Currie,  in 
his  Life  of  Bums^  says,  '^  This  affecting  poem  is  apparently 
incomplete.  The  author  need  not  be  ashamed  to  own  himself. 
The  piece  is  worthy  of  Bums,  or  of  MacnieL" 


24  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Mr.  R.  Robinson,  bookseller,  in  his  recently  published 
Thomas  Bewick  :  his  Life  and  Times ^  tells  a  most  interesting 
story  relating  to  Bewick's  daughter  and  this  piece.  Mr. 
Robinson  was  visiting  Miss  Isabella  Bewick;  she  was  then 
in  her  ninety-fourth  year,  and,  unlike  her  usual,  seemed 
indisposed  to  converse.  "Yet,  to  my  surprise,"  he  writes, 
"  she  recited,  with  much  feeling,  Pickerings  beautiful  frag- 
ment, *  Donocht  Head.' "     Perhaps  the  line — 

"  Pull  ninety  winters  hae  I  seen" 

attracted  her.  Mr.  Robinson,  on  leaving,  promised  to  see 
her  again,  but  that  he  was  unable  to  do.  Within  a  month, 
after  a  brief  illness,  the  last  of  the  Bewicks  had  been  laid  to 
rest  at  Ovingham  Churchyard. 

George  Pickering,  the  author,  was  born  in  1758,  and  was 
a  native  of  Simonbum.  Mr.  Brockie  writes,  "  He  was  of  an 
unsteady,  erratic  temperament,  and  had  a  very  melancholy 
ending,  dying  insane  at  Kibblesworth,  on  the  28th  July  1826, 
at  the  house  of  his  sister.  He  was  buried  in  Lamesley 
Churchyard,  where  his  sister  erected  a  tombstone  to  his 
memory."     His  poems  were  published  in  18 15. 

TUNR— "  Ye  Banks  and  Braes." 

Keen  blaws  the  wind  o'er  Donocht  Head, 

The  snaw  drives  snelly  through  the  dale, 
The  Gaber-lunzie  tirls  my  sneck, 

And  shivering  tells  his  waefu'  tale — 
"Cauld  is  the  night,  O  let  me  in, 

And  dinna  let  your  minstrel  fa' ! 
And  dinna  let  his  winding-sheet 

Be  naething  but  a  wreath  o'  snaw. 

"  Full  ninety  winters  hae  I  seen, 

And  piped  where  gor-cocks  whirring  flew ; 
And  mony  a  day  ye've  danced,  I  ween, 

To  lilts  which  from  my  drone  I  blew." 
My  Eppie  waked,  and  soon  she  cried, 

"  Get  up,  gudeman,  and  let  him  in; 
For  weel  ye  ken  the  winter  night 

Was  short  when  he  began  his  din." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  25 

My  Eppie's  voice,  oh  wow!  it's  sweet, 

E'en  though  she  bans  and  scaulds  a  wee ; 
But  when  it's  tuned  to  sorrow's  tale, 

Oh,  haith,  it's  doubly  dear  to  me. 
"  Come  in,  auld  carl ;  I'se  steer  my  fire : 

I'll  mak'  it  bleeze  a  bonnie  flame; 
Your  bluid  is  thin,  ye've  tint  the  gate ; 

Ye  shouldna  stray  sae  far  frae  hame." 

''  Nae  hame  hae  I,"  the  minstrel  said : 
"  Sad  party  strife  o'erturned  my  ha' ; 

And,  weeping,  at  the  eve  of  life, 
I  wander  thro'  a  wreath  o'  snaw." 

PiCKBUNG.  EdibUm  1816. 


THE   COLLIER'S    RANT. 

Sir  Cuttibert  Sbarpe  writes :— "  This  is  a  true  pit  song,  which  few  singers 
can  do  justice  to.    Those  who  have  had  the  advantage  of  hearing  it  sung 

by  the  late  Mr.  W.  S ,  sen.,  of  Pictree,  will  not  readily  forget  the  mar- 

vellons  effect  he  produced  on  his  hearers  by  his  powerful  voice  and  genuine 
humour." 

As  me  and  my  marrow  was  ganning  to  wark 
We  met  with  the  Devil;  it  was  in  the  dark; 
I  up  with  ray  pick,  it  being  in  the  neit. 
And  knock'd  off  his  horns,  likewise  his  club  feet. 

Chorus — 

Follow  the  horses,  Johnny,  my  lad,  oh  I 
Follow  them  through,  my  canny  lad,  oh ! 
Follow  the  horses,  Johnny,  my  lad,  oh ! 
Oh,  lad,  lye  away,  canny  lad,  oh! 


26  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

As  me  and  my  marrow  was  putting  the  tram, 
The  lowe  it  went  oot,  and  my  marrow  went  wrang; 
You  would  have  laugh'd  had  you  seen  the  gam, — 
The  de'il  gat  my  marrow,  but  I  gat  the  tram. 

Follow  the  horses,  etc. 

Oh,  marrow!  oh,  marrow!  what  dost  thou  think? 
I've  broken  my  bottle  and  spilt  a'  my  drink! 
I  lost  a'  my  shin  splints  amang  the  greet  stanes; 
Draw  me  t'  the  shaft,  it's  time  to  gan  hame. 

Follow  the  horses,  etc. 

Oh,  marrow!  oh,  marrow!  where  hast  thou  been? 

Driving  the  drift  from  the  low  seam, 

Driving  the  drift  from  the  low  seam: 

Haud  up  the  lowe,  lad!  de'il  stop  oot  thy  een! 

Follow  the  horses,  etc. 

Oh,  marrow !  oh,  marrow  1  this  is  wor  pay  week. 
We'll  get  penny  loaves,  and  drink  to  wor  beek ; 
And  we'll  fill  up  our  bumper,  and  round  it  shall  go; 
Follow  the  horses,  Johnny,  lad,  oh ! 

Follow  the  horses,  etc 


There  is  my  horse,  and  there  is  my  tram ; 
Twee  horns  full  of  grease  will  myek  her  to  gang ; 
There  is  my  hoggers,  likewise  my  half-shoon. 
And  smash  my  heart  1  marrow,  my  puttin's  a'  done ! 

Follow  the  horses,  etc. 
Unknown.  RiUmCg  **Btshoprie  Garland,*'  1784. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  27 

THE   MTTLE    P.   D. 

One  of  the  few  dialect  songs  before  the  time  of  Thompson,  Shield,  and 
Selkirk. 

'TwAS  between  Hebbron  an'  Jarrow, 

There  cam*  on  a  varry  Strang  gale  ; 
The  skipper  luik'd  oot  o'  the  huddock, 

Crying,  "  Smash,  man !  lower  the  sail ! 
Smash,  man !  lower  the  sail  I 

Or  else  to  the  bottom  we'll  go ! " 
The  keel  an'  a'  hands  wad  been  lost, 

Had  it  not  been  for  Jemmy  Munro. 
Fal  lal,  etc. 

The  gale  blew  stranger  an'  stranger ; 

When  they  cam'  beside  the  Muck  Hoose, 
The  skipper  cry'd  oot,  **  Jemmy,  swing  'er ! " 

But  still  wes  as  fear'd  as  a  moose. 
P.  D.  ran  te  clear  the  anchor, 

"  It's  raffled,"  right  loudly  he  roar'd ; 
They  a'  said  the  gale  wad  sink  her 

If  it  wasn't  seun  thrawn  owerbord. 
Fal  lal,  etc. 

The  laddy  ran  sweaten,  ran  sweaten, 

The  laddy  ran  sweaten  aboot, 
Till  the  keel  went  bump  'gainst  Jarrow, 

An*  three  o'  th'  bullies  lap  oot. 
Three  o'  th'  bullies  lap  oot. 

An'  left  nyen  in  but  little  P.  D., 
Who  ran  aboot  stampin'  and  cryin', 

"  How,  smash !  Skipper,  what  mun  a'  dee  ?  " 
Fal  lal,  etc. 


28  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

They  all  shooted  oot  frae  the  Kee — 

"  Steer  her  close  in  by  th'  shore, 
An'  then  thraw  th'  painter  t'  me, 

Thou  cat-faced  son  of  a  whore ! " 
The  lad  threw  the  painter  ashore, 

They  fastened  her  up  to  th'  Kee ; 
But  whe  knaws  how  far  she  might  gane 

Had  it  not  been  for  little  P.  D. 

Fal  lal,  etc 

Then  into  th'  huddock  they  gat, 

And  th'  flesh  they  began  to  fry ; 
They  talked  o'  th'  gale  as  they  sat, 

An'  how  a'  hands  were  lost  (very  nigh). 
Th'  Skipper  roored  out  for  a  drink ; 

P.  D.  ran  to  bring  him  th'  can. 
But,  odsmash  1  mun,  what  d'ye  think ! 

He  coup'd  a'  th'  flesh  out  o'  th'  pan. 
Fal  lal,  etc. 
Unknown.  Angtu^s  **  NewemtU  Garland,**  about  1805. 


DOL   LI    A. 

A  soDg  famous  in  Newcastle  about  the  years  1792-8-4. 

Fresh  I'm  cum  fra  Sandgate  Street, 

Do  li,  do  li, 
My  best  friends  here  to  meet. 

Do  li  a, 
Dol  li  th'  dil  len  dol, 

Do  li,  do  li, 
Dol  li  th'  dil  len  dol, 
Dol  li  a. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  29 

The  Black  Cuffs  is  gawn  away, 

Do  li,  do  li, 

An'  that  will  be  a  crying  day, 

Do  li  a,  etc 

Dolly  Coxon's  pawned  her  sark, 

Do  li,  do  li, 

To  ride  upon  the  baggage  cart, 

Do  li  a,  etc. 

The  Green  Cuffs  is  cummin  in. 

Do  li,  do  li. 

An'  that  'ill  make  the  lasses  sing. 

Do  li  a,  etc. 

BeU'8  **NoHhem  Bards,"  1812. 

The  "Black  Cuffs,"  the  North  York  MiUtia.    The  "Green  Cuffs,"  the 
23rd,  or  Ulster  Dragoons. 


A   YOU   A,    HINNY   BURD. 

It's  O  but  I  ken  well, 

A  you,  hinny  burd. 
The  bonny  lass  of  Benwell ; 

A  you  a. 

She's  lang-legg'd  and  mother-like, 
A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

See  she's  raking  up  the  dyke, 
A  you  a. 

The  Quayside  for  sailors, 

A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

The  Castle  Garth  for  tailors, 
A  you  a. 


30  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

The  Gateshead  Hills  for  millers, 
A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

The  North  Shore  for  keelers, 
A  you  a. 


There's  Sandgate  for  aud  rags, 
A  you,  hinny  burd. 

And  Gallowgate  for  trolly-bags, 
A  you  a. 


There's  Denton  and  Kenton, 

A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

And  canny  Lang  Benton, 
A  you  a. 


There's  Tynemouth  and  Cullercoats, 
A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

And  Shields  for  the  sculler-boats, 
A  you  a. 

There's  Horton  and  Holywell, 
A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

And  bonny  Seaton  Delaval, 
A  you  a. 

Hartley  Pans  for  sailors, 

A  you,  hinny  burd ; 

And  Bedlington  for  nailers, 
A  you  a. 

Unknown.  BeWs  "  Northern  Bards"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  31 

THE    WATER   OF   TYNE. 

As  a  note  to  this  song,  Sir  C.  Sharpe  writes :— "  The  Tyne  divides  the 
counties  of  Durham  and  Northumberland,  and  as  one  of  the  parties  was 
evidently  on  the  Durham  side  of  the  river,  this  song  may  be  justly  admitted 
into  the  *  Garland.'  A  blue  stone  marks  the  boundaries  of  the  counties  on 
Newcastle  Bridge,  and  one-third  of  it  is  supported  by  and  belongs  to  the 
Bishoprick." 

I  CANNOT  get  to  my  love,  if  I  should  dee, 

The  water  of  Tyne  runs  between  him  and  me ; 

And  here  I  must  stand,  with  the  tear  in  my  e'e, 
Both  sighing  and  sickly,  my  sweetheart  to  see. 

O  where  is  the  boatman  ?  my  bonny  honey  1 
O  where  is  the  boatman  ?  bring  him  to  me — 

To  ferry  me  over  the  Tyne  to  my  honey. 
And  I  will  remember  the  boatman  and  thee. 

O  bring  me  a  boatman — I'll  give  any  money 
(And  you  for  your  trouble  rewarded  shall  be). 

To  ferry  me  over  the  Tyne  to  my  honey, 
Or  scull  him  across  that  rough  river  to  me. 

Unknown.  BelVs  *•  Northern  Bardts,**  1812. 


A   SOUTH    SHIELDS    SONG. 

The  sailors  are  all  at  the  bar, 

They  cannot  get  up  to  Newcastle ; 

The  sailors  are  all  at  the  bar. 

They  cannot  get  up  to  Newcastle. 

Up  wi'  smoky  Shields, 
And  hey  for  bonny  Newcastle ; 

Up  wi'  smoky  Shields, 
And  hey  for  bonny  Newcastle. 

BelPa  **  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


32  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Sir  C  Sharpe  adds — "Of  a  similar  description  are  the 
following  fragments,  which  apply  to  Sunderland  : — 

Blow  the  wind  southerly,  southerly,  southerly, 
Blow  the  wmd  southerly,  So'  and  So'  West ; 
My  lad's  at  the  bar,  at  the  bar,  at  the  bar. 
My  lad's  at  the  bar,  that  I  love  best. 

We'll  all  away  to  Sunniside, 
To  Sunniside,  to  Sunniside, 
We'll  all  away  to  Sunniside, 
To  see  the  Fitter's  maidens. 

Till  the  tide  comes  in,  till  the  tide  comes  in. 
And  we'll  sit  upon  the  pier  till  the  tide  comes  in." 


THE    TYWE. 

"The  Tyne"  first  appeared  in  Marshall's  Northern  Mimtrel,  1806*7.  In 
the  same  volume,  which  is  made  up  of  four  parts,  many  other  songs  by  the 
same  writer  also  appeared,  and  all  with  the  signature  J.  G.,  of  Newcastle. 
Bell,  in  his  Northern  Bards,  1812,  reprinted  "The  Tyne,"  and  gave  the 
author's  full  name,  John  Gibson.  None  of  his  songs  are  in  the  dialect,  and 
excepting  "  The  Tyne,"  .which  from  its  pleasing  nature  and  local  subject 
generally  finds  a  place  in  Tyneside  collections,  are  forgotten.  Mr.  Brockioj 
in  his  "Local  Songs  and  Song  Writers"  {Weekly  Chronicle),  says  John 
Gibson  was  a  nephew  of  the  celebrated  Thomas  Spence,  and  a  very 
ingenious  and  promising  young  man.  He  died  at  Liverpool  on  the  20th  of 
January  1810,  aged  twenty-two  years. 

Roll  on  thy  way,  thrice  happy  Tyne  I 
Commerce  and  riches  still  are  thine ; 
Thy  sons  in  every  art  shall  shine, 
And  make  thee  more  majestic  flow. 


The  busy  crowd  that  throngs  thy  sides. 
And  on  thy  dusky  bosom  glides, 
With  riches  swell  thy  flowing  tides. 

And  bless  the  soil  where  thou  dost  flow. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  33 

Thy  valiant  sons,  in  days  of  old, 
Led  by  their  Chieftains,  brave  and  bold, 
Fought  not  for  wealth,  or  shining  gold, 
But  to  defend  thy  happy  shores. 

So  e'en  as  they  of  old  have  bled, 
And  oft  embrac'd  a  gory  bed, 
Thy  modern  sons,  by  Ridleys  led, 

Shall  rise  to  shield  thy  peace-crown'd  shores. 

Nor  art  thou  blest  for  this  alone, 

That  long  thy  sons  in  arms  have  shone ; 

For  every  art  to  them  is  known. 

And  science,  form'd  to  grace  the  mind. 

Art,  curbed  by  War  in  former  days, 
Has  now  burst  forth  in  one  bright  blaze ; 
And  long  shall  his  refulgent  rays 
Shine  bright,  and  darkness  leave  behind. 

The  Muses  too,  with  Freedom  crown'd. 
Shall  on  thy  happy  shores  be  found. 
And  fill  the  air  with  joyous  sound. 
Of — War  and  darkness'  overthrow. 

Then  roll  thy  way,  thrice  happy  Tyne  1 
Commerce  and  riches  still  are  thine  I 
Thy  sons  in  arts  and  arms  shall  shine, 
And  make  thee  still  majestic  flow. 

OlBSON.  Mar8haU*8  "  Northern  Minttrel,"  1807. 


BRANDLING. 

Like  as  the  brand  doth  flame  and  burn, 
So  we  from  death  to  life  should  turn. 

An  old  rhyme  or  motto  of  the  Brandling  fiimily,  whose  crest  is  an  oak 
tree  in  flames— perhaps  a  border  beacon. 

Sharpe'8  ** Bishopric  Garland.** 

3 


34  TYNESIDE  SON'GS. 

BRANDLIKTG   AlXTD    RIDLKY. 

Members  for  Newcastle  in  MTen  successive  Parliaments. 

Brandling  for  ever,  and  Ridley  for  aye, 

Brandling  and  Ridley  carries  the  day  ! 
Brandling  for  ever,  and  Ridley  for  aye, 

There's  plenty  of  coals  on  our  waggon  way. 
There's  wood  for  to  cut,  and  coals  for  to  hew, 

And  the  bright  star  of  Heaton  will  carry  us  through  ; 
Ridley  for  ever,  and  Brandling  for  aye, 

There's  plenty  of  coals  on  our  waggon  way. 

BdV»  "  Northern  Bards,*'  1812. 


THOMAS   THOMPSON. 

**  There's  native  bards  in  yon  toon, 
For  wit  an'  humour  seldom  be't, 
They  sang  se  sweet  in  yon  toon, 
Gud  faith,  aw  think  aw  hear  them  yet." 

The  "native  bards"  thus  commemorated  who  "sang  se 
sweet  in  yon  toon "  the  poet  might  have  added  were  not 
the  only  bards  who  have  sung  in  praise  of  "  Canny  New- 
casseL"  Other  bards  not  native  have  joined  in  the  strain,, 
and  some  of  the  best  songs  in  its  praise  are  by  writers 
to  whom  the  old  town,  however  kind,  stands  but  as  a 
foster-mother.  Foremost  amongst  these  must  be  classed 
Thomas  Thompson,  who,  in  addition  to  being  one  of  the 
earliest  and  best  of  Tyneside  writers,  may  be  further 
honoured  as  one  of  the  founders  of  Tyneside  song.  Thomp- 
son, thus  not  a  native  of  Newcastle,  was  born  in  1773  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Bishop  Auckland,  where  also  his  boyhood 
was  passed,  his  father,  who  was  an  officer,  dying  of  a  fever 
when  his  son  was  young.  To  Durham  as  a  youth  he  was- 
sent  to  finish  his  education  and  enter  busmess.  From 
Durham  to  bustling,  stirring  Newcastle  was  but  a  step ;  that 
step  while  quite  a  young  man  he  took,  and  thus  from  early 
manhood  until  his  untimely  death,  Newcastle,  whose  praises 
with  such  pride  he  sung,  claimed  him  as  her  own. 

Once  settled  in  Newcastle  (about  i79C>Xhis  energy  and  ability- 
SQOi^  brought  him  to  the  front.    The  times  were  stirring. 

**  Should  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat  ** 
struck  the  keynote  of  the  period,  and  Burns  but  reflected 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


35 


the  feeling  which  had  been  aroused  by  French  threats 
when  he  joined  the  Dumfries  Volunteers.  All  over  the 
country  volunteer  regiments  were  forming.  In  one  of  these, 
"The  Newcastle  Light  Horse,"  Thompson,  young  as  he 
was  (about  twenty-three),  showed  the  position  he  had  won 
in  the  town  by  being  appointed  Acting-Quartermaster,  and 
a  little  later  on  Captain. 

Curiously  it  is  in  connection  with  Bums  that  we  come 
upon  the  first  trace  of  Thompson  as  a  writer.     He  must 


THOMAS  THOMPSON. 


have  written  much  before,  but  as  yet  it  is  untraced.  Burns 
died  July  21st,  1796.  In  the  Newcastle  Chronicle^  about 
six  weeks  later,  an  elegy  on  his  death  appeared ;  it  was 
signed  J.  H.  In  the  library  of  the  Antiquarian  Society,  in 
BelFs  "Notes  and  Cuttings,"  from  which  this  is  condensed,  it 
is  said  the  elegy  was  a  vile  heap  of  plagiarisms.  Thompson, 
young  and  impulsive,  in  an  anonymous  sheet,  pointed  out 
these  plagiarisms.     For  that  he  got  no  thanks  from  J.  H. 


36  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

(John  Howard),  a  teacher  of  mathematics,  who  had  succeeded 
to  the  school  of  the  famous  Hutton.    Howard  was  one  of  the 
"  Flying  Congress,"  a  company  so  named  from  their  shift- 
ing their  meeting-place  from  one  public-house  to  another 
according  as  they  found  the  drink  suitable.     Thompson, 
young,  and  in  that  drinking  age,  thus  refers  to  that  faihng — 
<<  Think'st  thou  instead  of  the  Parnassian  stream 
Strong  beer  can  warm  thee  with  a  poet's  lire ; 
Faith,  if  thou  think'st  it,  it  will  prove  a  dream, 

Thou'U  find  a  gewgaw  where  tnou'd  wish  a  lyre. 
Beer  has  no  powers  poetic  of  creation." 

This  exposure  produced  a  reply.  Howard  confesses  to 
**  borrowing  a  line,"  compliments  his  critic  "as  far  surpassing 
*  Blind  Willie,'"  writes  of  his  ''bombastic  thoughts,"  **ap*d 
Pindaric  strains,"  brings  in  "  reptile,"  "  assassin,"  and  wants 
his  critic  "dragged  from  his  lurking-place."  With  this 
reply  possibly  the  inky  battle  might  have  ended,  but  a  Dr. 
Young,  a  physician  of  the  town,  appears  to  have  joined  in 
the  fray,  and,  as  Thompson  wrote — 

"  Throwing  thy  froth  of  scandal  upon  me," 

had  gone  from  house  to  house. 

To  the  pair  Thompson  replied  in  what  Bell  calls  eight 
pages  of  rhodomontade,  but  which  more  aptly  might  be 
called  eight  pages  of  fancy,  wit,  and  feeling.  He  begins  his 
reply  by  lamenting  that  he  should  again  have  to  mount  his 
tired  "Pegasus,"  as 

"*Twas  but  last  night  we  traversed  every  clime, 
Dashing  o'er  hUls  and  dales,  thro'  thick  and  thin, 
In  search  of  thoughts  and  similies  sublime 
To  paint  the  dimple  on  my  sweetheart's  chin." 

Yet  mount  he  must — honour  calls. 

"  But  ere  we  honour's  daring  call  obey, 
Let  us,  like  pious  Christians,  down  and  pray  :— 
0  Bums  !  a  youth  bred  up  in  Nature's  school 

With  bended  knee  would  fain  implore  thy  aid  ; 
0  ^e  me  powers  to  lash  the  silly  fool 

Who  durst  thy  honoured  mem'ry  so  degrade. 
'Twas  love  of  thee  that  brought  me  in  this  scrape. 

Nor  have  I  half  a  doit  to  see  a  Proctor ; 
Without  thy  aid  I'm  sure  I  can't  escape 

A  host  like  these,  led  by  so  great  a  Doctor. 
0  clear  pillgarlick  from  this  dreadful  strait, 

Tongue-tye  the  blockheads,  and  their  malice  check  ; 
God  willinji:,  I  would  take  a  broken  pate, 

But  verily  I  fear  they'll  break  my  neck." 

He  then  finely  puts  it  is  the  offence,  not  the  offender,  he  fights. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  37 

"  But  tho'  with  critic  eyes  his  lays  I'd  scan, 
I'd  damn  the  rhymer,  but  would  save  the  man  ; 
Detest  the  lays  that  fknn'd  the  breath  of  strife, 
Or  hurt  him  m  the  theatre  of  life  ; 
For  could  they  to  his  name  one  stain  convey, 
€k>d  knows  with  tears  I'd  wash  that  stain  away." 

After  some  mock  heroic,  he  proceeds — 

"  Permit  me  now  to  leave  my  idle  pranks. 
And  very  gravely  offer  thee  my  thanks 

For  telling  me  I  Wyllie*  far  surpass. 
0  Wyllie,  thou  art  Nature's  honest  child. 
And  had  but  education  on  thee  smil'd. 

To-day  he'd  been  to  thee  an  empty  ass  : 
Blind  Wyllie,  ancient  laureate  of  the  Tyne, 
Son  of  Apollo— thee  I'll  call  divine  ! 

Because  thy  strains,  tho'  low,  are  all  thy  own. 
High  then  thy  head  above  this  reptile  rear. 

For  if  his  lays  with  thine  were  shown, 
111  tell  thee  honestly  how  they'd  appear  : 

As  to  the  sun  would  seem  a  farthiug  candle, 

Or  thy  jig  notes  to  sweetest  strains  of  Handel." 

He  concludes  by  announcing  he  will  *Mie  on  his  oars 
awaiting  a  reply."  He  might  lie  ;  no  reply  came  ;  the  inky 
battle  was  over.t  Bell,  in  whose  interesting  volumes  of  "  Notes 
and  Cuttings"  this  appears,  says  the  best  piece  of  poetry 
these  knights  of  the  quill  produced  was  the  following  sonnet, 
written  by  J.  Ingo,  the  son  of  a  farmer  near  Benwell : — 

SONNET. 

TO  THOMAS  THOMPSON,  ON  HIS  LATE  ADDRESS  TO  J.   HOWARD. 

Struck  with  strong  rapture  at  the  dawning  ray 

Of  splendid  genius  rising  in  thy  mind. 
My  dull  heart  pants  to  hail  ye  brightning  day. 

And  give  th'  applause  that  wit  should  alway  find. 
Shrewdly  hast  thou  exposed  the  knavish  scene. 

Severely  gall'd  the  vain  pretender's  pride. 
But  for  thy  muse  the  theme  is  far  too  mean, 

Thy  muse  that  with  such  native  ease  can  glide ; 

Sing,  for  I  know  thou  canst,  the  pleasing  pains 
Of  thrilling,  melting,  nature-cheering  love ; 

Or  from  the  deep  lyre  pour  consoling  strains. 
To  soothe  wan  thougnt  in  his  sequester'd  gprove. 

So  shall  thy  verse  on  distant  ages  beam. 
When  Howard's  sunk  in  Lethe  s  morbid  stream. 

It  is  sixteen  years  after  this  encounter  with  Howard  before 

*  So  spelt  in  the  original. 

t  The  two,  Thompson  and  Howard,  now  lie  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other  in  St.  John's  churchyard. 


38  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

we  trace  Thompson's  pen  again.  Possibly  business  had 
grown  more  pressing ;  he  was  young,  and  had  his  way  to 
make.  At  this  time,  1796,  he  was  connected  with  Mr. 
David  Bell,  woollen  draper,  at  the  lower  part  of  Middle 
Street,  Groat  Market  side.  Five  years  later  (by  the  Direc- 
tory of  1 801},  he  is  on  the  Quayside  as  a  general  merchant, 
trading  as  Armstrong,  Thompson,  &  Co.  His  volunteer 
duties  also  would  make  inroads  on  his  time.  His  only 
surviving  son.  Captain  Robert  Thompson,  has  memorials 
which  tell  how  he  devoted  himself  to  his  volunteer  work. 
These  memorials  are  two  massive  silver  cups,  a  large  silver 
vase,  and  a  valuable  sword  and  belt,  with  the  following 
inscription : — 

PRESENTED  BY  THE 

NaN-COMMISSIONED  OFFICERS  AND  PRIVATES  OP  THE 

CENTRE  TROOP  OF  THE  TTNB  LEGION  CAVALRY 

TO 

CAPTAIN  THOMAS  THOMPSON, 

FOR  HIS  GREAT  AND  CONTINUOUS  EXERTIONS  IN 

FORWARDING  THEIR  DISCIPLINE. 

At  what  time  he  wrote  his  famous  Tyneside  songs  cannot 
now  be  ascertained ;  his  son,  who  was  under  four  years  of 
age  when  his  father  died,  has  no  information.  He,  as  soon 
as  his  education  was  finished  (which  was  at  Dr.  Bruce's 
academy),  took  to  the  sea ;  and  later  on,  when  papers  and 
relics  came  to  him  by  the  death  of  members  of  his  family, 
the  chest  in  which  they  were  being  sent  to  him  at  Australia 
was  lost  by  the  wreck  of  the  vessel. 

It  is  in  18 12,  in  Bell's  Rhymes  of  Northern  Bards^  that  we 
next  trace  him.  No  more  "  dashing  over  hill  and  dale  "  for 
*'  thoughts  and  similies  sublime,"  *^  to  paint  the  dimple  on  his 
sweetheart's  chin."  His  foot  is  on  firmer  if  less  fanciful 
ground.  On  the  opening  page  of  Bell's  volume  we  get  the 
first  of  his  dialect  songs  on  which  his  fame  rests.  The 
"New  Keel  Row"  appears  there  with  the  initials  "T.  T.," 
and  with  the  same  initials,  towards  the  end  of  the  volume, 
his  "Canny  Newcastle"  appears.  Of  "Jemmy  Joneson's 
Whurry "  we  find  no  trace  until  some  years  after  his  death. 
Another  song  by  him  we  trace — also  in  1812  ;  it  appeared  in 
the  Newcastle  Advertiser^  and  was  sung  at  the  Turk's  Head 
Inn,  Bigg  Market,  on  Saturday,  October  loth.  The  Adver- 
tiser introduces  the  song  thus ; — 

**  Election — New  Song.  We  have  been  favoured  by  a  gentle- 
man with  a  copy  of  the  excellent  song  written  by  Mr.  Thompson, 
and  sung  by  him  at  the  election  dinner  of  this  town  on  Saturday 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  39 

se-night.      We  trust  the  author  will  not  be  offended  by  our  thus 
giving  it  publicity." — Octol^r  22nd  1812. 

This  song,  not  in  the  dialect,  may  appropriately  be  given 
here : — 

**  When  joy  wakes  the  muse,  though  her  accents  are  glowing, 

Yet  wildly  and  hurried  they  swell  thro'  the  lay : 
While  ardour  less  warm  might  in  lines  softly  flowing, 

Give  voice  to  our  feelings,  and  hail  the  proud  day. 
Hail,  Ellison,*  Senator !  what  title  greater 

Could  call  forth  thy  energies,  all  thy  mind's  force  ? 
JBe  thou  as  a  star,  which  responsive  to  Nature, 

Both  cheers  and  illumines  our  path  in  its  course. 
When  won  by  thy  eloquence,  warm'd  to  emotion, 

The  Citizens  cheer'd  thee  with  plaudits  of  zeal ; 
Each  greeting  voice  swore  thee  an  oath  of  devotion. 

Thy  talents,  thy  life,  to  the  national  weal. 

While  Wellington,  leading  the  soldiers  of  Britain, 

Eclipses  the  glories  of  Greece  and  of  Rome, 
Old  England  might  smile  midst  the  dangers  that  threaten, 

Did  nought  vex  or  bias  our  Council  at  home. 
A  tool  to  no  party,  a  slave  to  no  passion. 

No  wishes  but  those  which  flrom  loyalty  spring  ; 
Unmoved  by  the  breeze  of  political  fashion, 

His  meed  the  applause  of  his  country  and  King. 
Thus  Statesmen  should  be,  and  our  country  would  flourish. 

Still  prouder  would  stand  on  the  records  of  Fame — 
Nor  shadows  one  doubt  the  warm  wishes  we  cherish. 

Such  merits  will  blazon  our  Ellison's  name. 

Hail,  Ridley  the  muse,  which,  in  rude  local  verses, 

Oft  sung  of  thy  sire,  bids  her  greeting  be  thine  ; 
With  Ellison's  worth  she  thy  worth  too  rehearses, 

And  both  your  proud  names  in  one  wreath  would  entwine. 
Alike  high  in  honour,  both  ardently  glowing 

With  Patriot  Zeal,  in  Britannia's  cause  ; 
Both  proud  of  the  source  whence  your  honours  are  flowing. 

Our  Town's  smiling  Commerce,  its  Rights  and  its  Laws. 
May  health  give  you  powers  to  keep  pace  with  your  spirit ; 

And  while  in  the  Senate  you  worthily  shine, 
As  Burgesses ;  Patrons,  alike  may  you  merit 

The  blessings  of  every  cottage  on  Tyne." 

Before  1812,  when  we  thus  get  his  songs,  there  is  little 
doubt  Thomas  Thompson  had  prospered  and  was  then 
a  rising  merchant  in  Newcastle.  As  Armstrong,  Thomp- 
son, &  Co.,  he  had  his  offices  in  the  Broad  Chare,  and 
near  the  Skinner's  Burn,  at  the  foot  of  Forth  Banks,  his 
large  timber  or  raff  yard.     Cotfield  House,  on  the  Wind- 

*  Cuthbert  Ellison,  elected  M.P.  in  1812,  succeeding  C.  J.  Brandling 
resigned. 


40  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

mill  Hills,  Gateshead,  overlooking  the  beautiful  valley  of 
the  Tyne,  was  built  by  him ;  and  about  ninety  years  ago, 
before  either  Gateshead  or  Newcastle  had  extended  west- 
ward, Cotfield,  in  which  he  lived,  would  be  a  most  delightful 
residence.  From  it  he  commanded  a  view  of  the  river, 
with  his  yard  and  mass  of  floating  timber,  and  when  needed, 
instead  of  going  round  by  the  bridge,  a  small  boat  could 
in  a  few  minutes  take  him  across  the  Tyne  to  his  yard. 
How  this  pleasant  prospect  was  prematurely  overcast,  and 
the  fortune  he  had  toiled  to  earn  he  was  not  fated  to  enjoy, 
cannot  be  better  told  than  in  the  following,  written  some 
seventy-five  years  ago,  and  now  for  the  first  time  reprinted. 
Only  prefacing  it  with  the  introduction  that  the  great  flood 
mentioned,  which  was  so  fatal,  was  one  of  almost  unexampled 
fury,  great  damage  being  done  all  along  the  river  banks 
from  Hexham  to  the  sea,  several  lives  being  lost  both  at 
Newcastle  and  Shields.  The  flood  was  caused  by  a  rapid 
thaw  accompanied  by  a  great  storm  of  wind  and  rain. 

From  the  Newcastle  Weekly  Chronicle^  January  14th,  18 16. 

**  From  a  Correspondent. 

"  Died  on  Tuesday  morning  last,  the  9th  inst.,  at  his  house  near 
the  Windmill  Hills,  Gateshead,  Mr.  Thomas  Thompson,  merchant, 
in  the  forty-third  year  of  his  age.  It  is  with  equal  rqg^ret  and  sorrow 
we  record  the  death  of  one  who  united  in  his  character  every 
prop>erty  that  constitutes  a  good,  a  useful,  and  a  virtuous  member  of 
society.  He  was  an  excellent  husband,  a  tender  father,  most 
affectionate  to  his  relations,  and  charitable  to  the  distressed.  He 
endeared  all  (and  they  were  many)  who  knew  him,  by  a  temper 
good  natured  in  the  extreme  ;  for,  whether  in  acts  of  hospitality  or 
otherwise,  he  was  ever  most  eager  to  render  himself  useful  to  those 
who  had  any  claim  to  his  friendship.  But,  alas  !  mute  is  that 
tongue  which  so  often  charmed  the  social  circle,  and  set  the  table 
in  a  roar.  It  were  unnecessary  to  say  how  much  his  presence  was 
courted  wherever  humour  and  vivacity  were  considered  an  ingredient 
contributing  to  social  recreation.  There  are  few  in  this  neighbour- 
hood who  have  not  been  interested  with  his  local  songs,  written  by 
himself  in  the  pure  Newcastle  dialect,  and  sung  by  him  with  a 
playfulness  and  humour  that  transported  every  genuine  Northum- 
brian. In  1796,  when  Britannia's  sons  eagerly  flew  to  arms  in 
defence  of  their  country  and  constitution,  the  deceased  became  the 
acting  Quartermaster  of  the  Newcastle  Light  Horse,  commanded 
by  that  zealous  officer,  Captain  (now  Colonel)  Burdon ;  and 
subsequently,  when  Colonel  Burdon  assumed  the  command  of  the 
South  Tyne  Legion,  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Oiptain  in 
the  Cavalry,  and  on  all  occasions  showed  himself  an  active  and  able 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  41 

officer.  In  his  commercial  transactions  he  was  equally  remarkable 
for  that  straightforward  and  liberal  conduct  which  so  distinguishes 
the  British  merchant.  With  regret  then,  no  doubt,  will  the  readers 
learn  that  the  death  of  the  deceased  was  occasioned  by  an  over- 
exertion to  save  his  property  during  the  violent  storm  in  the  night 
between  the  29th  and  30th  ult.  Too  careless  of  a  life  in  itself  so 
valuable  he  was  seen  repeatedly  plunging  into  the  river  anxious  to 
save  his  floating  timber  ere  it  was  swept  away  by  the  overwhelming 
torrent*  He^  in  consequence,  caught  a  severe  cold,  which  ended  in 
an  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  all  the  art  of  the  materia  medica 
was  unable  to  arrest  the  hand  of  death.  Though  the  writer  of  this 
article  was  warmly  attached  to  him,  there  is  no  reader  who  knew 
the  deceased  but  will  be  aware  of  the  strictest  adherence  to  truth, 
and  will  long  remember  the  subject  of  it  with  affection  and  esteem." 

This  loving  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Thomas  Thompson 
could  only  have  been  written  by  one  who  knew  nim. 
Who  was  the  correspondent  who  sent  it?  John  Shield, 
author  of  "My  Lora  'Size,"  doubtless  a  personal  friend, 
might  have  done  so.  Thomas  Wilson,  a  fellow-merchant 
on  the  Quay,  whose  "  Pitman's  Pay,"  ten  years  later,  showed 
such  kindred  tastes,  is  another ;  but  perhaps  a  more  likely 
one  still  is  Robert  Gilchrist,  then  about  nineteen  years  of 
age,  and  an  ardent  admirer  of  Thompson,  as  his  following 
lament  shows  : — 

TOMMY  THOMPSON. 
(Compoted  extemp&re.) 

All  ye  whom  minstrers  strains  inspire, 

Soft  as  the  sighs  of  morning — 
All  ye  who  sweep  the  rustic  lyre. 

Your  native  hills  adorning — 
Where  genius  bids  her  rays  descend 
0*er  bosoms  bleak  and  lonesome- 
Let  every  hand  and  heart  respond 
The  name  of  Tommy  Thompson. 
Chorus — 
His  spirit  now  is  soaring  bright, 

And  leaves  us  dark  and  dolesome ; 
0  luckless  was  the  fatal  night 
That  lost  us  Tommy  Thompson. 

The  lyric  harp  was  all  his  own. 

Each  mystic  art  combining — 
Which  Envy,  with  unbending  frown, 

Might  hear  with  unrepining. 
The  sweetest  flower  in  summer  blown 

Was  not  more  blithe  and  joysome, 
Than  was  the  matchless,  merry  tone 

Which  died  with  Tommy  Thomson. 


42  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

When  Thompson  died,  Gilchrist  had  published  nothing.  It 
was  six  years  atter  this  before  his  first  volume  appeared,  but 
it  may  be,  and  doubtless  was  the  case,  that  the  young  poet 
had  shown  to  the  one  he  considered  his  master  his  early 
efforts,  and  had  been  kindly  received.  It  is  all  a  matter 
of  supposition,  but  if  the  supposition  be  correct,  Thomas 
Thompson  would  have  in  his  young  admirer,  Robert  Gil- 
christ, a  pupil  worthy  of  himself.  Although  dying  at  Cot- 
field,  Gateshead,  the  body  of  Thomas  Thompson  was 
brought  to  Newcastle,  and  laid  beside  that  of  his  mother  in 
St.  John's  Churchyard,  close  to  the  grave  of  the  poet 
Cunningham. 

A  few  lines  may  be  devoted  to  the  poet's  family.  His 
widow,  Jean,  died  six  years  after  her  husband,  at  the  early 
age  of  thirty-five  years,  and  was  laid  beside  him  in  St. 
John's  Churchyard.  His  youngest  son,  Bryan,  died  in  1832  in 
his  sixteenth  year,  while  his  eldest  son,  John,  in  1840,  return- 
ing from  Newcastle  Races,  was  killed  by  jumping  from  his 
conveyance,  his  horse  taking  fright  Both  sons  are  buried 
at  St  Nicholas'.  His  daughters,  Mrs.  Dahl  and  Mrs.  Curry, 
lived  for  years  in  New  Bridge  Street,  and  afterwards  at 
Corbridge;  there  Mrs.  Dahl  died  in  1868,  and  was  buried 
at  Morpeth.  Mrs.  Curry  died  at  Jersey  in  1877,  and  her 
brother,  Captain  Thompson,  then  returned  from  New 
Zealand,  knowing  how  devoted  the  sisters  had  been  to  each 
other,  had  the  body  removed  to  Morpeth,  where  they  now 
lie  side  by  side. 

Captain  Robert  Thompson,  the  sole  survivor  of  the 
poet's  family,  only  recollects  of  his  father  the  sad  death- 
bed scene,  which,  young  as  he  was,  stamped  itself  on 
his  memory.  But  fortunately  amongst  the  relics,  spared  by 
time  and  wreck,  that  have  come  to  him,  is  a  beautiful 
miniature  portrait,  painted  on  ivory,  nearly  one  hundred 
years  ago.  Most  kindly  he  has  sent  this  from  Sussex, 
where  he  is  spending  the  evening  of  his  days  after  a 
stirring  adventurous  life  abroad.  This  portrait,  which  he 
has  heard  is  a  good  likeness  of  his  father,  is  here  for  the 
first  time  copied,  and  the  copying  being  by  the  Meisenbach 
process,  every  feature  and  detail  in  the  original  is  faithfully 
reproduced. 

Of  the  songs  which  Thompson  left  behind  him,  few  though 
they  are  in  number,  yet  in  all  collections  they  are  held 
amongst  the  best  W.  H.  Dawson,  in  his  "  Local  Poets  of 
Newcastle,'*  contributed  to  the  North  of  England  Advertiser^ 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  43 

about  twenty  years  ago,  after  writing  of  some  of  the  songs 
popular  about  the  beginning  of  the  century,  says : — 

"  What  a  relief  when  Tommy  Thompson  gave  his  effusions  pub- 
licity !  What  a  burst  of  jovial  humour  there  is  in  *  Jemmy  Johnson*s 
Wherry ' ;  and  who  that  is  '  native  and  to  the  manner  born '  knows 
not  the  tune  of  *  Canny  Newcassel.' " 

And  then : — 

"  Foremost  among  our  local  songs  is  the  jovial  one  of  '  Canny 
NewcasseL'  Independent  of  the  interest  excited  by  the  connecting 
links  between  the  locality  and  the  song,  it  could  scarcely  have  failed 
in  being  popular  from  the  hearty  geniality  of  its  humour;  indeed,  it 
may  be  said  to  be  one  burst  of  enthusiasm  throughout.  And  at  the 
present  day  it  may  be  taken  as  the  finest  piece  of  descriptive  verse 
m  the  dialect.  It  stands  almost  unrivalled  now,  and  the  only  piece 
to  be  in  any  way  compared  to  it  is  *  My  Lord  'Size.' " 

Alderman  Wilson,  author  of  the  famous  "  Pitman*s  Pay," 
before  referred  to,  writes  of  Thompson's  songs  : — '*  It  is 
much  to  be  regretted  that  neither  the  author  nor  his  friends 
ever  published  his  pieces  in  a  collected  form.  His  songs 
were  excellent  specimens  of  the  Newcastle  dialect  happily 
expressed  and  pregnant  with  wit  and  humour."  Readers  of 
this  sketch  will  understand  how  it  was,  what  the  late  Alder- 
man so  much  desired,  was  not  done.  The  author's  sudden 
death,  his  widow  dying  so  soon  after  him,  and  only  young 
children  left,  there  really  was  no  one  to  see  after  collecting 
his  literary  work.  Yet  none  the  less,  the  regret  expressed 
by  so  competent  a  judge  as  the  author  of  "The  Pitman's 
Pay*  will  be  shared  in  by  all  admirers  of  Tyneside  song. 

The  late  James  Clephan,  in  his  exquisite  paper,  "  Over  the 
Churchyard  Wall,"  telling  of  the  quiet  sleepers — "  Men  of 
Mark  *  in  their  day — who  lie  in  Old  St.  John's,  makes  no 
mention  of  Thomas  Thompson,  although,  in  writing  of  Cun- 
ningham, Oviston,  and  others,  he  must  literally  have  passed 
over  his  grave.  In  1889,  when  Mr.  Hay,  from  information, 
wrote  that  Thompson  was  buried  at  St.  John's,  his  letter  was 
contradicted,  and  it  was  said  that  the  poet  lay  at  the  Ballast 
Hills  Burial  Ground,  so  little  knowledge  had  Time,  with  its 
deaths  and  removals,  left,  of  where  the  author  of  "  Canny 
Newcassel "  lay  1  None,  in  fact,  seemed  to  have  been  aware, 
when  restoring  the  grave  of  Cunningham,  that  one  so  kindred 
lay  so  near,  or  in  the  concluding  lines  of  a  letter  to  the 
Journal  on  the  subject  that 

"  Lying  for  over  seventy  years  so  near  the  grave  of  Cunningham, 


44 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


that  with  outstretched  arms  they  might  touch  each  other,  poets  and 
lovers  of  Tyneside  poetry  have  met  at  Cunningham's  grave — restored 
it,  and  yet  no  whisper  that  so  near  it  was  the  grave  of  one  whose 
songs  will  be  sung  as  long  as  Cunningham  is  read." 

~  Wishing    to    give 

the  poet's  auto- 
graph, and  no  scrap 
of  his  writing  unfor- 
tunately being  to  be 
had  from  private 
sources,  a  visit  was 
made  to  the  Probate 
Court  at  Durham, 
that  a  tracing  might 
be  taken  of  the 
signature  to  his 
Will.  There,  in- 
stead of  his  signa- 
ture, as  expected, 
only  the  initials  of 
his  name  appeared 
—  T.  T.  These 
initials  in  their 
brevity  recall  afresh 
the  sad  story  of 
Thomas  Thomp- 
son's untimely  death. 
Struck  down  in  the 
prime  of  life,  his 
fatal  illness  would 
find  all  unprepared, 
and  doubtless  at  the 
last  moment,  when, 
instead    of    getting 

Photographed  by  Auty  &  Euddock,  Tynemouth.  ^^^^^1  ^  h^^^ra^^dl^ 

grew  worse,  the  Will,  with  its  imperfect  signature,  would  be 
a  dying  effort. 


v7*-^ 


Traced  at  Durham,  April  22nd,  189L    Photographed  by  P.  M.  Laws. 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  45 

THE   NE12ir   KEEL   R012ir. 

The  oldest,  and  by  far  the  most  popular,  of  all  the  additions  to,  or  imita- 
tions of,  the  famous  fragment,  "  The  Keel  Bow." 

To  the  Old  Tune. 

Whe*s  like  my  Johnny, 

Sae  leish,  sae  blithe,  sae  bonny  ? 

He's  foremost  'mang  the  mony 

Keel  lads  o*  Coaly  Tyne. 
He'll  set  or  row  so  tightly, 
Or  in  the  dance  so  sprightly, 
He'll  cut  and  shuffle  sightly : 

Tis  true — were  he  not  mine. 

Chorus, 
Weel  may  the  keel  row, 
The  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 
Weel  may  the  keel  row, 

That  my  laddie's  in. 
He  wears  a  blue  bonnet, 
A  bonnet,  a  bonnet, 
He  wears  a  blue  bonnet, 

A  dimple  in  his  chin. 

He's  ne  mair  learning 

Than  tells  his  weekly  earning. 

Yet  reet  frae  wrang  discerning, 

Tho'  brave,  ne  bruiser  he. 
Tho*  he  no  worth  a  plack  is, 
His  awn  coat  on  his  back  is. 
An'  nane  can  say  that  black  is 

The  white  o'  Johnny's  e'e. 

Each  pay-day  nearly 
He  takes  his  quairt  right  dearly, 
Then  talks  O  latin  O  cheerly, 
Or  mavies  jaws  away : 


46  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

How,  caring  not  a  feather. 
Nelson  and  he  together 
The  springy  French  did  lether, 
And  gar'd  them  shab  away. 

Were  a'  kings  comparely, 
In  each  I'd  spy  a  fairly, 
An'  ay  wad  Johnny  barly. 

He  gets  sic  bonny  bairns : 
Go  bon,  the  Queen,  or  misses, 
But  wad,  for  Johnny's  kisses, 
Luik  upon  as  blisses 

Scrimp  meals,  caff  beds,  and  dairns. 

Wour  lads,  like  their  deddy. 
To  fight  the  French  are  ready, 
But  gies  a  peace  that's  steady, 

And  breed  cheap  as  langsyne ; 
May  a'  the  press-gangs  perish. 
Each  lass  her  laddy  cherish ; 
Lang  may  the  coal  trade  flourish 

Upon  the  dingy  Tyne. 

Breet  star  o'  Heaton, 

Your  ay  wour  darling  sweet  'en, 

May  Heaven's  blessings  leet  on 

Your  leady,  bairns,  and  ye. 
God  bless  the  King  and  Nation, 
Each  bravely  fill  his  station ; 
Our  canny  Corporation 

Lang  may  they  sing  wi'  me — 

Weel  may  the  keel  row,  etc 
Thompson.  BelV^  "  NoHhwn  Bard8,**  1812. 


I 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  47 


CANNY   NEWCASTLE. 

Dr.  B.  S.  Watson,  in  his  lecture  A  Qossip  dbotU  Songs,  says :— "  I  mast  not 
speak  as  fully  as  I  could  wish  to  do  of  the  fine  old  song  *  Canny  Newcassel/ 
and  yet  I  cannot  pass  it  by  without  remarking  that  the  bard  wsus  a  cunning 
philosopher,  and  had  discovered  that  the  fabric  of  society  is  built  up  on 
clothes,  that  nrach  majesty  may  lie  in  a  wig,  long  before  '  Sartor  Besartus ' 
puzzled  the  subscribers  to  Frazer'8  Magazine."  As  illustrating  this,  the 
Doctor  quotes  the  climax  of  the  song.  Our  Newcastle  hero  is  before  the 
khig's  palace.    The  wonders  of  London  had  failed  to  move  him— 


He  ecuM  marrow  them  all  in  Canny  Newcassel. 
He  had  seen  the  King, 

"  And  aw  own  he's  a  guid  luikin  mannie ; 
But  if  wor  Sir  Matthew  ye  buss  iv  his  wig, 
By  gocks  he  wad  just  leuk  as  canny." 

"  Wor  Sir  Matthew,**  whom  Northern  pride  thus  placed  beside  the  king,, 
was  Sir  Matthew  White  Bidley,  of  Heaton,  then  member  for  Newcastle. 
The  song  was  written  about  the  time  his  long  career  was  closing.  For 
eight  successive  Parliaments  he  had  represented  Newcastle ;  he  died  in  1813, 
in  his  sixty -seventh  year.  A  fine  monument  (the  face  a  good  likeness),  by 
the  great  artist  Flaxman,  is  erected  to  his  memory  in  St  Nicholas*. 

'Bout  Lunnun  aw'd  heard  sec  wonderful  spokes, 

That  the  streets  were  a'  cover'd  wi'  guineas; 
The  houses  se  fine,  sec  grandees  the  folks, 

Te  them  hus  i'  th'  North  were  but  ninnies, 
But  aw  fand  ma-sel  blonk'd  when  to  Lunnun  I  gat. 

The  folks  they  a'  luck'd  wishy-washy; 
For  gould  ye  may  howk  till  ye're  blind  as  a  bat, 

For  their  streets  are  like  wors — brave  and  blashy. 

'Bout  Lunnun  then  div'nt  ye  mak'  sic  a  rout, 
There's  nouse  there  ma  winkers  to  dazzle : 

For  a'  the  fine  things  ye  are  gobbin  about, 
We  can  marra  iv  canny  Newcassel. 


48  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

A  Cockney  chep  show'd  me  the  Thames'  druvy  feace, 

Whilk  he  said  was  the  pride  o'  the  nation, 
And  thought  at  their  shippin'  aw'd  maek  a  haze  gaze, 

But  aw  whop^d  ma  foot  on  his  noration; 
Wi'  huz,  mun,  three  hundred  ships  sail  iv  a  tide, 

We  think  nouse  on't,  aVll  maek  accydavy, 
Ye're  a  gouck  if  ye  din't  knaw  that  the  lads  o'  Tyneside 

Are  the  jacks  that  maek  famish  wor  Navy. 

'Bout  Lunnun,  etc. 


We  went  big  St.  PauFs  and  Westminster  to  see, 

And  aw  warn't  ye  aw  thought  they  luck'd  pretty. 
And  then  we'd  a  keek  at  the  Monument  te, 

Whilk  ma  friend  ca'd  the  pearl  o'  the  city: 
Wey  hinny,  says  aw,  we've  a  Shot  Tower  se  hee, 

That  biv  it  ye  might  scraffle  to  heaven, 
And  if  on  St.  Nicholas  ye  once  cus*  an  e'e, 

Ye'd  crack  on't  as  lang  as  ye're  livin. 

*Bout  Lunnun,  etc., 


We  trudg'd  to  St.  James's,  for  there  the  king  lives, 

Aw  warn'd  ye  a  gud  stare  we  teuck  on't; 
By  my  faicks !  it's  been  built  up  by  Adam's  aun  neaves, 

For  it's  aud  as  the  hills  by  the  leuk  on't; 
Shem  bin  ye !  says  I,  ye  shou'd  keep  the  King  douse, 

I  speak  it  without  ony  malice; 
Aw  own  that  wor  Mayor  rather  wants  a  new  house. 

But  then  wor  Infirm'ry's  a  palace. 

*Bout  Lunnun,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  49 

Ah  hinnies,  out  cum  the  King,  while  we  were  there, 

His  leuks  seem'd  to  say,  "Bairns,  be  happy!" 
So  down  o'  my  hunkers  aw  set  up  a  blare, 

For  God  to  preserve  him  frae  Nappy: 
For  Geordy  aVd  dee — for  my  loyalty's  trig. 

And  aw  own  he's  a  geud  leukin  mannie; 
But  if  wor  Sir  Matthew  ye  buss  iv  his  wig, 

By  gocks!  he  wad  just  leuk  as  canny. 

'Bout  Lunnun,  etc 


Ah  hinnies  !  about  us  the  lasses  did  loup. 

Thick  as  cums  in  a  spice  singin  hinnie; 
Some  aud  an'  some  hardly  flig'd  ower  the  doup, 

But  aw  ken'd  what  they  were  by  their  whinnie. 
A'!  mannie,  says  aw,  ye  hev  mony  a  tite  girl, 

But  aw'm  tell'd  they're  oft  het  i'  their  trapping 
Aw'd  cuddle  much  rather  a  lass  i'  the  Sworl, 

Than  the  dolls  i'  the  Strand  or  i'  Wappin'. 

'Bout  Lunnun,  etc 


Wiv  a'  the  stravaging  aw  wanted  a  munch. 

An'  ma  thropple  was  ready  to  gizen ; 
So  we  went  tiv  a  yell-house  and  there  teuk  a  lunch, 

But  the  reck'ning,  my  saul,  was  a  bizon. 
Wiv  huz  i'  th'  North,  when  aw'm  wairsh  i'  my  way 

(But  te  knaw  wor  warm  hearts  ye  yur-sell  come). 
Aw  lift  the  first  latch,  and  baith  man  and  dame  say, 

Cruck  yor  hough,  canny  man,  for  ye're  welcome. 

'Bout  Lunnun,  etc 


50  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

A  shillin'  aw  thought  at  the  play  hoose  aVd  ware, 

But  aw  jump'd  there  wiv  heuk-finger*d  people, 
My  pockets  gat  ripp'd  an*  aw  heard  ne  mair, 

Nor  aw  could  frae  Saint  Nicholas'  steeple, 
Dang  Lunnun,  wor  play-hoose  aw  like  just  as  weel« 

And  wor  play-folks  aVs  sure  are  as  funny: 
A  shillings  worth  serves  me  to  laugh  till  aw  squeel, 

Ne  hallion  there  trimmels  ma  money. 

'Boat  Lunnun,  etc 

The  loss  o'  the  cotterels  aw  dinna  regaird, 

For  aw've  getten  some  white-heft  o'  Lunnun; 
Aw've  learn'd  to  prefer  my  awn  canny  calf-yard, 

If  ye  catch  me  mair  fra't  ye'U  be  cunnun'. 
Aw  knaw  that  the  Cockneys  crake  rum-gum-shus  chimes 

To  maek  gam  of  wor  bur  and  wor  'parel ; 
But  honest  blind  Willie  shall  string  this  iy  rhymes, 

And  aw'U  sing'd  for  a  Christmas  Carol. 

'Bout  Lunnun,  etc 
Thompson.  BeHXi  "  JfoHhem  Bards,**  1812. 


JEMMY   JONESON'S   ISTHURRY. 

niis  song,  apparently  the  last  the  aathor  wrote,  seems  not  to  have  been 
printed  during  his  lifetime.  The  earliest  copy  we  can  trace  Is  in  an  old 
chap-book,  fourth  edition  (1828),  published  by  Marshall.  As  It  is  the 
fourth,  reckoning  back,  the  first  edition  would  likely  be  published  shortly 
after  Thompson's  death,  in  1816.  Whether  through  an  error  in  the  copy,  or 
by  a  printer's  slip,  Marshall,  by  a  simple  mistake  of  two  letters,  so  marred 
the  first  line  that  its  meaning  has  been  a  puzzle  for  seventy  years.  This 
error  finally  was  corrected,  on  the  authority  of  the  author's  son,  as  told  In 
the  following  letter  :-^ 

"  From  the  Weekly  Chrcnide,  May  25th,  1889. 

'*  Mr.  R.  O.  Heslop,  in  his  NcHhumberlanA  Words,  quoting  the  opening 
line  of  'Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry," 

*  Whei  eaven  biv  the  chimlay  reek,' 
raised  the  question  what  was  the  meaning  of  cavers.    Partly  by  the  dis- 
cussion so  raised  I  got,  by  the  kindness  of  a  friend,  the  address  of  the 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  51 

author's  son,  and  his  letter  apon  the  point  is  most  interesting.  Writing  with 

pencil  (as  owing  to  an  old  wound  in  his  luiee  received  at  the  battle  of  Nara- 

rino  in  1827— which  occasionally  troubles  him— he  was  for  the  time  obliged 

to  keep  in  a  recumbent  position,^  and  so  unable  to  use  pen  and  ink),  he 

says  that  the  beginning  line,  as  at  present  in  all  collections,  is  wrong ;  it 

should  be — 

'  Whei  eoioera  biv  the  chimlay  reek.' 

Omnpare  the  two  Torsions,  how  apparent  the  improvement  made  by  the 

me  of  the  two  right  letters.    The  old  uncertain  beginning  gives  place  to 

the  natural  bold  opening— 

•Whie  (who)  cowers  biv  the  chimlay  reek, 
Begox !  it's  all  a  homy,' 

as  if  the  hero  of  the  famous  voyage  was  casting  back  some  slur  on  his 
daring  or  courage.'* 

Marshall's  unfortunate  misprint,  now  corrected,  has  been  copied  into 
more  than  our  local  collections.  Macmillan,  of  London,  published  in 
1806  an  edition  of  songs  with  music,  edited  by  John  Hullah,  and  "  Jemmy 
Joneson's  Whurry,"  with  Marshall's  mistake,  was  in  it. 

The  song  relates  to  a  time  when  steamboats  were  unknown.  Then  the 
conveyance  on  the  Tyne  was  by  wherries,  and  Jemmy  Joneson,  whose 
wherry  is  here  celebrated,  was  well  known  to  all  passengers  on  the  river,  but 
the  fame  of  Jemmy  and  his  wherry  was  soon  to  be  eclipsed.  The  Tyne 
Steam  Packet^  the  first  steamer  on  the  Tyne,  commenced  plying  on  Ascen- 
sion Day,  May  19, 1814. 

Whei  cowers  biv  the  chimlay  reek, 

Begox !  it's  all  a  homey ; 
For  thro*  the  world  aw  wisht  to  keek, 

Yen  day  when  aw  was  corney ; 
Sae,  wiv  some  varry  canny  chiels, 

All  on  the  hop,  an*  murry, 
Aw  thowt  aVd  myek  a  voyage  to  Shiels, 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 

Ye  niver  see'd  the  church  sae  scrudg'd. 

As  we  wur  there  thegither. 
An*  gentle,  semple,  throughways  nudg'd, 

Like  burdies  of  a  feather ; 
Blind  Willie  a*  wor  joys  to  croon, 

Struck  up  a  hey-down-derry. 
An*  crouse  we  left  wor  canny  toon, 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 


52  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

As  we  push'd  off,  loak  !  a'  the  Key 

To  me  seem'd  shuggy-shooin', 
An'  tho'  aVd  niver  been  at  sea, 

Aw  stuid  her  like  a  new-on. 
And  when  the  Malls  began  their  reels, 

Aw  kick'd  maw  heels  reet  murry ; 
For  faix !  aw  liked  the  voyge  to  Shiels, 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 


Quick  went  wor  heels,  quick  went  the  oars^ 

An'  where  me  eyes  wur  cassin. 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  bizzy  shores 

Cheer'd  canny  Tyne  i'  passin. 
What  1  hes  Newcassel  now  nae  end  ? 

Thinks  aw,  it's  wondrous,  vurry : 
Aw  thowt  aw'd  like  me  life  to  spend 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 

Tyne-side  seem'd  clad  wiv  bonny  ha's, 

An'  furnaces  sae  dunny ; 
Wey,  this  mun  be  what  Bible  ca's 

"  The  land  ov  milk  and  honey  I" 
If  a'  thor  things  belang'd  tiv  I, 

Aw'd  myek  the  poor  reet  murry, 
An'  cheer  the  folks  i'  gannin  by 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 


Then  on  we  went,  as  nice  as  owse, 
Till  'nenst  au'd  Lizzy  Moody's, 

A  whirlwind  cam',  an'  myed  a'  souse, 
Like  heaps  o'  babby  hoodies. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  S3 

The  heykin  myed  me  vurry  wauf, 

Me  heed  turn'd  duzzy,  vurry ; 
Me  leuks,  aw'm  sure  wad  spyen'd  a  cauf, 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 

For  hyem  an'  bairns,  an'  maw  wife  Nan, 

Aw  yool'd  oot  like  a  lubbart ; 
An'  when  aw  thowt  we  a'  shud  gan 

To  Davy  Jones's  cubbart, 
The  wind  bee-baw'd,  aw  whish'd  me  squeels, 

An'  yence  mair  a'  was  murry, 
For  seun  we  gat  a  seet  o*  Shiels, 

Frev  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 


Wor  Geordies  now  we  thrimmel'd  oot, 

An'  tread  a'  Shiels,  sae  dinny ; 
Maw  faix !  it  seems  a  canny  sprout, 

As  big  maist  as  its  minny : 
Aw  smack'd  thir  yell,  aw  clim'd  thir  bree, 

The  seet  was  wondrous,  vurry ; 
Aw  lowp'd  sec  gallant  ships  to  see 

Biv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 

To  Tynmouth  then  aw  thowt  aw'd  trudge, 

To  see  the  folks  a'  duckin ; 
Loak !  men  an'  wives  together  pludg'd, 

While  hundreds  stud  by,  luikin. 
Amang  the  rest,  aw  cowp'd  me  creels. 

Eh,  gox !  'twas  funny,  vurry ; 
An'  so  aw  end  me  voyge  te  Shiels, 

Iv  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry. 
Thompson.  JFVom  M<»r8h€Ul'»  Chap-book,  1828. 


' 


54  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

WILLIAM   PURVIS   (BLIND   WILLIE). 

"  Blind  Wyllie,  ancient  laureate  of  the  Tyne/* 

So  in  jest  Thomas  Thompson  happily  hits  off  the  "min- 
strel," poor  blind  Willie,  who,  hatless  in  all  weathers,  for 


BLIND  WILLIK 


upwards  of  half  a  century  wandered  the  streets  of  Newcastle. 
John  Stokoe,  in  "The  North-Country  Garland  of  Song,'* 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  55 

has  an  interesting  account  of  him ;  from  it  principally  we 
take  the  following : — 

^'William  Purvis,  son  of  John  Purvis,  a  waterman,  was 
born  in  Newcastle,  and  baptised  at  All  Saints'  Church, 
February  i6th,  1752.  Blind  from  his  birth,  his  drifting  to 
music  gave  him  his  living,  such  as  it  was.  Although  depend- 
ing on  the  charity  of  the  public,  street  performances  were 
rare  with  him,  his  more  general  custom  being  to  attend  some 
favourite  public-house,  where  he  never  failed  to  attract  a 
company  to  listen  to  his  fiddling  and  singing  the  old  New- 
castle ditties, 

*  Which  helped  away  wi*  mony  a  rill 
'Mang  fuddling  men  and  qneerisn  women/  " 

"Buy  Broom  Busoms"  was  his  favourite  son^.  The 
melody  is  said  to  have  been  Willie's  own  composition,  but 
of  that  Mr.  Stokoe  says  there  is  no  evidence  except  his 
partiality  for  it.  The  following  is  the  song  as  it  appears  in 
Bell's  Northern  Bards:-- 

BBOOM  BUSOHS. 

If  you  want  a  busom 

For  to  sweep  your  house, 
Come  to  me.  my  lasses, 

Ye  ma  ha  your  choose. 

Buy  broom  busoms, 
Buy  them  when  they're  new, 

Buy  broom  busoms, 
Better  never  grew. 

If  I  had  a  horse, 

I  would  have  a  cart ; 
If  I  had  a  wife, 

She  wad  take  my  part. 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

Had  I  but  a  wife, 
•  I  care  not  who  she  be ; 
If  she  be  a  woman, 
That's  enough  for  me. 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

If  she  lik'd  a  drop. 

Her  and  Td  asree  ; 
If  she  did  not  like  it, 

There's  the  more  for  me. 
Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 


56  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

To  the  foregoing  Blind  Willie  (the  native  minstrel  of 
Newcastle)  has  added  the  following  simple  rhymes  :— 

Up  the  Butcher  Bank, 

And  down  Byker  Chare ; 
There  you'll  see  the  lasses 

Selling  hrown  ware. 

Buy  hroom  busoms,  etc. 

Alang  the  Quayside, 

Stop  at  Russell's  Entry  ; 
There  you'll  see  the  beer  drawer, 

She  is  standing  sentry. 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

If  you  want  an  oyster, 

For  to  taste  your  mouth. 
Call  at  Handy  Walker's— 

He's  a  bonny  youth. 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

Call  at  Mr.  Loggie's, 

He  does  sell  good  wine ; 
There  you'll  see  the  beer  drawer, 

She  is  very  fine. 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

If  you  want  an  orange 

Ripe  and  full  of  juice, 
Gan  to  Hannah  Black's ; 

There  you'll  get  your  choose. 
Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

Call  at  Mr.  Turner's, 

At  the  Queen's  Head ; 
He'll  not  set  you  awav 

Without  a  piece  of  bread. 
Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

Down  the  river  side 

As  far  as  Dent's  Hole ; 
There  you'll  see  the  cuckolds 

Working  at  the  coaL 

Buy  broom  busoms,  etc. 

BeUes  **  Northern  BdOads.** 

Willie  had  his  regular  houses  of  call,  where  he  was  always 
welcome,  and  duly  served.  Thus  he  used  to  drop  in  on  his 
rounds  at  Messrs.  Clapham  &  Gilpin's  chemist's  shop, 
first  in  Silver  Street,  and  afterwards  in  Pilgrim  Street,  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  a  dole  of  Spanish  juice,  which  was 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  57 

never  denied  him.  His  invariable  address  was,  "Hinny, 
doctor,  gie  us  a  bit  o'  Spanish  I "  uttered  in  the  confident 
tones  of  a  simple,  guileless  boy ;  and  **  God  blish  the  kin^ — 
God  blish  the  King ;  never  sheed  him — never  sheed  him ; 
poor  shoul — poor  shoul ! "  was  his  regular  form  of  thanks- 
giving. Willie's  mother,  Margaret  Purvis,  who  died  in  All 
Saints'  poor-house,  had  reached  her  hundredth  year;  and 
Willie,  who  breathed  his  last  in  the  same  place  on  the  20th 
July  1832,  was  in  his  eighty-first  year. 

An  interesting  description  of  Blind  Willie  is  given  in  the 
Monthly  Ckrontcle^  vol  ii.  The  writer  was  in  a  public 
house  when  Blind  Willie  came  in.  "With  the  instinct 
peculiar  to  blind  people  Willie  made  his  way  instantly  to 
us.  We  rose  at  once,  and  handed  him  a  chair.  Willie's 
dress  was  generally  grey,  and  he  wore  buckles,  like  our 
keelmen  of  old.  He  always  went  without  a  hat,  and  groped 
his  way  about  wonderfully. 

"As  soon  as  Willie  got  seated,  he  said,  'Bonny  beer, 
bonny  beer.'  We  took  the  hint,  and  at  once  ordered  a  pint 
of  beer  to  be  brought  to  him.  Willie  went  on,  '  God  blish 
the  king — God  blish  the  king  ;  never  sheed  him — never 
sheed  him  ;  poor  shoul — poor  shoul  1' 

"  *  Willie,'  we  said,  after  he  had  taken  a  good  draught  of 
the  beer — *  Willie,  we  once  heard  you  sing  a  little  song. 
Will  you  kindly  repeat  it  ? ' 

" '  Shartinly,  shartinly,  ma  chewel.' 

"  Billy  puts  down  the  fiddle,  and  accompanies  a  sort  of 
chorus  by  clapping  his  knees  with  both  his  hands : — 

"  For  to  make  the  haggish  nishe 
They  put  in  some  brown  spishe. 

Tarum  tickle,  tan  dum, 

To  the  tone  o'  tan  dum, 
Tarum  tickle,  tan  dum. 

*'  And  to  make  the  haggish  fine 
They  put  in  a  bottle  of  wine. 

Tarum  tickle,  tan  dum, 

To  the  tune  o'  tan  dum, 
Tarum  tickle,  tarum  tickle  tan  dum. 

" '  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,'  chuckles  Billy  when  he  had  finished, 
'  poor  shoul,  poor  shoul ! ' " 

Perhaps  there  is  none  of  Newcastle's  eccentrics  more 
referred  to  in  local  song  than  "Blind  Willie."  Allusions 
to  him  abound.  Gilchrist  wrote  an  epitaph  on  his  death, 
a  verse  from  which  may  fittingly  conclude  this. 


6o  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

0  wondrous  indeed  is  this  bever'ge  ethereal ! 

The  mortal  who  quaffs  it,  altbo'  a  mere  clod, 
Is  straightway  transformed  to  a  being  aerial, 
And  moves  on  earth's  surface  in  fancy  a  God. 
In  a  bumper  is  given 
A  foretaste  of  Heaven, 
All  earthly  vexations  straight  cease  to  annoy ; 
Whilst  laughing  and  crying 
And  efforts  at  flying 
Bespeak  the  soul  tost  in  a  tempest  of  joy. 
For  what  can  so  nre  us  ?  etc. 

(       HastOt  haste  to  partake  on't,  ye  men  of  grave  taces. 
Ye  Quakers,  and  Methodist  parsons  liKewise  ; 
What  tho'  ye  seem  lost  to  the  flexible  graces, 
And  dormant  the  risible  faculty  lies, 
One  quaff  of  the  vapour 
Will  cause  you  to  caper, 
And  swiftly  relax  your  stiff  solemnis'd  jaws  ; 
You'll  acknowledge  the  change  too, 
As  pleasing  as  strange  too. 
And  make  the  air  ring  with  loud  ha  !  ha  1  ha !  ha's ! 
For  what  can  so  fire  us  %  etc. 

Let  gin,  rum,  and  brandy  grow  dearer  and  dearer, 

Distillers  stop  working— no  toper  will  mourn  ; 
Of  Gas  we  can  make  a  delectable  cheerer, 
Which  nor  reddeps  our  noses,  nor  livers  will  bum  ; 
Unbeholden  to  whisky 
We'll  drink  and  get  frisky. 
Nor  fear  that  to-morrow  our  temples  may  ache ; 
Neither  stomach  commotions, 
Nor  camomile  potions, 
Shall  evermore  cause  us  with  terror  to  quake. 
For  what  can  so  fire  us  ?  etc. 

Let  the  miser's  deep  coffers  be  fiU'd  to  his  mind  now, 

Let  the  man  of  ambition  with  honours  abound  ; 
Give  the  lover  his  mistress,  complying  and  kind  too, 
And  with  laurel  let  Poets  and  Heroes  be  crown'd. 
Let  all  be  blest  round  me. 
No  envy  shall  wound  me, 
Contented  and  cheerful  thro'  life  will  I  pass, 
If  fortune  befriends  me. 
And  constantly  send  me 
A  quantum  sufficit  of  Oxygen  Gas. 

For  what  can  so  fire  us  ?  etc 

This  song,  clever  as  it  is,  appears  to  have  roused  the  ire 
of  C.  P.  (one  Charles  Purvis),  who  burlesqued  it  in  the  Tyne 
Afercufy.    The  following  extracts  give  the  best  points : — 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  6i 

THE  BARDS  OF  THE  TYNE. 


Ye  sons  of  Parnassus,  whose  brains  are  inspired 
With  envy,  or  madness,  dame  dulness,  or  wine, 
Who  wish  to  be  flatter*d,  or  prais'd,  or  admir'd, 
Leave  thinking,  and  fly  to  the  banks  of  the  Tyne. 

No  wit  is  requir'd 

To  make  you  admir'd  ; 
Let  doggerel  rnn  limping  thro'  each  crippled  line ; 

No  humour  degrades 

Nor  genius  pervades 
The  verses  sublime  of  our  bards  of  the  Tyne. 


How  sweetly  the  strains 

Must  thrill  thro'  the  veins 
When  Sandgate  and  Bedlam  together  combine, 

Or  "Oxygen  Gas" 

From  the  jpipe  of  an  ass 
Rarifies  the  dense  brains  of  our  bards  of  the  Tyne. 


Even  hydras  and  bears 
Might  prick  up  their  ears, 
And  howl  out  in  concert  with  Bards  of  the  Tyne. 

This  is  smart,  and  possibly  was  intended  as  a  reply  to 
'*  The  Newcastle  Bellman,"  a  song  supposed  to  have  been 
written  by  Shield,  in  which  the  Tyne  Mercury  was  held  up 
to  ridicule.  However  this  may  be,  Shield  appears  to  have 
treated  it  with  contempt ;  but  if  he  did  not  notice  it,  another 
of  the  "  Bards  of  the  Tyne  "  (in  BelPs  Rhymes)  did.  James 
Stawpert,  a  clerk  with  Rayne  &  Burdon,  brewers,  on  the 
Quayside,  took  up  the  cudgels,  and  dealt  Purvis  (whoever 
he  was*)  a  few  smart  whacks.     Stawpert  begins — 

"  Who's  he  that  with  great  Mercury  strides 
In  imitation's  line. 
And  without  reason  thus  derides 
The  poets  of  the  Tyne  ? 

*  Since  writing  the  above,  the  following  notice  of  Charles  Purvis  has 
been  found  in  Bell's  "Notes  and  Cuttuigs": — "Charles  Purvis  came 
to  Newcastle  from  near  Otterbum,  and  after  being  schoolmaster,  and 
afterwards  clerk  to  a  merchant  upon  the  Quayside,  set  up  business 
as  a  general  merchant,  in  which  business  he  in  a  short  space  of  time 
failed,  leaving  a  few  empty  barrels  to  pay  his  creditors  with." 


62  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Who,  not  content  with  critic's  skill, 
That  lets  no  error  pass. 

In  passion's  cup  he  dips  his  auill, 
And  calls  his  brother — ass. 


He  then  warns  C.  P.  to  forbear,  as  asses  have  a  trick  of 
kicking,  and  "  OXygen  Gas  *  that  he  has  ridiculed  with  four 
letters  left  off  would 

''  make  thee  a  monst'rons  size, 
E'en  larger  than  an  ass  1 

I  think  the  appellation  suits, 

Yet  this  believe  from  me, 
Had  thou  not  been  so  fond  of  bmtes 

I'd  not  made  one  of  thee." 

There  is  also  in  the  Northern  Songster^  though  not  in 
the  dialect,  some  of  Shield's  brightest  songs.  Wars  and 
rumours  of  wars  then  filled  the  air,  volunteers  were  arming 
and  drilling  all  over.  Napoleon's  legions  were  gathering  at 
Bologne,  and  at  Newcastle  all  preparations  had  been  made 
(if  the  French  came)  to  remove  the  people  inland  to  New- 
burn.  Shield,  despite  the  gravity  of  the  times,  in  them 
found  humorous  aspects  for  his  songs.  Blackett's  Field,  just 
outside  the  town's  wall,  where  the  Central  Station  partly 
stands,  owing  to  the  crowds  attending  the  drilling  of  the 
associated  corps,  had  to  be  closed  against  the  public 
Shield,  in  his  song,  "Blackett's  Field,"  made  fun  of  the 
whole  affair.    The  following  verse  is  one  of  the  best ; — 

*'  Imagine  not  they  warriors  brave, 

To  glory  who  aspire, 
Whilst  thus  conjmd  in  Blackett's  field. 

Their  station  much  admire ! 
Ah  !  no ;  in  Heaton  cellars  they 

Would  rather  chuse  to  be 
Most  jovial,  carrying  on  the  war^ 

All  under  lock  and  key  ! " 

In  another  song,  "  O  no,  my  love,  no,"  which  appeared  in 
the  Newcastle  Chronicle^  he  thus  jests  at  the  volunteers' 
trials — 

"  Whilst  the  dread  voice  of  war  through  the  welkin  rebellows. 
And  aspects  undaunted  our  volunteers  show, 
Do  you  think,  0  my  Delia !  to  join  the  brave  fellows 
My  heart  beats  impatient  ?    0  no,  my  love,  no. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  63 

At  the  dawn  of  the  day,  their  warm  beds  still  forsaking, 
To  scamper  thro'  hogs^  or  where  prickly  whins  grow, 

When  I  view  them  of  ps^stimes  so  martial  partaking. 
Do  I  sicken  with  envy  ?    0  no,  my  love,  no. 


Soon  war  from  thy  home  may  a  fugitive  send  thee. 
Soon  give  thee  of  keels  and  their  haddocks  to  know ; 

In  the  vovage  to  Newbum  who'll  succour  and  tend  thee  ? 
Shall  the  task  be  another's  ?    0  no,  my  love,  no." 

This  song  brought  its  companion,  **  Delia's  Answer/' 
which  Bell,  in  his  *'  Notes  and  Cuttings,"  writes,  "  I  should 
also  suspect  to  be  Shield's."  The  reply  is  as  bright  as  the 
question.     Delia  thus  answers — 

<*  Whilst  the  dread  voice  of  war  thro'  our  island  rebellows. 
And  aspects  terrific  proud  Frenchmen  still  show. 
Do  you  think,  O  my  Colin !  to  join  our  brave  fellows 
I  e'er  would  forbid  you  ?    0  no,  my  love,  no. 


Boon  war  from  my  home  may  a  fugitive  send  me. 
And  which  way,  or  how,  I'm  not  anxious  to  know, 

For  111  follow  the  lads  that  are  arm'd  to  defend  me ; 
Shall  the  task  be  another's ?    0  no,  my  love,  no." 

The  concluding  song  in  the  series,  "  To  Delia,"  shows  him 
vanquished — 

"  What  though  in  tented  fields  of  war 

I  ne'er  aspir'd  to. shine, 
Nor,  when  a  glorious  maim  or  scar 

Tve  seen,  e^r  wish'd  'twas  mine, — 
Yet  now,  since  Delia  wills  it  so. 
To  share  heroic  toils  I  go, 

And  war's  dire  chances  prove. 
Determin'd  glory  to  pursue. 
To  tranquil  joys  I  bid  adieu  I — 

Heigho  I — 'tis  all  for  love  I 


Perhaps  the  Fates  may  will  it  so, 
In  battle  when  I  meet  the  foe. 

Thy  fortune,  Lutz,*  111  prove ; 
Then,  as  the  trophy  proud  I  lay 
At  Delia's  feet,  I'll  softly  say— 
Heigho  1— 'tis  all  for  love.^' 

*  Lutx,  the  soldier  who  captured  the  invincible  standard  at  the  battle  of 
Alexandria. 


64 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Perhaps  by  writing  such  songs  as  these  John  Shield  best 
replied  to  Charles  Purvis,  and  in  the  most  effective  way 
showed  the  folly  of  his  attack.  While  thus  engaged  the 
brothers  seem  to  have  been  prospering  in  business.    The 

premises  in  Middle 
Street  were  their  own. 
Not  a  vestige  of  them 
now  remains,  and  it 
is  only  by  referring  to 
old  plans  of  the  town, 
I  or  listening  to  some 
j  of  the  fast  lessening 
[  number  of  old  inhab- 
'  itants  who  recollect 
jthem,  that  an  idea 
can  be  got  of  where, 
in  all  probability, 
"My  Lord  'Size" 
was  written.  Briefly, 
^  their  shop  was  in  that 
I  lower  part  of  Middle 
]  Street  which,  extend- 
I  ing  through  the  block, 
I  would  face  that  part 
j  of  the  Cloth  Market 
I  opposite  where  the 
i  "White  Hart**  stands. 
About  the  Shields' 
I  removal  from  Middle 
J  Street  the  Monthly 
_  ^)  Chronicle^  voL  i.,  on 
^^  X  the  authority,  I  think, 
'  --  of  the  late  venerable 
Dr.  Clark,  tells  a  char- 
acteristic story : — 
"The  poet,  who  was  remarkably  quiet  and  inoffensive, 
and  full  of  *  the  milk  of  human  kindness,'  was  in  tempera- 
ment the  opposite  of  his  brother  Hugh,  who,  while  of  a 
generous  disposition,  was  fiery  in  his  temper.  Over  sixty 
years  ago,  when  the  Middle  Street  was  about  being  pulled 
down  for  improvements,  the  brothers  Shields'  shop  being 
amongst  those  condemned,  a  fussy  attorney  one  day  entered 
the  shop,  and,  unfortunately  for  himself,  was  received  by 
Mr.   Hugh.     *AhI'  said  he  rather  haughtily;  *your  shop. 


CLOTH  MARKET,  IN  SHIELD'S  TIME. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  65  . 

Mr.  Shield,  is  wanted  for  a  public  improvement,  so  you  must 
think  of  moving.  We  have  agreed  to  give  you' — naming  the 
sum.  For  a  moment  Mr.  Shield  glared  at  him,  and  then 
his  fiery  temper  burst  out :  *  YeVe  agreed  ti  giv.  Whe  are 
ye,  ye  beggar  ?  ye  shannit  hed — get  oot ! '  *  Oot '  for  the 
time  being  the  attorney  might  go,  but  the  cry  for  improve- 
ments was  not  to  be  denied.  The  shop  in  Middle  Street 
had  to  come  down,  and  they  removed  to  Market  Lane,  when, 
Hugh  Shield  having  retired  from  the  business,  it  was 
carried  on  as  John  Shield  &  Sons.  When  Hugh,  who  was 
unmarried,  retired  from  the  business,  he  bought  a  small 
estate  at  his  native  place,  Broomhaugh,  where  he  spent  the 
remainder  of  his  days.  After  his  death,  his  brother  the 
poet,  who  had  been  living  just  below  St.  Andrew's  Church, 
Newgate  Street,  then  gave  up  business  in  favour  of  his  sons, 
and  succeeded  Hugh  at  Broomhaugh,  where  on  the  6th  of 
August  1848  he  died  in  his  eightieth  year." 

The  late  venerable  Dr.  Clark,  who  died  a  few  months  ago 
in  his  eighty-sixth  year,  had  to  the  last  a  wonderfully  retentive 
memory.  He  recollected  the  author  of  "  My  Lord  'Size," 
and  described  him  as  tall  and  stout,  a  man  about  six  feet 
high,  and  proportionately  built.  With  this  description  a 
portrait  would  have  been  interesting.  It  is  understood  there 
is  one  in  existence.  We  wished  to  give  a  copy  of  it,  but 
have  not  succeeded.  Some  future  publishers,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  may  be  more  fortunate. 

Formality  or  pride  seems  to  have  troubled  John  Shield 
little.  His  free  and  easy  nature  is  shown  in  his  defence  of 
the  name  of  Jack.  A  copy  of  this,  in  manuscript,  is  in  Bell's 
"Notes  and  Cuttings";  it  also  appeared  in  No.  i  of  the 
Newcastle  Magazine  (Sykes),  there  with  the  addition  of  the 
lady's  name  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 


A  DEFENCE  OP  THE  NAME  OF  JACK. 

First  inserted  in  the  Monthly  Magcuine  for  May  1814. 

Addressed  to  Miss  Carry  oj  Dumtov, 

I  heard  you  say,  and  griev'd  to  hear, 
The  silly  name  of  Jack  your  ear 

Offended  much — good  lack  ! 
I  grant  your  JacKs  a  common  name. 
Bat  that  'tis  not  unknown  to  Fame, 

I'll  prove  t'ye  in  a  crack. 

5 


.66  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

How  many  Bards  the  praises  chant 
Of  that  great  warrior  Jack  of  Gaunt, 

Renown'd  in  English  story ! 
And  sure,  than  Jack  of  Marlbro^s  name, 
Ne'er  swell'd  the  martial  trump  of  Fame 

With  one  of  greater  glory. 

O  Albion  !  well  thy  Jacks  maintain 
The  envied  empire  of  the  main 

(A  truth  confessed  afar  this) : 
Among  the  heroes  of  the  wave, 
What  name  is  more  renown'd  or  brave, 

Than  that  of  bold  Jack  Jarvis  t 

Far,  far  above  the  tuneful  throng, 
Jack  Milton  soars,  unmatch'd  in  song, 

Bold,  too.  Jack  Drydcn  sings  ; 
Jack  Hopkins  took  King  David's  IjTe, 
And  struck  it  with  such  strength  and  Are, 

Fame  says  he  snapp'd  the  strings. 

Survey  we  now  the  British  stage, 
Around  the  Roscius  of  the  age 

The  passions  all  assemble. 
Ah  !  who  with  snch  resistless  art, 
Their  various  impulse  can  impart, 

Ab  justly  fam'd  Jack  Keniote  ? 

Amongst  the  long  robes,  do  I  see 
A  form,  Newcastle !  dear  to  thee, 

The  Chancellor  'tis,  I  wot. 
O  say,  where  shall  we  find  a  name 
Of  higher  worth  or  brighter  fame 

Than  thy  proud  boast— ./acA;  Scott  t 

Which  of  the  Philosophic  corps. 
Shall  dare  to  step  Jack  Locke  before, 

And  learning :  honours  claim  ? 
Enow  you  that  fearless  mother's  son 
Who  scourg'd  the  Dame  of  Babylon  ? 

Jack  Calvin  was  his  name. 

Behold  ambition's  sword  unblest, 
-   Deep  buried  in  Jack  Hampden's  breast. 

Freedom  !  he  fell  for  thee ! 
But  tho'  he  sunk  beneath  the  wonnd, 
His  name  shall  live,  rever'd,  renown'd, 

And  dear  to  Liberty  1 

The  patlots  fall,  no  more  I  mourn, 
To  Bunnimede's  fam'd  field  I  turn, 

Where  fancy  roves  at  will, 
There  see — ^himself  to  fate  resigning — 
Poor  old  King  Jack,  unwilling,  signing 

The  Magna  Charta  Bill. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  67 

Thus  Heroes,  Bards,  Reformers,  Sages, 
Patriots,  and  Kings,  in  various  ages, 

This  famous  name  hath  grac'd ; 
Then  quickly  your  opinion  change, 
That  you  should  not  admire  'tis  strange, 

And  shows  a  want  of  taste. 

So  Ned,  Tim,  Tom,  Will,  Kit,  Mat,  Mick, 
Jim,  Joe,  Nat,  Pat,  Ben,  Bob,  Sam,  Dick,  . 

Are  names  few  think  divine ; 
But  Jack's  a  name  so  sweet  to  hear, 
Must  charm,  methinks,  the  nicest  ear, 

Besides  'tis  also  mine  1 1 1 

Jack  Shield.  BeWs  '^CutHnga." 

According  to  the  Monthly  Chronicle^  "  Mr.  Shield's  song- 
writing  proclivities  did  not  commend  themselves  to  the 
ladies  of  his  household,  who  did  all  they  could  to  discourage 
his  poetic  flight.  It  thus  happened  that  he  generally  wrote 
his  songs  when  he  was  away  from  home  on  his  frequent 
business  journeys  in  the  country.  He  thus  accumulated  a 
great  number  of  manuscript  pieces,  which  were  never 
printed.  This  was  well  known  to  one  or  two  friends. 
When  the  furniture  and  library  at  Broomhaugh  were  sold  by 
auction,  a  near  relative  instructed  the  auctioneer  to  buy  the 
precious  manuscript,  naming  a  price  which  he  thought 
would  effectually  debar  competition.  Another  gentleman, 
however,  gave  a  commission  to  buy  the  book  at  any  price, 
and  of  course  got  it.  The  purchaser,  we  believe,  is  still 
alive.  If  this  notice  should  meet  his  eye,  it  may  be  hoped 
that  he  will  allow  at  least  a  selection  from  his  store  to  be 
given  to  the  public"    (Nothing  has  yet  appeared.) 

In  this  collection  of  dialect  songs  the  sentimental  have  no 
place,  yet  in  a  sketch  of  the  author  a  little  may  be  allowed, 
as  showing  what,  as  a  writer,  he  was  capable  of  when  away 
from  the  humorous. 


POOR  TOM,  THE  BLIND  BOY. 

In  darkness  I  wander,  led  on  hy  poor  Tray ; 

Ah  !  darkness,  whose  horrors  shiul  ne'er  pass  away ! 

The  morning,  diffusive  of  rapture  and  glee, 

Returns, — ^but  its  radiance  ne'er  breaks  upon  me ; 

To  me  it  restores  no  transition  ofjoy. 

Nor  ends  the  long  night  of  poor  Tom,  the  blind  boy ! 


68  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

My  companions  rejoice  in  the  sun's  cheering  light, 
Or  rapt'rously  hail  the  mild  glories  of  night, 
But  vainly  to  me  shines  the  bright  orb  of  day, 
And  the  moon  and  the  stars  their  effulgence  display, 
For  a  sight  of  their  splendours  I  ne'er  shall  enjoy  ; 
All  is  daxk,  empty  space  to  poor  Tom,  the  blind  boy ! 

*Tis  summer,  they  tell  me — all  nature  looks  gay ; 
Vales,  woodlands,  and  mountains,  alas  I  what  are  they  ? 
Hoarse  murmurs  discover  where  rushes  the  flood, 
And  melody  points  out  the  grove  and  the  wood  ; 
But  a  sight  of  their  beauties  I  ne'er  shall  enjoy  ; 
All  is  dark,  empty  space  to  poor  Tom,  the  blind  boy ! 

They  talk  of  bright  flow'rs  which  bespangle  the  ground, 

Of  birds  of  gay  plume  that  flit,  sportive,  around  ; 

Ah  1  the  woodbine's  sweet  fragrance,  the  lark's  cheerful  song„ 

Oft  my  sadness  beguile  as  I  wander  along ; 

But  a  sight  of  their  beauties  I  ne'er  shall  enjoy  ; 

All  is  dark,  empty  space  to  poor  Tom,  the  blind  boy ! 

0  pity  my  dreary,  my  comfortless  state  ! 
0  pity  the  want  which  embitters  my  fate  ! 
Alas  !  the  privations,  Heav'n  gives  me  to  prove. 
Your  kindness  mav  soften,  tho*  never  remove ; 
Relieve  then  (and  bright  be  the  hours  ye  enjoy !) 
The  child  of  misfortune,— poor  Tom,  the  blind  boy  X 


THE  VANISHED  ROSE  RESTORED. 

SUNG  BY  MR.    FRITH  AT  THE  NEWCASTLE  CONCERTS.. 

When  the  forked  lightnings  fly  and  thunders  roll, 

And  loud  and  fierce  the  madd'ning  tempest  raves, 
Fears  for  her  William  wake  in  Mary's  soul, 
Who,  far  at  sea,  the  rude  commotion  braves. 
But  when  the  storm  is  past, 
When  hush'd  the  angrv  blast. 
And  o*er  the  tranquil  main  the  breeze  soft'  whisp'ring  blowsy 
Blest  hope  her  soothing  balm  bestows. 
And  back  to  Mary's  cheek  restores  the  vanish'd  Rose. 

Or  when  the  wintry  wind's  terrific  roar. 
Dread  yawns  the  deep,  the  mountain-biUows  rise, 

And  foaming  surges  dash  along  the  shore. 
Then  tears  of  anguish  stream  from  Mary's  eyes. 
But  when  the  storm,  etc. 

Or  when  a  tale  of  shipwreck  dire  she  hears, 

Thro'  all  her  frame  a  chilly  horror  creeps, 
The  sad  recital  wakes  a  thousand  fears, 

And  for  her  absent  love,  forlorn,  she  weeps. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  69 

Bat  see  !  a  ship  appears ! 

And,  smiling  thro'  her  tears, 
Far  o*er  the  tranquil  main  a  wishful  look  she  throws. 
Her  William's  signal  now  she  knows  ; 
And  whilst  her  gentle  breast  with  love  and  rapture  glows, 
Straight  back  to  Mary's  cheek  returns  the  vanish'd  Kose. 

MarihaXCi  **N<nrthem  Minttrel,"  1807. 

With  these  graver  efforts  of  Shield's  fancy  this  sketch 
may  close  ;  only  adding  that  over  fifty  years  ago  the  Shields 
left  Mafket  Lane  for  the  top  of  Dean  Street.  At  the  end  of 
1890  they  sold  the  Dean  Street  premises,  and  thus  closed — 
after  existing  for  nearly  a  hundred  years — the  old  business 
connection  of  the  author  of  "My  Lord  'Size"  and  his 
descendants  with  Newcastle. 

To  give  a  copy  of  the  poet's  autograph,  inquiry  was  made  at  the  Probate 
Court,  Durham,  for  his  will ;  no  will  of  his  was  there,— in  all  probability  it 
had  been  proved  at  Doctors'  Commons,  London. 


THE   BORTHIY   GEATSIDERS,   1805. 

"  *  The  Bonny  Oeatsiders,'  a  song  in  praise  of  the  Gateshead  Volunteers,  a 
corps  raised  this  war  under  the  command  of  Cuthbert  Ellison,  Esq.,  of 
Hebbum. " — Bell. 

Air— "Bob  Crankey." 

Come,  marrows,  we've  happened  to  meet  now, 
Sae  our  thropples  together  we'll  weet  noo ; 
Aw've  myed  a  new  sang, 
And  to  sing  ye't  aw  lang, 
For  it's  about  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

Of  a'  the  fine  Volunteer  corpses, 
Whether  footmen  or  ridin  o'  horses, 

'Tween  the  Tweed  an'  the  Tees, 
•  De'il  ha'e  them  that  sees, 
Sic  a  corps  as  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

Whilk  amang  them  can  mairch,  turn,  an'  wheel  sae  ? 

Whilk  their  guns  can  wise  oflf  half  sae  weel  sae  ? 
Nay,  for  myekin  a  crack 
Through  England,  aw'U  back 
The  corps  of  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 


70  TYNESIDE  SONOS. 

When  the  time  for  parading  nigh  hand  grows, 
A'  wesh  theirsels  clean  i'  the  sleek  troughs ; 
Fling  off  their  black  duddies, 
Leave  hammers  and  studdies, 
And  to  drill  run  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

To  Newcassel,  for  three  weeks  up-stannin, 
On  Permanent  Duty  they're  gannin'; 

And  sune  i*  the  papers 

We's  read  a'  the  capers 
O'  the  corps  o'  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

The  Newcasel  cheps  fancy  theyVe  clever, 
And  are  vauntin'  and  bragging  for  ever ; 

But  they'll  find  theirsels  wrang, 

If  they  think  they  can  bang 
At  soug'rin'  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

The  Gen'ral  sail  see  they  can  loup  dykes, 
Or  mairch  thro'  whins,  lair  whooles,  and  deep  sykes ; 
Nay,  to  soom  (at  a  pinch) 
Through  Tyne  wand'ent  flinch, 
The  corps  of  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

Sum  think  Billy  Pitt's  nobbit  hummin', 
When  he  tells  aboot  Bonnepart  cummin'; 

But  cum  when  he  may. 

He'll  lang  rue  the  day 
He  first  meets  wi'  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 

Like  an  anchor  shank,  smash  !  how  they'll  clatter  'im. 
And  turn  'im,  and  skelp  'im,  and  batter  'im ; 

His  banes  sail,  by  pring ! 

Like  a  frying-pan  ring, 
When  he  meets  wi'  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  71 

Let  them  ance  get  'im  into  thor  taings  weel, 
Nae  fear  but  they'll  give  'im  his  whaings  weel ; 
And  te  Hazlett's*  Pond  bring  *im, 
And  there  in  chains  hing  'im — 
What  a  seet  for  the  Bonny  Geatsiders. 


Now,  marrows,  to  show  we're  a'  loyal, 
And  that  wi'  the  King  and  Blood  Royal, 
We'll  a'  soom  or  sink, 
Quairts  a-piece  let  us  drink 
To  the  brave  and  the  Bonny  Geatsiders  I 

Shield.  BelXi  *'  Northern  Bardt,  1812. ' 


MT   liORD   'SIZE;     OR,    NElZirCASTLE   IN   AN 
UPROAR. 

In  former  times  it  was  customary  for  ttie  Judges  to  go  in  the  town's 
tMtrge,  attended  by  the  Mayor  and  others  of  the  Corporation,  to  Tynemouth. 
On  one  of  the  occasions,  some  years  ago,  one  of  the  Judges  in  stepping  into 
or  from  the  barge,  slipped  into  the  water.  This  gave  rise  to  the  very 
Indicrons  song  entitled,  "  My  Lord  'Size." 

The  jailor  for  trial  had  brought  up  a  thief, 

Whose  looks  seem'd  a  passport  for  Botany  Bay; 
The  lawyers,  some  with  and  some  wanting  a  brief. 

Around  the  green  table  were  seated  so  gay; 
Grave  jurors  and  witnesses  waiting  a  call : 

Attornies  and  clients,  more  angry  than  wise, 
With  strangers  and  town's-people  throng'd  the  Guildhall, 

All  waiting  and  gaping  to  see  my  Lord  'Size. 

*  A  pond  on  Gbiteshead  Fell,  so  named  on  account  of  the  body  of  Robert 
Haadett  being  hung  in  chains  there,  September  1770. 


72  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Oft  stretch'd  were  their  necks,  oft  erected  their  ears, 

Still  fancying  they  heard  of  the  trumpets  the  sound, 
When  tidings  arrived  which  dissolved  them  in  tears, 

That  my   Lord  at  the   dead-house  was  then   lying 
drown'd ! 
Straight  left  tHe-drttte  where  the  jailor  and  thie^ 

The  horror-struck  crowd  to  the  dead-house  quick  hies, 
E'en  the  lawyers,  forgetful  of  fee  and  of  brie^ 

Set  oflf,  helter  skelter,  to  view,  my  Lord  'Size. 

And  now  the  Sandhill  with  the  sad  tidings  rings, 

And  the  tubs  of  the  taties  are  left  to  take  care ; 
Fish-women  desert  their  crabs,  lobsters,  and  lings. 

And  each  to  the  dead-house  now  runs  like  a  hare. 
The  glassmen,  some  naked,  some  clad,  heard  the  news, 

And  off  they  ran  smoking,  like  hot  mutton  pies ; 
Whilst  Castle  Garth  tailors,  like  wild  kangaroos, 

Came  tail-on-end  jumping,  to  see  my  Lord  'Size. 

The  dead-house  they  reach'd,  where  his  Lordship  they 
found, 

Pale^  stretched  on  a  plank,  like  themselves   out  of 
breath ; 
The  Crowner  and  Jury  were  seated  around. 

Most  gravely  enquiring  the  cause  of  his  death. 
No  haste  did  they  seem  in,  their  task  to  complete. 

Aware  that  from  hurry  mistakes  often  rise; 
Or  wishful,  perhaps,  of  prolonging  the  treat 

Of  thus  sitting  in  judgment  upon  my  Lord  'Size. 

Now  the  Mansion-house  butler  thus  gravely  depos'd — 
"  My  Lord  on  the  terrace  seem'd  studying  his  charge, 

And  when  (as  I  thought)  he  had  got  it  composed. 
He  went  down  the  stairs  and  examined  the  barge. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  73 

First  the  stem  he  surveyed,  then  inspected  the  stern, 
Then  handled  the  tiller  and  looked  mighty  wise ; 

But  he  made  a  false  step  when  about  to  return, 

And  souse  in  the  river  straight  tumbled  Lord  'Size." 

Now  his  narrative  ended, — the  butler  retir'd, 

Whilst  Betty  Watt  mutt'ring  (half  drunk)   thro'  her 
teeth, 
Declared  **  in  her  breest  greet  consarn  it  inspir'd, 

That  my  Lord  should  se  cuUishly  come  by  his  deeth." 
Next  a  keelman  was  called  on,  Bold  Archy  his  name, 

Who  the  book  as  he  kiss'd  shew'd  the  whites  of  his 
eyes, 
Then  he  cut  an  odd  caper,  attention  to  claim. 

And  this  evidence  gave  them  respecting  Lord  'Size. 

"  Aw  was  setten  the  keel,  wi'  Dick  Stavers  an'  Matt, 

An'  the  Mansion-hoose  stairs  we  were  just  alangside, 
When  we  a'  three  see'd  something,  but  didn't  ken  what. 

That  was  splashing  and  labbering  aboot  i'  the  tide. 
*  It's  a  fluiker,'  ki  Dick ;  *  No,'  ki  Matt,  *  it's  owre  big,' 

It  luik'd  mair  like  a  skyat  when  aw  first  see'd  it  rise, 
Kiv  aw — for  aw'd  gettin  a  gliff  o'  the  wig — 

God's  marcy  !  wye,  marrows,  becrike,  it's  Lord  'Size. 

*^  Sae  I  huik'd  him  an'  hawl'd  him  suin  into  the  keel. 

An'  o'  top  'o  the  huddock  aw  rowl'd  him  aboot ; 
An'  his  belly  aw  rubb'd,  an'  aw  skelp'd  his  back  weel, 

But  the  wayter  he'd  drucken  it  wadn't  run  oot 
Sae  aw  browt  him  ashore  here,  an'  doctors,  in  vain, 

Forst  this  way,  then  that,  to  recover  him  tries ; 
For  ye  see  there  he's  lyin'  as  deed  as  a  stane. 

An'  that's  a'  aw  can  tell  ye  aboot  my  Lord  'Size." 


74  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Now  the  Jury  for  close  consultation  retir'd  : 

Some  ^^  Death  AcddentaP^  were  willing  to  find, 
Some  ^^God^s  Visitation "  most  eager  required, 

And  some  were  for  ^^  Fell  in  the  River  ^'  inclined. 
But  ere  on  their  verdict  they  all  were  agreed. 

My  Lord  gave  a  groan  and  wide  open'd  his  eyes ; 
Then  the  coach  and  the  trumpeters  came  with  great 
speed, 

And  back  to  the  Mansion-house  carried  Lord  'Size. 

Shield.  Marshall's  "Northern  Minstrel,"  1806. 


BOB    CRANKEY'S    ADIEU. 

When  going  with  the  Volunteer  Association  from  Gateshead  to  New- 
castle on  Permanent  Duty. 

**  Set  to  music  by  Thomas  Train,  of  Gateshead,  and  sung  by  him  at  many 
public  dinners  in  Newcastle  and  Gateshead.  He  humoured  this  song  much, 
and  it  became  a  great  faTourite." — Bell. 

Tune— "The  Soldier's  Adieu.- 

Fareweel,  fareweel,  ma  comely  pet ! 

Aw's  fourc'd  three  weeks  to  leave  thee ; 
Aw's  doon  iox  parnCent  duty  set, 

Oh  dinna  let  it  grieve  thee. 
Ma  hinny !  wipe  them  e'en,  sae  breet. 

That  mine  wi'  love  did  dazzle  ; 
When  thy  heart's  sad,  can  mine  be  leet  ? 
Come,  ho'way,  get  a  jill  o'  beer 
Thy  heart  to  cheer ; 
An'  when  thou  sees  me  mairch  away, 
Whiles  in,  whiles  oot 
O'  step,  nae  doot ; 
"Bob  Crankey's  gane,"  thou'lt  sobbing  say, 
I  "  A-sougering  to  Newcassel !  " 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  n 

Come,  dinna,  dinna  whinge  an'  whipe, 

Like  yammering  Isbel  Macky; 
Cheer  up,  ma  hinny!  leet  thy  pipe, 

And  take  a  blast  o'  baccy. 
It's  but  for  yen  an'  twenty  days, 
The  folks's  een  awll  dazzle — 
Prood,  swagg*rin  i'  my  fine  reed  claes. 

Ods  heft !  my  pit  claes — dist  thou  hear  ? 
Are  waurse  o'  wear ; 
Mind  cloot  them  weel  when  aw's  away, 
An*  a  posie  goon 
Aw'U  buy  thee  soon, 
An'  thou's  drink  thy  tea — ^aye  twice  a-day. 
When  aw  come  frae  Newcassel. 

Becrike !  aw's  up  tiv  every  rig, 
Sae  dinna  doot,  my  hinny ! 
But  at  the  Blue  stane  o'  the  Brig 
Aw'U  hae  my  mairching  Ginny. 
A  Ginny !  wuks !  sae  strange  a  seet, 

Ma  een  wi'  joy  will  dazzle ; 
But  aw'll  hed  spent  that  verra  neet — 

For  money,  hinny !  owre  neet  to  keep, 
Wad  brick  my  sleep  : 
Sae  smash  !  aw  think'st  a  wiser  way, 
Wi'  flesh  and  beer 
Mysel  to  cheer, 
The  lang  three  weeks  that  aw've  to  stay 
A-sougering  at  Newcassel. 

But  whisht !  the  sairgent's  tongue  aw  hear, 

"Fa'  in,  fa'  in,"  he's  yelpin; 
The  fifes  are  whuslin'  lood  an'  clear, 

An'  sair  the  drums  they're  skelpin. 


76  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Fareweel,  ma  comely !  aw  mun  gang 

The  gen'rals  e'en  to  dazzle ! 
But,  hinny,  if  the  time  seems  lang, 

An'  thou  freets  about  me  neet  an'  day. 

Then  come  away, 
Seek  out  the  yell-house  where  aw  stay, 

An'  we'll  kiss  an'  cuddle ; 

An'  mony  a  fuddle 
Sail  drive  the  langsome  hours  away 
When  sougering  at  NewcasseL 

Shield.  Marghdll '«  "  Northern  Minstrel,"  1807* 


THE   BARBER'S    NEIZirS; 

OR,     SHIELDS    IN    AN     UPROAR. 

Stephen  Kemble,  the  hero  of  this  song,  wa«  the  only  actor  who  conld  play 
the  character  of  Falstaff  without  increasing  his  natural  rotundity  by  means 
of  ituffing.  The  enoimous  bulk  of  this  gentleman  afforded  a  weighty  subject 
for  the  joke  of  the  poet,  and  the  temptation  could  not  be  resisted.  He  died 
on  June  6th,  1822,  in  his  64th  year,  at  the  Grove,  near  Durham.  He  was 
formerly  manager  of  the  Theatres  Royal,  Newcastle,  Glasgow,  and  Edin- 
burgh. He  also  possessed  considerable  literary  talent,  having  wrote 
various  addresses,  songs,  etc.,  which  appeared  in  different  journals.  Mr. 
Kemble's  remains  were  interred  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Nine  Altars,  at  the 
east  end  of  Durham  Cathedral,  on  the  north  side  of  the  shrine  of  St. 
Cnthbert. 

Tune—"  O  the  Golden  Days  of  good  Queen  Bess." 

Great  was  the  consternation,  amazement,  and  dismay, 

Sir, 
Which,  both  in  North  and  South  Shields,  prevailed  the 

other  day,  Sir ; 
Quite  panic-struck  the  natives  were,  when  told  by  the 

barber. 
That  a  terrible  Sea-Monster  had  got  into  the  harbour. 
**  Have  you  heard  the  news,  Sir?  "    "What  news,  pray, 

Master  Barber?" 
"  Oh,  a  terrible  Sea-Monster  has  got  into  the  harbour." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  77 

Now,  each  honest  man  in  Shields — I  mean  both  North 

and  South,  Sir — 
Delighting  in  occasions  to  expand  their  eyes  and  mouth. 

Sir, 
And,  fond  of  seeing  marv'lous  sights,  ne'er  staid  to  get 

his  beard  off, 
But  ran  to  view  the  monster,  its  arrival  when  he  heard  of* 
Oh,  who  could  think  of  shaving,  when  informed  by  the 

barber, 
That  a  terrible  Sea-Monster  had  got  into  the  harbour  ? 

Each   wife   pursued   her   husband,  and  every  child   its 

mother. 
Lads    and  lasses,   helter-skelter,   scamper'd    after    one 

another ; 
Shopkeepers  and  mechanics,  too,   forsook  their  daily 

labours, 
And  ran  to  gape  and  stare  among  their  gaping,  staring 

neighbours. 
All  crowded  to  the  river-side,  when  told  by  the  barber^ 
That  a  terrible  Sea-Monster  had  got  into  the  harbour. 

It  happens  very  frequently  that  barbers'  news  is  fiction^ 

Sir, 
But  the  wond'rous  news  this  morning  was  truth,  no  con- 
tradiction. Sir: 
A  something  sure  enough  was  there,  among  the  billows 

flouncing, 
Now  sinking  in  the  deep  profound,  now  on  the  surface 
bouncing. 
True  as  Gazette  or  Gospel  were  the  tidings  of  the 

barber. 
That  a  terrible  Sea-Monster  had  got  into  the  harbour. 


78  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Some  thought  it  was  a  Shark,  Sir ;  a  Porpus  some  con- 
ceived it ; 
Some  said  it  was   a    Grampus;    and   some  a  Whale 

believed  it ; 
Some  swore  it  was  a  Sea-Horse,  then  owned  themselves 

mistaken, 
For,  now  they'd  got  a  nearer  view,  'twas  certainly  a 
Kraken. 
Each  sported  his  opinion,  from  the  parson  to  the 

barber. 
Of  the  terrible   Sea-Monster  they  had  got    in    the 
harbour. 

"Belay,  belay,"  a  sailor  cried,  "what's  that,  this  thing  a 

kraken ! 
Tis  no  more  like  one — split  my  jib  ! — than  it  is  a  flitch 

of  bacon ! 
I've  often  seen  a  hundred  such,  all  sporting  in  the  Nile, 

Sir, 
And  you  may  trust  a  sailor's  word,  it  is  a  Crocodile,  Sir." 
Each  straight  to  Jack  knocks  under,  from  the  parson 

to  the  barber. 
And  all  agreed  a  Crocodile  had  got  into  the  harbour. 

Yet  greatly  Jack's  discovery  his  auditors  did  shock.  Sir, 
For  they  dreaded  that  the  Salmon  would  be  eat  up  by 

the  Croc,  Sir : 
When    presently    the     Crocodile,    their    consternation 

crowning, 
Raised  its  head  above  the  waves,  and  cried,  "Help! 
O  Lord,  I'm  drowning !  " 
Heavens !  how  their  hair.  Sir,  stood  on  end,  from  the 

parson  to  the  barber. 
To  find  a  Speaking  Crocodile  had  got  into  the  harbour. 


TYNMSIDE  SONGS.  79 

This  dreadful  exclamation  appall'd  both  young  and  old, 

Sir, 
In  the  very  stoutest  hearts,  indeed,  it  made  the  blood 

run  cold,  Sir ; 
Ev'n  Jack,  the  hero  of  the  Nile,  it  caused  to  quake  and 

tremble, 
Until  an  old  wife,  sighing,  cried,  **  Alas !    'tis  Stephen 
Kemble!" 
Heav'ns !  how  were  all  astonished,  from  the  parson  to 

the  barber, 
To  find  that  Stephen  Kemble  was  the  monster  in  the 
harbour. 

Strait  crocodilish  fears  gave  place  to  manly,  gen'rous 

strife,  Sir, 
Most  willingly  each  lent  a  hand  to  save  poor  Stephen's 

life.  Sir; 
They  dragg'd  him,  gasping,  to  the  shore,  impatient  for 

his  history. 
For  how  he  came  in  that  sad  plight  to  them  was  quite  a 
mystery. 
Tears  glisten'd,  Sir,  in  every  eye,  from  the  parson  to 

the  barber. 
When,  swoFn  to  thrice  his  natural  size,  they  dragged 
him  from  the  harbour. 

Now,  having  roll'd  and  rubb'd  him  well  an  hour  upon 

the  beach.  Sir, 
He  got  upon  his  legs  again,  and  made  a  serious  speech, 

Sir: 
Quoth  he,  "  An  ancient  proverb  says,  and  true  it  will  be 

found,  Sirs, 
Those  bom  to  prove  an  airy  doom  will  surely  ne'er  be 

drown'd,  Sirs : 


8o  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

For  Fate,  Sirs,  has  us  all  in  tow,  from  the  monarch  to 

the  barber. 
Or  surely  I  had  breathed  my  last  this  morning  in  the 

harbour. 

"  Resolved  to  cross  the  River,  Sirs,  a  sculler  did  I  get 

into — 
(May  Jonah's  ill-luck  be  mine,  another  when  I  step  into  f) 
Just  when  we'd  reach'd  the  deepest  part,  O  horror !  there 

it  founders. 
And  down  went  poor  Pilgarlick  amongst  the  crabs  and 
flounders ! 
But  Fate,  that  keeps  us  all  in  tow,  from  the  monarch 

to  the  barber, 
Ordain'd  I  should  not  breathe  my  last  this  morning  in 
the  harbour. 

"I've  broke  down  many  a  stage  coach,  and  many  a 

chaise  and  gig.  Sirs ; 
Once,  in  passing  through  a  trap-hole  I  found  myself  too 

big,  Sirs ; 
I've  been  circumstanc'd  most  oddly,  while  contesting  hard 

a  race.  Sirs, 
But  ne'er  was  half  so  frightened  as  among  the  Crabs  and 
Plaice,  Sirs. 
O  Fate,  Sirs,  keeps  us  all  in  tow,  from  the  monarch  ta 

the  barber. 
Or  certainly  I'd  breath'd  my  last  this  morning  in  the 
harbour. 

"  My  friends,  for  your  exertions,  my  heart  o'erflows  with 

gratitude ; 
O  may  it  prove  the  last  time  you  find   me  in   that 

latitude ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  8i 

God  knows  with  what  mischances  dire  the  future  may  ,  ^ 

abound,  Sirs, 
But  I  hope  and  trust  I*m  one  of  those  not  fated  to  be 
drowned,  Sirs." 
Thus  ended  his  oration,  Sir,  I  had  it  from  the  barber, 
And,  dripping  like  some  River  God,  he  slowly  left  the 
harbour. 

Ye  men  of  North  and  South  Shields  too,  God  send  you 

all  prosperity! 
May  your  commerce  ever  flourish,  your  stately  ships  still      \ 

crowd  the  sea  I 
UnrivalPd  in  the  Coal  Trade,  till  doomsday  may  you 

stand.  Sirs ! 
And,  every  hour,  fresh  wonders  your  eyes  and  mouths 
expand.  Sirs ! 
And  long  may  Stephen  Kemble  live !  and  never  may 

the  barber 
Mistake  him  for  a  monster  more,  deep  floundering  in 

the  harbour ! 
Shield.  BeWs  "  NortJiern  Bards,**  1812, 


CULL,    ALIAS   SILLY    BILLY. 

William  Scott,  commonly  called  Cull  Billy,  was  a  native 
of  Newcastle,  wi.ere  he  resided  along  with  his  mother,  a  poor 
old  woman  who  made  her  living  by  hawking  wooden  ware. 
She,  like  her  son,  was  an  object  of  distress,  being  not  above 
four  feet  high.  Billy  oft  excited  compassion  while  reciting 
(which  he  did  with  a  great  degree  ot  exactness  and  in  such  a 
distinct  and  clear  manner  as  to  surprise  many)  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  several  other  prayers,  passages  of  Scripture,  etc,  to 
a  numerous  audience  ot  boys,  who  generally  repaid  his 
endeavours  for  their  welfare  with  a  shower  of  dirt  or  stones. 
Despite  his  weakness  several  have  felt  the  power  of  Billy's 

6 


82  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

wit,  which  on  some  occasions  has  been  very  severe.     Once 

when  a  person  of  the  name  of (not  one  of  the  wisest 

beings  in  the  world)  came  swaggering  out  of  a  tavern  while 
Billy  was  haranguing  the  mob  at  the  door« — "  Stand  out  of 
the  way,"  cries  this  would-be  great  man.  "  Stand  out  of  the 
way,  I  never  give  place  to  fools."  "  But  I  do,"  cries  Billy, 
bowing,  and  instantly  stepped  on  the  pavement.  Another 
illustration  of  Billy's  ready  wit  is  found  in  Robert.  Emery's 
songs.     He  calls  it 

CULL  billy's  prize. 

As  Billy  Scott  was  on  the  trot 

Along  the  Pudding  Chare, 
A  shilling  on  the  pavement  lay, 

Which  Billy  soon,  with  care, 
Into  his  breeches  pocket  put, 

And  trotted  on  with  glee  ; 
A  wag,  who'd  seen  him  stoop,  cried  out, 

"  Hohl !  that  belongs  to  me  I  " 

Poor  Billy  gravely  turned  about, 

And  thus  did  him  accost— 
"Can  you,  upon  your  honour,  say. 

You  have  a  sixpence  lost  ? " 
"  I  have  indeed,"  the  wag  replied ; 

Said  Bill,  "  I  must  away  ! 
See,  'tis  a  shilling  I  have  found  !  " 

So,  thank  you,  sir— good-day." 

Billy  died  at  St.  John's  Poor-house  on  the  31st  July  1831, 
aged  68  years. 


REPEREIffCES  TO  OLD  PLAIH  on  opposite  page. 

The  whUe  spots  on  the  Plan  opposite  mark  places  of  interest  connected 
with  the  writers  in  this  volume : — 
William  Armstrong  bom.    Spot  lower  right-hand  comer. 
Robert  Nunn  died.    Spot  a  little  above  lower  left-hand  comer. 
Bewick's  workshop ;  afterwards  ] 
William  H.  Dawson's  workshop. 
Thomas  Thompson's  shop.    Spot  Groat  Market,  Middle  Street  side. 
James  Morrison  bom.    Highest  spot  Groat  Market. 
John  Shield's  shop.    Lowest  spot  Cloth  Market,  Middle  Street  aide. 
George  Cameron's  shop.    Spot  Cloth  Market— near  pant. 
William  Ouver's  shop.   Spot  comer  of  Cloth  Market  and  High  Bridge. 
John  Cunningham  died.    Spot  Union  Street,  opposite  Oliver,  higher  up. 


I  Spot  St.  Nicholas'  Churchyard. 


^Vown  OKtfi'i  Plan  eif  KeweattUt  1830. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


JOHN   SELKIRK. 


By  his  misfortunes,  by  the  wretchedness  and  want  of  his 
later  years,  and  his  tragic  death,  John  Selkirk  may  be 
called  the  Otway  of  the  local 
muse.  He  was  the  youngest 
of  the  famous  three — Thompson, 
Shield,  and  Selkirk  —  who,  ap- 
parently without  concert,  simul- 
taneously are  found  singing  of  the 
scenes  around  them  in  the  dialect 
as  they  heard  it,  and  so  giving,  to 
what,  up  to  that  time,  had  been 
considered  as  less  than  "airy 
jf""^^^^^^KL  M  nothings  " — "  a  local  habitation  and 
^  J^^^^^^B'  "fl  a  name."  Nearer  to  Newcastle 
than  either  Thompson  or  Shield, 
Selkirk  appears  to  have  been  bom 
just  over  "the  blue  stane  o'  the 
brig."  Although  born  in  Gates- 
head, to  Newcastle  he  really  be- 
longed, his  father,  George  Selkirk, 
being  a  hairdresser  in  the  Close. 
The  Close  then,  with  the  old  Man- 
sion House,  the  residence  of  the 
Mayor  of  the  year,  was  something 
widely  different  from  what  it  is  now, 
and  Selkirk's  father  would  really  be 
in  one  of  the  best  business  parts  of 
the  town,  and,  from  what  else- 
where appears,  a  man  in  a  good 
position. 

Of  Selkirk's  early  life  we  have 
little  trace.  According  to  a  manu- 
script memorandum  in  BelTs 
"  Notes  and  Cuttings,"  he  was  a  clerk  with  Messrs.  Straker 
&  Boyd,  Quayside.  In  all  probability  he  began  his  writing 
early.  "Bob  Cranky" — bragging  Bob — about  whom  he. 
gives  us  several  songs,  is  in  the  form  of  a  broad-sheet  in 

*  This  famous  stone,  formerly  on  the  old  Tjme  Bridge,  was  the  dividing  ' 
mark  which  separated  Northumberland  from  Durham ;  it  is  a  block  of 
granite  six  feet  long,  fourteen  and  a-half  inches  wide,  and  nine  inches 
thick.    It  was  presented  by  Alderman  Call  to  the  Antiquarian  Society,  1887. 


THE  BLUE  STONE.* 

Photographed  by  Laws. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  85 

Bell's  *'  Cuttings."  It  is  undated,  but  amongst  others  with 
the  date  1803.  Selkirk  then  would  be  just  over  twenty. 
The  song  is  there  called  "  The  Original  Bob  Cranky,"  and 
though  full  of  minor  variations,  is  essentially  the  ''Bob 
Cranky's  'Size  Sunday"  as  we  now  have  it.     It  opens — 

**  Ye  may  luke  amang  a*  your  fine  vewera, 
Amang  banksmen  and  putters  and  hewers, 
Ye'll  not  find  a  fellow 
Drest  in  blue  and  yellow 
That  Inkes  owt  se  fine  as  Bob  Cranky* 

On  flesh  and  breed  day  at  Newcassel, 
Wi'  fine  coat  and  buttons  that  dazzel, 

The  little  hairns  cry — 

Bonny,  bonny,  ni,  ni, 
When  they  se  the  smart,  clever  Bob  Cranky." 

It  is  in  the  Northern  Minstrel^  or  Gateshead  Songster^ 
1806-7,  that  we  first  trace  his  songs  with  a  definite  date. 
This  Minstrel  appears  to  have  been  published  in  four 
parts.  Part  I.  is  dated  September  1806,  and  contains 
nothing  but  the  run  of  comic  and  sentimental  songs  of 
the  day.  Part  II.  is  dated  October  1806 ;  and  in  it 
we  have  Shield's  famous  "  Lord  'Size."  In  his  preface 
the  editor  says  he  has  been  favoured  with  several  pro- 
vincial son^Sy  "some  of  which  it  must  be  allowed  have 
considerable  merit,"  and  promises  the  senders  of  such 
one  or  more  copies  of  the  book  in  which  their  songs 
may  appear,  and  finishes  by  hopmg  "  some  mute,  inglorious 
Milton "  may  through  his  pages  obtain  ''a  local  habitation 
and  a  name."  At  the  end  of  his  preface,  returning  to  the 
local,  in  italics  he  adds,  "  Several  curious  provincial  songs 
have  been  received,  which  will  appear  in  the  third  part."  In 
Part  III.  the  curious  provincial  songs  promised  evidently 
appear,  as  in  it  *'  Blackett's  Field,"  and  several  of  Shield's 
serio-comic  songs  appear.  The  fourth  part  is  undated, 
but  would  be  in  1807.  In  that  the  first  song  is  "Bob 
Cranky's  'Size  Sunday,"  by  J.  S.,  Gateshead.  This  song 
is  immediately  followed  by  "Swalwell  Hoppin',"  but  to 
that  song  there  is  neither  name  nor  initials.  This 
omission,  however,  is  supplied  by  Bell's  Rhymes  of 
Northern  Bards,  18 12,  where  "Swalwell  Hoppin'"  is 
given  with  the  initials,  J.  S.,  Gateshead,  and  "  Bob 
Cranky's  'Size  Sunday"  has  the  author's  full  name,  John 
Selkirk.  His  next  song,  "  Bob  Cranky's 'Leum'nation  Neet," 
we  find  in  the    Tyne  Mercury,   June   7th,    1814;    it  is  in 


86  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

celebration  of  the  general  peace  of  that  year,  and  has  the 
initial  *'  S."  After  this  we  trace  no  more  songs ;  he  appears 
to  have  gone  to  London,  and  there  carried  on  business  as  a 
merchant  About  1830  he  is  back  again  to  Newcastle,  his 
London  career  evidently  a  failure,  as  he  is  in  poor  cir- 
cumstances. Little  more  is  known  about  him,  until  his 
melancholy  death  for  a  while  arrested  public  attention. 
The  account  of  his  death,  perhaps,  had  better  be  given  in 
the  report  of  the  inquest  as  it  appeared  in  the  Newcastle 
Chronicle,  Novfember  i8th,  1843: — 

"  Before  William  Stoker,  coroner  for  the  fiorough. 
"  Another  inquest  was  held  on  Monday,  and  by  adjournment  on 
Tuesday  (at  the  dead>house),  on  the  body  of  John  Selkirk,  aged  60, 
who  fell  into  the  river  near  Sandgate  on  Saturday  evening,  and 
was  drowned.  The  deceased  was  a  person  of  singular  habits  and 
disposition,  and  had  lormerly  been  a  respectable  merchant  in 
London ;  but  latterly  was  so  reduced  in  circumstances  as  to  subsist 
upon  the  charity  of  the  benevolent.  For  some  time  past  he  had 
slept  at  nights  on  the  shavings  of  a  joiner's  shop  in  Sandgate,  and 
refused  to  accept  parochial  relief.  On  Saturday  evening  he  was 
observed  10  carry  a  tin  bottle  to  the  river  to  obtain  water,  when  he 
unfortunately  fell  in.     Verdict — accidental  death." 

This  account  is  brief,  but  the  other  Newcastle  papers,  the 
Courant  and  the  Journal^  give  still  less,  and  add  nothing  to 
the  facts  above. 

In  Songs  and  Ballads  for  the  People,  1853,  there  is  a 
brief  sketch  of  Selkirk,  and  some  interesting  additional 
particulars  of  the  inquest  are  given  by  John  Bell,  land 
surveyor,  Gateshead  : — 

"James  Selkirk,  merchant's  clerk,  Bell's  Court,  Pilgrim  Street, 
brother  of  the  poet,  gave  evidence,  but  did  not  know  what  his 
brother  had  been  doing  since  (about  thirteen  years  ago)  he  had 
returned  from  London.  Andrew  Heslop,  St.  Ann's  Street,  was 
the  joiner  in  whose  shop  amongst  the  shavings  poor  Selkirk  had 
slept  since  May  : — "  He  asked  me  to  let  him  sleep  in  my  workshop 
amongst  the  shavings."  He  left  him  in  the  shop  about  five 
o'clock,  and  did  not  see  him  again  until  after  he  was  drowned 
— about  eight  o'clock.  To  his  honour,  Mr.  David  Hamilton 
Wilson,  a  guardian  of  the  poor,  hearing  of  Selkirk's  distress, 
visited  him  and  offered  him  relief,  which  he  respectfully  but  firmly 
declined.  About  a  month  afterwards  Selkirk  sent  to  Mr.  Wilson 
for  the  loan  of  £\  (saying  he  would  repay  it  out  of  some  property  in 
Cannon  Street,  Gateshead,  which  he  had  expectations  of  obtaining), 
which  was  immediately  forwarded  to  him.  It  is  singular  that 
*  Swalwell    Hoppin' '    and    *  Bob    Cranky '   were    the    only   two 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  87 

songs  he  ever  gave  to  the  world ;  and  whenever  he  was  questioned 
as  to  this  circamstance,  he  declined  giving  any  information. 
•Unless  Mr.  Bell  counts  the  three  Bob  Cranky  songs  as  really  but 
one,  his  reckoning  is  in  error.  Selkirk  has  written  four.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  inquest,  on  the  same  day,  November  14th,  the 
body  was  buried  in  the  Ballast  Hills  burial-ground." 

But  for  Mr.  Bell's  most  interesting  memorandums  there 
is  little  doubt  nothing  would  have  been  known  relating  to 
Selkirk  excepting  the  names  of  his  songs.  A  visit  lately  to 
the  Ballast  Hills  to  try  and  trace  his  grave  resulted  in  find- 
ing that  all  books,  deeds,  etc,  had  been  removed  to  the 
Corporation  offices.  A  call  there  brought  out  the  fact  that 
no  "grave  plan"  existed — nothing  by  which  the  locality  of 
Selkirk's,  or  any  particular  interment  may  be  traced.  The 
register  of  burials  is  there ;  turning  that  over,  John  Bell's 
information  as  to  the  Ballast  Hills  is  verified.  The  entry 
runs — 

*•  No.  655.— John  Selkirk,  Agent.  November  14,  1843.  From 
the  Dead  House.     61  years." 

Such  is  the  melancholy  record  of  the  unfortunate  Selkirk, 
buried  from  the  dead-house  ! — a  sad  ending  for  one  whose  life 
had  opened  so  fair,  and  whose  songs  are  all  of  festivity  and 
merriment  Perhaps  it  is  better  that  over  the  causes  leading 
to  this  pitiful  ending  Time  has  dropt  a  veil,  and  we  are  left 
without  information  as  to  how  the  miserable  condition  of  his 
later  years  was  brought  about. 

Selkirk  has  been  doubly  unfortunate.  In  worldly  circum- 
stances a  wreck,  even  the  credit  of  his  songs  has  partly 
been  given  to  others.  For  this  his  own  strange  neglect  of 
them  may  in  some  way  account,  coupled  with  the  curious 
fact  that  when  he  wrote  there  were  three  all  writing  Tyne- 
side  songs,  and  all  properly  using  the  same  signature,  "J.  S." 
— John  Shield,  John  Selkirk,  James  Stawpert.  An  illustration 
of  this  confusion  is  found  in  "  Bob  Cranky's  'Leum'nation 
Neet"  This  Bob  is  one  of  the  bragging  Bobs  in  which 
Selkirk  seemed  to  delight,  and  may  safely  be  put  down  as 
bis.  Marshall  ( 1 827)  prints  it  without  an  author's  name,  but  in 
Davidson's  Alnwick  edition,  Fordyce's  Newcastle  edition, 
and  all  following  collections,  it  is  put  down  as  John  Shield's. 
Bell,  in  his  "Notes  and  Cuttings,"  in  a  list  of  Shield's 
writings,  does  not  include  "  Bob  Cranky's  'Luem'nation 
Neet"  This,  coupled  with  the  internal  evidence,  should  in 
this  case  at  least  give  to  the  unfortunate  Selkirk  his  own. 


88  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

BOB   CRANKY'S    'SIZE   SUNDAY. 

Dawson,  in  his  Local  PoetSy  writes:— *' There  is  little  pomp  and  parade 
now  at  an  Assize  Sunday.  In  the  olden  time,  when  the  Judges  went  to  St. 
Nicholas'  Church,  the  cavalcade  was  an  imposing  sight,  with  Sheriff  boys 
and  trumpeters  dressed  in  their  gorgeous  liTeriea." 

"  The  first  and  two  last  verses  were  added  by  J.  Bell,  bookseller.  Quay- 
side."—Bcif«  "  Notes  and  Cuttingf.** 

HoVay  and  aw^ll  sing  thee  a  tune,  mun, 
'Bout  huz  see'n  my  Lord  at  the  toon,  mun  : 

Aw's  seer  aw  was  smart,  now, 

Aw'll  lay  thee  a  quart,  now, 

Nyen  them  aw  cut  a  dash  like  Bob  Cranky. 

« 

When  aw  pat  on  my  blue  coat  that  shines  se, 
My  jacket  wi'  posies  se  fine  se, 

My  sark  sic  sma  threed,  man. 

My  pig-tail  se  greet,  man  1 
Od  smash  !  what  a  buck  was  Bob  Cranky. 

Blue  stockings,  white  clocks,  and  reed  ejarters, 
Yellow  breeks,  and  my  shoon  wi'  lang  quarters. 

Aw  myed  wour  bairns  cry, 

£h  !  sarties  !  ni !  ni  I 
Sic  verra  fine  things  had  Bob  Cranky. 

Aw  went  to  awd  Tom's  and  fand  Nancy ; 
Kiv  aw,  lass,  thou's  myed  to  my  fancy! 

Aw  like  thou  as  weel 

As  a  stannin-pye  heel, 
Ho'way  to  the  toon  wi'  Bob  Cranky. 

As  up  Jenny's  backside  we  were  bangin', 
Ki  Geordy,  "  How,  where  are  ye  gannin'?  " 

"Wey  t'  see  me  Lord  'Sizes, 

But  ye  shanna  gan  aside  us, 
For  ye're  not  half  se  fine  as  Bob  Cranky." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  89 

Ki  Geordy,  "  We  leeve  i'  yen  raw,  weyet, 
I'  yen  corf  we  byeth  gan  belaw,  weyet, 

At  aw  things  aw've  played, 

And  to  hew  aw'm  not  flayed, 
AVi'  sic  in  a  chep  as  Bob  Cranky." 

"  Bob  hez  thee  at  lowpin'  and  flingin', 

At  the  bool,  football,  clubby,  and  swingin' : 

.   Can  ye  jump  up  and  shuffle, 
And  cross  ower  the  buckle. 

When  ye  dance,  like  the  cliver  Bob  Cranky? 

"  Thow  naws,  i'  my  hoggars  and  drawers, 
Aw'm  nyen  o'  yor  scarters  and  clawers : 

Fra  the  trap  door  bit  laddy 

T'  the  spletter  his  daddy, 
Nyen  handles  the  pick  like  Bob  Cranky. 

"  So,  Geordy,  od  smash  my  pit  sarik, 
Thou'd  best  baud  thee  whist  about  warik. 

Or  aw'U  sobble  thee  body, 

And  myek  thee  nose  bloody. 
If  thou  sets  up  thy  gob  to  Bob  Cranky." 

Nan  laughed — t'  church  we  gat  without  'im ; 
The  greet  crowd,  becrike,  how  aw  hew'd  'em  I 
Smasht  a  keel  bully  roar'd, 
"  Clear  the  road  !  whilk's  my  Lord  ?" 
Owse  se  high  as  the  noble  Bob  Cranky. 

Aw  lup  up,  an'  catch'd  just  a  short  gliff 
O'  Lord  Trial,  the  Trumpets,  and  Sheriff, 

Wi'  the  little  bit  mannies 

Se  fine  and  se  canny, 
Ods  heft  I  what  a  seet  for  Bob  Cranky  ! 


90  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  away  we  off  te  the  yell-hoose, 
Wiv  a  few  hearty  lasses  an'  fellows  : 

Aw  teird  ower  the  wig, 

Se  curled  and  se  big, 
For  nyen  saw'd  se  weel  as  Bob  Cranky. 

Aw  gat  drunk,  fit,  and  kick'd  up  a  racket, 
Rove  my  breeks  and  spoil'd  aw  my  fine  jacket ; 

Nan  cry'd  and  she  cuddled. 

My  hinny,  thou's  fuddled ! 
Ho'way  hyem  now,  my  bonny  Bob  Cranky ! 

Se  we  stagger'd  alang  fra  the  toon,  mun, 
Whiles  gannin',  whiles  byeth  fairly  doon,  mun ; 

Smasht  a  banksman  or  hewer. 

No,  not  a  fine  viewer. 
Durst  jaw  to  the  noble  Bob  Cranky. 

What  care  aw  for  maw  new  suit,  a'  tatters, 
Twe  black  een  ? — od  smash  a'  sic  matters  ! 

When  me  Lord  comes  agyen,  mun, 

Aw'U  strive  ev'ry  byen,  mun. 
To  bang  a'  wor  consarn,  ki  Bob  Cranky. 

O'  the  flesh  and  breed  day,  when  wour  bund,  mun, 
Aw'll  buy  claes  far  bonnier  than  thou,  mun; 

For,  od  smash  my  neavel  I 

As  lang  as  wour  yebble, 
Let's  keep  up  the  day !  ki  Bob  Cranky. 

Selkirk.  Northern  Minstrel,  1807. 


TYNESJDE  SONGS.  91 

BOB    CRAHTKY'S    COMPLAINT. 

Odd,  smash  !  'tis  hard  aw  can't  rub  dust  off, 
To  see  ma  Lord  wi'  wig  se  fine  toss'd  off, 

But  they  mak  a  sang,  man, 

Aw  can't  tell  how  lang,  man, 
All  myeking  a  gam  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

Ma  blue  coat  and  pigtail's  my  awn,  wyet, 
And  when  to  Newcassel  I  gang,  wyet, 

Aw  like  to  show  town  folks, 

Whe  se  oft  ca'  us  gowks. 
They  ar'n't  se  fine  as  Bob  Cranky. 

If  aw  fin'  the  owther,  as  sure  as  a'm  Bob, 
A'U  mak  him  sing  the  wrang  side  o'  his  gob, 

A'll  gi'  'im  sick  sobbling, 

A'U  set  him  hyem  hobbling, 
For  myeking  a  gam  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

A'll  myek  his  noodle  as  reed  as  ma  garters ; 
A've  a  lang  stick,  as  weel  as  lang  quarters ; 

Whilk  a'll  lay  ower  his  back, 

'Till  he  swears  ne'er  to  mak 
Ony  mair  sangs  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

Aw  wonder  the  maist  how  he  did  spy. 
What  was  dyun  when  nobody  was  by — 

Some  conj'rer  he  maun  be. 

Sic  as  wi'  Punch  aw  did  see, 
Whilk  myed  the  hair  stand  o'  Bob  Cranky. 


92  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Our  viewer  sez  aw  can't  de  better 
Than  send  him  a  story  cull  letter. 
But  writing  a'll  let  rest : 
The  pik  fits  ma  hand  best ; 
A  pen's  owr  sma  for  Bob  Cranky. 


Nan,  whe  a'll  marry  or  it's  very  lang, 

Sez,  "  Hinny,  din't  mind  the  cull  fellow's  sang, 

Gif  he  dis  se  agyen, 

Our  schyulmaister's  pen 
Shall  tak  pairt  wi'  ma  bonny  Bob  Cranky. 


**Ize  warrn't,  gif  aw  weer  my  pillease, 
An  ma  hat  myed  of  very  sma  strees, 

He'll  be  chock  full  o'  spite, 

An  about  us  will  write, 
An  say  Ize  ower  fine  for  Bob  Cranky." 


"Sure,  Bobby,"  says  she,  "his  head's  got  a  crack." 
**  Ne  maiter,"  sed  I,  an'  gov  her  a  smack. 

"  Pilleases  are  tippy. 
Like  shugar's  thy  lippy, 

And  thou  shalt  be  wife  to  Bob  Cranky." 


The  Crankies,  farrer  back  nor  I  naw, 
Hae  gyen  to  'Sizes  to  see  trumpets  blaw, 

Wi'  white  sticks  an'  Sheriff; 

But  wam't  myed  a  sang  of. 
Nor  laugh'd  at  like  clever  Bob  Cranky. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  93 

Lord  'Sizes  cums  but  yence  a  year,  wyet ! 

To  see  his  big  wig  a've  ne  fear,  wyet ! 
So  be-crike !  while  aw  leeve, 
Tho'  wi'  lang  sangs  a'm  deave'd, 
Me  Lord  at  the  church  shall  see  Cranky ! 

Selkirk.  BelVa  '*  Northern  Bardn,''  1812. 


S12irAL12ir£LL    HOPPING. 

The  scenes  here  described  are  now  unknown.  A  few  scattered  ginger- 
bread and  fruit  stalls  are  all  that  remain  of  the  glories,  such  as  they  were, 
of  Swalwell  Hopping.  The  large  ironworks  of  Ambrose  Crowley,  which, 
fifty  years  ago,  gare  employment  to  great  numbers  of  workmen,  hare 
gradually  decayed,  untU  the  winter  of  1862  all  that  remained  of  the  famous 
ironworks  were  sold,  and  Crowley's  works  now  exist  but  in  memory.— ^ote 
to  1872  edUion. 

Tune—"  Paddy's  Wedding." 

Lads  !  myek  a  ring, 

An'  hear  huz  sing 
The  sport  we  had  at  Swalwell,  O ; 

Wour  merry  play 

O'  th'  Hoppen'  day, 
Ho'way,  marrows,  an'  awll  tell  you,  O. 
The  sun  shines  warm  on  Whickham  Bank, 

Let's  aw  lye  doon  at  Dolly's,  O, 
An'  hear  'boot  monny  a  funny  prank 
Play'd  by  the  lads  at  Crowley's,  O. 

There  was  Sam,  O  zoons ! 

Wiv's  pantaloons. 
An'  gravat  up  ower  his  gobby,  O ; 

An'  Willie,  thou, 

Wi'  th'  jacket  blue, 
Thou  was  the  varra  Bobby,  O. 


94  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

There  was  knack-kneed  Mat,  wiv^s  purple  suit, 
An'  hopper  hipp'd  Dick,  aw  yellow,  O ; 

Greet  Tom  was  there,  wi'  Hepple's  aud  coat, 
An'  bucksheen'd  Bob  fra  Stella,  O. 

When  we  wour  drest. 

It  was  confest 
We  shem*d  the  cheps  frae  Newcassel,  O  : 

So  away  we  set 

To  wour  town  gyet, 
To  jeer  them  aw  as  they  pass'd  us,  O  ; 
We  shouted  some,  and  some  dung  doon, 

Lobstrop'lus  fellows  we  kick'd  them,  O ; 
Some  culls  went  hyem,  some  crushed  to  toon. 
Some  gat  aboot  by  Whickham,  O. 

The  spree  com  on — 

The  hat  was  won 
By  carrot-poVd  Jenny's  Jackey,  O  ; 

What  a  fyece,  begok ! 

Had  buckle-mouth'd  Jock, 
When  he  twined  his  jaws  for  the  baccy,  O  : 
The  kilted  lasses  fell  tid  pell  mell, 

WiVTally-i-o  the  Grinder,  O : 
The  smock  was  gi'en  to  slavering  Nell — 
Ye'd  dropp'd  had  ye  been  behind  her,  O. 

Wour  dance  began 

Awd  buck-tyuth'd  Nan, 
An'  Geordy,  thou'd  Jen  Collin,  O  ; 

While  the  merry  black, 

Wi'  monny  a  crack. 
Set  the  tamboreen  a-roUing,  O. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  95 

Like  wour  forge  hammer,  we  bet  se  true, 
An*  shuk  Raw's  hoose  se  soundly,  O ; 

Tuff  canna  cum  up  wi'  Crowley's  crew, 
Nor  thump  the  tune  se  roundly,  O. 

Then  Gyetside  Jack, 

Wiv's  bloody  back, 
Wad  dance  wi'  goggle-ey'd  Mally,  O ; 

But  up  cam  Nick, 

And  gay  him  a  kick. 

And  a  canny  bit  kind  of  a  fally,  O. 

That  day  a'  Hawks's  blacks  may  rue — 

They  gat  monny  a  varra  sair  danker,  O, 
Can  they  de  ouse  wi'  Crowley's  crew, 
Frev  a  needle  tiv  a  anchor,  O  ? 

What's  that  to  say 

To  the  bonny  fray, 
We  had  wi'  skipper  Robin,  O  ? 

The  keel-bullies  aw, 

Byeth  greet  an'  sma', 
Myed  a  beggarly  tide  o'  the  hoppen,  O. 
Gleed  Will  cried  "  Ma-a ! "  up  lup  awd  Frank, 

An'  Robin  that  marry'd  his  dowter,  O, 
We  hammer'd  their  ribs  like  an  anchor  shank, 
They  fand  it  six  weeks  after,  O. 

Bald-pyet  Jone  Carr 

Wad  hev  a  bit  spar, 
To  help  his  marrows  away  wid,  O ; 

But  poor  aud  fellow. 

He'd  getten  ower  mellow, 
So  we  down'd  byeth  him  an*  Davy,  O. 


96  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Then  Petticoat  Robin  jumpt  up  agyen, 
Wiv's  gully  to  marcykree  huz  aw, 

But  Willanton  Dan  laid  him  flat  wiv  a  styen  : 
Hurro !  for  Crowley's  crew,  boys  aw. 

Their  hash  was  sattled, 

So  off  we  rattled, 
An'  we  jigged  it  up  se  hearty,  O ! 

Wi'  monny  a  shiver, 

An'  lowp  se  clivvor ; 
Can  Newcassel  turn  cot  sec  a  party,  O  ? 
When,  wheit  dyun  ower,  the  fiddlers  went. 

We  stagger'd  ahint,  see  merry,  O, 
An'  thro'  wour  town,  till  fairly  spent, 
Roar'd,  "Crowley's  crew  an'  glory,  O." 

Selkirk.  MarahalCa  "  Northern  Mingtrel"  1807. 


BOB   CRAHTKY'S   LEU M^HTATIOHr   HTEET. 

In  celebration  of  the  General   Peace  of  1814.     The  song  shows  how 
elaborate  had  been  the  illuminations. 

Lord  'Sizes  leuks  weal  in  coach  shinin', 
Whese  wig  wad  let  Nan's  heed  an'  mine  in  ; 
But  a  bonnier  seet 
Was  the  Leum'nation  neet, — 
It  dazzled  the  e'en  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

Aboot  seven  aw  gov  owr  warkin'. 
Gat  beard  off,  an'  put  a  white  sark  on ; 
For  Newcasslers,  thowt  aw, 
Gif  they  dinn't  see  me  braw, 
Will  say,  "  What  a  gowk  is  Bob  Cranky  !  " 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  97 

Aw  ran  to  the  toon  without  stoppin', 
An'  fand  ilka  street  like  a  hoppin'; 

An'  the  foak  stud  se  thick, 

Aw  sair  wish'd  for  ma  pick, 
To  hew  oot  a  way  for  Bob  Cranky. 

The  guns  then  went  off  fra  the  Cassel, 
Seun  windors  war  a'  in  a  dazzle ; 

Ilka  place  was  like  day. 

Aw  then  shooted,  "  Hurray ! 
There's  *  Plenty  an'  Peace'  for  Bob  Cranky!" 

Sum  windors  had  pictors  se  bonny, 
Wi'  sma'  lamps  aw  can't  tell  how  raony; 

Te  count  them,  awm  shure, 

Wad  bother  the  Viewer — 
A  greater  Goggriffer  than  Cranky. 

Aw  seed  croons  myad  o'  lamps  blue  an'  reed, 
WhUk  aw  wad  na  like  put  on  mi  heed ! 
•*G.  P.  R."  aw  seed  nex, 
For  oor  (Jeordy  Prince  Rex ; — 
Nyan  spelt  it  se  weel  as  Bob  Cranky. 

Sum  had  anchors  of  leet  high  hung  up, 
To  shew  foak  greet  Bonny  was  deun  up ; 

But,  far  as  aw  see,  man. 

As  reet  it  wad  be,  man, 
Te  leet  up  the  pick  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

A  leg  of  meat  sed,  "  Doon  aws  cummin', " 
But  sum  chep  aw  seun  fand  was  hummin' ; 
For  aw  stopp'd  bit  belaw, 
Haddin  oot  a  lang  paw, 
But  mutton  cam  ne  nearer  Cranky. 
7 


98  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

A  cask  on  the  Vicar's  pump  top,  man, 

Markt  "  Plenty  an'  Peace,"  gard  me  stop,  man ; 

Thinks  aw  te  me-sell, 

I'se  here  get  sum  yell, 
But  only  cau'd  waiter  gat  Cranky. 

Bonny,  shav'd  be  a  bear,  was  then  shot,  man, 
An'  be  auld  Nick  weel  thump'd  in  a  pot,  man ; 
But  aw  thowt  a'  the  toon 
Shuddint  lick  him  when  down, 
Tho'  he'd  a  greet  spite  te  Bob  Cranky. 

Yen  Price  had  the  cream  o'  the  bowl,  man, 

Wi'  goold  lamps  clagg*d  close  cheek  by  jowl,  man; 

It  was  sic  a  fine  seet. 

Aw  cou'd  glower'd  a'  neet. 
Had  fu'  been  the  wame  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

Ne  mair  seed  aw  till  signal  gun  fir'd, 

Out  went  the  leets,  an'  hame  aw  gat,  tir*d ; 

Nan  ax'd  'boot  Leum'nations, 

Aw  bad  her  hae  patience, 
An'  first  fetch  sum  flesh  te  Bob  Cranky. 

Aw  tel'd  her  what  news  aw  had  hard,  man, 
That  shuggar  was  sixpence  a  pund,  man, 
An'  good  beef  at  a  groat : — 
Then  oor  Nan  clear'd  her  throat. 
An'  shooted  oot,  "  Plenty  for  Cranky ! " 

'Twas  a'  lees — for  when  Nan  gang'd  te  toon, 
An'  for  yen  pund  a  sixpence  pat  down ; 
Fra  shop  she  was  winnin'. 
When  Grosser,  deuce  bin  him, 
Teuk  a'  the  cheap  shuggar  fra  Cranky. 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  99 

But  gif  Peace  brings  another  gran'  neet, 
Aw  think  foak  shou'd  hae  Plenty  te  eat : 

Singin'  hinnys,  awm  shoor, 

An'  Strang  yell  at  the  doowr, 
Wad  better  nor  candles  please  Cranky. 

Then  agyan,  what  a  sheym  an'  a  sin ! 

Te  the  Pit  dinner  nyan  ax'd  me  in  : 
Yet  aw  work  like  a  Turk, 
Baith  wi'  pick,  knife,  and  fork, — 
An'  whese  mair  a  Pittite  nor  Cranky? 

Or  what  cou'd  ye  a'  de  without  me. 
When  cau'd  ice  an'  snaw  cum  aboot  ye? 

Then  sair  ye  wad  shiver. 

For  a'  ye're  se  cliver. 
An'  lang  for  the  pick  o'  Bob  Cranky. 

*  *  Tyne  Mercury,  June  Ist,  1814. 


JAMES    STA]2irP£RT. 

**  Newcastle  Fair,"  by  J.  S.  With  this  signature  the  song 
appears  in  Bell's  Rhymes^  and  is  another  illustration  of 
the  confusion  caused  by  the  strange  coincidence  of  three 
writers,  all  at  one  period,  using  the  same  initials — J.  S.  John 
Bell,  in  one  of  his  volumes  of  broad-sheets,  now  in  the 
possession  of  R.  Welford,  Esq.,  settles  which  of  the  three — 
John  Shield,  John  Selkirk,  or  James  Stawpert — this  J.  S. 
belongs  to,  by  adding  in  ink  to  the  initials  ]ames  Stawperi. 
Stavi^rt  is  the  least  known  of  the  three.  It  will  be  remem- 
berea  he  was  the  one  who  took  up  the  cudgels  in  defence  of 
"The  Bards  of  the  Tyne"  against  Charles  Purvis.  Two 
additional  songs  by  him,  "John  Diggons"  and  "Trafalgar's 
Battle,"  appear  both  in  Bell's  Rhymes  and  Angus'  Garlands, 
Neither  are  in  the  dialect,  although  both  show  their  northern 


100  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

origin.    '*  John  Diggons/'  a  country  lad  singing  of  Nelson's 
death,  thus  refers  to  our  Lord  CoUingwood — 

**  But  now  I'm  determined,  since  this  is  the  case, 
To  write  to  Lord  Collingwood  straight  for  a  place. 
For  they  say  he's  right  fond  of  a  North-country  face ; 
So  I  may  chance  to  revenge  Nelson's  wrongs, 
So  I  may  chance  to  revenge  Nelson's  wrongs. 

Adieu,  then,  my  friends,  your  best  wishes  FIl  take. 
Oh !  send  them  all  good  for  your  CdUinawood^s  sake  / 
For  your  country  and  you  his  life's  ott  been  at  stake ; 

Then  bless  him,  and  thank  his  brave  tars ! 

Then  bless  him,  and  thank  his  brave  tars  I " 

In  '*  Trafalgar's  Battle "  he  farther  refers  to  Newcastle's- 
great  naval  hero— 

"  *Tis  Collingwood  he,  our  townsman  and  friend. 
May  heaven  send  angels  his  life  to  attend, 
To  guard  him  through  dangers  on  ocean's  great  space. 
Betuming  in  peace  may  we  all  see  his  face, 

To  bless  him,  caress  him, 

Id  kind  words  address  him. 

Ye  Britons  and  Sons  of  the  Tyne," 

James  Stawpert,  according  to  Bell's  "  Notes,"  was  a  clerk 
with  Messrs.  Burdon  &  Rayne,  brewers,  Quayside ;  and  thi& 
scrap  of  information  about  him  is  really  all  that  is  known. 
His  songs  show  they  were  written  about  1805.  Then  he 
would  be  on  the  Quayside,  daily  meeting  with  Thomas 
Thompson  and  Thomas  Wilson,  and  would  have  as  a  fellow- 
clerk  the  unfortunate  John  Selkirk.  Of  his  further  career 
we  have  no  trace. 


N£12irCASTL£   FAIR;   OCTOBER   1811, 

THE   PITMAN   A-DRINKING   OF   JACKY.* 

Tune—"  Drops  of  Brandy. " 
Ha'  ye  been  at  Newcastle  Fair  ? 

And  did  you  see  ouse  o'  great  Sandy  ? 
Lord  bliss  us !  what  wark  there  was  there. 

And  the  folks  were  drinking  of  brandy. 
Brandy,  a  shilling  a  glass ! 

*  English  Gin.  This  liqnor  has  varioas  names  in  different  parts  of  the* 
eonntry.  At  a  Tillaffe  in  the  western  part  of  Northumberland  the  editor 
(Bell's  Rhymes)  heard  it  called  Bine  IMck. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  loi 

Aw  star'd,  an'  thought  it  was  shameful, 
Never  mind,  says. aw,  canny  lass, 
Give  us  yell,  and  aw'll  drink  ma  wame  full. 
Rum  te  idily,  etc 

Says  she,  Canny  man,  the  yell's  cawd ; 

It  cums  frev  a  man  they  ca'  Mackey, 
And  my  faith  I  it's  byeth  sour  and  awd ; 

Ye'd  best  hev  a  drop  o'  wour  Jacky. 
Yor  Jacky !  says  I,  now  what's  that  ? 

Aw  ne'er  heerd  the  nyem  o'  sic  liquor. 
English  gin,  canny  man,  that's  flat  1 

And  then  she  set  up  a  great  nicker. 
Rum  te  idily,  etc. 

Says  I,  divent  laugh  at  poor  folks. 

But  gang  and  bring  some  o'  yur  Jacky  j 
Aw  want  nyen  o*  yur  jibes  or  jokes : 

I'  th'  meantime  aw'U  tyek  a  bit  backy. 
Aw  just  tyuk  a  chew  o'  pig  tail. 

She  brought  in  this  Jacky  se  funny ; 
Says  she.  Sir,  that's  better  than  ale. 

And  held  out  her  hand  for  the  money. 
Rum  te  idily,  etc. 

There's  threepence  to  pay,  if  you  please: 

Aw  star'd  an'  aw  gyep'd  like  a  ninny : 
Odsmash  thee !  aw'U  sit  at  ma  ease, 

An'  not  stir  till  aw*ve  spent  a  half-guinea. 
Aw  sat  an'  aw  drank  till  quite  blind, 

Then  aw  gat  up  te  gang  te  the  door, 
But  deel  smash  a  door  cou*d  aw  find ! 

An*  fell  flat  o*  ma  fyess  on  the  floor. 
Rum  te  idily,  etc 


I02  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

There  aw  lay  for  ever  se  lang, 

And  dreamt  about  rivers  and  ditches; 
When  waken'd,  was  singing  this  sang — 

"  Smash,  Jacky,  thou*s  wet  a'  ma  breeches ! " 
An'  faith  !  but  the  sang  it  was  true, 

For  Jacky  had  been  se  prevailing, 
He'd  whistled  himsel'  quickly  through, 

An'  the  chairs  an'  tables  were  sailing. 
Rum  te  idily,  etc. 

Then  rising,  aw  went  ma  ways  hyem, 

Aw  knock'd  at  the  door,  and  cry'd,  Jenny ! 
Says  she,  Canny  man,  is  te  lyem. 

Or  been  wadin'  in  Tyne,  ma  hinny  ? 
r  troth,  she  was  like  for  te  dee. 

An'  just  by  the  way  to  relieve  her, — 
The  water's  been  wadin'  through  me. 

An'  this  Jacky's  a  gay  deceiver. 

Rum  te  idily,  etc. 

Stawpert.  BeU8  "  Northern  Bards,'*  1812. 


THE   PITMAN'S   REITENGE   AGAINST 
BONAPARTE. 

"  This  Tyneside  song,  written  nearly  seventy  years  ago,  and 
published  in  all  collections  since,  is  now  printed  with  the 
author's  name  for  the  first  time.  The  author,  George 
Cameron,  was  for  many  years  a  hairdresser  in  the  Cloth 
Market  When  the  song  was  written,  about  1804,  Napoleon's 
legions  lay  at  Boulogne  waiting  a  favourable  opportunity  to 
cross  the  Channel  How  volunteer  associations  to  resist  this 
threatened  invasion  were  formed  has  already  been  told. 
In  one  of  the  volunteer  regiments  then  formed  George 
Cameron  was  sergeant.  Whilst  occupying  that  position,  he 
wrote  the  song,  and  sung  it  amongst  his  fellow  volunteers  at 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


103 


a  meeting  held  at  the  Three  Indian  Kings  on  the  Quayside. 
The  song  was  greatly  admired,  being  most  appropriate  to 

the  times.  It  was 
afterwards  bor- 
rowed by  a  com- 
rade, who,  un- 
known to  the 
^  author,  got  it 
printed.  These 
facts  are  well  re- 
membered by  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  G. 
Halliday,  of  this 
town." 

The  above  note 
appeared  in  the 
1872  edition  of 
this  collection. 
Mrs.  Hallida/s 
son  George  (since 
dead),  who  then 
was  carrying  on 
in  Collingwood 
Street  the  old- 
established  busi- 
ness of  a  saddler 
left  him  by  his 
father,  happening 
to  come  into  the 
publisher's,  which 
was  next  door  to 
his  own  shop,  he  saw  the  proofs  of  the  song-book  lying  about, 
and  remarked,  **  L  wonder  if  my  grandfather's  song  is  there." 
Further  conversation  brought  out  the  facts  related  above, 
and  another  equally  interesting.  Mr.  Halliday  repeated  the 
first  verse  of  the  song  as  he  had  learned  it  from  his  mother, 
and  then  it  was  found  he  gave  one  line  more  in  the  first 
verse  than  was  in  the  book.  This  difference  brought  out  the 
fact  that  Bell,  who  had  printed  the  song,  by  some  error  had 
missed  a  line  in  the  first  verse,  all  the  verses  having  nine 
lines  except  the  first,  which  only  had  eight  The  eighth  line 
in  the  first  verse  is  the  one  Mr.  Halliday  restored,  after  its 
omission  in  all  collections  for  nearly  seventy  years.  It 
might  also  be  mentioned  that  Bell  (18 12),  in  printing  the 


A  NEYtCASTU.  YOLUNTUR. 


I04  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

son|^^  gave  no  author's  name.  Marshall  (1827)  also  printed 
it  without  a  name ;  but  Davidson,  in  his  Altt  wick  edition  (about 
1840),  and  Fordyce,  in  his  collection  (1842),  both  printed  the 
song,  and  ascribed  it  to  John  Shield.  This  error  is  now 
corrected.  By  the  kindness  of  J.  C.  Halliday  (a  grandson), 
we  also  give  an  autograph  of  the  author,  taken  from  his  old 
family  Bible,  now  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Richardson,  a 
grand-daughter  of  the  poet. 


/. 


-^^^P^     (^Lyr?x,ey)^^tr^2 


^  y 


This  appears  to  have  been  the  only  song  Cameron  wrote. 
He  died  June  20ih,  1823,  aged  55  years,  and  was  buried  in 
St.  N icholas'  Churchyard. 

Ha'e  ye  heerd  o'  these  wondrous  Dons 
That  myeks  this  mighty  fuss,  man, 

Aboot  invadin'  Britain's  land  ? 

I  vow  they're  wondrous  spruce,  man  ; 

But  little  de  the  Frenchmen  ken 

About  wor  loyal  Englishmen ; 

Wor  collier  lads  are  for  cockades, 

They'll  fling  away  their  picks  an'  spades 
For  guns  te  shoot  the  French,  man. 

Tol  lol  de  rol,  de  rol  de  rol. 

Then  te  parade  the  Pitmen  went, 

Wi'  hearts  byeth  stoot  an'  Strang,  man ; 

Gad  smash  the  French !  we  are  se  Strang, 
Well  shoot  them  ivry  one,  man ! 

Gad  smash  me  sark  1  if  aw  wad  stick 

Te  tummel  them  a'  doon  the  pit ; 

As  fast  as  aw  cud  thraw  a  coal 

Aw'd  tummel  them  a'  doon  the  hole^ 
An'  close  her  in  aboon,  man. 

Tol  lol,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  105 

**  Heeds  up  1 "  says  one,  "  ye  silly  sow  I 
Ye  dinna  mind  the  word,  man  1  *' 

"  Eyes  reet  I "  says  Tom,  "  an'  wi'  a  dam. 
And  march  oflf  at  the  word,  man  ! " 

Did  ever  mortals  see  sic  brutes, 

Te  order  me  to  lift  maw  kutes  ? 

Ad  smash  the  fyul !  te  stand  an'  talk 

How  can  he  learn  me  te  walk, 

That's  walked  this  forty  year,  man  ! 

Tol  lol,  etc. 


But  shud  the  Frenchmen  show  thor  fyece 

Upon  wor  waggon -ways,  man. 
Then  there  upon  the  road,  ye  knaw. 

We'd  myek  them  end  thor  days,  man. 
Ay,  Bonaparte's  sel  aw'd  tyek, 
An'  thraw  him  i'  the  burnin'  heap, 
An'  wi'  greet  speed  aw'd  roast  him  deed ; 
His  marrows,  then,  aw  waddent  heed — 

We'd  pick  oot  a'  thor  een,  man. 

Tol  lol,  etc. 


Says  Willy  Dunn  to  loyal  Tom, 

"  Yor  words  are  a'  a  joke,  man  : 

For  Geordy  winna  hae  yor  help, 
Ye're  sic  kamstarie  folk,  man." 

"  Then  Willy,  lad,  we'll  rest  in  peace, 

r  hopes  that  a'  the  wars  may  cease ; 

But  aw's  gie  ye,  Wull,  te  understand. 

As  lang  as  aw  can  wield  my  hand, 

Thor's  nyen  but  George  shall  reign,  man  ! " 

Tol  lol  etc. 


io6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

"  Eneuf  of  this  hes  shure  been  said," 
Cried  cowardly  Willy  Dunn,  man  : 

'*  For  shud  the  Frenchmen  cum  this  way, 
We'd  be  ready  for  te  run,  man." 

**  Gad  smash  ye,  for  a  fyul !  "  says  Tom, 

"  For  if  aw  cudden't  use  my  gun, 

Aw'd  tyek  me  pick  and  hew  them  doon, 

An'  run  an'  cry  thro'  a'  the  toon, 

*  God  save  greet  George,  wor  king,  man ! ' " 

Tol  lol,  etc. 
Cameron. 


HESTRY   ROBSOnr. 

As  far  back  as  1812,  in  Bell's  Rhymes  of  Northern  Bards^ 
the  following  notice  of  Henry  Robson  appears  : — 

"The  author  of  *  The  Collier's  Pay  Week  *  was  bom  at  Benwell,  near 
Newcastle,  and  is  now  residing  at  the  latter  place,  where,  besides  the 
above,  he  has  written  several  pieces  of  poetry  possessing  a  considerable 
degree  of  merit." 

The  piece  of  poetry,  to  which  this  was  a  note,  is  about  for- 
gotten. It  was  a  song,  "  The  Tyne."  Perhaps  its  best  lines 
were  the  chorus — 

"  Flow  on,  lovely  TVne,  undisturbed  be  thy  motion ; 
Thy  sons  hold  the  threats  of  proud  France  in  diwlain : 
As  long  as  thy  waters  shall  mix  with  the  ocean, 
The  fleets  of  Old  England  will  govern  the  main." 

Generally,  and  it  may  be  added  unfortunately,  Bell's  refer- 
ences to  the  writers  in  the  Bards  are  of  the  scantiest.  How 
he  came  to  notice  Robson  so  specially  might  possibly  be 
that  as  a  printer  Robson  worked  with  Angus,  who  printed 
Bell's  volume,  and  so  they  came  together. 

The  introductory  set  of  verses  in  the  volume  on  "Northum- 
berland Minstrelsy,"  signed  H.  R.,  in  all  probability  are  also 
Robson's.    They  begin — 

"  With  taste  so  true  and  genius  fine 
The  blythsome  minstrels  of  lang  syne 
Sung  sweetly  'tween  the  Tweed  and  Tyne." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  107 

With  Angus  at  that  time,  as  an  apprentice,  would  be  Robert 
Emery,  then  a  youth  in  his  eighteenth  year.  He  in  all 
probability  would  assist  in  setting  up  Bell's  volume,  and 
from  it  may  have  got  that  "bent''  to  local  song  whicl^ 
in  after  years  produced  "Hydrophobia,"  "Jean  Jamieson's 
Ghost,"  etc  "The  Collier's  Pay  Week"  is  Robson's  best 
piece.  As  a  slight  sketch  it  may  fairly  stand  beside  the  fuller 
and  more  finished  "Collier's  Wedding"  and  "Pitman's 
Pay."  As  a  dialect  writer  Robson  has  done  little ;  his  taste 
evidently  "did  not  that  way  tend."  Even  when,  as  in  the 
"  Collier's  Pay  Week,"  his  subject  is  local,  his  treatment  has 
little  of  the  dialect  in  it. 

As  a  printer  he  was  for  many  years  with  Mackenzie  & 
Dent,  publishers  of  local  works,  and  is  said  to  have  had  a 
small  press  at  home,  where  he  printed  his  pieces  for  distri- 
bution amongst  his  friends.  In  his  later  years  he  appears 
to  have  written  little.  At  his  death,  which  occurred  at 
Grenville  Terrace  on  December  21st,  1850,  he  had  reached 
the  ripe  age  of  75  years,  and  by  a  brief  obituary  notice  which 
then  appeared,  "  he  had  worked  60  years  as  a  printer,  was 
the  oldest  member  of  the  profession  in  the  town,  and  was 
much  respected  by  a  numerous  circle  of  friends." 


THE   COLUER'S   PAY   WEEK. 

(A  Picture  of  Benwell  Pit  Life  aboat  the  year  1800.) 

Ab  far  back  as  1644  mention  is  fonnd  of  the  colliers  of  Benwell.  The 
Milbank  MS.  states,  in  that  year,  daring  the  siege  of  Newcastle,  it  was  the 
Benwell  and  Elswick  colliers  who  undermined  and  blew  up  the  walls  of  the 
town. 

The  baff  week  is  o'er — no  repining — 

Pay-Saturday's  swift  on  the  wing ; 
At  length  the  blythe  morning  comes  shining, 

When  kelter  makes  colliers  sing. 
'Tis  Spring,  and  the  weather  is  cheary. 

The  birds  whistle  sweet  on  the  spray ; 
Now  coal  working  lads,  trim  and  airy, 

To  Newcastle  town  hie  away. 


io8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Those  married  jog  on  with  their  hinnies^ 

Their  canny  bairns  go  by  their  side ; 
The  daughters  keep  teasing  their  minnies, 

For  new  clothes  to  keep  up  their  pride ; 
They  plead — Easter  Sunday  does  fear  them, 

For  if  they  have  nothing  that's  new, 
The  Crow — spiteful  bird ! — will  besmear  them, 

Oh,  then,  what  a  sight  for  to  view ! 


The  young  men,  full  blithesome  and  jolly, 

March  forward,  all  decently  clad ; 
Some  lilting  up,  "  Cut-and-dry  Dolly  ^^ 

Some  singing  "  The  Bonny  Pit  Lad.'' 
The  pranks  that  were  play'd  at  last  binding 

Engage  some  in  humorous  chat ; 
Some  halt  by  the  wayside  on  finding 

Primroses  to  place  in  their  hat. 


Bob  Cranky,  Jack  Hogg,  and  Dick  Marley, 

Bill  Hewitt,  Luke  Carr,  and  Tom  Brown, 
In  one  jolly  squad  set  oflf  early 

From  Benwell  to  Newcastle  town : 
Such  hewers  as  they  (none  need  doubt  it) 

Ne'er  handled  a  shovel  or  pick ; 
In  high  or  low  seam  they  could  suit  it. 

In  regions  next  door  to  Old  Nick. 

Some  went  to  buy  hats  and  new  jackets, 

And  others  to  see  a  bit  fun ; 
And  some  wanted  leather  and  tackets 

To  cobble  their  canny  pit  shoon. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  109 

Save  the  ribbon  Dick's  dear  had  requested 

(Aware  he  had  plenty  of  chink), 
There  was  no  other  care  him  infested, 

Unless  *twere  his  care  for  good  drink. 

In  the  morning  the  dry  man  advances 

To  purl  shop  to  toss  off  a  gill. 
Ne'er  dreading  the  ills  and  mischances, 

Attending  on  those  who  sit  still. 
The  drink  Reason's  monitor  quelling. 

Inflames  both  the  brain  and  the  eyes ; 
The  enchantment  commenc'd,  there's  no  telling 

When  care-drowning  tipplers  will  rise. 

O  Malt  !  we  acknowledge  thy  powers. 

What  good  and  what  ///  dost  thou  brew ! 
Our  good  friend  in  moderate  hours — 

Our  enemy  when  we  get  fu' ; 
Could  thy  vof  ries  avoid  the  fell  furies 

So  often  awaken'd  by  thee. 
We  would  seldom  need  judges  or  juries 

To  send  folk  to  Tyburn  tree  I 


At  length  in  Newcastle  they  centre — 

In  Hardy's,*  a  house  much  renown'd, 
The  jovial  company  enter, 

Where  stores  of  good  liquor  abound : 
As  quick  as  the  servants  could  fill  it 

(TiU  emptied  were  quarts  half-a-score). 
With  heart-burning  thirst  down  they  swill  it, 

And  thump  on  the  table  for  more. 

*  Sign  of  the  Black  Boy,  Groat  Market 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

While  thus  in  fine  cue  they  are  seated, 

Young  Cock-fighting  Ned  from  the  Fell* 
Peep'd  in — his  ^^  How  d^yeV^  repeated, 

And  hop'd  they  were  all  very  well ; 
He  swore  he  was  pleased  to  see  them — 

One  rose  up  to  make  him  sit  down, 
And  join  in  good  fellowship  wi'  them, 

For  him  they  would  spend  their  last  crown. 

The  liquor  beginning  to  warm  them, 

In  friendship  the  closer  they  knit. 
And  tell  and  hear  jokes — and,  to  charm  them, 

Comes  Robin,  from  Denton  Bourn  Pit : 
An  odd,  witty,  comical  fellow, 

At  either  a  jest  or  a  tale, 
Especially  when  he  was  mellow, 

With  drinking  stout  Newcastle  ale. 

With  bousing,  and  laughing,  and  smoking, 

The  time  slippeth  swiftly  away ! 
And  while  they  are  ranting  and  joking, 

The  church  clock  proclaims  it  mid-day. 
And  now  for  black  puddings,  long  measure, 

They  go  to  Tib  Trollibag's  stand. 
And  away  bear  the  glossy  rich  treasure 

With  joy,  like  curFd  bugles  in  hand. 

And  now  a  choice  house  they  agreed  on. 
Not  far  from  the  head  of  the  Quay ; 

Where  they  their  black  puddings  might  feed  on, 
And  spend  the  remains  of  the  day. 

*  Gateshead  Fell. 


.ul 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Where  pipers  and  fiddlers  resorted, 
To  pick  up  the  straggling  pence, 

And  where  the  pit  lads  often  sported 
Their  money  at  Fiddle  and  Dance. 


Blind  Willie  the  fiddler  sat  scraping. 

In  a  corner  just  as  they  went  in ; 
Some  Willington  callants  were  shaking 

Their  feet  to  his  musical  din. 
Jack  vow'd  he  would  have  some  fine  cap'ring, 

As  soon  as  their  dinner  was  o'er, 
With  the  lassie  that  wore  the  white  apron, 

Now  reeling  about  on  the  floor. 


Their  hungry  stomachs  being  eased, 

And  gullets  well  cleared  with  a  glass, 
Jack  rose  from  the  table,  and  seized 

The  hand  of  the  frolicsome  lass. 
"Ma  hinny  I "  says  he,  "pray  excuse  me — 

To  ask  thee  to  dance  aw  make  free : " 
She  replied,  "  I'd  be  loth  tp  refuse  thee ! 

Now,  fiddler,  play  'Jigging  for  me.*" 


The  damsel  displays  all  her  graces. 

The  collier  exerts  all  his  power ; 
They  caper  in  circling  paces. 

And  set  at  each  end  of  the  floor ; 
He  jumps,  and  his  heels  knack  and  rattle. 

At  turns  of  the  music  so  sweet. 
He  makes  such  a  thundering  brattle, 

The  floor  seems  afraid  of  his  feet. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

This  couple  being  seated,  rose  Bob  up, 

He  wished  to  make  one  in  a  jig ; 
But  a  Willington  lad  set  his  gob  up, — 

O'er  him  there  should  none  "/v«  fAe  rig;"" 
For  now  'twas  his  turn  for  a  caper, 

And  he  would  dance  first  as  he'd  rose ; 
Bob's  passion  beginning  to  vapour, 

He  twisted  his  opponent's  nose. 


The  Willington  lads  for  their  Franky, 

Jump'd  up  to  revenge  the  foul  deed  ; 
And  those  in  behalf  of  Bob  Cranky 

Sprung  forward — for  now  there  was  need. 
Bob  canted  the  form,  with  a  kevel. 

As  he  was  exerting  his  strength, 
But  he  got  on  the  lug  such  a  nevel^ 

That  down  he  came  all  his  long  length. 


Tom  Brown,  from  behind  the  long  table, 

Impatient  to  join  in  the  fight, 
Made  a  spring,  some  rude  foe  to  disable, 

For  he  was  a  man  of  some  might : 
Misfortune,  alas !  was  attending. 

An  accident  fill'd  him  with  fear : 
An  old  rusty  nail  his  flesh  rending, 

Oblig'd  him  to  slink  in  the  rear. 


When  sober,  a  mild  man  was  Marley, 
More  apt  to  join  friends  than  make  foes; 

But,  rais'd  by  the  juice  of  the  barley, 
He  put  in  some  sobbling  blows. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  113 

And  Cock-fighting  Ned  was  their  Hector, 

A  courageous  fellow  and  stout : 
He  stood  their  bold  friend  and  protector, 

And  thump'd  the  opponents  about 


All  hand-over-head  topsy-turvy, 

They  struck  with  fists,  elbows,  and  feet ; 
A  Willington  callant,  called  Gurvy, 

Was  top-tails  toss'd  over  the  seat. 
Luke  Carr  had  one  eye  closed  entire, 

And  what  is  a  serio-farce, 
Poor  Robin  was  cast  on  the  fire, 

They  cudn't  hae  serv'd  him  much  warse. 

Oh,  Robin !  what  argued  thy  speeches  ? 

Disaster  now  makes  thee  quite  mum  : 
Thy  wit  could  not  save  the  good  breeches 

That  mensefully  cover'd  thy  bum. 
To  some  slop-shop  now  thou  may  go  trudging, 

And  lug  out  some  squandering  coins ; 
For  now  'tis  too  late  to  be  grudging — 

Thou  cannot  go  home  with  bare  groins. 

How  the  wayfaring  companies  parted 

The  Muse  chooseth  not  to  proclaim ; 
But  'tis  thought  that,  being  rather  down-hearted. 

They  quietly  went  "toddling  hame." 
Now,  ye  Collier  callants,  so  clever, 

Residing  'tween  Tyne  and  the  Wear, 
Beware,  when  you  fuddle  together, 

Of  making  too  free  with  strong  beer. 

H.  BOB8ON.  BelVt  "  Northern  Bardt,"  1812. 

8 


114  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE   SANDGATE   LASSIE'S   LAMENT. 

Tune—"  The  Bonny  Pit  Laddie." 

They've  prest  my  dear  Johnny, 

Se  sprightly  and  bonny 

Alack!  I  shall  ne'er  mair  d'  weel,  O ! 

The  kidnapping  squad 

Laid  hold  of  my  lad 
As  he  was  unmooring  the  keel,  O  ! 

Chorus, 
O,  my  sweet  laddie. 
My  canny  keel  laddie, 
Se  hansum,  se  canty,  and  free,  O  I 
Had  he  staid  on  the  Tyne, 
Ere  now  he'd  been  mine, 
But,  oh  !  he's  far  ower  the  sea,  O  ! 


Should  he  fall  by  commotion, 

Or  sink  in  the  ocean, 
(May  sic  tidings  ne'er  come  to  the  Key,  O ! 

I  could  ne'er  mair  be  glad, 

For  the  loss  of  my  lad 
Wad  break  my  poor  heart,  and  I'd  dee,  O ! 

O,  my  sweet  laddie,  etc. 

But  should  my  dear  tar 

Come  safe  from  the  war, 
What  heart-bounding  joy  wad  I  feel,  O  ! 

To  the  church  we  wad  flee, 

And  married  be. 
And  again  he  shall  row  in  his  keel,  0 1 

O,  my  sweet  laddie,  etc. 
H.  BOBSON.  BelX9  "  Northern  Bards,*'  1812. 


\ 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  115 

O,  my  sweet  laddie, 

My  cannie  keel  laddie, 
Se  handsum,  se  canty,  and  free,  O  1 

Tho'  far  from  the  Tyne, 

I  still  hope  he'll  be  mine. 
And  live  happy  as  any  can  be,  O  ! 

O,  my  sweet  laddie,  etc. 
H.  BOBSON.  BelCs  •'  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


TILL   THE   TIDE   CUMS   IN. 

While  strolling  down  sweet  Sandgate  Street, 
A  man-o'-war's  blade  I  chanc'd  to  meet ; 
To  the  sign  of  "The  Ship"  I  haul'd  him  in. 
To  drink  a  good  glass,  till  the  tide  came  in. 

Till  the  tide  came  in,  etc 

I  took  in  tow  young  Squinting  Meg, 

Who  well  in  the  dance  could  shake  her  leg ; 

My  friend  hauFd  Oyster  Mally  in. 

And  we  jigg'd  them  about  till  the  tide  came  in. 

Till  the  tide  came  in,  etc. 

We  boos'd  away  till  the  break  of  day. 

Then  ask'd,  What  shot  we  had  to  pay  ? 

"  YouVe  drank,"  said  the  host,  "nine  pints  of  gin!' 

So  we  paid  him  his  due — now  the  tide  was  in. 

Now  the  tide  was  in,  etc. 
H.  BOBSON.  Mar»haM*9  CoUectwn  (1827). 


n6  TYNBSIDE  SONGS. 

MA*   CAHTHTXr   HUSTNY. 

Where  hast'te  been,  ma'  canny  hinny  ? 

An'  where  hast'te  been,  ma'  bonny  bairn  ? 
Aw  was  up  an'  down  seekin'  ma'  hinny, 

Aw  was  thro'  the  toon  seekin'  for  my  bairn ; 
Aw  went  up  the  Butcher  Bank  and  down  Grundin  Chare, 
Call'd  at  the  Dun  Cow,  but  aw  cuddent  find  thee  there. 

Where  hast'te  been,  ma'  canny  hinny  ? 

An'  where  hast'te  been,  ma*  bonny  bairn  ?  etc. 

Then  aw  went  t'  th'  Cassel  Garth,  and  caw'd  on  Johnny 

Fife ; 
The  beer-drawer  tell'd  me  she  ne'er  saw  thee  in  her  life. 

Where  hast'te  been  ?  etc. 

Then  aw  went  into  the  Three  Bulls'  Heads,  and  down  the 

lang  stairs. 
And  a'  the  way  alang  the  Close,  as  far  as  Mr.  Mayor's. 

Where  hast'te  been  ?  etc 

Fra  there  aw  went  alang  the  brig,  an'  up  t'  Jackson's 

Chare, 

Then  back  again  t'  the  Cross  Keys,  but  cuddent  find  thee 

.  there. 

Where  hast'te  been  ?  etc. 

Then  comin'  out  o'  Pipergate,  aw  met  wi'  Willy  Rigg, 
Whe  tell'd  me  that  he  saw  thee  lukin'  ower  the  brig. 

Where  hast'te  been  ?  etc 

Cummin'  alang  the  brig  again,  aw  met  wi'  Cristy  Gee, 

He  tell'd  me  'et  he  saw  thee  gannin  down  Humeses' 

Entery. 

Where  hast'te  been  ?  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  \\^ 

Where  hev  aw  been  ?  aw  sune  can  tell  ye  that ; 
Cummin  up  the  Kee,  aw  met  wi'  Peter  Pratt, 
Meetin'  Peter  Pratt  we  met  wi'  Tommy  Wear, 
An'  went  t'  Humeses  t'  get  a  gill  o'  beer. 

There's  where  a've  been,  ma*  canny  hinny. 
There's  where  a've  been,  ma'  bonny  lam'. 
Wast'tu  up  an'  down  seekin'  for  yur  hinny  ? 
Wast'tu  up  and  down  seekin'  for  yur  lam'  ? 

Then  aw  met  yur  Ben,  an*  we  were  like  to  fight ; 
An'  when  we  cam  to  Sandgate  it  was  pick  night 
Crossin'  th'  road,  aw  met  wi'  Bobby  Swinny : 
Hing  on  th'  girdle,  let's  hev  a  singin'  hinny. 

Aw  my  sorrow's  ower  now,  a've  fund  my  hinny, 
Aw  my  sorrow's  ower  now,  a've  fund  my  bairn ; 
Lang  may  aw  shout,  ma'  canny  hinny, 
Lang  may  aw  shout,  ma'  bonny  bairn. 
Unknown.  Bc«*»  "  NortJiem  Barda,"  1812. 


CHILDREN'S    RHYMES. 

Bepeated  by  children  when  rain  ia  falling— especially  a  summer's  shower. 

Rain,  rain,  gan  away. 
Cum  another  summer's  day. 

Repeated  by  children  when  snow  is  falling. 

Keel-bully,  keel-bully,  ploat  yor  geese, 
Cawd  days  an'  winter  neets. 


ii8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

A    SUNDERLAND   SONG. 

Oh  1  the  weary  Cutter,  and  oh !  the  weary  Sea, 
Oh  !  the  weary  Cutter,  that  stole  my  laddie  from  me; 
When  I  look'd  to  the  Nor'ard,  I  look'd  with  a  wat'ry  eye, 
But  when  I  looked  to  the  Southward,  I  saw  my  laddie 
go  by. 

Sharpilt "  BUhxaprick  QiktUxmA.** 


ANDREW   GARR. 

As  I  went  to  Newcastle, 

My  journey  was  not  far, 
I  met  with  a  sailor  lad, 

Whose  name  was  Andrew  Carr. 

And  hey  for  Andrew,  Andrew, 
Ho  for  Andrew  Carr ; 

And  hey  for  Andrew,  Andrew, 
Ho  for  Andrew  Carr. 

Good  fortune  attend  my  jewel, 

Now  he's  saird  o'er  the  bar. 
And  send  him  back  to  me. 

For  I  love  my  Andrew  Carr. 

And  hey  for  Andrew,  Andrew,  etc 
5««'«  "Northern  Bards,'*  1812, 


NORTHERN  NURSERY  SONG. 

My  bairn's  a  bonny  bairn,  a  canny  bairn,  a  bonny  bairn, 
My  bairn's  a  canny  bairn,  and  never  looks  dowley ; 
My  bairn's  a  canny  bairn,  a  canny  bairn,  a  bonny  bairn. 
My  bairn's  a  bonny  bairn,  and  not  a  yellow-yowley. 

Sharpe's  "Bitkopriek  Garland," 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


119 


WILLIAM    STEPHENSON. 

William  Stephenson,  one  of  the  earliest  of  Tyneside 
writers,  was  a  native  of  Gateshead,  where  he  was  bom  on 
Jane  ■28th,  1763.    At  Gateshead,  with  James  Atkinson,  of 


Cfaurch^Street,  he  served  his  apprenticeship  to  the  clock  and 
watchmaking,  and  continued  in  that  line  until  a  severe 
accident  disabled  him,  and  rendered  a  lengthened  stay  in 
the  country  necessary  for  the  recovery  of  his  health.  When 
he  returned,  he  resolved  to  leave  the  watchmaking  for  a 
more  congenial  line.  He  was  a  scholar,  and  possessing 
literary  tastes,  the  life  of  a  schoolmaster  appeared  more 
attractive  to  him*    He  opened  his  school  on  the  Church 


lao  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Stairs,  Gateshead,  and  his  venture  succeeding,  he  continued 
there  during  the  greater  part  of  his  life. 

In  1812  we  find  his  "Quayside  Shaver"  in  Bell's  volume, 
and  there  also  his  "Skipper's  Wedding,"  but  the  "Wedding" 
then  under  the  title  of  "The  Invitation."  These  two  are  by 
far  his  best  songs.  In  1 832  he  collected  his  songs  and  poems 
into  a  volume,  which  he  inscribed  to  the  Rev.  John  CoUinson, 
then  Rector  of  Gateshead.  The  principal  piece  is  entitled 
"  The  Retrospect,"  and  begins — 

"  Gateshead  is  nought  like  what  it  was, 
When  first  a  boy  I  knew  it ; 
I  had  such  sport  and  merry  days, 
When  I  went  scampering  through  it." 

A  description  of  Gateshead  as  it  was  follows,  introducing  the 
eccentrics  and  well-known  characters  of  the  time,  including 
the  "  Man  who  built  a  house  and  stole  the  stones,"  "  Lowp, 
Peter,  lowp,"  and  possibly  in  these  four  lines  the  original  of 
his  "  Quayside  Shaver  " — 

"  Tom  Tough  and  wife,  both  he  and  she 
Bought  up  old  pewter  cuttings  ; 
She  went  and  shav'd  upon  the  Quay, 
And  he  made  soldiers'  buttons  " — 

the  whole  poern  being  a  curious  and  interesting  picture  of 
Gateshead  100  years  ago. 

His  works  are  not  numerous.  "  The  Retrospect"  occupies 
one-third  of  the  112  pages  of  the  volume.  Amongst  his 
songs,  of  which  there  are  only  six,  he  places  "  The  Age  of 
Eighty."  It  is  a  good  specimen  of  his  graver  pieces,  and 
begins — 

AGE  OF  EIGHTY. 

Now  past  the  gay  season  and  sunshine  of  youth. 

Whose  scenes  are  no  longer  endearing, 
I  clearly  perceive,  in  the  mirror  of  truth, 

The  close  of  life's  day  now  appearing. 
Tho'  pleasing  to  some  their  past  follies  may 

Not  thinking  on  matters  more  weighty. 
Like  me  will  discover  'tis  all  but  a  dream. 

If  they  live  to  the  hoary  age  Eighty. 

Replete  with  old  age  yet  contentment  I  know, 

In  my  cot  on  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
Where  streams  of  fruition  abundantly  flow 

From  rectitude's  chrystalline  fountain. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  I2X 

Prosperity's  smiles,  or  adversity's  frowns, 

Shall  never  divert  or  affright  me  ; 
And  sweet  rosy  health  all  my  happiness  crown, 

Tho'  now  at  the  hoary  age  Eighty. 
•  •  •  •  • 

His  singing  of  "  The  Age  of  Eighty"  seems  a  poetical 
licence,  in  which  he  a  little  anticipated  the  flight  of  time,  as 
at  his  death,  which  occurred  at  Gateshead  on  August  12th, 
1836,  he  would  be  in  his  seventy-third  year.  The  portrait 
and  autograph  are  from  the  volume  published  by  his  son 
(a  copy  of  which  was  kindly  lent  by  Matthew  Mackey,  Jun.). 


THE   QUAYSIDE    SHAVER. 

As  far  back  aa  1812  Bell  writes  as  if  the  "Quayside  Shaver"  then  was 
a  thing  of  the  past.  His  note  runs—"  Formerly  on  the  Sandhill,  and  after- 
wards on  the  Quay,  near  the  Bridge,  were  people  (chiefly  women)  who, 
in  the  open  street,  on  Market  Days,  performed  the  office  of  barber."  Bell 
does  not  mention  it,  but  it  is  said  the  "Quayside  Shavers"  prospered 
through  only  charging  half  what  was  charged  at  the  shops. 

On  each  market  day,  Sir,  the  folks  to  the  Quay,  Sir, 

Go  flocking  with  beards  they  have  seven  days  worn, 
And  round  the  small  grate,  Sir,  in  crowds  they  all  wait,  Sir, 

To  get  themselves  shav'd  in  a  rotative  turn. 
Old  soldiers  on  sticks.  Sir,  about  politics.  Sir, 

Debate — till  at  length  they  quite  heated  have  grown ; 
May  nothing  escape,  Sir,  until  Madam  Scrape^  Sir, 

Cries  "Gentlemen,  who  is  the  next  to  sit  down?" 

A  medley  the  place  is,  of  thosa  that  sell  laces, 

With  fine  shirt-neck  buttons,  and  good  cabbage  nets, 
Where  match-men,  at  meeting,  give  a  kind  greeting, 

And  ask  one  another  how  trade  with  them  sets; 
Join'd  in  with  Tom  Baggers  and  little  Bod  Nackers^ 

Who  wander  the  streets  in  their  fuddling  gills; 
And  those  folks  with  bags,  Sir,  who  buy  up  old  rags.  Sir, 

That  deal  in  fly-cages  and  paper  wind-mills. 


122  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

There  pitmen,  with  baskets,  and  gay  posey  waistcoats, 

Discourse  about  nought  but  whee  puts  and  hews  best; 
There  keelmen  just  landed,  swear,  may  they  be  stranded. 

If  they're  not  shaved  first,  while  their  keel's  at  the  Fesf/ 
With  face  of  coal  dust,  would  frighten  one  almost. 

Thro'  off  hat  and  wig,  while  they  usurp  the  chair; 
While  others  stand  looking,  and  think  it  provoking, 

But,  for  the  insult,  to  oppose  them  none  dare. 

When  under  the  chin,  Sir,  she  tucks  the  cloth  in.  Sir, 

Their  old  quid  they'll  pop  in  the  pea-jacket  cuff; 
And  while  they  are  sitting,  do  nought  but  keep  spitting. 

And  looking  around  with  an  air  fierce  and  bluff. 
Such  tales  as  go  round.  Sir,  would  surely  confound.  Sir, 

And  puzzle  the  prolific  brain  of  the  wise; 
But  when  she  prepares.  Sir,  to  take  off  the  hair.  Sir, 

With  lather  she  whitens  them  up  to  the  eyes. 

No  sooner  the  razor  is  laid  on  the  face,  Sir, 

Than  painful  distortions  take  place  on  the  brow; 
But  if  they  complain.  Sir,  they'll  find  it  in  vain,  Sir, 

She  tells  them,  "there's  nought  but  what  Patience  can 
do:" 
And  as  she  scrapes  round  'em,  if  she  by  chance  wound  'em. 

They'll  cry  out  as  tho'  she'd  bereav'd  them  of  life, 
**'0d  smash  your  brains,  woman!  aw  find  the  blood's 
comin', 

Aw'd  rather  be  shav'd  with  an  aud  gully  knife ! " 

For  all  they  can  say,  Sir,  she  still  rasps  away,  Sir, 
And  sweeps  round  their  jaw,  the  chop  torturing  tool; 

Till  they  in  a  pet.  Sir,  request  her  to  whet,  Sir; 
But  she  gives  them  for  answer,  "Sit  still,  you  poor  fool !" 


TYNESIDB  SONGS.  123 

For  all  their  repining,  their  twisting  and  twining, 

She  forward  proceeds,  till  she's  mown  off  the  hair; 
When  finished  cries,  "There,  Sir!"  then  straight  from  the 
chair,  Sir, 
The3r'll  jump,  crying,  "Daresay  you've  scrap'd  the  bone 
bare!" 

w.  s«PHENsoN,  Sen.  {^:;w7fX^;?S82. 


THE    SKIPPER'S    IZITEDDING. 

Good  neighbours,  I'm  come  for  to  tell  ye, 

Our  Skipper  and  Mall's  to  be  wed; 
And  if  it  be  true  what  they're  saving, 

Egad  we'll  be  all  rarely  fedl 
The3r've  brought  home  a  shoulder  of  mutton. 

Besides  two  fine  thumping  fat  geese, 
And  when  at  the  fire  they're  roasting, 

We're  all  to  have  sops  in  the  greese. 

Blind  WiUy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 


And  there  will  be  pies  and  spice  dumplings, 

And  there  will  be  bacon  and  peas; 
Besides  a  great  lump  of  beef  boiled, 

And  they  may  get  crowdies  who  please; 
To  eat  of  such  good  things  as  these  are, 

I'm  sure  you've  but  seldom  the  luck; 
Besides,  for  to  make  us  some  pottage. 

There'll  be  a  sheep's  head  and  a  pluck. 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddie. 


124  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Of  sausages  there  will  be  plenty, 

Black  puddings,  sheep  fat,  and  neats'  tripes ; 
Besides,  for  to  warn  all  our  noses, 

Great  store  of  tobacco  and  pipes; 
A  room,  they  say,  there  is  provided 

For  us  at  "The  Old  Jacob's  well;" 
The  bridegroom  he  went  there  this  morning, 

And  spoke  for  a  barrel  o*  yell. 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 

There's  sure  to  be  those  things  Tve  mention'd, 

And  many  things  else;  and  I  learn, 
There's  white  bread  and  butter  and  sugar, 

To  please  every  bonny  young  bairn. 
Of  each  dish  and  glass  you'll  be  welcome 

To  eat  and  to  drink  till  you  stare; 
I've  told  you  what  meat's  to  be  at  it, 

I'll  tell  you  next  who's  to  be  there. 

Blind  Willy*s  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 

Why  there  will  be  Peter  the  hangman. 

Who  flogs  the  folks  at  the  cart-tail, 
Au'd  Bob,  with  his  new  sark  and  ruffle. 

Made  out  of  an  au'd  keel  sail! 
And  Tib  on  the  Quay  who  sells  oysters. 

Whose  mother  oft  strove  to  persuade 
Her  to  keep  from  the  lads,  but  she  wouldn't, 

Until  she  got  by  them  betray'd. 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 

And  there  will  be  Sandy  the  cobbler. 
Whose  belly's  as  round  as  a  keg, 

And  Doll,  with  her  short  petticoats, 
To  display  her  white  stockings  and  leg; 


TYNBSIDE  SONGS,  125 

And  Sail,  who,  when  snug  in  a  corner, 

A  sixpence^  they  say,  won't  refuse; 
She  cursed  when  her  father  was  drowned, 

Because  he  had  on  his  new  shoes. 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 

And  there  will  be  Sam  the  quack  doctor, 

Of  skill  and  profession  he'll  crack; 
And  Dick  who  would  fain  be  a  soldier, 

But  for  a  great  hump  on  his  back; 
And  Tom  in  the  streets,  for  his  living, 

Who  grinds  razors,  scissors,  and  knives; 
And  two  or  three  merry  old  women. 

That  call  "Mugs  and  doubles,  wives!" 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 

But  I  had  forgot  neighbours  nearly, 

For  to  tell  ye — exactly  at  one, 
The  dinner  will  be  on  the  table. 

And  music  will  play  till  it's  done. 
When  youll  be  all  heartily  welcome. 

Of  this  merry  feast  for  to  share; 
But  if  you  won't  come  at  this  bidding, 

Why  then  you  may  stay  where  you  are. 

Blind  Willy's  to  play  on  the  fiddle. 
W.  Stephenson,  Sen.  AtUhoi't  Volume,  1882. 


126  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

NEWCASTLE   ON   SATURDAY   NIGHT. 

A  Picture  of  Saturday  Night  One  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

Ye  Muses,  oh !  mount  on  Aonian  wing, 

And  leave  the  fam'd  fount,  and  Pierian  shades, 
All  haste  to  Newcastle,  and  aid  me  to  sing. 

The  time  when  her  sons  have  release  from  their  trades ; 
But  hard  words  and  Greek'um,  let  learned  folks  seek  'em, 

Who  epic,  and  tragic,  bombastic  would  write, 
While  loudly  we'll  sing  O,  in  plain  English  lingo, 

The  stir  at  Newcastle  on  Saturday  Night. 

Here  barbers  their  gimcracks  in  readiness  getting, 

Hot  water  and  looking-glass,  shaving-cloth  clean. 
Their  towels  and  lather-box, — razors  are  whetting, 

To  mow  the  ripe  harvest  that  grows  on  the  chin ; 
When  into  the  shop,  Sir,  with  long  beards  you  pop.  Sir, 

There  get  yourselves  painted  all  over  with  white, 
And  one  may  suppose,  Sir,  fast  hold  of  your  nose,  Sir, 

They'll  smooth  off  your  phiz  on  a  Saturday  Night 

Then  see  that  you  pop  in,  nor  dare  to  delay.  Sir, 

Nor  turn  Sabbath  breaker,  the  clergy's  strict  rule. 
But  be  wise  and  beware  of  a  Sunday  morn  razor. 

And  always  avoid  the  chap-torturing  tool. 
Else  with  smart  on  your  chin.  Sir,  you'll  grumble  and 
grin,  Sir, 

Sure  as  the  dull  edge  on  your  front  should  alight ; 
But  ask  him  to  whet.  Sir,  he'll  cry  in  a  pet.  Sir, 

"Then  come  and  be  shav'd  on  a  Saturday  Night! " 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  127 

Of  Hawks'  smithies,  no  more  heard  the  din  is, 

Round  the  door  of  the  warehouse  the  workmen  arrange. 
While  old  Tommy  YouU  with  his  bank  notes  and  guineas, 

Is  puffing  and  running  about  to  get  change ; 
When  reckoned  they  ne'er  stop,  but  jog  to  the  beer  shop, 

Where  fumes  of  tobacco  and  stingo  invite. 
And  the  oven  inhabits  great  store  of  Welch  rabbits, 

To  feast  jov'al  fellows  on  a  Saturday  Night. 


While  cheerful  liquor  around  they  are  pushing, 

The  many-mouth'd  chorus  melodious  flies, 
Tho'  oft  interrupted  by  merchants  who  rush  in. 

With  do  you  want  crabs,  or  with  hot  penny  pies ; 
Perhaps  you  may  chuse,  Sir,  to  pore  o*er  the  news.  Sir, 

To  see  whether  matters  go  wrong  or  go  right. 
All  ranks  and  conditions  commence  politicians. 

While  set  in  the  alehouse  on  Saturday  Night. 


While  over  the  tankard  such  joys  they  are  raising. 

Full  often  will  fate  their  enjoyments  annoy. 
A  good  scolding  wife  puts  her  unwelcome  face  in, 

An  intruding  guest,  she  breaks  thus  on  their  joy : 
"  What,  here  again  Harry,  ne  langer  ye's  tarry, 

Od  swell  ye  come  hyem,  or  I'll  close  up  your  sigh^." 
'*  Nay,  now  he  says  jewel,  yell  not  be  se  cruiel. 

To  begrudge  one  a  drop  on  a  Saturday  Night." 

Here  wives  with  their  baskets  are  to  and  fro  walking, 
In  shambles  to  bargain  with  butchers  for  meat, 

While  some  ballad  singer  by  slowly  is  stalking. 
And  warbles  so  sweetly  his  lays  in  the  street ; 


128  TYNES/DE  SONGS. 

Here's  Calender's  crying,  and  people  come  buying, 
Around  the  hoarse  fellow  in  crowds  such  a  sight, 

And  as  suits  your  palates,  confessions  and  ballads 
Are  all  at  your  service  on  Saturday  Night. 

As  through  the  dark  alleys  if  slily  one  passes, 

What  fun  we  may  have  if  an  ear  we  will  lend ; 
Such  sighs  and  soft  wishes,  from  lads  and  from  lasses, 

Who  tell  their  fond  tales  at  an  entry  end ; 
When  he  to  his  true  love  cries,  "  Sally,  adieu,  love ! " 

And  kisses  and  squeezes  his  deary  so  tight. 
She,  blushing,  says  "  Fie,  Sir  I "  and  softly  will  cry,  "Sir, 

Do  stay  a  bit  longer ;  'tis  Saturday  Night." 

Now,  if  for  variety,  Sir,  you  be  craving. 

Here's  fruit  and  here's  butter,  here's  flesh  and  here's 
fish, 
Here's  buying  and  selling,  and  courting  and  shaving. 

And  drinking  and  smoking — what  else  can  you  wish  ? 
With  courting  and  joking,  and  drinking  and  smoking. 

We'll  put  wrinkled  sorrow  and  care  to  the  flight, 
And  over  the  stingo  we'll  laugh  loud  and  sing  O, 

And  merrily  welcome  each  Saturday  Night 


JOHN   LEONARD. 

John  Leonard  is  the  author  of  but  one  song  which  finds 
Its  way  into  dialect  collections,  '^Winlaton  Hopping."  He 
has  written  much  beside,  but  it  is  of  a  political  and  general 
character.  In  the  Reference  Library,  Newcastle,  there  is  a 
manuscript  volume  of  his  poetry  extending  to  some  three  or 
four  hundred  pages,  foolscap  size.  In  a  note  in  the  volume 
he  tells  that  it  was  partly  written  during  a  three  months' 
imprisonment.    What  sort  of  imprisonment  this  was,  where, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  129 

or  how  brought  about,  is  not  said.  The  Irish  question  then, 
as  now,  seems  to  have  been  to  the  front,  as  Leonard,  in  the 
volume,  has  two  pieces — one  on  Charles  James  Fox,  who  is 
highly  praised,  and  a  companion  piece  on  William  Pitt,  who 
is  thus  denounced— 

Who  raised  the  torch  and  flaming  brand 

Which  scorcVd  so  long  Hibemia's  land, 
Where  thousands  perish'd  on  the  strand  ? — 

'Twas  Pitt. 
Who  swore  he'd  make  the  Irish  free, 

If  to  the  Union  they'd  agree, 
Who  from  his  sacred  oath  did  flee  ? — 

'Twas  Pitt. 

Besides  this  manuscript  volume,  which  appears  to  have 
been  written  about  181 3,  Marshall,  of  Gateshead,  published 
a  small  collection  of  his  poems  (some  36  pages)  in  1808. 

— — — — 


Facsimile  of  John  Leonard's  writing  and  autograph  (reduced  scale)  from 
the  manuscript  in  the  Reference  Liorary,  kindly  lent  by  the^Committee. 

Photographed  by  Mr.  P.  M.  Laws,  Blackett  Street. 

About  Leonard  himself  little  appears  to  be  known. '^i.In 
all  probability  he  would  be  born  in  Gateshead,  where  his 

9 


130  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

father,  George  Leonard,  was  a  gardener,  and  a  man  of  some 
means,  as  he  owned  property  in  High  Street,  near  Jackson's 
Chare— possibly  Leonard's  Court  When  it  is  added  that 
the  poet  was  brought  up  to  the  trade  of  a  joiner,  the  little 
that  is  known  about  him  is  told.  When  and  where  he  died 
we  have  no  record.  Apparently  it  was  not  in  Gateshead, 
as  St.  Mar/s  register  has  been  searched  from  1813  to  1852 
without  finding  any  entry  of  his  burial 


WINLATOIVr   HOPPIHTG. 

Winlaton  Hopping,  always  held  on  the  Monday  and  Tuesday  following 
the  14th  of  May,  is  an  old  institution.  It  stUl  survives,  but  shorn  of  much 
of  its  former  popularity. 

You  sons  of  glee,  come  list  to  me, 

You  who  love  mirth  and  toping,  O, 
You'll  ne'er  refuse  to  hear  the  muse 

Sing  of  Winlaton  Hopping,  O. 
To  Tenche's  Hotel  let's  retire. 

To  spend  the  night  so  neatly,  O; 
The  fiddle  and  song  you'll  sure  admire, 

Together  they  sound  so  sweetly,  O. 

Tal  lal  la,  etc. 

With  box  and  dice  you'd  Sammy  spy. 

Of  late  Sword-dancers'  Bessy,  O — 
All  patch'd  and  torn  with  tail  and  horn, 

Just  like  a  Dei'el  in  dressy,  O; 
But  late  discharged  from  that  employ. 

This  scheme  came  in  his  noddle,  O; 
Which  fiU'd  his  little  heart  with  joy, 

And  pleas'd  blithe  Sammy  Doddle,  O. 

Close  by  the  stocks,  his  dice  and  box 

He  rattled  away  so  rarely,  O; 
He  did  engage,  youth  and  old  age. 

Together  they  play'd  so  cheerly,  O  ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  131 

While  just  close  by  the  sticks  did  fly, 

At  spice  on  knobs  of  woody,  O  : 
"  How  !  mind  my  legs  1 "  the  youngsters  cry, 

"  Smash  !  see^  thou's  drawn  the  bloody ! "  O. 

Rang'd  in  a  row,  a  glorious  show 

Of  spice,  and  nuts  for  cracking,  O ; 
And  handsome  toys  for  girls  and  boys, 

Did  grace  Winlaton  Hopping,  O. 
Each  to  the  stalls  led  his  sweet  lass. 

And  treat  her  there  so  sweetly,  O ; 
And  then  retir'd  to  drink  a  glass. 

Or  shuffle  and  cut  so  neatly,  O. 

You  men  so  wise  who  knowledge  prize. 

Let  not  this  scene  confound  ye,  O ; 
At  Gardner's  door  you  might  explore 

The  world  a'  running  round  ye,  O  : 
Blithe  girls  and  boys  on  horse  or  chair, 

Did  fly  round  without  stopping,  O  ; 
Sure  Blaydon  rare  can't  compare 

With  Winlaton's  fam*d  Hopping,  O. 

The  night  came  on,  with  dance  and  song 

Each  public-house  did  jingle,  O ; 
All  ranks  did  swear  to  banish  care, 

The  married  and  the  single,  O : 
They  tript  away  till  morning  light. 

Then  slept  sound  without  rocking,  O ; 
Next  day  got  drunk  in  merry  plight, 

And  jaw'd  about  the  Hopping,  O. 

At  last  dull  care  his  crest  did  rear, 

Our  heads  he  sore  did  riddle,  O ; 
Till  Peacock  drew  his  pipes  and  blew. 

And  Tenche  he  tun'd  his  fiddle,  O; 


132  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  Jack  the  Glazier  led  the  van, 
The  drum  did  join  in  chorus,  O — 

The  old  and  young  they  danced  and  sang. 
Dull  Care  fled  far  before  us,  O. 

No  courtier  fine,  nor  grave  divine. 

That's  got  the  whole  he  wishes,  O, 
Will  ever  be  so  blithe  as  we, 

With  all  their  loaves  and  fishes,  O  : 
Then  grant,  O  Jove  1  our  ardent  pray'r. 

And  happy  still  you'll  find  us,  O; — 
Let  pining  Want  and  haggard  Care, 

A  day's  march  keep  behind  us,  O. 

Leonard.  AiUhm's  Mantucript,  1813. 


IZITILLIAM    MITFORD. 

Following  closely  on  the  three  founders  of  Tyneside  Song 
comes  William  Mitford ;  and  here  again  Newcastle  is 
unable  to  claim  our  writer  as  her  own.  Like  many  more,  he  is 
hers  only  by  adoption,  his  birthplace  being  Preston,  near 
North  Shields.  Mitford,  who  was  born  on  April  loth,  1788, 
had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  parents  when  quite  a  child, 
and  was  brought  to  Newcastle  by  his  uncle  when  between 
three  and  four  years  of  age.  Of  his  early  life  there  is  little  or 
no  record.  His  schooling  past,  he  was  apprenticed  to  a 
shoemaker  in  Dean  Street  (Dean  Street  then  had  been  but 
lately  opened,  and  was  a  fashionable  part).  The  father  of 
Willie  Armstrong  (afterwards  noted  in  Tyneside  Song)  was 
a  master  shoemaker  there,  and  possibly  it  was  with  him  that 
Mitford  learned  his  trade. 

The  next  record  we  have  of  him  is  in  connection  with  his 
famous  songs.  In  1816,  Marshall,  in  the  Cloth  Market, 
published  The  Budget;  or^  Newcastle  Songster,  This  is  the 
earliest  trace  we  have  of  Mitford  as  a  writer.  The  Budget 
is  written  entirely  by  him ;  it  contains  eleven  songs.  On  the 
second  page  is  the  following — half  title,  half  dedication  : — 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


133 


THE 

FEAST    OF    MOMUS;     OR, 

ODDFELLOWS'   CABINET 

FOR   1816, 

CONTAINING  A 

COLLECTION   OF  SONGS, 

CHIEFLY  IN  THE  NEWCASTLE  DIALECT,   NEVER 

BEFORE  PUBLISHED, 

IS  DEDICATED,   BY  PERMISSION, 

TO  THE 

LOYAL  UNION  LODGE  OF  ODDFELLOWS, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR, 

BROTHER  MITFORD. 

In  this  "  Feast  of  Momus  ;  or,  Oddfellows*  Cabinet "  we 
have  Mitford's  best  songs.  His  "Cappy,"  "The  Court- 
ship," and  "X.  Y."  are  there.     In  the  course  of  years  he 


wrote  many  more,  but  while  they  all  show  his  genius  as  a 
song-writer,  his  early  work  is  his  best     Seven  years  after 


134  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

this  we  have  his  next  public  appearance,  but  not  this  time  in 
verse.  In  July  29th,  1823,  the  Cordwalners  of  Newcastle 
celebrated  the  festival  of  St  Chrispin,  their  patron  saint,  by 
holding  a  coronation  (the  first  for  thirty-four  years)  in  the 
court  of  the  Freemen's  Hospital,  Westgate  (now  the  Police 
Station),  and  afterwards  walking  in  procession  through  the 
principal  streets  of  the  town.  Mitford,  as  a  shoemaker,  was 
one  of  them,  and  being  well  known  through  his  local  songs, 
he  was  selected  to  act  the  part  of  the  bishop  in  the  cere- 
monies. And  on  that  occasion  he  assumed  the  lawn 
sleeves,  mounted  his  spectacles,  and  acted  the  part  to 
perfection. 

His  company  being  now  much  sought  after  through  the 
celebrity  of  his  songs,  he  left  his  shoemaking  and  opened  a 
public-house  on  the  edge  of  the  Leazes,  near  to  the  Spital 
Tongues,  which  he  called  the  "  North  Pole."  Here,  through 
his  lively  disposition,  and  possessing  the  qualification  of 
singing  his  own  songs,  he  succeeded  in  doing  a  good 
business.  While  residing  there  he  wrote  a  song  which 
he  called  "The  North  Pole,**  descriptive  of  the  place 
and  its  attractions,  and  often  sung  it  amongst  his  visitors. 
The  last  verse  runs — 

'^  A  social  squad,  I  like  it  much, 
When  Gill  comes  down  to  air  his  crutch, 
And  Jack  gets  up  to  show  you  a  touch — 

You  never  now  get  at  the  Pole,  sir. 
Here  Winter  never  spoils  our  cheer, 
Though  he  comes  more  than  once  a  year  ; 
Then  come,  my  lads,  whose  hearts  are  prime, 
Dispose  yourselves  at  regular  time, 
And  see  an  Old  Boy,  who  can  chant  a  rhyme, 

With  his  frosty  face  at  the  Pole,  sir. 

Hokey,  pokey,  etc." 

After  a  time,  leaving  the  "  North  Pole"  for  a  more  central 
situation,  he  removed  to  the  **  Tailors*  Arms  "  at  the  "  head 
of  the  Side,"  where  he  is  thus  referred  to  in  1834  by  William 
Watson,  a  brother  poet,  in  his  song  of  the  "  Newcastle 
Landlords** — 

**  M  stands  for  Mitford— he  kept  the  North  Pole, 
Just  over  the  Leazes — a  dull  looking  hole  ; 
Now  our  favourite  poet  lives  at  head  of  the  Side — 
Here's  success  to  his  muse— long  may  she  preside  ! " 

By  industry  and  attention   Mitford  was  in  time  enabled 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


135 


to  leave  his  public-house,  and  to  pass  the  evening  of 
his  life  independent  of  the  cares  of  business.  In  a  house 
of  his  own  in  Oyster  Shell  Lane,  at  the  head  of  Bath 
Lane,  he  died  on  the  3rd 
of  March  1851,  in  his  sixty- 
third  year,  and  was  buried 
at  Westgate  Cemetery, 
Arthur's  Hill.  We  give  a 
view  of  the  house  in  which 
he  died,  and  showing  the 
bay  window  put  in  by  him- 
self, from  which  in  his  day, 
however  it  may  be  now, 
there  was  a  fine  open  view 
of  gardens,  trees,  and  fields. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  Tyne- 
side  song  more  known  out 
of  the  district  than  Mit- 
ford's  "  Pitman's  Court- 
ship." The  hero's  dreams 
of  happiness,  homely  sim- 
plicity, and  happy  mingling 
of  the  hetrogeneous  stock 
of  articles  sold  in  a  "huick- 
stery  way"  in  the  pit  vil- 
lages, can  be  appreciated 
by  many  to  whom  the 
majority  of  Tyneside  songs 
are  riddles. 

The  portrait  of  Mitford 
on  a  previous  page  is  copied 
from  an  oil  painting  in  the 
possession  of  the  poet's 
grandson.  By  the  courtesy 
of  the  family  this  portrait 
is  for  the  first  time  allowed 
to  be  copied.  Mr.  Laws 
has  photographed  it,  and 
by  the  Meisenbach  process, 
which  reproduces  every  de- 
tail of  the  original,  the  por- 
trait has  been  reproduced.       Photo.    Auty  &  Ruddock,  Tynemouth. 

Robert  Emery,  Mitford's  friend  and  fellow-poet,   wrote 
the  following  acrostic  on  his  death. 


136  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

W  eep !  Nortliuinbria's  Bard  is  dead ! 

I  n  evil  hour  Death's  arrow  sped : 

L  ife  felt  the  shock— the  mortal  fell : 

L  ight  soared  the  soul,  and  sighed  farewell! 

I  n  freedom's  wilds  it  travels  far, 

A  nd  beams  beyond  the  evening  star  ! 

M  oum  on,  ye  mighty  Sons  of  Tyne  ! 

M  ourn  for  your  Bard,  whose  lyre  divine, 

I  n  mirthful  hour,  inspired  each  heart, 

T  hus  fallen  beneath  the  tyrant's  dart. 

F  ame  hovers  o'er  his  honoured  bier — 

0  'er  all  Northumbria  once  held  dear. 

R  ide  on,  grim  Death  !  though  dust's  thy  claim, 

D  eathless  is  our  Minstrel  *s  name  1 


a/77Z^  ^y^pt^'f^^rr^  ^ 


This  autograph  is  traced  from  the  poet's  signature  to  his 
will  at  the  Probate  Court,  Durham.  Although  only  forty 
years  have  passed  since  Mitford  died,  yet  his  munuscnpts 
have  been  so  dispersed  that  an  autograph  was  not  otherwise 
to  be  had. 


TYNE   FAIR. 

In  commemoration  of  the  great  frost  in  the  winter  1813-14,  when  the 
Tyne  was  frozen  over  for  three  weeks. 

Since  in  cold  there  are  some  who  don't  wish  to  come 

out, 
While  others,  confin'd,  cannot  ramble  about; 
To  those  in  such  cases  Til  offer  a  line, 
While  the  ice  is  so  thick  upon  Newcastle  Tyne. 

Lol  de  lol,  etc. 

Jackey  Frost,  when  he  came,  made  the  keelmen  con- 
trive, 
While  the  river  was  frozen,  how  they  should  best  thrive; 
When  one  of  them  open'd  a  prospect  so  nice, 
"'Od  smash  ye  !  let's  heave  out  wor  planks  on  the  ice." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  137 

I  was  going  'mongst  the  rest,  the  amusement  to  share, 
When  "  Pay  for  the  plank,  sir ! "  says  one  with  an  air ; 
Slipt  my  hand  in  my  pocket  without  e'er  a  frown, 
And  this  knight  of  the  huddock  led  me  carefully  down. 

Huts,  soldiers,  and  fiddlers  arrested  my  view ; 
But  something  fell  out,  when  away  they  all  flew : 
Fell  out,  did  I  say  ?  why,  I  think  'twas  fell  in, 
For  they  spy'd  a  gay  barber  sous'd  up  to  the  chin. 

There  were  some  rowley-powley,  tetotum,  dice-box, 
While  others,  for  liquor,  were  fighting  game  cocks  j 
While  Neddy  the  Bellman — his  bell  tinkled  on — 
Said,  a  Cuddy  Race  started  exactly  at  one. 

O'er  this  fine  icy  walk,  too,  each  belle  had  her  beau, 
Don  skaiters  cut  figures  their  skill  for  to  show ; 
All  striving  who'd  get  the  most  praise  at  the  skait. 
From  the  Member  of  Parliament  down  to  the  sweep. 

A  marine  next  went  half  down,  whose  paws  on  the  ice 
Went  as  fast  as  a  cat's  when  she's  kidnapping  mice : 
I  began  now  to  think  'twas  a  dangerous  place. 
When  a  Keel-Bulley  roar'd,  "  Clear  the  road  for  a  race." 

The  winning  post  seem'd  a  grand  sight  for  a  glutton. 
For  there  hung  suspended  a  plump  leg  of  mutton  ; 
Its  rump  orange  laurels  display'd  to  the  view. 
Which  Cud  Snapes  after  winning  bedizen'd  his  brow. 

This  race  was  scarce  done  when  another  began, 
'Tween  knack-kneed  Mall  Trollop  and  bow-legged  Nan  : 
This  filly  race  made  the  folks  round  them  to  flock. 
But  knack-kneed  Mall  Trollop  came  in  for  the  smock. 


138  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Hats,  stockings,  and  hankerchiefs,  still  hung  as  prizes, 
Was  run  for  by  skaiters  and  lads  of  all  sizes ; 
Razor-grinders  quite  tipsy,  with  Bambro'  Jack, 
And  God  save  the  King,  sung  by  Willy  the  Black. 

Before  I  came  home  I'd  a  peep  through  the  bridge. 
Where  a  horse  ran  about  with  a  man  in  a  sledge; 
I  was  bidding  farewell  to  this  cool  winter's  treat, 
When  in  Will  Vardy's  tent  I  made  choice  of  a  seat. 

"A  game  at  quoits,"  says  the  landlord,  "will  finish  the 

day. 
With  the  tent  pins  for  hobs  ye  may  lather  away ; " 
But  the  cords  were  soon  cut,  made  him  sulky  and  glum. 
For  down  came  the  tent  and  three  bottles  of  rum. 

So  now  to  conclude — here's  wishing  fresh  weather^ 
That  the  poor  and  the  rich  may  rejoice  altogether ; 
Let's  fill  up  our  glasses  and  loyally  sing, 
Long  live  the  Prince  Regent,  and  God  save  the  King. 

Lol  de  lol,  etc. 
M ITFORD.  * •  The  BuAget "  (1816). 


XYZ   AT    HTETZirCASTLE    RACES,    1814. 

X  Y  Z,  a  famous  racehorse,  and  the  winner  for  four  consecutive  years— 
viz.,  1811-18121813-1814  of  the  Odd  Cup,  then  the  great  prize  at  the  New. 
castle  meeting.  The  Northumberland  Plate,  now  the  great  race,  had  then 
no  existence. 

Smash  !  Jemmy,  let  us  buss,  we'll  off 

An'  see  Newcassel  races : 
Set  Dick  the  Trapper  for  some  syep, 

We'll  seun  wesh  a'  wor  faces. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  139 

There'll  ne'er  a  lad  in  Percy  Main, 

Be  bet  this  day  for  five  or  ten ; 

Wor  pockets  lin'd  wiv  notes  an'  cash, 

Amang  the  cheps  we'll  cut  a  dash — 
For  X  Y  Z,  that  bonny  steed, 
He  bangs  them  a'  for  pith  and  speed, 
He's  sure  to  win  the  Cup,  man. 


We  reach'd  the  Moor,  wi'  sairish  tews, 
When  they  were  gaun  to  start,  man  : 
We  gav  a  fellow  tuppence  each, 

To  stand  upon  a  cart,  man ; 
The  bets  flew  round  frae  side  to  side, 
*'  The  field  agyen  X  Y  !  "  they  cried  ; 
We'd  hardly  time  to  lay  them  a', 
When  in  he  cam — Hurraw  !  hurraw ! 

"  Gad  smash ! "  says  I,  "  X  Y's  the  steed, 
He  bangs  them  a'  for  pith  an'  speed, 
We  never  see'd  the  like,  man." 


Next,  to  the  tents  we  hied,  te  get 

Some  stufiin  for  wor  bags,  man  ; 
Wi'  flesh  we  gaily  pang'd  wor  hides — 
Smok'd  nowse  but  patent  shag,  man. 
While  rum  an'  brandy  soak'd  each  chop, 
We'd  Jackey  an'  fine  ginger  pop ; 
We  gat  what  made  us  winkin'  blin' — 
When  drunkey  aw  began  te  sing — 

**  Od  smash  1  X  Y,  that  bonny  steed. 
Thou  bangs  them  a'  for  pith  an'  speed. 
We  never  see'd  the  like,  man  1 " 


140  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Next  up  amang  the  shows  we  gat, 

Where  folks  a'  stood  i'  flocks,  man. 
To  see  a  chep  play  Bob  and  Joan, 

Upon  a  wooden  box,  man : 
While  bairns  an*  music  fiU'd  the  stage, 
An'  some,  by  gox !  were  grim  wi*  age  \ 
When  next  au'd  grin  a  poyney  brought. 
Could  tell  at  yence  what  people  thowt ! 

"  Od  smash  ! "  says  I,  if  he's  the  breed 
Of  X  Y  Z,  that  bonny  steed, 

Thou  never  see'd  his  like,  man  ! " 

But,  haud  !  when  we  cam'  to  the  toon, 
What  thinks  tou  we  saw  there,  man  ? 
We  see'd  a  Blackey  puffin,  swetten, 

Suckin  in  fresh  air,  man  ; 
They  said  that  he  could  fell  an  ox — 
His  name  was  fighting  Mollinox  \ 
But  ere  he  fit  another  round. 
His  marrow  fell'd  him  te  the  groond. 

"  Od  smash  ! "  says  aw,  "  if  thou's  sec  breed 
As  X  Y  Z,  that  bonny  steed, 

Thou  niver  see'd  his  like,  man ! " 

Next  board  the  steamer-boat  we  gat, 

A  laddie  rang  a  bell,  man  : 
We  haddent  sitten  verra  lang. 

Till  baith  asleep  we  fell,  man. 
But  the  noise  seun  myed  poor  Jemmy  start — 
He  thowt  'twas  time  to  gang  to  wark. 
For  pick  an'  hoggers  roar'd  oot  he — 
An'  myed  sec  noise  it  waken'd  me, 

**  Od  smash ! "  says  I,  "X  Y's  the  steed. 
He  bangs  them  a'  for  pith  an'  speed. 
Aw  niver  see'd  his  like,  man." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  141 

When  landed,  straight  ofT  hame  aw  gans, 

An'  thunners  at  the  door,  man ; 
The  bairns  lap  ower  the  bed  wi'  fright, 

Fell  smack  upon  the  floor,  man ; 
But  to  gar  the  wifey  baud  her  tongue, 
Showed  her  the  kelter  aw  had  won  ; 
She  with  a  cinder  brunt  her  toes, 
An'  little  Jacob  broke  his  nose — 

The  brass  aw've  getten  at  the  race 

Will  buy  a  patch  for  Jacob's  face — 

So  now  my  sang  is  deun,  man. 

MiTFORD.  "  The  Budget "  (1816). 

CAPPY; 

OR.  THE  pitman's   DOG. 

The  "  highwayman  fellow,"  whose  bludgeon  laid  Cap  on  his  back,  W.  H. 
Dawson  writes,  "was  at  that  time  custodian  of  our  Norman  keep,  and 
kept  watch  and  ward  over  malefactors,  until  the  large  'stone  jug'  in 
Ca^liol  Square  was  finished  in  1828,  and  made  ready  for  their  reception. 
He  was  a  gross,  vulgar  fellow,  with  a  *  patch  on  his  cheek,'  and  the  name  of 
Gappy  stuck  to  him  ever  after  the  song  appeared.  Whether  it  was  his  by 
right  before  the  song  appeared  we  cannot  say,  but  we  find  him  so  designated 
in  a  song  written  in  February  1826,  when  he  was  keeper  of  the  Castle,  llie 
cucumstanoes  that  gave  rise  to  the  disaster  of  poor  Gappy  was  a  raid  on  the 
dogs  similar  to  that  perpetrated  by  the  police  in  Newcastle  in  1800." 

Tune—"  Chapter  of  Donkeys." 

In  a  town  near  Newcassel  a  Pitman  did  dwell, 

Wiv  his  wife  nyemed  Peg,  a  Tom  Cat,  and  himsel; 

A  Dog,  called  Cappy,  he  doated  upon, 

Because  he  was  left  him  by  great  Uncle  Tom. 

Weel  bred  Cappy,  famous  au'd  Cappy, 
Cappy's  the  Dog,  Tallio,  Tallio. 

His  tail  pitcher-handled,  his  colour  jet  black, 
Just  a  foot  and  a  half  was  the  length  of  his  back, 
His  legs  seven  inches  frev  shoulders  to  paws, 
And  his  lugs  like  twe  dockins  hung  ower  his  jaws. 

Weel  bred  Cappy,  etc. 


142  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

For  huntin  of  vermin  reet  clever  was  he, 
And  the  house  frev  a'  robbers  his  bark  wad  keep  free ; 
Cou'd  byeth  fetch  and  carry, — cou'd  sit  on  a  stuil, 
Or,  when  frisky,  wad  hunt  water  rats  in  a  puil 
Weel  bred  Cappy,  etc. 

As  Ralphy  to  market  one  morn  did  repair, 
In  his  hat-band  a  pipe,  and  weel  kyem'd  was  his  hair, 
Ower  his  arm  hung  a  basket — thus  onward  he  speels. 
And  entered  Newcassel  wi*  Cap  at  his  heels. 
Weel  bred  Cappy,  etc. 

He  haddent  got  farther  than  foot  o'  the  Side, 
Before  he  fell  in  with  the  dog-killing  tribe ; 
When  a  highwayman  fellow  slipt  round  in  a  crack, 
And  a  thump  o'  the  skull  laid  him  flat  on  his  back. 
Down  went  Cappy,  etc. 

Now  Ralphy  extonished^  Cap's  fate  did  repine, 
While  its  eyes  like  twee  little  pyerl  buttons  did  shine ; 
He  then  spat  on  his  hands,  in  a  fury  he  grew. 
Cries,  "  Gad  smash  I  but  I'se  hev  satisfaction  o'  thou 
For  knocking  down  Cappy,"  etc. 

Then  this  grim  luiking  fellow  his  bludgeon  he  rais'd. 
When  Ralphy  ey'd  Cappy,  and  then  stuid  amazed, 
But  fearin'  beside  him  he  might  be  laid  down. 
Threw  him  into  the  basket  and  bang'd  out  o'  town. 
Away  went  Cappy,  etc 

He  breethless  gat  hyem,  and  when  lifting  the  sneck. 
His  wife  exclaim'd,  Ralphy,  thou's  suin  gettin  back  I 
Gettin'  back,  replies  Ralphy,  I  wish  I*d  ne'er  gyen. 
In  Newcassel  they're  fellin  dogs,  lasses,  and  men. 

They've  knocked  doon  Cappy,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  143 

If  aw  gan  te  Newcassel  when  comes  wor  pay  week, 
Aw'll  ken  him  agyen  by  the  patch  on  his  cheek  ; 
Or  if  iver  he  enters  wor  toon  wiv  his  stick, 
We'll  thump  him  about  till  he's  black  as  au'd  Nick, 
For  killing  au'd  Cappy,  etc. 

Wiv  tears  in  her  eye  Peggy  heard  his  sad  tale, 
And  Ralph  wiv  confusion  and  terror  grew  pale, 
While  Cappy's  transactions  with  grief  they  talk'd  o'er, 
He  crap  oot  o'  the  basket  quite  brisk  o'  the  floor. 

Weel  deun  Cappy,  etc. 
MiTFORD.  "  TU  Budget;*  1816. 


THE    PITMAN'S    COURTSHIP. 

"For  a  picture  painted  by  the  pen,  drawn  in  the  fond  imagination  of  the 
lover,  gilding  the  honeyed  future,  '  The  Pitman's  Courtship'  is  a  gem  that 
will  ever  be  redolent  of  domestic  bliss."— W.  H.  Dawson. 

Tune— "The  Night  before  Larry  was  Stretched." 

Quite  soft  blew  the  wind  from  the  west, 

The  sun  faintly  shone  in  the  sky, 
When  Lukey  and  Bessy  sat  courting, 

As  walking  I  chanc'd  to  espy; 
Unheeded  I  stole  close  beside  them, 

To  hear  their  discourse  was  my  plan ; 
I  listened  each  word  they  were  saying. 

When  Lukey  his  courtship  began. 

Last  hoppen  thou  won  up  my  fancy, 
Wi'  thy  fine  silken  jacket  o'  blue ; 

An'  smash  if  thor  Newcassel  lyedys 
Cou'd  marrow  the  curls  o'  thy  brow; 


144  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

That  day  aw  whiles  danc'd  wi'  lang  Nancy, 
She  coudn't  like  thou  lift  her  heel : 

My  grandy  lik'd  spice  singing  hinnies, 
Ma  comely,  aw  like  thou  as  weel 

Thou  knaws,  ever  since  we  were  littel, 

Together  we've  ranged  through  the  woods, 
At  neets  hand  in  hand  toddled  hyem, 

Varry  oft  wi'  howl  kites  and  torn  duds : 
But  now  we  can  tauk  about  mairiage, 

An'  lang  sair  for  wor  weddin'  day; 
When  mairied  thou's  keep  a  bit  shop, 

An*  sell  things  in  a  huikstery  way. 

An'  to  get  us  a  canny  bit  leevin, 

A'  kinds  o'  fine  sweetmeats  we'll  sell, 
Reed  harrin,  broon  syep,  and  mint  candy. 

Black  pepper,  dye-sand,  an'  sma'  yell ; 
Spice  hunters,  pick  shafts,  farden  candles, 

Wax  dollies  wi'  reed  leather  shoes, 
Chawk  pussy-cats,  fine  curley  greens. 

Paper  skyets,  penny  pies,  and  huil  doos. 

I'se  help  thou  to  tie  up  thy  shuggar, 

At  neets  when  frae  wark  I  get  lowse ! 
An'  wor  Dick  that  leeves  owr  by  High  Whickham, 

He'll  myek  us  broom  buzzums  for  nowse, 
Like  an  image  thou's  stand  owr  the  coonter, 

Wi'  thy  fine  muslin,  cambricker  goon  : 
An'  te  let  the  fokes  see  thou's  a  lyedy. 

On  a  cuddy  thou's  ride  to  the  toon. 

There's  be  matches,  pipe-clay,  an'  broon  dishes, 

Canary  seed,  raisins,  and  fegs ; 
And,  to  please  the  pit  laddies  at  Easter, 

A  dish  full  o'  giltey  paste  eggs ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  145 

Wor  neibors,  that's  snuffers  an'  smokers, 
For  wor  snuff  and  backey  they'll  seek, 

An'  to  show  them  we  deal  wi'  Newcassel, 
Twee  Blackeys  sal  mense  the  door  cheek. 

So  now  for  Tim  Bodkin  I'se  send, 

To  darn  my  silk  breeks  at  the  knee, 
Thou  thy  ruffles  and  frills  mun  get  ready, 

Next  Whitsunday  mairied  we'll  be. 
Now  aw  think  it's  high  time  to  be  steppin, 

We've  sittin  tiv  aw's  about  lyem, 
So  then,  wiv  a  kiss  and  a  cuddle. 

These  lovers  they  bent  their  ways  hyem. 

MiTFORD.  "  TK^  Budget,'*  1816. 

THE   MAYOR   OF   BORDEAUX;    OR,    MALLY'S 
MISTAKE. 

On  the  night  of  Jnne  27th,  1815,  the  bells  of  the  town  began  to  ring  at  half- 
past  ten,  and  continued  at  intervals  until  after  midnight.  The  cause  of  the 
Tucommon  occurrence  was  the  arrival  in  Newcastle  01  Count  Lynch,  Mayor 
^Bordeaux;  he  was  on  his  way  to  visit  his  relative,  John  Clavering,  Esq.,  of 
Callaly.  Count  Lynch  was  in  favour  of  the  Old  French  Monarchy,  and 
against  Napoleon.  He  was  the  first  in  France  to  hoist  the  white  flag,  and 
surrendered  Bordeaux  to  the  British  arms.  Glie  rejoicings  were  renewed 
yfhen,  next  morning,  June  28th,  the  mail  arrived  confirming  the  great  victory 
at  Waterloo. 

As  Jacob  sat  loosin  his  buttons, 

And  rowlin  his  great  backey  chow, 
The  bells  in  the  toon  'gan  to  tinkle ; 

Cries  Mally,  What's  happened  us  now  ? 
Ho  I  jump  and  fling  off  thy  aud  neet-cap, 

And  slip  on  thy  lang-quarter'd  shoes, 
Ere  thou  gets  hauf  way  up  the  Key, 

Ye'll  meet  sum  that  can  tell  ye  the  news, 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 
As  Mally  was  puffin  and  runnin, 

A  gentleman's  flonkey  she  met ; 
"  Canny  man,  ye  mun  tell  us  the  news, 

Or  ye'll  set  wor  aud  man  i'  the  pet." 
10 


146  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

"  The  Mayor  of  Bordeaux,  a  French  noble 
Has  com'd  to  Newcastle  with  speed : 

To-night  he  sleeps  sound  at  wor  Mayor's, 
And  to  morn  he'll  be  at  the  Queen's  Head." 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

Now  Mally  thank'd  him  wiv  a  curtsey, 

And  back  tiv  her  Jacob  did  prance : 
^^  Mary  Mordox^  a  fine  fitter's  Leady^s 

ConCd  ower  in  a  coble  frae  France ^ 
"  Mary  Mordox,  a  fine  fitter's  Leady ! 

Ise  war'nt  she's  some  frolicksome  jade, 
And  com'd  to  Newcassel  for  fashions, 

Or  else  to  suspect  the  Coal  Trade. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc 

"  So  to  Peter's  thou's  gan  i'  the  mornin, 

Gan  suin  and  thou'll  get  a  good  pleyce ; 
If  thou  canna  get  baud  of  her  paw, 

Thou  mun  get  a  guid  luick  at  her  feyce : 
And  if  ye  can  but  get  a  word  at  her, 

And  mind  now  ye  divent  think  shem. 
Say,  *  Please  ma'm,  they  ca'  my  wife  Mary, 

Wor  next  little  bairn's  be  the  syem.' " 

Fol  de  rol,  etc 

So  betimes  the  next  mornin'  he  travels. 

And  up  to  the  Queen's  Head  he  goes, 
Where  a  skinny  chep  luik'd  frev  a  winder, 

Wi'  white  powther'd  wig  an'  lang  nose : 
A  fine  butterflee  coat  with  gowld  buttons, 

A  man !  how  the  folks  did  burrow ; 
Aw  thowt  he'd  fled  frae  sum  toy-shop  i'  Lunnin, 

Or  else  frae  sum  grand  wax-work  show. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  147 

Smash !  Mally,  ye've  telFd  a  big  lee, 

For  a  man's  not  a  woman  aw'll  swear ; 
But  he  hardly  had  spoken  these  words, 

Till  oot  tumbled  a  cask  o'  Strang  beer ; 
Like  a  cat  Jackey  flang  his  leg  ower, 

Ay,  like  Bacchus  he  sat  at  his  ease, 
Tiv  aw's  fuddled,  odsmash !  ye  may  tauk 

Yor  French  gabberish  as  lang  as  ye  please. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

They  crusht  sair,  but  Jack  never  minded. 

Till  wi'  liquor  he'd  lowsened  his  bags ; 
At  last  a  great  thrust  dang  him  ower, 

He  lay  a'  his  lang  length  o'  the  flags ; 
Iv  an  instant  Mall  seiz'd  his  pea  jacket, 

Says  she.  Is  thou  drunk,  or  thou's  lyem  ? 
The  Mayor's  o'  wor  box !  smash,  aw'm  fuddled ! 

O  Mally,  wilt  thou  lead  me  hyem  ? 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 
MiTPORD.  "  The  Budget  1816. 


THE    PITMAHT'S    SKELLYSCOPE. 

Sir  David  Brewster's  "  KALEDEOSCOPE."  Sir  David's  invention,  when 
first  brought  ont  abont  1820,  was  a  wonderful  success.  200,000  were  said  to 
have  been  sold  in  London  in  a  week  or  two.  It  is  now  comparatively  for- 
gotten. 

Oh  !  Tommy,  lad,  howay !  aw's  myek  thou  full  o'  play ; 

AVm  sartin  that  thou'U  byeth  skip  an'  lowpey-0 : 
Aw've  sic  a  bonny  thing,  an'  it's  myed  o'  glass  an'  tin. 

An*  they  say  its  nyem's  a  bonny  Gleediscowpey-0.  •- 

Skellyscowpey-0,  etc. 


148  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

A  gawn  alang  the  close,  a  bit  laddy  cock'd  his  nose, 
An'  was  keekin  throu'd  aside  the  Jabel  Growpey-O  : 

Aw  fand  that  he  wad  sell'd ;  se,  odsmash !  aw'm  proud 
te  tell'd  1 
For  twee  shillin'  bowt  his  bonny  Gleediscowpey-0. 

Wey,  then  aw  ran  off  hyem — Nan  thowt  me  myekin  gyem, 

Said,  My  Deavy*  for  a  new-aw'd  had  a  cowpey-0  : 
But  she  gurn'd,  ay,  like  a  sweeper,  when  aw  held  it  tiv 
her  peeper, 
See'd    church-windors    through    my   bonny    Gleedis- 
cowpey-0. 

Then  the  bairns  they  ran  like  sheep,  a'  strove  to  hev  a 
peep, 
Frae  the  awdest  lass,  ay,  doon  to  the  dowpey-0 : 
There  Dick  dang  ower  Cud,  myed  his  nose  gush  out  o* 
blood, 
'As  he  ran  to  see  the  bonny  Gleediscowpey-0. 

There  was  dwiney  little  Peg,  not  se  nimmel  i*  the  leg, 
Ower  the  three-footed  stuil  gat  sic  a  cowpey-0 ; 

And  Sandy  wiv  his  beak,  myed  a  lump  i'  mother's  cheek, 
Climbin'  up  to  see  the  bonny  Gleediscowpey-0. 

But  she  held  it  tiv  her  e'e,  ay,  till  she  could  hardly  see. 
Oh !  then  aboot  the  marketin  she  thowty-0 ; 

Wey,  Lukey,  man !  says  she,  'stead  o'  shuggar,  flesh,  an' 
tea, 
Thou's  fetch'd  us  hyem  thy  bonny  Gleediscowpey-O. 

*  "Davy,"  a  term  for  the  Safety  Lamp. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  149 

She  struck  me  wi'  surprise  while  she  skelly'd  wiv  her 
eyes, 
And  aw  spak  as  if  aw'd  gettin  a  bit  rowpey-O ! 
So,  neighbours,  tyek  a  hint,  if  ye  peep  ower  lang  ye'll 
squint, 
For  aw  think  they're  reetly  nyem'd,  a  Gleediscowpey-0. 

MiTFOBD.  MarshalTs  Collection,  1827. 


THE    WONDERFUL    GUTTER. 

In  1824,  when  the  question  was  "Bail"  or  "Canal"  between  Newcastle 
and  the  west,  this  song  was  written.  At  a  public  meeting  Willy  Armstrong, 
father  of  Lord  Armstrong  (see  last  verse),  advocated  the  canal.  The  rail 
won,  but  the  canal  still  (1891)  has  advocates  who  dream  of  its  great  future. 

Since  Boney  was  sent  to  that  place  owre  the  sea. 
We've  had  little  to  talk  of,  but  far  less  to  dee; 
But  now  they're  a'  saying,  we  seun  will  get  better. 
When  yence  they  begin  with  the  wonderful  Gutter, 

The  greet  lang  Gutter,  the  wonderful  Gutter : 
Success  to  the  Gutter  I  and  prosper  the  Plough ! 

The  way  now  aw  ken — ^when  aw  was  at  the  toon. 
Aw  met  Dicky  Wise  near  the  Rose  and  the  Croon ; 
And  as  Dicky  reads  papers,  and  talks  about  Kings, 
Wey  he's  like  to  ken  weel  aboot  Gutters  and  things; 
So  he  talk'd  owre  the  Gutter,  etc. 

He  then  a  lang  story  began  for  to  tell, 
And  said  that  it  often  was  ca'd  a  Cannell; 
But  he  thowt,  by  a  Gutter,  aw  wad  understand. 
That  it's  cutten  reet  through  a'  the  Gentlemen's  land. 

Now  that's  caw'd  a  Gutter,  etc. 


ISO  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Now,  whether  the  sea's  owre  big  at  the  West, 
Or  scanty  at  Sheels — wey,  ye  mebby  ken  best ; 
For  he  says  they  can  team,  ay,  without  any  bother, 
A  sup  out  o'  yen,  a'  the  way  to  the  tother. 

By  the  great  lang  Gutter,  etc. 

Besides,  there'll  be  bridges,  and  locks,  and  lairge  keys, 
And  shippies,  to  trade  wiv  eggs,  butter,  and  cheese ; 
And  if  they'll  not  sail  weel,  for  want  o'  mair  force. 
They'll  myek  ne  mair  fuss,  but  yoke  in  a  Strang  horse. 
To  pull  through  the  Gutter,  etc 

Ye  ken  there's  a  deal  that's  lang  wanted  a  myel, 
When  they  start  wi'  the  Gutter  'twill  thicken  their  kyell; 
Let  wages  be  high,  or  be  just  what  they  may. 
It  will  certainly  help  to  drive  hunger  away. 

While  they  work  at  the  Gutter,  etc. 

There's  wor  Tyne  Sammun  tee  'ill  not  ken  what's  the 

matter, 
When  they  get  a  gobful  o'  briny  saut  watter ; 
But  if  they  should  gan  off  it's  cum'd  into  my  nob, 
For  to  myek  some  amends  we  mun  catch  a'  the  cod. 
That  sweems  down  the  Gutter,  etc. 

So  come  money  and  friends;  support  Willy  Airmstrang, 
In  vent'rin  a  thoosan  ye  canna  get  wrang ;' 
While  we  get  wor  breed  by  the  sweet  o'  wor  broo. 
Success  to  the  Gutter  !  and  prosper  the  Plough ! 

The  great  lang  Gutter,  etc. 
MiTFORD.  MarBhaXV*  CoOectt'on,  1827. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  151 

THE    BE12iriLDERED    SKIPPER. 

Tune— "The  Bewildered  Maid." 

Slaw  broke  the  leet  'boot  fower  yen  morn, 
When  the  Deevil  aw  seed,  as  sure  as  thou's  born; 
His  lang  beerd  hung  doon  frae  his  greet  lantern  jaw, 
His  eyes  wes  like  sawsers,  his  mooth  filled  wi'  straw. 

Oh,  where  de  ye  cum  frae,  sweet  Deevil !  oh,  where  ? 
But  aw  gat  for  an  answer  a  greet  ugly  blare; 
Wor  merry  lads  lay  snorin'  on  the  huddock's  har<i  bed; 
Here's  Aud  Nick  at  the  hatch — give  him  battle,  aw  said. 

The  tide  rummeFd  by,  as  they  luckt  up  forlorn — 
Whist!  whist!  Oneyluik,  there's  his  club  feet  an' horn ! 
Says  they,  Te  gic  battle,  a'  hands  i'  wor  keel, 
Te  Hawthorn's  aud  goat,  'twad  sure  bang  the  Deil ! 

Cum  in,  gentle  Willy,  says  they,  frae  the  storm ; 
In  wor  huddock  lie  doon,  keep  yor  aud  carkish  warm  ; 
If  cawd  deed  ye'd  freetened  wor  skipper  se  brave, 
We'd  myed  ye  follow  his  byens  to  the  grave. 

MiTFORD.  "  Bards  of  the  Tyrie,"  1849. 


THE    SAKDGATE   GIRL'S    LAMEBTTATIOnT. 

I  WAS  a  young  maiden  truly. 

And  lived  in  Sandgate  Street ; 
I  thought  to  marry  a  good  man. 
To  keep  me  warm  at  neit. 

He's  an  ugly  body,  a  bubbly  body, 

An  ill-far'd,  ugly  loon  ; 
And  I  have  married  a  keelman. 
And  my  good  days  are  done. 


152  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Sum  good-like  body,  sum  bonny  body, 

To  be  with  me  at  noon ; 
But  last  I  married  a  keelman, 

And  my  good  days  are  done. 

He's  an  ugly  body,  etc, 

I  thought  to  marry  a  parson, 

To  hear  me  say  my  prayers ; 
But  I  have  married  a  keelman » 

And  he  kicks  me  down  the  stairs. 

He*s  an  ugly  body,  etc. 

I  thought  to  marry  a  dyer. 

To  dye  my  apron  blue ; 
But  I  have  married  a  keelman. 

And  he  makes  me  sorely  rue. 

He's  an  ugly  body,  etc. 

I  thought  to  marry  a  joiner. 
To  make  me  chair  and  stool ; 

But  I  have  married  a  keelman, 
And  he's  a  perfect  fool. 

He's  an  ugly  body,  etc. 

I  thought  to  marry  a  sailor, 

To  bring  me  sugar  and  tea  ; 
But  I  have  married  a  keelman, 
And  that  he  lets  me  see. 

He's  an  ugly  body,  etc 
Unknown.  Bell '*  •'  Northern  Bards,"  1812. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  153 

THE  HALF-DROiarHrED  SKIPPER. 

Tune—**  Chapter  of  Donkeys." 

T'other  day  up  the  water  aw  went  in  a  boat, 
Aw  bnish'd  up  my  trousers,  put  on  my  new  coat ; 
We  steer'd  up  wor  boat  'langside  ov  a  keel, 
And  the  luiks  of  the  skipper  wad  frightened  the  deil. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc 

So  thinks  aw,  wi'  the  keel  we'll  gan  a'  the  way. 
And  hear  a  few  words  that  the  skipper  may  say, 
For  aw  wes  sure  if  owt  in  the  keel  wes  deun  rang, 
The  skipper  wad  curse,  ay,  an'  call  every  maa 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

Noo  we'd  just  getten  up  te  the  fam'd  Skinners'  Burn, 
When  the  skipper  bawl'd  oot  that  the  keel  wes  te  turn, 
Whey,  he  shooted  and  roar'd  like  a  man  hung  i'  chains, 
And  swore  by  the  keel  he  wad  knock  oot  thor  brains. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

The  little  Pee-dee  jump'd  aboot  on  the  deck, 
An'  the  skipper  roar'd  oot  he  wad  sure  smash  his  neck ; 
What  for,  says  the  Pee-dee,  can  one  not  speak  a  word  ? 
So  he  gav  him  a  kick — knock'd  him  plump  owerboard. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

There  was  nyen  o'  the  bullies  e'er  lost  a  bit  time. 
But  flung  thor  greet  keel  huiks  splash  into  the  Tyne, 
They  browt  up  the  Pee-dee  just  like  a  duck'd  craw. 
An'  the  skipper  wi'  laughin  fell  smack  ower  an'  a'. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 

Noo  the  keelmen  bein  tired  of  thor  skipper  se  brave, 
Not  one  e'er  attempted  his  life  forte  save, 
They  hoisted  thor  sail, — and  we  saw  no  more. 
But  the  half-drown'd  skipper  wes  swimmin  ashore. 

Fol  de  rol,  etc. 
Unknown.  MarskalVa  Collection,  1827. 


154  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


WRECKENTON  HIRING. 

The  author  of  "  Wreckenton  Hiring'*  is  unknown.  The  King  Pit  at 
Wreckenton,  which  is  mentioned  in  the  song,  has  been  laid  in  for  many 
years.  From  one  who  hewed  in  it  about  the  year  1820  we  learn  that  the 
song  was  a  favourite  one  then,  and  regularly  sung  at  pay-nights  by  the 
pitmen.    In  all  probability  it  was  written  about  that  time. 

NgU  to  1872  Edition. 

O,  LADS  and  lasses,  hither  come, 

To  Wreckenton,  to  see  the  fun, 

And  mind  ye  bring  your  dancing  shoon. 

There'll  be  rare  wark  wi*  dancin',  O ; 
And  lasses,  now,  without  a  brag, 
Bring  pockets  like  a  fiddle  bag, 
Yell  get  them  crammed  wi'  mony  a  whag 

Of  pepper  kyek  an'  scranchim,  0. 


And,  Bess,  put  on  that  bonny  goon 
Thy  mother  bought  thee  at  the  toon, 
That  straw  hat,  wi'  the  ribbons  broon, 

They'll  a'  be  bussed  that's  coming,  O. 
Put  that  reed  ribbon  round  thy  waist. 
It  myeks  thou  luik  sae  full  o'  grace. 
Then  up  the  lonnen  come  in  haste. 

They'll  think  thou's  com'd  fra  Lunnon,  O. 

Ned  pat  on  his  Sunday*s  coat. 
His  hat  and  breeches  cost  a  note, 
With  a  new  stiff'ner  round  his  throat, 

He  luiked  the  very  dandy,  O  : 
He  thought  that  he  was  gaun  to  choke, 
For  he'd  to  gyep  before  he  spoke  : 
He  met  Bess  at  the  Royal  Oak, 

They  had  byeth  yell  and  brandy,  O. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  iSS 

Each  lad  was  there  wi'  his  sweetheart, 

And  a'  was  ready  for  a  start, 

When  in  com  Jack  wi'  Fanny  Smart, 

And  brought  a  merry  scraper,  O  : 
Then  Ned  jumped  up  upon  his  feet, 
An'  on  the  table  myed  a  seet, 
Then  bounced  the  fiddler  up  a  heet, 

Saying,  **  Play,  an'  we  will  caper,  O." 

Now,  Ned  and  Bess  led  off  the  ball, 

"  Play  *  Smash  the  windows,' "  he  did  call ; 

**  Keep  in  yor  feet,"  says  Hitchy  Mall, 

**  Learn'd  dancers  hae  sic  prancin',  O." 
Now,  Ned  was  nowther  laith  nor  lyem. 
An'  faith  he  had  byeth  bouk  and  byen, 
Ye  wad  thought  his  feet  was  myed  o'  styen, 

He  gav  sic  thuds  wi'  dancing,  O. 

Now,  Jackey  Fanny's  hand  did  seize, 
Cried,  "  Fiddler,  tune  your  strings  to  please, 
Play  *  Kiss  her  weel  amang  the  trees,' 

She  is  my  darlin',  bliss  her,  O  ! " 
Then  off  they  set,  wi'  sic  a  smack. 
They  myed  the  joints  a'  bend  and  crack ; 
When  duen,  he  took  her  round  the  neck, 

An'  faith,  he  diddent  miss  her,  O. 

The  fiddler's  elbow  wagged  a'  neet. 
He  thought  he  wad  dropt  off  his  seet, 
For  deil  a  bit  they'd  let  him  eat, 

They  were  sae  keen  o'  dancing,  O  : 
Some  had  to  strip  their  coats  for  heat. 
And  sharts  and  shifts  were  wet  wi'  sweet ; 
They  crammed  their  guts,  for  want  o'  meat, 

Wi'  gingerbreed  and  scranchim,  O. 


156  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Now  cocks  had  crawn  an  hour  or  more, 
And  ower  the  yell  pots  some  did  snore  ; 
But  how  they  luikt  to  hear  the  roar 

Of  Matt,  the  King  Pit  caller,  O I 
"Smash  him  ! "  says  Ned,  "  he  mun  be  rang, 
He's  callin'  through  his  sleep,  aw's  war'n  ; " 
Then  shootin'  to  the  door  he  ran — 

*'  Thou's  asleep,  thou  rusty  bawler,  O  ! " 

Now,  they  danced  agyen  till  it  was  day. 
Then  hyemwards  singin'  tyuk  their  way. 
Suen  Wreckenton  will  bear  the  sway — 

Wor  taxes  will  be  'bolished,  O ; 
Backey  and  tea  will  be  sae  cheap ; 
Wives  will  sit  up  when  they  should  sleep ; 
An'  we'll  float  in  yell  at  wor  pay  week — 

Then  Wreckenton  for  ever,  0 1 

Unknown.  MarahalVs  Collection,  1827. 


CANNY  SHEELS. 

In  Davidson  of  Alnwick's  collection  of  Tyneside  Songs,  1840,  we  first 
meet  John  Morrison's  "  Canny  Sheels."  In  Fordyce's  "  Song  Book,"  1842, 
there  is  a  second  song  by  him,  "  Permanent  Teast,"  but  it  is  much  inferior 
to  the  first.  Of  the  author  we  have  no  trace.— Evidently  a  Sheels  man, 
he  contrives  to  cap  Thompson,  who,  in  making  "  Canny  Newcassel "  marrow 
the  "Seets  o'  Lunnin,"  had  not  done  amiss. 

'Bout  Newcassel  they've  written  sae  mony  fine  sangs, 

And  compared  their  bit  place  unti  Lunnun ; 
What  a  shem  that  'tiv  Sheels  not  a  poet  belangs. 

For  to  tell  them  they  lee  wi'  their  funnin. 
They  may  boast  o'  their  shippin  without  ony  doubt, 

For  there's  nyen  can  deny  that  they've  plenty ; 
But  for  every  yen  they  are  gobbin  about, 

Aw'm  sure  we  can  show  them,  ey  twenty  ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  157 

Let  them  baud  their  fule  gobs  then  and  brag  us  ne  mair, 

Wi'  their  clarty  bit  au'd  Corporation ; 
For  it's  varry  weel  knawn  Sheels  pays  her  full  share, 

For  te  keep  Mister  Mayor  iv  his  station. 

They  hev  a  bit  place  where  they  myek  a  few  shot, 

Lunnun's  Column  tiv  it's  like  a  nine-pin  ; 
And  St  Nicholas'  compared  wi'  St.  Paul's  an'  what  not, 

Wey  it's  a  yuven  compared  tiv  a  limekiln. 
If  their  Shot  Tower  sae  hee  was  plac'd  on  wor  Sand 
End, 

'Side  wor  Light  House  to  scraffle  to  glory ; 
Their  journey  to  heaven  wad  suen  Jiev  an  end, 

For  by  gox  they'd  ne'er  reach  the  first  story. 

Let  them  baud,  etc. 

They  call  their  Infirm'ry  a  place  for  a  king. 

To  be  stow'd  'mang  the  sick,  lyem,  and  lazy; 
If  a  Sheels  man  had  ventur'd  to  say  sic  a  thing. 

The  blind  gowks  wad  a'  said  he  was  crazy. 
'Bout  their  Custom  House,  tee,  they  myek  a  great  rout. 

That  the  e'en  o'  the  folk  it  diz  dazzel ; 
But  if  a'  gans  reet,  Sheels,  without  ony  doubt. 

Will  suen  'clipse  that  at  Canny  Newcassel. 

Let  them  haud,  etc 

Then  they  brag  they  leuk  bonny,  fresh-coloured  and  gay. 

And  the  Lunnun  folk  a'  wishey  washey ; 
But  L d  put  it  off  tiv  a  far  distant  day. 

That  there's  one  on  huz  here  leuks  sae  trashy. 
Then  they  boast  o'  Sir  Matthew — but  never  inquire 

If  the  foundation's  good  that  he  stood  on ; 
But  if  he  comes  up  to  wor  canny  au'd  Squire, 

Then  becrikes  he  is  nowse  but  a  good  'un. 

Let  them  haud,  etc. 


IS8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

But  the  Squire,  canny  man,  he's  gyen  frae  the  toon, 

And  aw'm  sure  on't  the  poor  sairly  miss  him ; 
For  oft  as  aw  waulk  Pearson's  Raw  up  and  doon, 

Aw  hear  the  folk  cry.  Heaven  bliss  him ! 
Yet  aw  hope,  an'  aw  trust,  he'll  seun  find  his  way  hyem, 

And  aw's  sure  aw'U  be  glad  to  hear  tell  on't ; 
For  aw've  varry  oft  thowt — did  ye  ne'er  think  the  syem, 

Since  he's  gyen  Sheels  hezzent  luik't  like  the  sel  on't 

Let  them  haud,  etc. 

Then  lang  life  to  the  King  and  wor  awn  noble  Duik, 

May  Sheels  lang  partake  of  his  bounty ; 
For  Newcassel,  ye  ken,  if  ye  e'er  read  a  buik, 

Is  at  yence  byeth  a  toon  and  a  county. 
Northumberland's  Duik  may  still  shew  his  sel  there, 

But  his  int'rest  frae  Sheels  ne'er  can  sever ; 
So  aw'U  gie  ye  just  now,  shou'd  aw  ne'er  see  ye  mair, 

Wor  Duik  and  wor  Duchess  for  ever  I 

Let  them  haud,  etc. 
John  Mo&rison.  J)aviaMv:%  CoUeetion,  1840. 


COALY  TYHTE. 

Written  during  the  trial  of  Queen  Caroline  in  1820.    (See  last  verse.) 

Tune— "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Tyne  River,  running  rough  or  smooth, 

Makes  bread  for  me  and  mine ; 
Of  all  the  rivers,  north  or  south, 

There's  none  like  coaly  Tyne. 

So  here's  to  coaly  Tyne,  my  lads, 

Success  to  coaly  Tyne ; 
Of  all  the  rivers,  north  or  south, 

There's  none  like  coaly  Tyne. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  159 

Long  has  Tyne's  swelling  bosom  borne 

Great  riches  from  the  mine, 
All  by  her  hardy  sons  uptorn — 

The  wealth  of  coaly  Tyne. 

Our  keelmen  brave,  with  laden  keels, 

Go  sailing  down  in  line, 
And  with  them  load  the  fleet  at  Shields, 

That  sails  from  coaly  Tyne. 

When  Bonaparte  the  world  did  sway, 

Dutch,  Spanish,  did  combine ; 
By  sea  and  land  proud  bent  their  way, 

The  sons  of  coaly  Tyne. 

The  sons  of  Tyne,  in  seas  of  blood, 

Trafalgar's  fight  did  join. 
When  led  by  dauntless  CoUingwood, 

The  hero  of  the  Tyne. 

With  courage  bold,  and  hearts  so  true. 

Formed  in  the  British  line ; 
With  Wellington,  at  Waterloo, 

Hard  fought  the  sons  of  Tyne. 

When  peace,  who  would  be  Volunteers  ? 

Or  Hero  Dandies  fine  ? 
Or  sham  Hussars,  or  Tirailleurs  ? — 

Disgrace  to  coaly  Tyne. 

Or  who  would  be  a  Tyrant's  Guard, 

Or  shield  a  libertine  ? 
Let  Tyrants  meet  their  due  reward, 

Ye  sons  of  coaly  Tyne. 


i6o  TVNESIDE  SONGS, 

Let  us  unite  with  all  our  might, 

Protect  Queen  Caroline ; 
For  her  we'll  fight,  both  day  and  night. 

The  sons  of  coaly  Tyne. 

Unknown.  MarshalTs  Collection,  1827. 


ISTALKER   PITS. 

Tune— "Off  she  «oes." 

If  I  had  another  penny, 

I  would  have  another  gill ; 
I  would  make  the  fiddler  play 

"The  Bonny  Lads  of  Byker  Hill." 

Byker  Hill  and  Walker  Shore, 
Collier  lads  for  evermore  ! 

Byker  Hill  and  Walker  Shore, 
Collier  lads  for  evermore  ! 

When  aw  cam  to  Walker  wark, 

Aw  had  ne  coat,  nor  ne  pit  sark ; 
But  noo  aw've  getten  twe  or  three — 
Walker  Pit's  dyun  weel  for  me. 

Byker  Hill  and  Walker  Shore,  etc. 
Belt 8  **  Northern  Bards,'*  1812. 


THE   FISHER'S   GARLAND. 

ROXBY  and  Doubleday,  inseparably  associated  through 
their  famous  fishing  songs,  were  yet  unlike  in  age,  Roxby 
being  so  much  the  elder  of  the  two  that  Doubleday  might 
have  been  his  son.  Their  lives  have  been  so  often  told  that 
the  briefest  summary  must  suffice.  Robert  Roxby,  born  at 
Needless  Hall,  by  the  failure  of  his  trustee,  had  to  turn  to 
business,  and  his  long  life  was  spent  as  a  clerk,  at  first  with 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  i6i 

Sir  W.  Loraine  and  afterwards  with  Sir  M.  W.  Ridley,  at 
their  banks  at  Newcastle.  He  died  July  30th,  1846,  in  his 
seventy-ninth  year,  and  lies  in  St  Paul's  disused  burial- 
ground  at  the  top  of  Westgate  HilL  Thomas  Doubleday, 
poet,  politician,  and  merchant,  was  least  successful  as  the  last, 
to  which  he  was  trained.  As  a  poet,  lyrical  and  dramatic, 
he  took  high  rank.  In  the  stormy  Reform  Bill,  and  early 
Chartist  agitation  days  he  was  a  prominent  figure.  Business, 
unfortunately,  was  not  to  his  taste,  and  there  he  was  unsuc- 
cessful The  latter  part  of  his  life  was  spent  in  comparative 
retirement  His  beautiful  song,  "The  Auld  Fisher's  Lament,'' 
written  in  1841,  possibly  is  not  all  fancy,  but  may,  in  some 
measure,  be  a  reflection  of  his  own  altered  circumstances. 
Although  in  the  original  Garland  signed  R.  R.,  Mr.  Craw- 
hall  writes,  the  manuscript  is  Roxb/s,  but  the  lyric  is  from 
Doubleday's  pen. 

THE  AULD  FISHER'S  LAST  WISH. 

Tune—"  My  Loye  is  Newly  Listed." 
The  mom  is  grey,  and  green  the  brae,  the  wind  is  frae  the  wast ; 
Before  the  gale  the  snow-white  clouds  are  drivin',  light  and  fast ; 
The  airly  snn  is  glintin'  forth,  owre  hill,  an'  dell,  an'  plain, 
And  Goqnet's  streams  are  glitt'rin'  as  they  rin  frae  muir  to  main. 

My  Sun  is  set ;  my  eyne  are  wet ;  cauld  poortith  now  is  mine, 
Nae  mair  I'll  range  by  Coquetside,  and  tnraw  the  gleesome  line  ; 
Nae  mair  I'll  see  her  bonnie  streams  in  spring-bright  raiment  drest. 
Save  in  the  dream  that  stirs  the  heart,  when  the  weary  e^e's  at  rest. 

Oh  !  were  my  limbs  as  ance  they  were,  to  jink  across  the  green ; 
And  were  my  heart  as  light  again  as  sometime  it  has  been ; 
And  could  my  Fortunes  blink  again,  as  erst  when  youth  was  sweet, 
Then  Coquet — ^hap  what  might  beside — we'd  no  be  lang  to  meet. 

Or  had  I  but  the  Cushat's  wing,  where'er  I  list  to  flee. 
And  wi'  a  wish  might  wend  my  way  owre  hill,  an'  dale,  an'  lea  ; 
'Tis  there  I'd  fauld  that  weary  wing ;  there  gaze  my  latest  gaze  ; 
Content  to  see  thee  once  again — ^then  sleep  beside  thy  Braes  ! 
DOUBLEDAY.  "Fitker's  Garland,**  1841. 

At  Gosforth,  on  the  outskirts  of  Newcastle,  where  his 
latter  years  were  passed,  the  strife  and  passion  of  party 
politics  forgotten,  he  died,  universally  respected,  on  Decem- 
ber 1 8th,  1870,  in  his  eighty-first  year. 

Strictly  the  "Garlands"  do  not  come  into  this  collec- 
tion, but  in  everything,  except  the  dialect,  they  are  so 
local  and  akin  that  specimens  may  be  given. 

II 


i62  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Dr.  Watson,. in  his  Gossip  about  Songs^  thus  writes  of 
them  : — "  There  are  no  fiairer  streams  than  those  which  flow 
amongst  the  hills  of  mountainous  Northumberland ;  and  time 
was  when  they  were  as  famous  for  their  angling  qualities  as 
for  their  intrinsic  beauty.  What  fisher  but  knows  how  through 
the  long  hours  of  the  summer  day  some  verse  of  song  haunts 
his  brain  ?  And  surely  the  best  of  all  sporting  songs  are 
those  of  dear  old  Robert  Roxby,  and  his  far  greater  and 
as  lovable  companion,  Thomas  Doubleday.  Their  Coqoet- 
dale  angling  songs  are  as  truly  a  pride  to  Newcastle  as  the 
steeple  of  St  Nicholas',  or  Thomas  Bewick's  birds.  Where 
else  will  you  find  such  words  wedded  to  such  tunes  ?  Not  a 
detail  of  the  sport  is  lost,  and  yet  they  are  full  of  nature's 
poetry,  instinct  with  melody  as  ^the  stream  that  I  love  best'" 


COQUET   SIDE. 

This  Garland,  the  joiiit  prodaction  of  Robert  Bozby  and  Thomas  Double- 
day,  appeared  as  a  broadside.  One  hundred  and  ninety-six  copies  were 
printed  for  Emerson  Chamley,  December  20th,  1828.  First  three  verses  by 
Bozby,  last  three  by  Doubleday. 

Tune—"  They  may  rail  at  (his  life." 

The  lambs  they  are  feeding  on  lonely  Shill-moor^ 

And  the  breezes  blow  softly  o'er  dark  Simonside  ; 
The  birds,  they  are  lilting  in  ev'ry  green  bower. 

And  the  streams  of  the  Coquet  now  merrily  glide. 
The  primrose  is  blooming  at  Halystane  WeU^ 

And  the  bud's  on  the  Saugh  and  the  bonny  birk  tree ; 
The  moorcocks  are  calling  round  Harbottle  Fell^ 

And  the  snaw  wreaths  are  gane  frae  the  Cheviots  so  hie. 

The  mist's  on  the  mountain,  the  dew's  on  the  spray, 

And  the  Lassie  has  kilted  her  coats  to  the  knee ; 
The  Shepherd  he's  whistling  o'er  Barraburn  brae, 

And  the  sunbeams  are  glintin'  far  over  the  sea. 
Then  we'll  off  to  the  Coquet^  with  hook,  hair,  and  heckle^ 

With  our  neat  taper  Gads,  and  our  well-belted  Creels, 
And  far  from  the  bustle  and  din  o'  Newcastle, 

Begin  the  campaign  at  the  streams  o'  Linn-shiels, 


TYNBSIDE  SONGS.  163 

The  "  Nimrod  "  may  brag  of  his  horns  and  his  hounds, 

And  of  louping  o'er  hedges  and  ditches  may  rave ; 
But  what's  all  their  clamour,  their  rides  and  their  rounds, 

Compafd  with  the  murmur  of  Coquet's  clear  wave? 
And  "  Ramrod  "  may  crack  of  his  pointer  so  staunch, 

And  may  tramp  till  he's  weary  o'er  stubble  and  lea ; 
But  what's  all  the  fun  of  the  dog  and  the  gun, 

Compar'd  with  the  "Lang-rod"  and  ''thrawing  the  flee*' 1 

More  big  of  our  Conquests  than  great  Alexander, 

We*ll  rise  to  our  sport  with  the  morning's  first  beam ; 
Our  creels  shall  grow  heavier  as  onward  we  wander, 

And  levy  large  tribute  from  pool  and  from  stream. 
We'll  plunder  the  deeps,  and  the  shallows  we'll  tax  well. 

Till  Sharperton^  Heppk^  and  Thropton  are  past ; 
We'll  halt  near  the  "Thrum"  for  a  dinner  with  Maxwell^ 

But  land  at  our  old  Home  of  Weldon  at  last 

Now  Crag-end  is  past,  and  now  Brinkburn  is  nearest. 

Now  the  green  braes  of  Tod-steady  the  pride  of  the  vale; 
Then  hey !  for  fam'd  Weldon^  to  anglers  the  dearest. 

Old  Weldon,  whose  cellars  and  streams  never  fail  \ 
There  we'll  talk  of  our  triumphs,  and    boast  of  our 
slaughter, 

How  "we  hook'd  him,  and  play'd  him,  and  kill'd  him 
so  fine  \ " 
And  the  battles,  so  gloriously  finish'd  in  water, 

Again  and  again  we'll  fight  over  in  wine. 

Here's  good  luck  to  the  Gad,  and  success  to  each  friend 
on't; 
If  e'er  prayer  of  mine  can  have  interest  above, 
May  they  run  their  line  smoothly,  nor  soon  see  an  end  on't, 
And  their  course  be  as  clear  as  the  streams  that  they 
love! 


i64  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

May  the  current  of  life  still  spread  glitt'ring  before  them 
And  their  joys  ever  rise  as  the  season  draws  nigh ; 

And  if  e'er — as  'twill  happen — ^Misfortune  com.es  o'er 
them, 
Oh  !  still  may  her  dart  fall  as  light  as  their  fly ! 

Robert  Boxby.  "  Fithet'g  Garland;*  1823. 

Thomas  Doublsdat. 


THE  AULD  FISHER'S  FAREWEEL  TO  COQUET. 

Mr.  Ciawhall  writes :— "  Two  hundred  and  ninety  copies  were  printed  for 
Emerson  Chamley,  March  26th,  1825,  and  one  hundred  copies  presented  to  the 
author  (Robert  Roxby),  though  the  Garland  is  the  joint  production  of 
Rozby  and  Doubleday."  Boxby  writing  the  flrst»  and  Doubleday  the  last 
three  verses.  It  was  often  Doubleday's  fortune  thus  to  finish.  Rozby 
would  begin,  get  stranded,  and  as  he  told  Doubleday  when  writing  the  first 
Garland,  "  If  it  was  to  be  finished,  he  (Doubleday)  must  do  it** 

Tune—"  Gramachree." 
Come  bring  to  me  my  limber  gad 

I've  fish'd  wi'  mony  a  year, 
4ai'  let  me  hae  my  weel-wom  creel. 

An'  a'  my  fishing  gear ; 
The  sunbeams  glint  on  Linden-Ha^ 

The  breeze  comes  frae  the  west, 
An'  lovely  looks  the  gowden  morn 

On  the  streams  that  I  love  best. 

I've  thrawn  the  flee  thae  sixty  year. 

Ay,  sixty  year  an'  mair, 
An'  monie  a  speckled  troutie  kill'd 

Wi'  heckle,  heuk,  an'  hair. 
An'  now  I'm  auld  an'  feeble  grown, 

My  locks  are  like  the  snaw, 
But  I'll  gang  again  to  Coquet-side, 

An'  take  a  fareweel  thraw. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  165 

O,  Coquet  I  in  my  youthfu'  days 

Thy  river  sweetly  ran, 
An'  sweetly  down  thy  woody  braes 

The  bonnie  birdies  sang ; 
But  streams  may  rin  an'  birds  may  sing, 

Sma'  joys  they  bring  to  me, 
The  blithesome  strains  I  dimly  hear, 

The  streams  I  dimly  see. 

But  ance  again,  the  weel-kenn'd  sounds 

My  minutes  shall  beguile, 
An'  glistering  in  the  airly  sun 

I'll  see  thy  waters  smile; 
An'  Sorrow  shall  forget  his  sigh, 

An'  Age  forget  his  pain. 
An'  ance  mair,  by  sweet  Coquet-side, 

My  heart  be  young  again. 


Ance  mair  I'll  touch  wi'  gleesome  foot 

Thy  waters  clear  and  cold, 
Ance  mair  I'll  cheat  the  gleg-e'ed  trout, 

An'  wile  him  frae  his  hold ; 
Ance  mair,  at  Weldon^s  frien'ly  door, 

111  wind  my  tackle  up. 
An'  drink  "  Success  to  Coquet-side," 

Though  a  tear  fa'  in  the  cup. 


An'  then  farewell,  dear  Coquet-side ! 

Aye  gaily  may  thou  rin, 
An'  lead  thy  waters  sparkling  on. 

An'  dash  frae  linn  to  linn ; 


i66  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Blithe  be  the  music  o'  thy  streams 

An'  banks  through  after-days, 
An'  blithe  be  every  fisher's  heart 

Shall  ever  tread  thy  Braes. 

ROBERT  BOXBT.  "J^»«r'#  Oarland,"  1825. 

Thomas  DouBLEDAT.  x-i^iwr  •»»»•«»»«*,  ao«v. 


THE  COQUET  FOR  EVER. 

'   l8t  and  5th  verses. 

Mr.  CrawhaU  writes :— "  Four  hundred  copies  of  this  Garland,  the  joint 
production  of  Bozby  and  Doubleday,  were  printed  for  Emerson  Chamley» 
April  15th,  1826."  Again  Bozby  did  the  first  and  Doubleday  the  last  three 
yerses. 

TUNB~*<  Oh,  whistle  and  Til  come  to  you,  my  lad." 

I  HAVE  sung  thee,  clear  Coquet — I'll  sing  thee  again 

From  Garden's  bleak  fell  to  the  deep-rolling  main. 

And  the  Alwine  and  Wreigh  in  the  garland  shall  shine, 

For  they  mix,  lovely  river,  their  waters  wi'  thine. 

In  my  youth  I  have  danced  on  your  bonny  green  braes; 

In  my  old  age  I  think  on  these  dear  happy  days ; 

In  your  streams  I  have  angled  and  caught  the  scaled  fry. 

And  your  streams  they  shall  live,  tho'  their  beds  should 

run  dry. 

Chorus — And  your  streams,  etc 

Oh,  how  should  a  fisherman  ever  be  old  ? 
There's  wrinkles  in  Glory,  there's  wrinkles  in  Gold ; 
And  Love  has  his  sorrows  as  well  as  his  joys, 
And  power  is  made  up  but  of  glitter  and  noise. 
Such  gewgaws  as  these  let  the  fisherman  scorn — 
He's  glorious  at  night,  and  light-hearted  at  morn ; 
With  a  cheek  full  of  health,  be  it  hot,  be  it  cold. 
Oh,  how  should  a  fisherman  ever  be  old  ? 

Chorus^O\  how,  etc 

BOBBRT  EoxBY.  "  FUhn's  Garland,*'  1828. 

Thomas  Doubleday. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  167 

THE  IMPATIENT   LASSIE. 

Like  the  "  Garlands,"  *'  Cumberland  Songs"  scarcely  belong  to  this  collec- 
tion, bat  as  dialect  songs  they  are  so  mach  akin  that  a  spedmen  may  be 
giren.  The  author  of  the  **  Cumberland  Ballads,"  etc. ,  begins  a  memoir  of 
his  life  in  the  following  words :— "  At  six  o'clock,  on  the  snowy  morning  of 
February  Ist,  1770, 1  beheld  the  light  of  this  world,  and  first  drew  breath 
at  the  Dam  Side,  parish  of  St  Mary,  in  the  suburbs  of  this  andent  city 
(Carlisle) ;  a  poor  little,  tender  being,  scarce  worth  the  trouble  of  rearing." 
He  was  the  youngest  of  nine  chfldren,  bom  of  parents  getting  up  in  years, 
whom  poverty  had  with  all  their  kindred  kept  in  bondage,  knowing  only 
hard  labour  and  crosses.  At  an  early  age  he  was  placed  in  a  charity 
Rchool.  His  schooling  oyer,  he  was  put  to  learn  the  business  of  a 
calico  printer.  In  1794,  in  London,  he  wrote  his  first  song,  "  Lucy  Gray,' 
which  waa  sung  at  Vauxhall  Gardens.  It  would  be  some  ten  years  after 
that  before  his  first  volume  of  Cumberland  songs  was  printed.  His  life  was 
a  chequered  one.  His  gift  of  song  may  haye  led  him  into  temptation,— 
towards  the  end  of  his  life  he  gave  way  to  drink,  and  fell  into  poor  drcum- 
Btaaces.  He  died  at  Carlisle  on  September  26th,  1888.  In  Carlisle  Cathedral 
a  marble  monument  is  erected  to  his  memory. 

TUNB— "Low  down  in  the  Broom." 

Deuce  tek  the  clock ;  click-clackin'  sae 

Still  in  a  bod/s  ear  ] 
It  tells  and  tells  the  time  is  past, 

When  Jwohnnie  sud  been  here : 

Deuce  tek  the  wheel !  't  will  nit  rin  roun — 

Nae  mair  to-neet  I'll  spin ; 
But  count  each  minute  wi'  a  seegh, 

Till  Jwohnnie  he  steels  in. 

How  neyce  the  spunky  fire  it  burns, 

For  twee  to  sit  beseyde  ! 
And  theer's  the  seat  where  Jwohnnie  sits, 

And  I  forget  to  cheyde ! 

My  fadder,  tui,  how  sweet  he  snwores ! 

My  mudder's  fast  asleep — 
He  promised  oft,  but,  oh !  I  fear 

His  word  he  wunnet  keep ! 


i68  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

What  can  it  be  keeps  him  frae  me  ? 

The  ways  are  nit  sae  lang ! 
An'  sleet  an'  snaw  are  nought  at  aw, 

If  yen  wer  fain  to  gang  I 

Some  ither  lass,  wi'  bonnier  faice. 

Has  catch'd  his  wicked  e'e, 
An  I'll  be  pointed  at,  at  kurk — 

Nay !  suiner  let  me  dee ! 

O  durst  we  lasses  nobbet  gang, 
An'  sweetheart  them  we  leyke  I 

I'll  run  to  thee,  my  Jwohnnie,  lad, 
Nor  stop  at  bog  or  deyke : 

But  custom's  sec  a  silly  thing — 

For  men  mun  hae  their  way. 
An'  monnie  a  bonnie  lassie  sit, 

An'  wish  frae  day  to  day. 

But  whist ! — I  hear  my  Jwohnnie's  fit — 

Aye !  that's  his  varra  clog ! 
He  steeks  the  faul  yeat  softly  tui — 

Oh !  hang  that  cwoley  dog ! 

Now  hey  for  seeghs,  an'  sugar  words, 

Wi'  kisses  nit  a  few — 
O  but  this  warl's  a  paradise. 
When  lovers  they  pruive  true ! 
Anderson.  WigUm  Edition,  1806. 

JWs/lSUt,  1802. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


169 


ROBERT   GILCHRIST. 

Robert  Gilchrist,  one  of  the  brightest  of  Tyneside 
writers,  was  bom  at  Gateshead,  in  the  parish  of  St  Mary's, 
on  September  8th,  1797.  Although  Gateshead  bom,  it  is 
with  Newcastle  that  his  name  is  most  intimately  connected, 
as  there  his  father  carried  on  business  as  a  sailmaker ;  and 
there  also  he  was  apprenticed  to  William  Spence  to  learn 
the  same  business. 

F'rom  an  early  age  he  appears  to  have  had  a  passion  for 
poetry,  as  in  181 8,  when  he  would  be  twenty-one,  we  find  a 


few  of  his  youthful  companions  presenting  him  with  a  silver 
medal  and  inscription,  as  a  mark  of  their  appreciation 
of  his  poetical  abilities.  In  the  same  year  he  took  up  his 
freelage,  and  so  stood  charged  with  a  musket  for  the  defence 
of  the  town.  The  year  before  this,  he  had  been  drawn  by 
ballot  for  the  militia,  and  had  either  to  serve  or  find  a  sub- 
stitute.   A  substitute  he  found,  not  in  a  *^  Gallowgate,"  but  a 


I70  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

•*  High  Bridge  "  lad,  one  Matthew  Winship,  a  shoemaker, 
who  was  sworn  in  in  his  stead. 

Reduced  copy  of  Medal,  with  GQchriBt's  Autograph. 

ly  tAe  Admirers 
of  Ki« 


jr^^  /t/f:  /^^^^^^^^^^^ 

In  1822,  his  first  book  (a  small  one  of  24  pages),  GothoUbert 
and  Hisanna^  appeared.  It  was  published  by  Mitchell,  of 
the  Tyne  Mercury,    In  a  brief  introduction  he  writes — 

'^  This  whimsical  poem  is  the  ofbpring  of  a  few  leisure  hoars.  •  .  . 
Though  it  takes  the  appearance  of  l^urlesque,  the  characters  are  nothing 
less  than  real  life." 

The  real  life  he  thus  refers  to  is  soon  seen  to  be  his  own. 
The  hero,  **  Gothalbert,"  is  Gateshead  bom,  and  was  at 
nineteen 

"  A  viewly  lad,  of  grave  yet  sprightly  mien." 
Gilchrist's  passion  for  the  country  appears  in — 

"  Alone — on  foot — ^how  often  forth  he  hied, 
Alike  o*er  nations  and  a  country-side." 

And  there  can  be  no  doubt  his  father  and  mother  are  thus 
described — 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  171 

"  He  knew  no  Inznries,  ever  bluntly  spoke, 
And  seldom  rov'd  beyond  his  chimney  smoke. 

Alike  revered  in  country,  town,  or  city — 
Too  poor  for  envy,  and  too  rich  for  pity. 
Nor  less  exalted  was  Gotbalbert's  mother— 
The  world  has  seldom  boasted  such  another." 

The  poem  then  goes  on  to  tell  in  a  strained  and  half- 
burlesque  tone  of  the  loves  of  "  Gothalbert  and  Hisanna." 
At  best  it  is  but  a  fragment ;  he  has  called  it  a  whimsical 
poem.  It  is  all  that ;  it  is  essentially  a  youthful  production, 
and  laid  him  open  to  the  ridicule  which  T.  Fergusoi^  of 
Bishopwearmouth,  cast  upon  him.  Why  T.  Ferguson  should 
so  criticise  it,  and  have  printed  a  si>ecial  condemnation  of  it 
does  not  appear,  but  none  the  less,  in  Gothalbert  of  the  Tyne^ 
in  a  mock  Miltonic  strain,  he  lays  on  with  right  good 
will — as 

"  Of  Bch^s  first  "  lucubrations,"  and  the/rwi^ 
Of  his  pedantic  muse^  whose  iJiortal  taste 
Brought  trash  into  tne  world — likewise  his  vfoe 
For  loss  of  Anna,  I  attempt  to  sing." 

Ferguson  further  describes  his  piece  as  *  "a  humorous 
satire  on  all  *  Would-be  Wits'  and  conceited  Rhymesters, 
whose  heterogeneous  compositions  being  so  tinctured  with 
vanity,  egotism,  folly,  and  impertinence,  are  justly  considered, 
by  men  of  taste  and  impartiality,  as  inimical  to  the  dignity 
of  the  muses."  A  few  lines  from  the  satire  itself  will  show 
the  author's  skill — 

"Ye  tuneful  *  verse  inspiring'  maids. 
Who  rove  amidst  Parnassian  shades, 

Assist  my  lays  whilst  I  expose 

The  gross  impertinence  of  those  • 

Who,  like  the  tinker  tribe  on  asses, 

Infest  the  precincts  of  Parnassus, 

And  most  presumptuously  aspire 

To  strike  with  hands  profane  the  lyre, 

Without  once  saying,  *  By  your  leave.' " 

By  whatever  uiged,  the  satire  is  clever.  Like  Gilchrist's 
own  rhyme,  it  is  only  a  fragment,  and  appears  never  to  have 
been  finished. 

Two  years  after  this,  in  1824,  also  printed  by  Mitchell, 
there  appeared  his  Collection  of  Original  Songs ^  Local  and 
Sentimental.  With  one  or  two  exceptions,  in  this  work  of 
thirty-six  pages,  the  songs  on  which  his  fame  rests  appear. 


172  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

In  his  address  he  writes — **  I  offer  to  the  public  part  of  the 
poetical  effusions  composed  during  a  life  spent  in  incessant 
toil  from  the  early  age  of  twelve  years."  The  remaining 
part,  to  which  he  refers,  appeared  two  years  later,  in  1826, 
and  makes  a  volume  of  ninety  pages.  The  publisher  this 
time — not  Mitchell,  but  W.  Boag.  No  local  songs  are 
amongst  them ;  the  pieces  generally  are  sentimental,  with 
part  of  a  religious  character.  In  this  tendency  to  sin^  of 
sacred  themes,  Gilchrist's  rather  peculiar  religious  opinions 
may  be  traced,  he  being  one  of  the  Glassites,  a  body 
originating  in  Newcastle,  and  called  after  their  founder. 
The  opening  piece  in  his  volume  begins — 

^' A  voice  was  heard  on  Zion's  hill, 

Round  which  in  dust  her  temples  lay ; 
There  songs  of  praise  were  wont  to  thrill, 
But  Salem's  mme  bad  passed  away. 

From  Jesse's  Root  a  Branch  shall  spring, 
A  Star  whose  brightness  ne'er  shall  dim ; 

Of  monarchs  He  shall  be  the  King — 
Yea,  all  the  earth  shall  kneel  to  Him." 

A  little  further  on  is  a  kindred  piece,  a  verse  from  which 
runs — 

**  *Twas  thus  the  Prince  of  Minstrels  sung, 

Ere  Bethlehem's  Star,  with  purest  beam, 
Had  o'er  the  earth  its  radiance  flung — 

And  yet  this  star  was  David's  theme. 
He  saw— (through  future  ages  dim) — 

He  saw  in  that  predicted  hour, 
The  Star  which  ne'er  should  rise  to  him, 

Though  then  he  knew  its  healing  power." 

In  the  same  volume  his  beautiful  lines  on  St.  Nicholas' 
Church  appear — 

ON  ST.   NICHOLAS*  CHURCH. 

'^  Lo  !  here  shall  stand  the  boast  of  lyric  page, 
The  growing  wonder  of  each  coming  age, 
This  goodly  fabric,  which,  sublimely  high, 
Doth  raise  its  spires  as  if  to  reach  the  sky ; 
Its  lanthom  and  eliptic  arches  bold 
Seem  light  as  air,  yet  mighty  strength  unfold. 
Bright  structure !  where  no  beauteous  form  is  lacked  1 
So  great,  so  chaste,  so  vast,  yet  so  compact  I 
Such  comely  symmetry,  such  matchless  grace, 
Was  ne'er  before  beheld  by  mortal  face  I 


TYNESWE  SONGS, 


m 


Oh,  enter  here,  and  feel  without  controul 
Devotion  pour  her  softness  on  the  soul ; 
And  hear  the  organ,  which,  like  Sion's  lyre, 
"With  strains  celestial  fills  the  spacious  choir ; 
Or  see  the  grave,  where  sad  and  sacred  gloom 
Shows  peerless  beauty  wasting  in  the  tomb, 
And  manly  vigour  mouldering  in  decay. 
Like  withered  flowers  vilely  cast  away. 
Be  warned,  be  wise,  improve  thy  mortal  span  : 
All  serves  to  prove — the  vanity  of  man." 

These  extracts  give  a  fair  idea  of  Gilchrist  away  from  his 
dialect  songs.  His  1826  volume  seems  to  have  been  his 
last.  What  he  wrote  after 
appeared  only  in  slips, 
newspapers,  etc  His 
marnage  with  Miss  Mor- 
rison and  his  father's 
death  would  take  place 
about  this  time,  and  the 
battle  of  life  would  have 
to  be  begun  in  earnest. 
His  father  died  in  1829, 
and  he  succeeded  to  the 
business,  which  he  carried 
on  at  the  old  premises, 
near  the  Custom  House, 
on  the  Quayside.  Al- 
though brought  up  to 
the  business,  and  conse- 
quently master  of  it,  yet 
it  never  seems  to  have 
done  much  for  him.  Per- 
haps he  was  too  much  of 
the  old  school;  perhaps 
too  much  given  to  his 
books  and  writing.  But 
whatever  the  cause,  in 
business  he  was  not  very 
successful. 

His  love  of  the  country 
and  long  walking  tours 
have  already  been  alluded 
to.  One  may  be  more 
particularly  recorded.    In 


OLD  HOUSE,  SHIELDFIELD. 

Photo.    Auty  &  Ruddock,  Tynemouth. 


182 1  he  wagered  a  shilling  with  a  Mr.   R.  White,  possibly 


174  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

the  historian  of  **Otteiburn,"  that  he  would  walk  from  New- 
castle to  Edinburgh  by  a  circuitous  route  of  125  miles 
without  his  exjienses  amounting  to  12s.  He  won  this 
wager  by  showing  a  balance-sheet  with  distances  and 
route  all  marked  down,  and  3s.  7d.  to  spare,  his  expenses 
only  amounting  to  8s.  5d.  One  of  his  shorter  country 
rambles  after  his  marriage,  of  which  he  has  left  an  account, 
reads  curiously  now.  It  was  a  three-mile  walk  into  the 
country  to  Dr.  Headlam's  house  (now  Captain  Noble's)  at 
Jesmond  Dene.  He  describes  leaving  home,  the  old  house 
facing  Shieldfield  Green,  and  from  beginning  to  end  of 
his  ramble  there  was  nothing  but  green  country  walks  all 
the  way  to  Jesmond  Dene.  His  married  life  appears  to 
have  been  spent  in  this  old  Shieldfield  house,  and  to  it  he 
seems  to  have  been  much  attached  Time,  which  has 
made  such  marvellous  changes  since  then,  and  transformed 
his  country  walk  into  a  tramway  ride,  was  beginning  its 
changes,  and  his  old  house  (in  1838)  was  threatened  with 
destruction.  To  a  Mr.  Foggin,  who  either  owned  or  had 
some  say  in  it,  he  makes  the  old  house  send  a  humble 
petition  to  be  allowed  to  stand.     Part  of  the  verses  run — 


"  Let  innovations  e'en  go  on, 
ril  be  despite  all  dogging, 
A  good  ola  house  when  aU  are  gone, 
My  canny  Mr.  Foggin. 

My  tenant  tunes  the  rustic  reed, 

And  tells  a  good  old  story ; 

One  of  the  true  old  English  breed— 

An  antiquated  Tory. 

In  future  years  should  he  be  fam'd — 

Then  times  most  ample  log  in  ; 

Your  kind  forbearance  shall  be  nam'd, 

My  canny  Mr.  Foggin." 

Besides  the  old  house's  petition,  we  have  the  poet  directly 
addressing  John  Clayton,  who  appears  also  to  have  had  to 
do  with  it    The  last  verse  is  given — 

**  Then  say  the  word,  my  lease  renew, 
And  win  a  wreath  of  ^lory ; 
A  bard  of  Tyne  will  sing  of  you, 
All  in  my  upper  storey. 
Who  lays  disporting  hands  on  me, 
All  ills  may  pour  his  pate  on ; 
So  be  advised,  and  let  me  be, 
My  canny  Mr.  Clayton." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  175 

The  petitions  were  successful,  the  old  house  was  spared, 
and  in  it  he  was  to  spend  his  days.  He  seems  to  have  been 
proud  of  the  old  place.  In  the  second  number  of  the 
Conversazione^  a,  small  fortnightly  publication  issued  in  1839 
by  W.  Boag,  there  is  an  account,  partly  descriptive,  partly 
legendary,  of  it  by  him.  In  the  same  number  he  has 
*'  Fragmento.*  Two  of  these  fragments,  of  which  there  are 
nine^  here  follow ;  they  show  him  in  a  moralising  mood : — 

"  Content  is  great,  perchance  a  sole  domain — 
Let  him  that's  poor  be  happy  'tis  no  worse ; 
He  has  bnt  little  reason  to  complain, 
Whose  greatest  burden  is  an  empty  purse. 
'Tis  better  far,  less  daintily  to  feast, 
Than  have  the  bailiff  runnmg  in  one's  track : — 
Old  shoes  serve  well  (in  summer  time,  at  least) ; 
An  old  coat,  too,  sits  easy  on  the  back. 

Death  is  an  honest  radical  reformer, 
That  all  states  to  an  equal  level  brings — 
Allotting  each  of  cold,  cold  earth  a  cpmer. 
Where  humble  peasants  slumber  with  their  kings. 
Here  is  to  folly,  vice,  deceit,  and  pride, 
To  fame  and  frippery,  an  endless  end — 
The  deadliest  foes  sleep  calmly  side  by  side, 
And  in  one  common  clay  their  ashes  blend." 

Another  of  his  "Fragments"  begins — 

"  Many  have  eulogised  the  pipe  and  pot — 
Such  are  not  powers  the  minstrel  should  invoke." 

Akin  to  this  wholesome  teaching  is  the  following  interest- 
ing note  on  his  song,  "The  Quack  Doctors'*  (not  in  this 
collection): — 

"  I  have  often  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  my  compositions  con- 
veyed a  proof  that  it  was  very  possible  to  be  humorous  and  harmless 
at  the  same  time.  The  foregoing  composition,  is  a  slight  departure 
from  this  salutary  principle,  and  which  I  sincerely  regret.  I  would 
wish  it  expunged  from  my  works,  and  certainly  in  case  of  another 
edition,  it  should  not  be  republished.  Some  may  consider  me  too 
squeamish  in  this  respect,  but  (if  there  were  no  other  reason)  the 
popularity  of  the  other  (and  many  subsequently  composed)  local 
songs  is  the  best  testimony  that  native  humour  needs  not  the  aid  of 
either  invective  personality  or  the  least  indecency.  It  may  be  very 
possible  to  excite  laughter  at  the  expense  of  worthy  persons,  but  this  no 
one  can  reflect  upon  without  experiencing  a  feeling  of  disapprobation. 

"^«Zy29, 1829.  "R.  G." 

From  the  original  manuscript  (never  before  published). 

That  his  teaching  is  true  we  only  need  to  turn  to  his  own 


176  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

gems  of  Tyneside  son|^s,  which,  without  the  least  objection- 
able touch,  charm  ahke  by  their  rich  humour  and  easy 
versification.  As  a  Freeman  in  the  '^good  old  days" 
when  the  **  barges  ^  was  an  event,  he  was  foremost  in  the 
Freemen's  steamboat,  which  formed  part  of  the  pageant, 
and  a  new  local  song  by  him  at  the  dinner  was  the  event  of 
the  day.  His  unquenchable  humour  and  buoyancy  of  spirit 
were  shown  in  his  last  illness.  His  complaint,  an  internal 
cancer,  was  one  from  which  he,  as  well  as  his  friends,  knew 
he  could  not  recover.  The  late  Dr.  Clark  used  to  tell  how, 
visiting  him  in  company  with  a  friend,  Gilchrist,  suffering  as 
he  was,  had  them  both  ill  with  laughter  before  their  visit 
ended,  as  he  told  them,  in  a  manner  which  he  did  to  perfec- 
tion, a  story  about  a  South  Shields  pilot  According  to  Dr. 
Clark,  Gilchrist  had  a  slight  cast  in  his  eye,  and  when  telling 
a  humorous  story  this  eye  did  half  the  business  ;  others  who 
recollect  Gilchrist  cannot  recall  this  cast,  which  at  all  events 
must  have  been  slight. 

About  the  last  piece  he  would  write  is  the  following 
"Sonnet  on  the  Shortest  Day.''  It  is  so  appropriate  and 
characteristic  that  we  give  it  here — 

"  I  always  lov'd  the  shortest  day, 
Though  dull  the  aspect  of  the  year, 
Each  hearth  beams  forth  a  kindlier  ray, 
Reminding  us  of  Christmas  cheer  I 
And  friends  assemble  far  and  near. 
With  lightened  hearts  and  humours  gay ; 
And  dearest  ties  seem  still  more  dear, 
Bang'd  round  the  board  of  Christmas  Day. 
Lon^  may  such  scenes  on  England  smile, 
As  times  and  seasons  pass  away, 
And  still  more  free  from  guilt  and  guile, 
Lur'd  by  the  Star  of  Bethlehem's  ray, 
To  where  is  neither  storm  nor  strife, 
Nor  shortest  day,  nor  longest  life." 
Dec.  list,  1843.  Bobebt  Gilchbist. 

On  the  nth  of  July  1844  he  died  in  his  old  house  at 
Shieldfield,  aged  47  years,  and  was  buried  at  the  East 
Ballast  Hills  burial-ground.  John  Luke  Clennell,  likely  the 
son  of  Bewick's  noted  pupil,  thus  wrote  of  his  old  friend — 

*' If  honest,  manly,  unpretending  worth 
May  justly  claim  from  us  a  tribute  dear, 
And  those  who  were  respected  whilst  on  earth. 
Deserve  a  passing  dirge  sung  o'er  their  bier. 
Then  may  I  write  me  Bobert  Gilchrist  here. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  177 

No  vain  and  empty  words  are  these  to  tell 

A  tale  of  sorrow  in  an  idle  rhyme ; 
I  knew  the  simple-hearted  fellow  well, 

And  felt  his  kindness  also  many  a  time. 
Thus  it  is  fitting  memory  should  dwell 

In  pensive  sadness  on  a  man  who  ^ave 

Good  cause  for  us  to  sorrow  o'er  his  grave, 
And  that  the  Muse  bear  record  with  a  sigh, 
When  now  it  is  the  poet's  lot  to  die. 

July  16tA,  1844.  JOHN  LUKE  ClENNBLL. 

The  following  notes,  signed  "R.  G.,"  are  from  Gilchrist's 
manuscript — now  for  the  first  time  printed. 

THE    COLUER'S   KEEK   AT   THE   NATIOST. 

The  f  oUowiBg  bodc  was  wriifcen  in  reprobation  of  the  attempts  of  many 
designing  individuau  to  stir  up  a  spirit  of  Republicanism  in  the  minds  of 
those  honest,  well-meaning,  and  indostrioas  members  of  the  community. 

Newcastle,  Jtdy  sotA,  1829.  B.  O. 

Huz  Colliers,  for  a*  they  can  say, 

Hae  byeth  heads  and  hearts  that  are  sound — 
And  if  we're  but  tuen  i'  wor  way, 

There's  few  better  cheps  above  ground. 
Tom  Cavers  and  me,  frae  West  Moor, 

On  a  kind  ov  a  jollification, 
Yen  day  myed  what  some  folks  call  a  tour. 

For  a  keek  at  the  state  o'  the  nation. 

We  fand,  ere  we'd  lang  been  on  jaunt. 

That  the  world  wasn't  gannin  see  cliver — 
It  had  gettin  a  Howdon-Pan  cant, 

As  aw  gat  once  at  wor  box-dinner. 
Monny  tyels,  tee,  we  heard,  stiff  and  gleg — 

Some  laid  a'  things  stright  as  a  die — 
Some  crook'd  as  a  dog's  hinder  leg, 

Or,  like  wor  fitter's  nose,  all  a-wry. 

Yen  tell'd  me,  may  heart  for  to  flay 
(Thinkin'  aw  knew  nowt  about  town), 

Out  o'  may  three-and-sixpence  a-day. 
The  King  always  gat  half-a-crown. 


178  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Aw  said  they  were  feuls  not  to  ken 
That  aw  gat  a'  the  brass  me  awnsel' — 

Ga'  wor  Peg  three  white  shillins,  and  then 
Laid  the  rest  out  on  backey  and  yell ! 

They  blabb'd  oot  that  aw  was  mistuen — 

That  maw  brains  sairly  wanted  seduction — 
Without  animal  Parliaments  seun, 

We  wad  H  gan  te  wreck  and  construction^ 
That  we'd  wrought  ower  lang  for  wor  lair — 

That  landlords  were  styen-hearted  tykes— 
For  their  houses  and  land  only  fair, 

To  divide  them  and  live  as  yen  likes ! 

To  bring  a'  these  fine  things  about 

Was  as  easy  as  delving  aslent  is — 
Only  get  some  rapscallion  sought  out, 

And  to  Lunnin  sent  up  to  present  us. 
Thinks  aw  to  mysel'  that's  weel  meant — 

There's  wor  Cuddy  owre  laith  to  de  good, 
We'll  hev  him  to  Parliament  sent, 

Where  he'll  bray,  smash  his  byens,  for  his  blood. 

Then,  says  aw,  Tommy,  keep  up  thy  pluck, 

We  may  a'  live  to  honour  wor  nation — 
So  here's  tiv  Au'd  England,  good  luck ! 

And  may  each  be  content  in  his  station. 
Huz  Colliers,  for  a'  they  can  say, 

Hae  byeth  heeds  and  hearts  that  are  sound — 
And  if  we're  but  teun  i'  wor  way. 

There's  few  better  cheps  above  ground. 

Gilchrist.  Author's  Edition,  1824. 


TYNBSIDE  SONGS.  179 

BOLD   ARCHY   DROiariHOED. 

Archibald  Henderson  was  a  man  of  great  stature  and  immense  mnscolar 
power,  but  very  inoffensive  in  his  manners.  There  were  many  excellent 
traits  in  his  character ;  among  the  rest  his  filial  attachment  to  his  mother 
is  worthy  of  being  recorded.  His  mother  was  a  little  woman ;  but  it  was 
no  nncommon  sight  to  behold  her  leading  Archy  oat  of  any  wrangling  he 
might  happen  to  be  engaged  in ;  for  Archibald,  though  not  a  quarrelsome 
man,  had  his  struggles  of  competition,  but  the  voice  of  his  mother  in  one 
moment  charmed  him  into  meekness,  and  he  would  follow  her  with  the 
docility  of  a  child.  Archibald  was  never  married .  He  once  confessed  him- 
self a  little  enamoured  of  a  pretty  servant  girl  who  resided  upon  the 
Quayside.  The  highest  compliment  that  Archy  paid  her  was  by  observing 
that  she  was  alwjost  as  canny  a  woman  as  his  mother  t 

Archibald  Henderson  died  May  14th,  1828,  aged  86  years. 

A  production,  in  which  I  attempted  to  honour  his  memory,  appeared  in 
the  Poets'  Comer  of  the  Tyne  Mercury ^  May  or  June  1828. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OP  BOLD  ABCHY, 

Who  Died  May  14th,  1828. 

Bold  Abchy's  deed,  and  lang  for  him  will  poor  Newcassel  fret. 

Her  sun  of  glory  has  gaen  doon,  her  brightest  star  is  set ; 

Frae  the  Utte-gtcun  tiv  Causey  Brig—tat»  Tinmouth  bar  reet  round  by  SteUay 

Not  yen  remains  tiv  fill  the  place  left  vacant  by  this  honest  fellow. 

Weel  may  Jctck  Steenson  dool  his  dreed  and  drink  his  sorrow  dry— 
Weel  might  blind  WiUy  shake  his  head,  and  lay  his  fiddle  by ; 
For  though  he  vow'd  t'  play  ne  mair  when  he  lamented  Captain  Starkeyt 
He  slacken'd  all  his  fiddle  strings  in  memory  of  poor  Bold  Archy. 

Bold  Archy  was  a  lad  o*  spunk,  yet  not  a  saucy  tyke, 

And,  as  Fve  heard  blind  Willy  say,  I  never  saw  his  like ; 

As  meek  as  ony  sucking  pet,  with  fist  of  oak  and  arm  o'  thunner. 

He  wadn't  see  the  weak  one  wrang'd,  he'd  swallow'd  a'  Newcassel  seunner. 

The  funeral  flag  hung  drooping  law  as  Archy's  corpse  went  by. 

And  monie  gaz'd,  and  monie  a  tear  was  wip'd  frae  monie  an  eye ; 

And  every  one  the  truth  confest— warm  was  the  heart,  now  still  an'  caller, 

So  lay  him  softly  in  the  sod,  fam'd  man  of  might,  and  prince  o*  valour. 

Fareweel !  fareweel !— my  local  harp  I'll  bury  with  the  brave— 
And  here  TU  plant  my  local  wreath  to  flourish  on  his  grave ; 
Byeth  English  and  outlandish  nyems  shall  one  day  pass  oblivion's  portal, 
But  Archy's  shall  survive  them  a',  it  weel  desarves  to  be  immortal. 
Newcistle,  May  15, 1828. 

Numerous  might  be  the  anecdotes  related  of  Archibald  Henderson's  good 
humour  and  astonishing  athletic  powers.  1  decline  further  enumeration  of 
them,  satisfied  that  they  will  not  escape  observation  from  the  able  pen  and 
oonsmnmate  ability  of  Mr.  John  Bell. 

Quayside,  July  dOth,  1829.  B.  G. 


i8o  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

BOLD   ARCHY   DROWIHDED. 

Tune—"  The  Bold  Dragoon." 
AwiLE  for  me  yor  lugs  keep  clear,  maw  spoke  aw'll 

briefly  bray, 
Aw've  been  see  blind  wi'  blairin  that  aw  scarce  ken  what 

to  say, — 
A  motley  crew  aw  lately  met,  my  feelins  fine  had  sairly 

wounded, 
By  axin  if  aw'd  heer'd  the  news,  or  if  aw'd  seen  Bold 

Archy  drownded. 

The  tyel  like  wildfire  through  the  toon  suin  cut  a  dowly 

track. 
An'  seem'd  to  wander  up  an'  doon  wi'  Sangate  on  its  back ; 
Bullrug  was  there — Golightiys  Will — ti  croon  the  whole, 

au'd  NeUy  Marchy^ 
Whee  as  they  roond  the  Deed-house  thrang'd  whing'd 

oot  in  praise  ov  honest  Archy. 

Waes !  Archy  lang  was  hale  an'  rank,  the  king  o'  laddies 

braw — 
His  wrist  was  like  an  anchor-shank,  his  fist  was  Kke  the 

claw — 
His  yellow  waistcoat  flowered  se  fine,  myed  tyeliors  lang 

for  cabbage-cuttings ; 
It  myed  the  bairns  to  glower  amain,  an'  cry  ^'Ni,  ni, 

what  bonny  buttons ! " 

His  breeches  an'  his  jacket  clad  a  body  rasher  straight — 
A  bunch  o'  ribbons  at  his  knees — his  shoes  an'  buckles 

bright; 
His  dashing  stockins,  true  sky-blue,  his  gud  shag  hat, 

although  a  biggin. 
When  cock'd  upon  his  bonny  head,  luiked  like  a  pea 

upon  a  middin. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  i8i 

The  last  was  he  to  myek  a  row,  yit  foremost  in  the  fight, 
The  first  was  he  to  right  the  wrang'd,  the  last  to  wrang 

the  right; 
They  said  sic  deeds,  where'er  he'd  gyen,  cud  not  but 

meet  a  noble  station ; 
CuU'BiUy*  fear'd  that  a'  such  hopes  were  built  upon  a 

bad  foundashin. 

For  Captain  Starkey  word  was  sent  to  come  without 

delay — 
The  Captain  begged  to  be  excused,  and  come  another 

day, 
When  spirits  strong  and  nappy  beer,  with  bread  and 

cheese  might  make  him  able 
To  bear  up  such  a  load  of  grief,  and  do  the  honours  of 

the  table. 

Another  group  was  then  sent  off,  an'  browt  Blind  Willie 

doon, 
Whee  suen  began  a  simfinee  wi'  fiddle  oot  o'  tune : — 
"  Here  Archy  lies,  his  country's  pride,  oh  !    San'gate, 

thou  will  sairly  miss  him, 
Stiff  drownded  i'  the  ragin  tide,  powl'd  off  at  last — 

eehoo  !  'od  bliss  him !  " 

While  thus  they  mourn'd,  byeth  wives  an'  bairns,  young 

cheps  and  au'd  men  grey, 
Whee  shud  there  cum  but  Archy's  sel',  to  see  about  the 

fray. — 

*  William  Scott  was  an  inmate  of  St.  John's  poor-house ;  a  yery  harmless 
creatnre,  and  once  much  pestered  by  the  wantonness  of  the  boys  in  the 
streets  of  Newcastle.  He  was  very  good-natured.  When  I  was  a  schoolboy 
I  used  to  stop  and  ask  him  to  spell  any  hard  word,  and  it  is  a  singular  truth 
that  I  never  once  found  him  in  the  wrong.  Numerous  anecdotes  are 
recorded  of  William's  wit  and  presence  of  mind  which  would  have  done 
credit  to  many  of  greater  eminence. 

Jxdy  SO,  1829.  B.  G. 


i82  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Aw  gav  a  skrike,  for  weel  ye  ken  a  seet  like  this  wad  be 

a  shocker, 
'•*0d  smash!  here's  Archy  back  agyen, — slipped  oot,  by 

gox,  frae  Davy's  locker." 

Aboot  him  they  a'  thrang'd  an'  ax'd  what  news  frae 

underground  ? 
Each  tell'd  aboot  their  blairin,  when  they  ken'd  that  he 

was  drown'd. 
"  Hoots  ! "  Archy  moung'd,  "  it's  nowt  but  lees, — to  the 

Barley  Mow  let's  e'en  be  joggin, 
Aw'll  tyek  my  oath  it  wasn't  me,  because  aw  hear  it's 

Archy  Loggan. 

To  see  bold  Archy  thus  restor'd,  they  ga    sic    round 

hurraws. 
As  myed  the  very  skies  to  splet,  an*  deav'd  a  flight  o' 

craws  \ 
To  the  Barley  Mow  for  swipes  o'  yell,  they  yen  an*  a' 

went  gaily  joggin, 
Rejoiced  to  hear  the  drownded  man  was  nobbit  little 

Archy  Loggan. 

OiLCHBlST.  Author's  EdUion,  1824. 


A   VOYAGE   TO   LUHTNIN. 

The  following  song  owes  its  origin  to  my  first  sea  Toyage,  but  I  haye  made 
▼ery  free  with  facts.  A  full  acconnt  of  the  voyage  and  consequent  land 
excursions  will  be  found  in  my  memoirs  yet  unpublished. 

Shieldfield,  July  29, 1829.  B.  G. 

Lang  years  ower  meadows,  moors,  and  muck, 

I  cheer'ly  on  did  waddle — 
Se  various  is  the  chance  o'  luck 

Between  the  grave  and  cradle. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  183 

When  wark  at  hyem  turn'd  rather  scant, 

Aw  thought  'twas  fair  humbuggin'; 
An'  so  aw  even  teuk  a  jaunt, 

Faiks,  a'  the  way  to  Lunnin. 


Lord  Hawick  was  my  chosen  ship, 

Weel  rigg'd  byeth  stem  and  quarter, 
The  maister  was  a  canny  chep — 

They  ca*d  him  Jacky  Carter. 
Wi'  heart  as  free  frae  guilt  as  care, 

I  pack'd  up  all  my  duddin, 
And  shipp'd  aboard— the  wind  blew  fair — 

Away  we  sail'd  for  Lunnin. 


Safe  ower  the  bar  a-head  we  tint — 

The  day  was  fine  and  sunny. 
An*  seun  we  left  afar  behint, 

Wor  land  o'  milk  and  honey; 
But  few  their  dowly  thoughts  can  tyem — 

May-be  the  tears  were  comin' — 
Sair  griev'd,  ne  doubt,  to  pairt  wi'  hyem. 

Though  gaun  to  keek  at  Lunnin. 


Fareweel,  Tyne  Brig  and  cannie  Kee, 

Where  aVve  seen  monny  a  shangy,— 
Blind  Willey^  Captain  Starkey  tee — 

Bold  Archy  and  great  Hangy, 
Fareweel  Shoe  Ties,  Jack  Tate^  Whin  Bob, 

Cull  Billy ,  zxid/ack  Cummin, 
And  Judy,  Jen  Baloo — awll  sob 

Your  praises  a'  at  Lunnin. 


i84  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Some  such  as  me  the  hyke  myed  sick, 

An'  gar'd  them  rue  their  roamin' : 
Still  forward  plung'd  wor  gallant  ship» 

An'  left  the  water  foamin'. 
Waes  me !  but  'tis  a  bonny  seet, 

O  land  o'  beef  an'  puddin' ! 
To  see  thy  tars,  in  pluck  complete, 

Hand  fair  their  course  for  Lunnin ! 

Hail,  Tyneside  lads  I  in  collier  fleets, 

The  first  in  might  and  motion — 
In  sunshine  days  or  stormy  neets 

The  lords  upon  the  ocean. 
Come  England's  foes — a  countless  crew — 

Ye'U  gie  their  gobs  a  scummin', 
And  myek  them  a'  the  day  to  rue, 

They  glibb'd  their  jaws  at  Lunnin. 

I  thought  mysel'  a  sailor  good. 

And  flir'd  while  some  lay  sprawlin'. 
Till  where  the  famous  Robin  Hood 

Sends  out  his  calms  or  squallin' — 
'Twas  there  aw  felt  aw  scarce  ken  how — 

For  a'  things  teuk  a  bummin'. 
And  myed  me  wish,  wi'  retch  and  spew. 

The  ship  safe  moor'd  at  Lunnin. 

As  round  by  Flambrough  Head  we  shot, 

Down  cam'  a  storm  upon  us — 
Thinks  aw,  we're  fairly  gyen  to  pot — 

O  dear  I — ^hev  mercy  on  us  I 
Ower  northern  plains  'twill  dowly  sound, 

And  set  their  eyes  a  runnin'. 
When  they  shall  tell  that  aw  was  drown'd. 

Just  gannin'  up  to  Lunnin. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  185 

To  cheer  wor  hearts  in  vain  they  brought 

The  porter,  grog,  and  toddy — 
Maw  head  swam  round  whene'er  aw  thought 

Upon  a  fat  pan-soddy. 
**  O  what  the  plague  fetched  us  frae  hyem  ! " 

Some  in  the  glumps  were  glummin'; 
I  could  hae  blubber'd,  but  thought  shyem, 

While  gaun  a  voyage  to  Lunnin. 

'Cross  Boston  Deeps  how  we  did  spin, 

Skelp'd  on  by  noisy  Boreas, 
Up  Yarmouth  Roads,  and  seun  up  Swin, 

The  water  flew  before  us. 
O  glorious  seet  I  The  Nore's  in  view — 

Like  fire  and  flood  we're  scuddin' ; 
Ne  mair  we'll  bouk  wor  boily  now, 

But  seun  be  safe  at  Lunnin. 

Hail,  bonny  Thames  !  weel  smon  thy  waves  I 

A  world  might  flourish  bi'  them — 
An',  faiks,  they  weel  deserve  the  praise 

That  a'  the  world  gies  ti  them. 
O  lang  may  commerce  spread  her  stores, 

Full  on  thy  bosom  dinnin' — 
Weel  worthy  thou  to  lave  the  shores 

O'  sic  a  town  as  Lunnin. 

Seun  Black  Wall  Point  we  left  astern, 

Far  ken'd  in  dismal  story — 
An'  Greenwich  Towers  we  now  discern, 

Au'd  England's  pride  and  glory. 
Sure  Nature's  sel'  inspir'd  my  staves, 

For  aw  began  a  crunnin'. 
An'  blair'd,  "  Britannia  rules  the  waves  ! '' 

As  by  we  sail'd  for  Lunnin. 


i86  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Fornenst  the  Tower,  we  myed  a  click, 

Where  traitors  gat  their  fairins, 
And  where  they  say  that  hallion  Dick 

Yence  scumfish'd  two  wee  bairns. 
Hitch,  step,  and  loup,  aw  spang'd  ashore. 

My  heart  reet  full  o'  funnin' — 
An'  seun  forgat  the  ocean's  roar, 

Amang  the  joys  o'  Lunnin. 
Gilchrist.  A%tJthm'9  Editim^  1824. 


THE   AMPHITRITE. 

The  following  production  records  some  of  the  ludicrous  mistakes  made 
by  the  intrepid  navigators  of  the  coal  keels.  They  are  a  healthy  race  of 
men,  and  for  strength  and  activity  have  long  been  justly  famous.  Intelli- 
gence is  making  rapid  advances  amongst  them. 

J\ay  30, 1829.  E.  G. 

Frae  Team  Gut  to  Whitley,  wi'  coals  black  and  brown, 
For  the  Amphiirite  loaded,  the  keel  had  come  doon ; 
But  the  bullies  ower  neet  had  their  gobs  se  oft  wet. 
That  the  nyem  o'  the  ship  yen  an'  a'  did  forget 


To  find  out  the  nyem,  now  each  worried  his  chops, 
An'  claw'd  at  his  hips  fit  to  murder  the  lops — 
When  the  Skipper,  whe'  hunger,  was  always  most  bright, 
Swore  the  pawhogger  luggish  was  called  Empty  Kite. 

Frae  the  Point  roond  the  Girt,  a'  the  time  sailin'  slow. 
Each  bully  kept  bawlin',  «'  The  Empty  Kite,  ho  /  " 
But  their  blairin'  was  vain,  for  nee  Empty  Kite  there, 
Tho'  they  blair'd  till  their  kites  were  byeth  empty  an' 
sair. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  187 

A'  slaverin'  the  Skipper  ca'd  Geordy  and  Jim, 
For  to  gan  to  Newcassel  and  ax  the  reet  nyem ; 
The  youngest  he  thowt  myest  to  blame  in  this  bore, 
So  P  D  an'  his  marrow  were  e'en  pawk'd  ashore. 

Up  Shields  Road  as  they  trudged  i'  their  meyst  worn  oot 

soles, 
Oft  cursin'  the  Empty  Kite,  Skipper,  an'  coals ; 
At  the  sign  o'  the  Coach  they  byeth  ca'd  it  befell, 
To  mourn  their  hard  case  an'  to  swattle  some  yell. 

Here  a  buck  at  a  sirloin  hard  eatin*  was  seen, 
Which,  he  said,  wi'  the  air  myed  his  appetite  keen  ; 
"Appetite  I  "  cried  the  bullies — like  maislins  they  stared 
Wide  gyepin  wi'  wonder,  till  "  Crikes  1 "  Jemmy  blair'd. 

"  The  Appetite^  Geordy  !  smash,  dis  thou  hear  that  ? 
The  varry  ootlandish  cull  nyem  we  forgat ; 
Bliss  the  dandy !  for  had  he  not  tell'd  uz  the  nyem, 
To  Newcassel  we'd  wander'd  byeth  weary  and  lyem  !  " 

To  Shields  back  they  canter'd,  and  seun  frae  the  keel, 
Roar'd,  "  The  Appetite,  ho ! "  'neuf  to  frighten  the  deil. 
Thus  they  fund  oot  the  ship,  cast  the  coals  iv  a  swet, 
Still  praisin'  the  dandy  that  day  they  had  met 

Then  into  the  huddock,  weel  tir'd  they  all  gat, 
An'  of  Empty  Kite,  Appetite,  lang  they  did  chat, 
WTien  the  Skipper  discovered  (mair  wise  than  a  king). 
The'  not  the  syem  word,  they  were  much  the  syem  thing. 

GncHKlST.  Author's  Edition,  1824. 


i88  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

BUND   WILLIE'S   SISTGING. 

William  Purrii  was  the  well-known  native  minatrei  of  Newcastle-iipon- 
Tyne.  He  was  a  Tery  hannless  character,  and  if  not  blind  from  his  birth, 
was  so  from  a  very  early  period  of  Ufe.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  he  always 
spoke  as  if  he  possessed  the  sense  of  sight,  for  nothing  was  more  common 
than  to  hear  him  express  an  ardent  wish  to  see  the  king,  for  poor  Billy  was 
▼ery  loyaL  When  Lord  Stowell  visited  Newcastle,  William  told  him  (on 
befaig  presented  to  his  lordship)  that  he  was  glad  to  see  hhn  (Lord  Stowell) 
look  so  well !  Billy  could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to  wear  a  hat.  Lord 
Stowell  gave  him  one,  and  desired  him  to  use  it.  Willie  did  so  for  half  a 
day,  and  could  suffer  it  no  longer,  appearing  onoe  more  with  his  bare  head 
exposed  to  all  the  transitions  of  the  weather.  His  memory  wiui  very 
tenacious;  any  simple  rhymes  communicated  to  him  he  never  forgot. 
Any  one  presenting  him  with  a  halfpenny,  and  telling  him  thebr  name,  might 
be  assured  their  name,  voice,  and  bounty  would  be  retained  in  grateful 
remembrance.  William  was  an  inhabitant  of  the  poor-house  of  All  Saints, 
but  wandered  much  about  the  town,  distinguishing  every  street,  alley, 
house,  or  shop  with  astonishing  exactness.  Even  when  a  change  of  tenants 
took  place,  he  soon  discovered  it,  and  would,  in  passing,  pronounce  the 
name  of  the  new  occupier.  He  was  universally  a  favourite,  and  few  passed 
him  without  showing  their  sympathy  and  respect  for  Poor  Blind  WiUie. 

July  dOth,  1829.  B.  6. 

Tone—"  Jimmy  Joneson's  Whurry." 

Ye  gowks  that  'bout  daft  Handel  swarm, 

Your  senses  but  to  harrow — 
Styen  deaf  to  istrains  that  myest  wad  charm 

The  heart  iv  a  wheelbarrow. 
To  wor  Keeside  awhile  repair, 

'Mang  Malls  an'  bullies  pig  in, 
To  hear  encor'd,  wi'  monny  a  blair. 

Poor  au'd  Blind  Williis  singin. 

To  hear  fine  Sinclair  tune  his  pipes 

Is  hardly  worth  a  scuddock — 
It's  blarney  fair,  and  stale  as  swipes 

Kept  ower  lang  i'  the  huddock. 
Byeth  Braham  an'  Horn  behint  the  wa' 

Might  just  as  weel  be  swingin, 
For  a'  thor  squeelin's  nowt  at  a' 

Beside  Blind  Willie's  singin. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  189 

Aboot  "  5*r  Maffa  "  lang  he  sung, 

Far  into  high  life  keekin, 
Till  by  **  Broom  duzzoms"  roundly  swung, 

He  ga'  their  lugs  a  sweepin. 
A  stave  yence  myed  Dumb  Bet  to  greet, 

Se  fine  wi'  cat-gut  stringin — 
Bold  Archy  said  it  was  a  treat 

To  hear  Blind  Willie  singin. 

Aw*ve  heard  it  said,  Fan  Welch^  one  day. 

On  peppered  oysters  messin, 
Went  in  to  hear  him  sing  an'  play. 

An'  get  a  moral  lesson ; 
She  voVd  'twas  hard  to  haud  a  heel, 

An'  thowt  (the  glass  whilst  flingin) 
Wi'  clarts  they  should  be  plaister'd  weel, 

That  jeer'd  Blind  Willie's  singin. 

It's  fine  to  hear  wor  Bellman  talk, 

It's  wond'rous  fine  an'  cheerin 
To  hear  Bet  Watt  an'  Euphy  Scott 

Scold,  fight,  or  bawl  fresh  heerin ; 
To  see  the  keels  upon  the  Tyne, 

As  thick  as  hops,  a'  swimmin. 
Is  fine  indeed,  but  still  mair  fine 

To  hear  Blind  Willie  singia 

Lang  may  wor  Tyneside  lads  se  true. 

In  heart  byeth  blithe  an'  mellow, 
Bestow  the  praise  that's  fairly  due 

To  this  bluff,  honest  fellow — 
And  when  he's  hamper'd  i'  the  dust, 

Still  i'  wor  memory  springin. 
The  times  we've  run  till  like  te  brust, 

To  hear  Blind  Willie  singin. 


190 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


Gilchrist. 


But  may  he  live  to  cheer  the  bobs^ 

That  skew  the  coals  te  shivers, 
Whee  like  the  drink  te  grip  their  gobs, 

And  burn  their  varry  livers. 
So,  if  you  please,  aw'U  myek  an  end. 

My  sang  ne  farther  dingin, 
Lest  ye  may  think  that  aw  pretend 

To  match  Blind  Willie's  singin. 


AutKm'%  EdUion,  1824. 


THE   LAMERTTATIOHT 
ORT   THE    DEATH    OF   CAPTAIN    STARKEY. 

Benjamin  Starkey  wa^  aa 
iiih^bitiLDt  of  the  FTeeimui*& 
HonpiUiI  in  Newcastle- 
uponTyue.  He  told  me  he 
nerer  could  act.^(>unt  for  tihti 
term  Captain  precetlinj^  hi>ir 
nnme.  Ito  was  diminutlTd 
111  Lid  fltpirie»  Imt  imerom- 
uiooly  poliiibed  iti  bi^  inan^ 
iiers^takiD;;  ofT  tua  hat  and 
kiauing  hi-s  hand  with  an  air 
of  eiceaaive  good  bre-eding, 
and  which  at  the  aame  time 
bortj  no  rezjcmblance  of 
either  affectation  op  buf- 
foonery. He  wftfl  vain  of 
being  accounted  compauj 
fot  tbtf  greiit,  and  would 
conTerse  fAmiliiirly  of  his 
/ritfidfi.  Sir  Matthew  Ridley 
and  Charley  Brandlinpj 
Kail^  iStftTfcey  wrote  a  good 
hand,  and  vra.s  in  the  hahit 
of  giving  pTomi^^fory  uoten 
for  L'ertjiLn  pence  he  had 
borrowed  frouicertaio  per- 
sons. He  was  fond  of  beiUf 
treated  to  a  K^ftJis  of  ale^ 
a  n  d  T  ary  gratof ill  for  t  rlH  in  ^ 
fFivourri.  Any  one  showing 
hhn  kindness  or  treatinic: 
bim  with  deference  werv 
for  ever  entitled  to  a  polite 
bow  from  Beixja^mtn  ^t&r- 
kt^y,  who  ^tied  July  fltli,  1S22, 
an  ol  d  roan  (in  hi*  G&tb  year) . 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  191 

"  What  !  is  he  gyen  ?  "  Bold  Airchy  said,  and  moungin' 

scratch'd  his  head — 
"  O  can  sic  waesome  news  be  true  ? — Is  Captain  Star  key 

dead? 
AVs  griev'd  at  heart — push  round  the  can — seun  empty 

frae  wor  hands  we'll  chuck  it — 
For  now  we'll  drink  wor  last  to  him,  since  he  hez  fairly 

kick'd  the  bucket. 

"  Mygood  shag  hat  nemairaw'U  wave,  his  canny  fyece  to  see — 
Wor  bairns'  bairns  will  sing  o'him,  as  Gilchrist  sings  o'me — 
For  O !  he  was  a  lad  o'  wax !     Aw've  seen  him  blithe 

and  offen  mellow — 
He  might  hae  faults,  but  wi'  them  a'  we've  seldom  seen 

a  better  fellow. 

"  Yen  day  they  had  me  drown'd  for  fun,  which  myed  the 

folks  to  blair ; 
Aw  myest  could  wish,  for  his  dear  syek,  that  aw'd  been 

drown'd  for  fair. 
On  monny  a  day  when  cannons  roar,  yen  loyal  heart 

will  then  be  missin' — 
If  there  be  yell,  we'll  toast  his  nyem — if  there  be  nyen,. 

he'll  get  wor  blissin'." 

Blind  Willie  then   strumm'd   up   his   kit  wi'  monny  a 

weary  drone. 
Which  Thropler^  drunk,  an'  Cuckoo  Jack*  byeth  answer'd 

wiv  a  groan. 
"  Nice   chap  !   poor  chap ! "    Blind   Willie   said ;   "  my 

heart  is  pierc'd  like  onny  riddle. 
To  think  aw've  liv'd  to  see  him  dead — aw  never  mair  'ill 

play  the  fiddle. 

*  Cuckoo  Jack  has  been  for  many  years  in  the  service  of  the  Corporation 
as  one  of  the  barge-rowers.  He  was  remarkable  for  his  skill  in  the  recovery 
of  anything  lost  by  accident  in  the  river— the  bodies  of  persons  drowned,. 
boats  sunk  for  many  years,  watches  and  money,  and  innumerable  other 
materials,  being  by  honest  Jack's  dexterity  brought  to  light  and  restored  to- 
their  owners  for  a  trifling  remuneration.  Jack  was  much  valued  as  a 
dexterous  and  good-natured  individual. 

.^uZy  SO,  1829.  R.  G. 


192  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

"  His  gam  is  up,  his  pipe  is  out,  an'  fairly  laid  his  craw— 
His  fame  'ill  blaw  about,  just  like  coal  dust  at  Shiney- 

Raw. 
He  surely  was  a  joker  rare — what  times  there'd  been  for 

a'  the  nation, 
Had  he  but  liv'd  to  be  a  Mayor,  the  glory  o'  wor 

Corporation. 

•*  But  he  has  gi'en  us  a'  the  slip,  and  gyen  for  evermore— 
Au^d  Judy  zxAJack  Coxon  tee,  hae  gyen  awile  before. 
An'  we  maun  shortly  follow  them,  an'  tyek  the  bag,  my 

worthy  gentles — 
Then  what'U  poor  Newcassel  dee,  deprived  of  all  her 

ornamentals  ? 

"  We'll  moralize — ^for  dowly  thowts  are  mair  wor  friends 

than  foes — 
For  death,  like  when  the  tankard's  out,  brings  a'  things 

tiv  a  close. 
May  we  like  him,  frae  grief  an'  toil,  when  laid  in  peace 

beneath  the  hether — 
Upon  the    last  eternal  shore,   a'  happy,   happy  meet 

together ! " 
Gilchrist.  Authwt's  Edition,  182«. 


BLIND   IZiriLLIE'S    DEETH. 

Tune—**  Jimmy  Joneson's  Whurry." 

As  aw  was  gannin  up  the  Side, 

Aw  met  wi'  drucken  Bella ; 
She  rung  her  hands,  and  sair  she  cried, 

He's  gyen  at  last,  poor  fellow ! 
O  hinny,  Bella !  whe  is't  that's  gyen  ? 

Ye  gar  my  blood  run  chilly ; 
Wey,  hinny,  deeth  hes  stopt  the  breeth 

O'  canny  aud  Blind  Willie. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  193 

God  keep  us,  Bella,  is  that  true  ? 

Ye  surely  are  mistaken ! 
0,  no !  aw've  left  him  just  a-now, 

And  he's  as  deed  as  bacon. 
Aw  tied  his  chaffs,  and  laid  him  oot — 

His  flesh  just  like  a  jelly — 
And  sair,  sair,  aw  was  put  aboot 

For  canny  aud  Blind  Willie. 

Then  off  aw  went  as  fast  as  owt, 

Ti  see  poor  Willie  lyin  ; 
When  aw  gat  there,  maw  heart  was  sair, 

Ti  see  his  friends  a'  sighin. 
Around  his  bed  they  hung  their  heeds, 

Just  like  the  droopin  lily : 
And  aw  wi'  them  did  de  the  syem 

For  canny  aud  Blind  Willie. 

Ne  mair,  said  aw,  we'll  hear  him  sing, 

Ne  mair  he'll  play  the  fiddle  ! 
Ne  mair  we'll  hear  him  praise  the  king — 

No !  no !  cried  Jimmy  Liddle. 
His  days  are  past — he's  gyen  at  last. 

Beside  his  frind,  Sir  Billy, 
The  parish  chiel,  that  preach'd  se  weel. 
I  We'll  mourn  for  him  an'  Willie. 


I 


His  bonny  corpse  crowds  cam  to  see, 

Which  myed  the  room  luik  dowley ; 
And  whe  was  there  amang  them  tee, 

But  noisy  Yellow  Yowley ; 
She  throo  the  crowd  did  push  her  way — 

Wi*  drink  she  seem'd  quite  silly — 
And  on  her  knees  began  to  pray 

For  canny  aud  Blind  Willie. 
13 


t^  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

They  tell'd  us  a'  to  gang  away, 

Which  myed  us  varry  sorry ; 
But  Beagle  Bet  wad  kiss  his  lips, 

Before  they  did  him  bury. 
He's  buried  noo — ^he's  oot  o'  seet — 

Then  on  his  grave  se  hilly. 
Let  them  that  feel  take  their  fareweel, 

O'  canny  aud  Blind  Willie. 

NUNN.  Fordyctfa  " NewctuUe Song  Booh**  1842. 

"The  Death  of  Blhid  Willie"  has  generally  been  ascribed  to  Gilchrist. 
There,  however,  is  little  doubt  bat  it  is  Robert  Nunn's. 


MORE   INNOVATIONS. 

Grainger's  great  improvements  set  speculation  astir.  Some  of  the  innova> 
tions  dreamt  of  in  the  song  are  now  accomplished  facts ;  others  again,  the 
reader  will  see,  are  yet  to  come. 

TUNB— "  The  Bold  Dragoon.** 

Newcassell's  sore  transmogrified,  as  every  one  may  see, 
But  what  they've  duen  is  nowt  to  what  they  still  intend 

t'de: 
There  still  remains  some  sonsy  spots,  pure  relics  of  our 

ancient  features. 
Of  which  our  canny  town  shall  brag,  while  Gyetshead 

boasts  sand  beaters ! 

The  scrudg'd  up  foot  of  Pilgrim  Street  they  surely  will 

not  mend, 
Tis  such  a  curiosity — 2l  street  without  an  end ! 
Should  they  extend  it  to  the  Quay,  and  show  All  Saints' 

Church  so  neatly, 
It  might  look  fine,  but  I'm  afraid  'twould  spoil  the 

Butcher  Bank  completely ! 

Of  pullin'  down  the  Butcher  Bank  it  grieves  one's  heart 

to  speak ; 
From   it  down  every  Quayside  Chare  there's  such  a 

glorious  keek  1 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  195 

The  shambles,  too,  a  bonny  sight,  the  horse  and  foot- 
ways nice  and  narrow ; 

Say  what  they  will,  seek  through  the  world,  the  Butcher 
Bank  is  bad  to  marrow ! 

Our  fishwives,  too,  might  well  complain,  forced  off  the 
Hill  to  move, 

Where  they  so  long  had  squaird  in  peace,  good  fellow- 
ship, and  love : 

The  brightest  day  will  have  an  end,  and  here  the 
Sandhill's  glory  closes. 

Now  Hies  and  fumes  no  more  will  make  the  gentles  stop 
their  ears  and  noses. 

Tis  said  they  mean  to  clear  away  the  houses  in  the  Side, 
To  set  off  old  St  Nicholas'  Church,  so  long  our  greatest 

pride; 
But  Where's  the  use  of  making  things  so  very  grand  and 

so  amazing, 
To  bring  daft  gowks  from  far  and  near  to  plague  us  with 

their  gob  and  gazing. 

The  Middle  Street's  to  come  down  next,  and  give  us 

better  air. 
And  room  to  make  to  hold  at  once  the  market  and  the 

fair ; 
Well  may  Newcassel  grieve  for  this,  because,  in  hot  or 

rainy  weather. 
It  look'd  so  well  to  see  the  folks  all  sweltered  in  a  hole 

together ! 

The  Tyne's  to  run  out  East  and  West ;  and,  'stead  of 

Solway  boats. 
Our  Greenland  ships  at  Carlisle  call,  and  not  at  Johnny 

Groat's; 


196  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Dull  may  we  be  at  such  a  change:  eh!  certies,  lads, 

haul  down  your  colours ! 
Twould  be  no  wonder  now  to  see  chain  bridges  ruin  all 

the  scullers. 

GiLCUKiST.  Fordyetft "  NeweattU  Song  Bock^  1842. 

To  this  song  GUchrist  has  left  no  manuscript  notes.  The  notes  already 
given  are  in  an  interleaved  copy  of  his  songs— evidently  intended  for  a 
new  edition. 

The  portrait  of  Gilchrist  on  page  109  is  copied,  by  the  kindness  of  the  late 
Dr.  George  N.  Clark,  from  a  scarce  lithograph  of  the  Herbage  Committee, 
of  which  Gilchrist  was  a  member.  The  portrait  was  photographed  by 
P.  H.  Laws,  and  reproduced  by  the  Meisenbach  process. 


THE   CORKT   MARKET. 
A   LAMENT. 

The  foUowing  clever  song  appears  in  Fordyce's  CoUection  (1842).  No 
author's  name  is  given,  but  evidently  he  was  no  unpractised  hand. 
The  local  improvements  of  Grainger  could  not  be  carried  out  without 
injuriously  affecting  the  interests  of  some ;  and  this  witty  production  Is 
interesting  as  showing  the  spirit  of  opposition  Grainger  encountered  in 
beautifying  his  native  town.— ^ote  to  1872  editi^m. 

To  the  above,  which  appeared  in  the  1872  edition,  it  may  be  added  that 
Grainger  intended  the  Central  Exchange  (Art  Gallery)  to  be  the  Com 
Market.  At  the  time,  about  1838,  a  model  of  the  new  building  was 
exhibited  showing  men  carrying  sacks  of  com  on  their  backs.  The  song, 
besides  appearing  in  Fordyce's  volume,  seems  also  to  have  been  printed  as  a 
broadsheet  We  have  come  acr  oss  a  copy,  possibly  the  original  pubUcation ; 
it  is  printed  by  W.  Boag,  is  undated,  and,  like  the  volume,  is  without  an 
author's  name.    The  author,  as  a  guess,  possibly  Gilchrist 

Tune—"  The  Bold  Ihagoon." 
O  HiNNEY  Grainger,  haud  thy  hand,  thou'U  turn  us  upside 

doon, 
Or  faith  aw'U  send  for  Mr.  Brand,  te  claw  thy  curly 

croon ; 
For  what  thou's  myed  the  Major's  dene,  wor  thenks  are 

due,  and  thou  shalt  hae  them ; 

But  noo  the  law  toon  folk  complain,  thou  wants  to  tyek. 

thor  Egypt  frae  them. 

Whack,  row  de  dow,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  197 

Most  folk  like  the  better  half,  but  thou  wad  swalley  all, 
Poor  hoose  or  jail  may  tyek  the  rest,  gie  thou  but 

Elswick  Hall. 
Wor  cooQcirs  cliver,  thor's  ne  doubt,  but  they'll  find  oot, 

tho'  rather  late  on, 
How  cool  the  divil  walks  aboot^  in  the  smooth  shape  of 

J y  C n. 

Thou's  getten  a'  the  butcher  meat,  the  taties,  tripe,  and 

greens, 
And,  not  content  wi'  this,  thou  wants  te  tyek  wor  corn, 

it  seems ; 
For  Mosley  Street  and  mercy's  sake,  sic  wicked  thowts 

at  once  abandon. 
Or  else  wor  canny  aud  law  toon  it  winnet  hev  a  leg  te 

stand  on. 

The  wheel  o'  fortune  will  stand  still,  the  bees  forsyek 

the  hive, 
Thor'U  be  ne  wark  for  Sinton's  Mill,  the  White  Horse 

winnet  drive ; 
Poor  Mrs.  French  and  Temperance  Hall  ne  mair  need 

recommend  their  diet. 
The  farmers  will  forget  te  call,  Hell's  Kitchen  very  sel 

turn  quiet. 

The  Chronicle  maiy  doze  in  peace — Lord  Grainger  says, 

"Sleep  on  I" 
The  bugs  may  tyek  anuther  leese,  thor  race  is  not  yet 

run; 
Aud  Nichol  still  may  fairly  say,  frae  Hepple's  up  to 

Humble's  hoose  end. 
He  feeds  a  lively  host  each  day,  aw'll  say,  at  least  a 

hundred  thoosand. 


198 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


The  White  Swan  suen  *ill  be  agnind,  the  Black  Boy  turn 

quite  pale ; 
The  Black  Bull  wi'  the  blow  be  stunn'd ;  the  Lion  hang 

his  tail ; 
Tom  Heron's  Cock  'ill  craw  ne  mair;  the  aud  Blue 

Bell  be  dumb  for  iver ; 
An',  just  te  myek  the  Keeside  stare,  thou'd  better  send 

doon  for  the  river. 
Anonymous.  Broadsheet  printed  by  W.  Boa«  about  1888. 


JAMES   MORRISON. 

James  Morrison,  author  of  **  Newcastle  Noodles "  and 
"  Burden's  Address,"  was  a  native  of  Newcastle,  being  bom, 
about  the  year  1800,  in  Morrison's  Court,  Groat  Market 
He  served  his  apprenticeship  as  a  painter,  and  worked  for 

some  years  as  a  journey- 
man in  his  native  town ; 
after  which  (somewhere 
about  the  year  1830)  he 
went  to  Edinburgh.  With 
his  removal  from  New- 
castle, the  little  that  is 
known  of  his  life  abruptly 
ends.  Whether  he  settled 
in  Edinburgh,  or  made  it 
but  a  halting-place  for 
further  journeys,  is  not 
known.  His  two  songs 
were  popular  in  their  day ; 
but  the  subjects  being  of 
a  temporary  interest,  they 
are  now  less  known. 
"Burdon's  Address''  is 
found  in  Marshall's  Chap- 

OROAT  MARKET  IN  MORRISON'S  TIME.        \^qq\^^^    1823,     aud     "NeW- 

castle  Noodles"  in  Marshall's  volume,  1827.  Beyond  the 
interest  attached  to  him  as  a  writer  of  Tyneside  songs, 
his   name   is    additionally  interesting  on  account  of  his 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  199 

relationship  to  the  celebrated  Dr.  Morrison,  he  being  a 
nephew  of  that  eminent  scholar :  who,  from  a  joiner's 
bench,  in  the  Groat  Market,  by  stady  and  self-denial, 
raised  himself  to  a  foremost  rank  amongst  the  scholars  of 
his  day.  Dr.  Morrison,  in  1824,  when  famous  as  a  Chinese 
missionary  and  scholar,  during  a  brief  visit  to  England,  did 
not  forget  his  old  friends,  or  the  scene  of  his  early  struggles, 
but  preached  in  the  Presbyterian  Chapel,  Hi^h  Bridge;  and 
thus,  in  a  measure,  repaid  the  kindness  of  his  old  minister, 
the  Rev.  A.  Laidlaw,  who  had  greatly  assisted  him  in  his 
studies  whilst  a  youth.  His  great  works  were,  the  compila- 
tion of  a  Chinese  dictionary,  and,  in  conjunction  with  Mr. 
Milne,  making  a  translation  of  the  Scriptures  into  the  Chinese 
language.  He  died  at  Canton,  on  the  ist  of  July  1834,  in 
his  fifty-second  year. 


BURDON'S   ADDRESS   TO   HIS   CAVALRY. 

Thig  witty  parody  T«fen  to  the  great  strike  amongst  the  sailors  at 
Shields,  in  1815.  Thomas  Bnrdon  was  lient. -colonel  of  the  Tyne  Hussars, 
who  were  sent  to  assist  in  keeping  order.  For  his  services  on  that  occasion 
he  wms  knighted  hy  the  Prince  Begent,  in  May  1816. 

Tune—"  Scots  wha  hae.' 

Soldiers  whom  Newcastle's  bred, 
View  your  Cornel  at  your  head. 
Who's  been  called  out  of  his  bed 

To  fight  with  sword  in  hand 
Now's  the  time,  ye  sons  of  Mars, 
You've  to  conquer  British  tars, 
Who've  broke  out  in  civil  wars 

At  Shields  and  Sunderland. 


But,  my  lads,  be  not  alarm'd, 
You've  to  fight  with  men  unarm'd. 
Who  in  multitudes  have  swarm'd. 
We  will  make  them  flee. 


500  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Comie,  then,  my  noble  sons  of  Tyne, 
And  let  your  valour  nobly  shine ; 
There  at  last  has  come  a  time 
To  show  your  bravery. 

Then  they  cried  out,  every  man. 

Cornel,  we'll  dee  a'  we  can; 

So  away  to  Shields  they  ran, 

Their  lives  in  jeopardy. 

But  they  had  no  call  to  fight, 

The  Marines  had  be't  them  quite; 

Yet  the  Corners  made  a  Knight 

For  the  victory ! 
Jambs  Morrison.  MarsJuOFt  Chap-Book,  1828. 


THB   NEWCASTLE   NOODLES. 

In  December  1819  tbe  Northumberland  and  Newcastle  Volunteer  Goips 
of  Yeomanry  was  formed,  Charles  John  Brandling,  Esq.,  behiff  chief  in 
command.  About  that  time,  political  agitation  was  rife  in  the  diatnct 
As  the  parties  who  took  an  active  part  in  raising  the  new  corps  were 
generally  opposed  to  political  reform,  the  new  force  was  considered  br  the 
reforming  party  as  a  menace  against  them,  and  they  showed  their  dislike 
by  calling  them,  in  derision,  **  Noodles." 

Tune—"  Canny  NewcasseL" 

Be  easy^  good  folks,  for  we're  all  safe  enough, 

Better  fortune  seems  now  to  attend  us ; 
And  two  canny  fellows,  both  lusty  and  tough, 

Have  raised  a  new  corps  to  defend  us : 
Men  sound,  wind  and  limb,  good  sighted  and  stout, 

That  can  fight  well,  without  being  daunted ; 
Free  from  all  diseases,  such  like  as  the  gout. 

And  can  jump,  or  be  ready  when  wanted. 

CAorus. 
Then  if  any  invaders  should  dare  us  to  fight. 

Let  it  be  on  the  shore  or  the  river ; 
Bold  Archy*  the  Noodle  and  Tommy  the  Knight,t 

Will  guard  and  protect  us  for  ever. 

*  Archibald  Beed,  at  that  time  Mayor. 

t  Sir  Thomas  Burden,  colliery  owner,  also  a  large  brewer. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  201 

The  Noodles  have  ne'er  been  at  battle  as  yet, 

Nor  been  brought  down  by  scanty  provision ; 
So  to  try  them  whenever  his  worship  thinks  fit, 

He'll  find  them  in  famous  condition. 
In  all  their  manoeuvres  there's  scarcely  a  flaw. 

They're  quite  up  to  the  science  o*  killing ; 
For  the  Noodle  drill-sergeant's  a  limb  o'  the  law. 

And  an  old  practis'd  hand  at  the  drilling. 
Then  if  any  invaders,  etc. 

Misfortunes,  however,  will  sometimes  attend, 

For,  one  morning,  by  danger  surrounded, 
A  poor  fellow  splintered  his  fore-finger  end. 

And,  of  course,  in  the  service  was  wounded. 
'Tis  true  a  sair  finger's  a  very  bad  thing, 

But  it  didn't  diminish  his  beauty ; 
So,  the  next  day,  he  just  popp'd  his  arm  in  a  sling, 

And,  Briton-like,  went  upon  duty. 

Then  if  any  invaders,  etc. 

They  have  all  been  abroad,  and  as  far  too  as  Shields, 

But  to  walk  there  was  no  easy  matter : 
So,  for  fear  that  their  boots  should  go  down  in  the  heels. 

They  took  the  steamboat  down  the  watter. 
Their  warlike  appearance  was  awfully  grand ; 

When  they  fired  it  sounded  like  thunder. 
Which  put  all  the  natives  o'  Shields  to  a  stand. 

And  left  them  for  ages  to  wonder. 

Then  if  any  invaders,  etc. 

What  a  pity  they  cannot  get  medals  to  buy. 

It  greatly  would  add  to  their  grandeur : 
"  There's  Waterloo  soldiers  I "  the  strangers  would  cry, 

And  think  Archy  was  great  Alexander. 


202  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

These  mighty  Preservers  if  death  cannot  save, 

But  send  one  or  two  of  them  bummin' ; 
The  rest  o'  the  Noodles  would  fire  o'er  his  grave, 
And  tell  the  below-folks  he's  comin'. 
Then  if  any  invaders,  etc. 
Jambs  Morrison.  ManhaXfe  ColUeHon,  1827. 


GREEN'S   BALLOON. 

The  local  poets  have  not  let  ballooning  go  unsung.  Mitford  has  left  os 
Bob  Cranky's  account  of  Sadler's  balloon  ascent,  1816.  Oliver  has  a  song 
on  Green's  ascent  (apparently  the  first  of  the  four).  But  the  unknown 
author  of  the  following  has  evidently  been  in  a  happier  vein  than  either  of 
his  popular  rivals— his  song  is  by  far  the  best. 

Messrs.  Green  ascended  in  their  grand  Coronation  Balloon,  from  the 
Nuns'  field*  in  Newcastle,  four  times— on  Wednesday,  May  11th ;  Whit- 
Monday,  May  23rd;  Monday,  May  80th;  and  on  Bace  Thursday,  Jnly 
14th,  1826. 

Tune— "Barbara  BelL'* 

Now  just  come  and  lissen  a  while  till  aw  tell,  man, 

Of  a  wonderful  seet  t'other  day  aw  did  see : 
As  aw  was  gaun  trudgen  alang  by  mysel,  man, 

Aw  met  wi'  wor  skipper,  ay  just  on  the  Key. 
O  skipper,  says  aw,  mun,  wye  where  are  ye  gannen? 

Says  he.  Come  wi'  me,  for  aw's  gaun  up  the  toon  ; 
Now  just  come  away,  for  we  munnet  stand  blabbin. 

Or  we'll  be  ower  lang  for  to  see  the  Balloon. 

Right  fal  de,  etc. 

The  balloon,  man,  says  aw,  wye  aw  never  heard  tell  on't, 
What  kind  o'  thing  is  it  ?  now  skipper  tell  me  : 

Says  he.  It's  a  thing  that  gans  up  by  the  sel'  on't. 
And  if  ye'll  gan  to  the  Nuns'  Gate,  man,  ye'U  see. 

*  On  the  Nuns'  field.  Nuns'  Street,  and  Grainger's  New  Markets  are  now 
built.  It  extended  from  the  back  of  Newgate  Street  nearly  to  where  Earl 
Qrefa  monument  stands. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  203 

So  to  the  Nuns'  Gate  then  we  went  in  a  hurry, 
And  when  we  gat  there,  man,  the  folks  stood  in  crowds ; 

And  aw  heerd  a  chep  say,  he  wad  be  very  sorry. 
If  it  went  to  the  meun,  reet  clean  thro'  the  clouds. 

Right  &1  de,  etc. 

We  stared  and  luik't  round  us,  but  nought  could  we  see, 
man, 
Till  a  thing  it  went  up  as  they  fir'd  a  gun  : 
Cried  the  skipper,  Aw  warn'd  that's  the  little  Pee-dee, 
man, 
Gyen  to  tell  folks  above  'twill  be  there  varry  suen. 
Then  a'  iv  a  sudden  it  cam  ower  the  house-tops,  man. 

It  was  like  a  hay-stack,  and  luikt  just  as  big ; 
Wiv  a  boat  at  the  tail  on't,  all  tied  tid  wi'  ropes,  man, 
Begox !  it  was  just  like  wor  aud  Sandgate  gig. 

Right  fal  de,  etc. 

And  there  was  two  cheps  that  sat  in  the  inside,  man, 

Wi'  twe  little  things  they  kept  poweyin  her  roun' ; 
Just  like  wor  skipper  when  we've  a  bad  tide,  man  : 

Aw  warn'd  they  were  fear'd  that  the  thing  wad  come 
doun; 
And  still  the  twe  cheps  kept  poweyin  her  reet,  man. 

For  upwards  she  went,  ay  clean  ower  the  toon  : 
They  powey'd  till  they  powey'd  her  reet  out  o'  seet,  man, 

That  was  a'  that  we  saw  o'  this  grand  air  balloon. 

Right  fal  de,  etc 

The  skipper  cam  to  me,  tuik  haud  o'  my  hand,  man, 
Says,  What  do  ye  think  o'  this  seet  that's  been  given  ? 

Says  aw.  Aw  can't  tell,  but  it's  a'  very  grand,  man ; 
Aw  wish  the  cheps  byeth  safely  landed  in  heaven. 


204  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

'Twad  be  a  good  plan  to  tyek's  up  when  we're  deed,  man, 

For  which  way  we  get  there  'twill  be  a'  the  syem  ; 
And  then  for  wor  Priests  we'd  stand  little  need,  man  : 
So  me  an'  the  skipper  we  went  wor  ways  hyem. 

Right  fal  de,  etc 
Unknown.  MarshjoXPs  CoUection,  1827. 


ISriLLIAM   JSLATSON. 

William  Watson,  author  of  "Dance  to  thy  Daddy," 
"  Thumping  Luck  to  yon  Town,"  and  other  popular  Tyneside 
songs,  appears  to  have  been  by  trade  a  shoemaker,  and, 
like  many  of  the  sons  of  St  Crispin,  an  active  politician. 
At  election  times  he  turned  his  poetical  abilities  to  account, 
and  helped  the  man  of  his  choice  by  writing  election  songs, 
etc.  His  songs  appear  to  have  been  written  between  the 
years  1820  and  1840,  as  his  "Newcassel  Races"  is  in 
MarshalPs  Collection  of  Newcastle  Songs,  published  1827, 
and  his  later  pieces  in  Fordyce's  collection,  published  in 
1842.  His  ^^  Thumping  Luck,"  one  of  the  best  of  our 
Tyneside  songs,  is  said  to  have  been  written  in  London, 
while  he  was  away  for  a  time  from  Newcastle. 

The  above  sketch  appeared  in  our  1872  edition.  Some 
fifteen  years  after  the  following  letter,  which  explains  itself 
appeared  in  the  Evening  Chronicle, 

The  Evening  Chronicle  had  reprinted  "Dance  to  thy 
Daddy,''  and  wrote  that  the  author  was  a  shoemaker. 

"  Sir, — I  beg  to  draw  your  attention  to  the  introductory  remarks 
on  the  author  of '  Dance  to  thy  Daddy '  (William  Watson),  who  is 
there  stated  as  being  a  shoemaker.  This  is  not  so,  as  he  was  a 
fellow-shopmate  with  me  in  the  employment  of  John  Richardson, 
painter,  29  St.  Nicholas'  Churchyard,  Newcastle.  He  was  in 
London  previous  to  that,  and  wrote  the  song  of  '  Thumping  Luck  ' 
when  his  affections  prompted  his  return  to  Newcastle.  To  New- 
castle he  came  back  by  sea  in  the  London  trader,  the  Barefoot^ 
about  1829  or  1830.  He  remained  in  the  above  shop  until  after 
the  time  you  mention,  1840.  He  resided  in  St.  Martin's  Court, 
Newgate  Street.  It  may  be  interesting  to  know  that  he  was  a  very 
talented  workman,  and  of  a  kind  and  genial  nature. 

**  His  brother  John  was  a  very  talented  engraver  on  glass,  mainly 
of  local  views,  such  as  St.  Nicholas'  Church,  etc,  and  he  exhibited 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


205 


several  of  his  artistic  works  on  glass  in  the  two  Polytechnic 
Exhibitions  held  in  Newcastle,  and,  being  silvered  on  the  back,  they 
were  objects  much  admired  by  the  visitors.  His  youngest  brother, 
Nathaniel — a  hairdresser  by  trade — was  a  great  musical  genius,  a 
fine  flute  player,  and  an  interesting  convivial  companion.  I  write 
thinking  the  correction  about  this  local  author  might  be  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  Evening  Chronicle, — Yours,  etc, 
"42  Dean  Street,  Nov.  23rd,  1885.  "John  Brown." 

This  interesting  letter  corrects  the  error  of  Watson  being 
a  shoemaker.  How  he  came  to  be  classed  as  one  arose  in 
the  following  way: — When  bringing  out  the  previous  edition, 
coming  to  Watson's  songs,  to  the  question  who  or  what  he 
was,  there  was  no  answer;  previous  collections  told  nothing. 
Mr.  Sewell,  already  referred  to,  was  then  seen.  He  re- 
collected Watson  ;  he  had  seen  him  in  a  house  in  the  Groat 
Market  at  some  social  club,  but  beyond  that  he  knew  little. 

hi^could^  not^'t^lX'  ^A^NTERS.  GLAZIERS.  .FAPANNERS,  &c: 
thought  he  was  a 
shoemaker;  but 
there  was  a  Mrs. 
Watson  lived  about 
the  White  Swan 
Yard,  she  might  be 
a  relative.  A  visit 
was  made  to  her; 
she  was  found  in  a 
clean,  plain  room, 
up  a  flight  of  stairs 
in    the    yard.      No  ImftaCOtdOfOIiMRnianQ  garble]}, 

information  was  to        reduced  copy  of  watson's  business 
be  got  there:    "It  card  (I820). 

wassent  maw  man,  hinney;  he  was  a  mason,  and  never 
wrote  sangs."  Mr.  Sewell  recollected  another  Watson, 
who  had  a  shop  in  Pilgrim  Street.  On  the  chance  that  he 
might  be  of  the  family,  Mr.  Sewell  called  upon  him  ;  it  was 
another  miss.  Nothing  more  being  to  be  gleaned,  the  im- 
pression that  he  was  a  shoemaker  was  then  put  into  the 
sketch. 

Getting  a  trace  through  Mr.  Brown's  note,  a  little  addi- 
tional has  been  gleaned.  Before  Watson  went  to  London 
he  was  in  business  for  himself,  and  from  what  has  been  told 
appears  to  have  had  the  ball  of  fortune  at  his  foot ;  but  his 
failing  was  that  of  too  many— company.     As  a  writer  and 


206  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

singer  his  company  was  courted.  Business  appears  to  have 
fallen  off,  and  then,  about  1823,  he  sailed  for  London.  By 
the  kindness  of  his  nephew,  Mr.  John  Watson,  we  have  seen 
a  letter  of  his  written  from  London  in  1826.  In  it  he  tells 
his  brother  Nathaniel  he  sends  him  a  parcel  of  manuscript 
(songs)  which  he  wants  him  to  get  printed.  He  adds  that 
many  of  the  songs  have  been  well  taken  with  in  London, 
and  copies  are  wanted  there.  Whether  the  songs  thus  sent 
were  ever  printed  in  a  separate  form  is  very  doubtfuL  His 
nephews — sons  of  his  brothers  John  and  Nathaniel — ^have 
never  seen  them,  and  know  nothing  of  the  manuscript, 
which,  in  fact,  they  never  saw.  Most  likely  the  songs  only 
appeared  in  collections.  One  of  his  songs,  "Newcassd 
Races,"  is  in  Marshsdl's  song -book  as  early  as  1827,  the 
remainder  (likely  part  of  the  packet)  are  in  Fordyce's  collec- 
tion, 1842.  It  may  be  mentioned  here  that  Fordyce,  like 
Marshall,  published  chap-books ;  so  that  while  the  volume  is 
dated  1842,  the  songs  may  have  been  printed  in  the  chap- 
books  earlier. 


The  autograph  given  above  is  from  the  London  letter 
already  referred  to.  His  portrait  we  should  also  have  liked 
to  have  given.  Many  years  ago  one  (an  oil  painting)  was  in 
the  possession  of  the  family,  but  now,  and  for  many  years  past, 
all  trace  of  it  has  been  lost.  By  St.  John's  register  of 
burials  he  died  at  his  residence,  St.  Martin's  Court,  New- 
gate Street,  on  February  4th,  1840,  aged  forty-four  years, 
and  was  buried  in  SL  John's  Churchyard.  Another  "  Man 
of  Mark,"  if  but  a  minor  one,  whose  lying  at  St  John's 
has  been  overlooked. 


NEiarCASSEL   RACES. 

It's  hae  ye  heard  the  ill  that's  duen  ? 
Or  hae  ye  lost  ?  or  hae  ye  won  ? 
Or  hae  ye  seen  the  mirth  and  fun 
At  fam'd  Newcassel  Races,  O? 


I 

I 

i  TYNESIDE  SONGS.  207 


The  weather  fine,  and  folks  se  gay, 
Put  on  their  best,  and  bent  their  way 
To  the  Toon  Moor,  to  spend  the  day 
At  fam'd  Newcassel  Races,  O  ! 


There  shows  of  all  sort  you  may  view, 
Polito's  grand  collection  too ; 
Such  noise,  an'  din,  an'  lili-bulloo, 

At  fam'd  Newcassel  Races,  O ! 
There  sum  on  horses  sat  astride. 
An'  sum  in  gigs  did  snugly  ride, 
Wi'  smart  yung  wenches  by  their  side, 

Luik'd  stylish  at  the  Races,  O I 


A  tailor  chep  aw  chanc'd  to  spy, 
Wes  sneekin'  thro'  the  crood  se  sly, 
For  he'd  tyen  the  darlin'  ov  his  eye 

To  swagger  at  the  Races,  O I 
He  says,  "My  dear,  we'll  see  the  show." 
"  Egad  1 "  says  she,  "  I  do  not  know, 
It  looks  so  vulgar  and  so  low. 

We'd  better  see  the  Races,  O ! " 


Noo,  sum  were  singin'  songs  se  fine  ; 
An'  sum  were  lyin'  drunk  like  swine ; 
Sum  drank  porter,  uthers  wine ; 

Rare  drinkin'  at  the  Races,  O I 
Sum  gat  hyem  midst  oots  an'  ins ; 
Sum  had  black  eyes  an'  broken  shins ; 
An'  sum  lay  drunk  amang  the  whins, 

A-cummin'  frae  the  Races,  O ! 


2o8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Let  iv'ry  one  his  station  mense, 
By  acting  like  a  man  o'  sense : 
Twill  save  him  mony  a  pund  expense 

When  he  gans  to  the  Races,  O ! 
Kind  friends,  I  would  you  all  advise, 
Gud  coonsel  ye  shud  ne'er  despise ; 
The  world's  opinion  always  prize, 

When  ye  gan  to  the  Races,  O ! 

Watson.  MarghalTs  Collection,  1827. 


THUMPING   LUCK. 

"Canny  Newcassel/^  so  often  sung  of  and  celebrated  by  its  own  bards, 
has  never  been  more  fortunate  in  its  fond  admirer  than  in  William  Watson. 
His  "  Thumping  Luck"  will  always  remain  a  happy  expression  of  the  fed* 
ing  of  every  true  son  of  "  Canny  Newcassel"  to  the  famous  old  town  of  Us 
hirth.—Notefrom  1872  edition, 

TUNB— "Gang  ne  mair  to  yon  toon." 

Here's  thumping  luck  to  yon  town, 

Let's  have  a  hearty  drink  upon't, — 
O  the  days  I've  spent  in  yon  town, 

My  heart  still  warms  to  think  upon't ; 
For  monie  a  happy  day  I've  seen, 

With  monie  a  lass  so  kind  and  true, — 
With  hearty  chiels  I've  canty  been. 

And  danc'd  away  till  a'  was  blue. 

Chorus, 
Here's  thumping  luck  to  yon  town, 

Let's  have  a  hearty  drink  upon't,— 
O  the  days  I've  spent  in  yon  town, 

My  heart  still  warms  to  think  upon't. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  209 

There's  famous  ale  in  yon  town, 

Will  make  your  lips  to  smack  again  ; 
And  many  a  one  leaves  yon  town, 

Oft  wishes  they  were  back  again ; 
Well  sheltered  from  the  northern  blast. 

Its  spires  and  turrets  proudly  rise, 
And  boats  and  keels  all  sailing  past 

With  coals,  that  half  the  world  supplies. 
Here's  thumping  luck,  etc 

There's  native  bards  in  yon  town 

For  wit  and  humour  seldom  be't ; 
And  they  sang  se  sweet  in  yon  town, 

Gud  faith,  I  think  I  hear  them  yet : 
Such  fun  in  Thompson's  voyage  to  Shields, 

In  Jemmy  Joneson's  wherrie  fine — 
Such  shaking  heels  and  dancing  reels, 

When  sailing  on  the  coaly  Tyne. 
Here's  thumping  luck,  etc. 

Amang  the  rest  in  yon  town, 

One  Shield  was  fam'd  for  ready  wit — 
His  "Lord  'Size"  half  drown'd  in  yon  town, 

Gud  faith,  I  think  I  hear  it  yet : 
Then  Mitford's  muse  is  seldom  wrong, 

When  once  he  gives  the  jade  a  ca'. 
And  Gilchrist,  too,  for  comic  song. 

Though  last,  he's  not  the  least  of  a'. 
Here's  thumping  luck,  etc. 

May  the  sun  shine  bright  on  yon  town. 
May  its  trade  and  commerce  still  increase. 

And  may  all  that  dwells  in  yon  town 
Be  blest  with  fond,  domestic  peace ; 
14 


210  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

For,  let  me  wander  east  or  west, 
North,  south,  or  even  o'er  the  sea. 

My  native  town  I'll  still  love  best — 
Newcastle  is  the  place  for  me. 

Here's  thumping  luck,  etc 
Watson.  Fordyce*8  "Sewcattle  Song  Book,"  1842. 


DANCE   TO   THY   DADDY. 

TUNB— "  The  Little  Fishy.** 

Come  here,  my  little  Jackey, 

Now  IVe  smoked  my  backey, 

Let's  have  a  bit  crackey 

Till  the  boat  comes  in. 

Dance  to  thy  daddy,  sing  to  thy  mammy, 
Dance  to  thy  daddy,  to  thy  mammy  sing ; 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  on  a  little  dishy, 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  when  the  boat  comes  in. 

Here's  thy  mother  hummin', 

Like  a  canny  woman ; 

Yonder  comes  thy  father. 

Drunk — he  cannot  stand. 

Dance  to  thy  daddy,  sing  to  thy  mammy, 
Dance  to  thy  daddy,  to  thy  mammy  sing ; 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  on  a  little  dishy. 
Thou  shalt  have  a  haddock  when    the  boat 
comes  in. 

Our  Tommy's  always  fuddlin'. 

He's  so  fond  of  ale, 

But  he's  kind  to  me, 

I  hope  he'll  never  fail 

Dance  to  thy  daddy,  sing  to  thy  mammy, 
Dance  to  thy  daddy,  to  thy  mammy  sing ; 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  on  a  little  dishy, 
Thou    shalt  have    a    codling  when  the  boat 


Watson. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  211 

I  like  a  drop  mysel', 

When  I  can  get  it  sly, 

And  thou,  my  bonny  bairn, 

Will  lik't  as  well  as  I. 

Dance  to  thy  daddy,  sing  to  thy  mammy, 
Dance  to  thy  daddy,  to  thy  mammy  sing ; 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  on  a  little  dishy, 
Thou   shalt  have  a   mack'rel  when  the    boat 
comes  in. 

May  we  get  a  drop 

Oft  as  we  stand  in  need ; 

And  weel  may  the  keel  row 

That  brings  the  bairns  their  bread. 

Dance  to  thy  daddy,  sing  to  thy  mammy, 
Dance  to  thy  daddy,  to  thy  mammy  sing  ; 
Thou  shalt  have  a  fishy  on  a  little  dishy. 
Thou    shalt   have    a    salmon  when   the   boat 
comes  in. 

Fwdyc€*8  "Newcastle  Song  Book,'*  1842. 


NEiarCASTLE   LANDLORDS,  1834. 

An  interesting  list  of  names  and  characteristic  descriptions. 

Kind  friends  and  acquaintance,  attention  I  claim. 

While  a  few  jolly  landlords  in  this  town  I  name ; 

In  alphabet  order  my  song  it  is  penned, 

And  I  hope,  for  joke's  sake,  it  will  never  offend. 

Chorus, 
Then  hey  for  good  drinking, 
It  keeps  us  from  thinking. 
We  all  love  a  drop  in  our  turn. 

A  stands  for  Armfield,  a  good  hearty  blade. 
The*  he's  left  the  Nag's  Head,  still  follows  his  trade ; 
At  the  foot  of  the  Market  you'll  find  his  new  shop, 
Where  many  an  old  friend  still  calls  in  for  a  drop. 


12  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

B  Stands  for  Burns,  of  the  Theatre  square ; 
She's  an  orderly  woman — good  drink  is  sold  there ; 
If  I  wanted  a  wife,  I  should  readily  choose 
This  amiable  widow  to  govern  my  house. 

C  stands  for  Cant,  sign  of  the  Blue  Bell, 
Who  keeps  a  good  house,  and  good  porter  doth  sell ; 
Quarrelling  or  fighting  is  there  seldom  seen, 
She's  a  canty  old  widow,  but  rather  too  keen. 

D  for  Dixon,  who  once  kept  the  Unicorn — Ho  ! 
And  D  stands  for  Dixon,  White  Hart,  you  well  know ; 
Then  there's  Dixon,  Quayside,  just  a  little  way  down — 
Were  the  three  fattest  landlords  in  all  the  whole  town. 

£  stands  for  Eggleton,  Fighting  Cocks  Inn, 
Tho'  old,  took  a  young  wife,  and  thought  it  no  sin ; 
F  for  Finlay,  his  shop's  corner  of  Pudding  Chare, 
And  good  wine  and  spirits  you'll  always  get  there. 

G  for  Gibson,  the  Blue  Posts,  in  Pilgrim  Street, 
Where  a  few  jolly  souls  oft  for  harmony  meet ; 
H  for  Hackworth  in  Cowgate,  Grey  Bull  is  the  sign — 
Only  taste  his  good  ale — faith,  you'll  say  it's  divine. 

H  stands  for  Heron,  the  sign  of  the  Cock ; 

H  for  Hall,  near  Nuns*  Gate  keeps  a  snug  oyster  shop  ; 

H  stands  for  Horn,  and  he's  done  very  weal. 

Since  he  bother'd  the  heart  of  sly  Mrs.  NeiL 

I  stands  for  Inns — we've  the  best  in  the  North, 
There's  the   King's   Head,  the  Queen's   Head,    the 

George,  and  the  Turf; 
The  old  Crown  and  Thistle,  and  Miller's  Half  Moon, 
Well  known  to  the  trav'lers  who  frequent  the  town. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  213 

K  Stands  for  Kitchen,  Hell's  Kitchen  'twas  nam'd, 
And  long  for  good  ale  and  good  spree  has  been  fam'd ; 
In  each  parlour,  in  vestry,  or  kitchen  you'll  find 
The  beer  drawer,  Mary,  obliging  and  kind. 

L  stands  for  Larkin — ^he's  left  the  Black  Boy, 
Once  fam'd  for  Patlanders  and  true  Irish  joy ; 
On  the  Scotswood  New  Road  a  house  he  has  ta'en. 
Where  I  hope  the  old  soul  will  get  forward  again. 

M  stands  for  Mitford — he  kept  the  North  Pole, 
Just  over  the  Leazes,  a  dull-looking  hole ; 
Now  our  favourite  poet  lives  at  Head  on  the  Side, 
Here's  success  to  his  muse — long  may  she  preside. 

N  stands  for  Newton,  sign  of  the  Dolphin, 
Who  the  old  house  puU'd  down,  built  it  up  like  an  inn ; 
They  say  he  found  gold — how  much  I  can't  tell. 
But  never  mind  that,  he's  done  wonderful  well 

0  stands  for  Orton — ^he  keeps  the  Burnt  House, 
Once  fam'd  for  the  knights  of  the  thimble  and  goose ; 
And  O  stands  for  Ormston  at  Pandon — O  rare ! 
Temptation  enough  for  young  men  that  go  there. 

P  stands  for  Pace,  sign  of  the  White  Swan, 
Who,  for  to  oblige,  will  do  all  that  he  can ; 
A  convenient  house,  when  you  marketing  make. 
To  pop  in  and  indulge  yourself  with  a  beef-steak. 

R  stands  for  Ridley  and  Reed,  you  all  know. 

And  R  stands  for  Richardson — all  in  a  row ; 

First,  Three  Tuns,  the  Sun,  and  the  old  Rose  and  Crown, 

And  their  ale's  good  as  any  at  that  part  of  the  town. 


214  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

S  for  Sayers,  Nag's  Head — he  keeps  good  mountain 

dew; 
Only  taste  it,  you'll  find  what  I  tell  you  is  true. 
S  for  Stokoe,  wine  merchant,  foot  of  St  John's  Lane ; 
For  good  stuff  and  good  measure  we'll  never  complain. 

T  for  Teasdale,  the  Phoenix — a  house  fam'd  for  flip ; 
T  for  Teasdale,  who  once  kept  the  sign  of  "  The  Ship" : 
And  W  for  Wylam,  a  place  more  fam'd  still ; 
Sure  you  all  know  the  Custom-House  on  the  Sandhill 

Robin  Hood,  Dog  and  Cannon,  and  Tiger  for  me, 
The  Peacock  well  known  to  the  clerks  on  the  Quay ; 
The  Old  Beggar's  Opera  for  stowrie,  my  pet, 
Mrs.  Richardson's  was — and  she  cannot  be  bet. 

There's  the  Black  Bull,  and  Grey  Bull,  well  known  to 

a  few ; 
Black,  White,  and  Grey  Horse,  and  Flpng  Horse  too. 
The  Black  House,  the  White  House,  The  Hole  in 

the  Wall, 
And  the  Seven  Stars,  Pandon,  if  you  dare  to  call 

There's  the  Turk's  Head,  Nag's  Head,  and  Old  Barley 

Mow, 
The  Bay  Horse,  the  Pack  Horse,    and   Teasdale*s 

Dun  Cow : 
The  Ship  and  the  Reel,  the  Half-Moon  and  the  Sun ; 
But  I  think,  my  good  friends,  it  is  time  to  be  done. 

Then,  each  landlord  and  landlady,  wish  them  success. 
Town  and  trade  of  the  Tyne,  too — we  cannot  do  less  ; 
And  let  this  be  the  toast  when  we  meet  to  regale — 
"  May  we  ne'er  want  a  bumper  of  Newcastle  ale." 

Watson.  Fcrdyce^t  **  Netoeatth  Song  Book,"  1842. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  215 


ISriLLIAM   ARMSTRONG. 

William  Armstrong,  author  of  "  Lizzie  Mudie's  Ghost," 
and  other  poptilar  songs,  was  bom  in  the  Painter  Heugh, 
Newcastle,  about  the  year  1804.  His  father  was  a  trades- 
man of  the  town,  carrying  on  business  in  Dean  Street  as  a 
shoemaker.  Apparently  not  caring  for  his  fathex's  business, 
he  was  bound  to  Mr.  Wardle,  a  painter,  at  the  White 
Cross,  Newgate  Street ;  and  after  serving  his  apprenticeship, 
worked  for  some  years  as  a  journeyman  in  this  town.  The 
songs  of  "Willie  Armstrong,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called  by 
his  friends,  are  of  the  broad  Newcastle  class.  Their  subjects 
generally  being  some  laughable  extravagance  ascribea,  as 
circumstances  suited,  to  the  pitmen  or  keelmen  of  the  Tyne. 
He  was,  in  addition  to  his  popularity  as  a  writer,  much 
admired  as  a  singer;  and  at  convivial  meetings  sung  his 
own  songs  with  great  success.  As  a  member  of  the  "  Stars 
of  Friendship  "  (a  social  club),  he  was  highly  esteemed  ;  his 
double  gifts  as  writer  and  singer  making  him  a  general 
favourite.  Somewhere  about  the  years  1833-34  he  left  his 
native  place  for  London.  Of  his  life  after  he  removed  from 
Newcastle  we  have  been  unable  to  gather  any  information. 

The  information  in  the  above  sketch  was  gathered  from 
Mr.  Sewell,  silversmith.  Dean  Street,  then  one  of  the  old 
standards  of  the  town.  In  1872,  when  the  previous  edition 
of  this  book  was  brought  out,  he  was  the  only  one 
we  could  find  who  knew  anything  of  Armstrong.  Mr. 
Sewell  has  now  (1891)  been  dead  some  years,  and  further 
inquiries  in  other  quarters  have  resulted  in  nothinpf.  Arm- 
strong appears  to  have  left  no  trace.  Mr.  Sewell,  it  may  be 
added,  was  one  of  the  Stars  of  Friendship  with  Armstrong, 
and  as  lads  they  were  companions,  and  often  together. 
Despite  this  intimacy,  about  his  songs,  beyond  the  fact  that 
he  wrote  them,  Mr.  Sewell  had  no  recollections.  He  recol- 
lected more  about  Armstrong  as  a  boy,  and  then,  as  he  put 
it,  he  was  never  out  of  mischief. 

We  are  unable  to  give  either  portrait  or  autograph  of  this, 
if  rough,  at  least  amusing  writer.  The  earliest  of  his  songs 
we  can  trace  is  the  "  Jenny  Howlet,"  in  one  of  Marshall's 
Chap-Books,  1823.  The  rest  appeared  in  Marshall  (1827), 
the  later  in  Fordyce  (1842). 


2i6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE  JENNT   HOiarLET; 

OR,  LIZZIE  MUDIE's  GHOST. 

The  scene  of  the  following  laughable  incident  is  laid  at  Hebbnm  Quay, 
nigh  to  Jarrow,  where  near  the  shore  stood  a  public-hoase  at  one  time 
kept  by  the  Lizzie  Mndie  whose  ghost  was  supposed  to  have  jeered  the 
enraged  skipper. 

Sum  time  since  a  skipper  was  gawn  iv  his  keel, 
His  heart  like  a  lion,  his  fyece  like  the  deil ; 
He  was  steering  his-sel,  as  he'd  oft  duin  before, 
When  at  Au'd  Lizzie  Mudie's  his  keel  ran  ashore. 

Fai  de  ral  la,  etc 

The  skipper  was  vext  when  his  keel  gat  ashore, 
So  for  Geordy  and  Pee-dee  he  loudly  did  roar ; 
They  lowered  the  sail — but  it  a'  waddent  de, 
So  he  click'd  up  a  coal,  an'  maist  fell'd  the  Pee-dee. 

Fal  de  ral  la,  etc 

In  the  midst  of  their  trouble,  not  knawn  what  to  do, 
A  voice  from  the  shore  gravely  cried  out  Hoo !  Hoo  I 
How  noo,  Mister  Hoo !  Hoo !  is  thou  myekin  fun  ? 
Or  is  this  the  first  keel  that  thou  e'er  saw  agrun*  ? 

Fal  de  ral  la,  etc 

Agyen  it  cried  Hoo !  Hoo  I  the  skipper  he  stampt. 
An*  sung  oot  for  Geordy  to  heave  oot  a  plank ; 
Iv  a  raving  mad  passion  he  cursed  and  he  swore, 
Aw'U  hoo-hoo  ye,  ye  beggar,  when  aw  cum  ashore. 

Fal  de  ral  la,  etc 

Wiv  a  coal  in  each  hand,  ashore  then  he  went, 
To  kill  Mister  Hoo-Hoo  it  was  his  intent, 
But  when  he  gat  there,  O  what  his  surprise  I 
When  back  he  cam  runnin — Oh !  Geordy,  he  cries. 

Fal  de  ral  la,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  217 

Wey,  whe  dis  thou  think  hez  been  myekin  this  gam, 
Aw'll  lay  thou  maw  wallet  thou'U  not  guess  his  nyem ! 
"  Is't  the  ghost  of  au'd  Lizzie  ?" — Oh  no,  no,  thou  fool,  it 
Is  ne  ghost  at  all,  but — an  au'd  Jenny  Howlet  I 

Fal  de  ral  la,  etc. 
Armstbono.  MarskdU^t  Chap-Book,  1828. 


THE    BABOON. 

Sum  time  since  sum  wild  beasts  thor  cam  te  the  toon, 

And  in  the  collection  a  famous  baboon, 

In  uniform  drest ; — if  maw  story  yor  willin* 

To  believe,  he  gat  lowse,  an'  ran  te  the  High  Fellin*. 

Fal  de  rol  la,  etc. 

Three  pitmen  com  up — they  war  smokin'  thor  pipe — 
When  strite  in  afore  them  Jake  lowp'd  ower  the  dyke; 
'*Ho,  Jemmy!  smash,  marrow  1  here's  a  reed-coated  Jew, 
For  his  fyece  is  a*  hairy,  an'  he  hez  on  ne  shoe ! " 

"  Wey,  man,  thou's  a  fuil !  for  ye  divent  tell  true. 
If  thou  says  'at  that  fellow  was  iver  a  Jew  : 
Aw'll  lay  thou  a  quairt,  as  sure  as  me  nyem's  Jack, 
That  queer-luckin'  chep's  just  a  Rooshin  Cossack ! 

"  He*s  ne  volunteer — ^aw  ken  biv  his  wauk ; 

And  if  he's  ootlandish  we'll  ken  biv  his  tauk. 

He's  a  lang  sword  ahint  him — ^ye'U  see'd  when  he  turns; 

Ony  luik  at  his  fyece  I — smash  his  byens,  how  he  gurns!" 

Tom  flung  doon  his  pipe  an'  set  up  a  greet  yell — 
**  He's  owther  a  spy  or  Bonnypairty's  awnsel I" 
Iv  a  crack  the  High  Fellin'  wes  in  full  hue  an'  cry, 
Xo  catch  Bonnypairt,  or  the  hairy  French  spy. 


2i8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

The  wives  scamper'd  off  for  fear  he  shud  bite  ; 

The  men  folks  an'  dogs  ran  te  grip  him  se  tight : 

"  If  we  catch  him,"  said  they,  "he'll  hev  ne  lodgin*  here, 

Ne,  not  e'en  a  drop  o'  Reed  Robin's  sma'  beer!" 

Armstbong,  MarshaU's  Collection^  1827. 


THE    GLISTER. 

Some  time  since  a  Pitman  was  tyen  varry  bad, 
So  ca'd  his  wife  Mall  te  the  side  of  his  bed ; 
"  Thou  mun  run  for  a  docter,  the  forst  can  be  fund. 
For  maw  belly's  a'  rang,  an'  aw'm  varry  fast  bund." 

"  Wey,  man,  thou's  a  fuil,  aw  ken  thou's  fast  boon, 
Wi'  thy  last  bindin  munny  thou  bowt  this  new  goon : 
Ne  docter  can  lowse  thou  one  morsel  or  crum. 
For  thou's  bun  te  Tyne  Main  for  this  ten   month  te 
cum." 

•*  Aw  diwent  mean  that, — maw  belly's  se  sair. 
Run  fast,  or  aw*!!  dee  lang  afore  ye  get  there  1 " 
So  away  Mally  ran  te  thor  awn  docter's  shop, 
"  Gie  me  somethin  for  Tom,  for  his  belly's  stopt  up." 

A  glister  she  gat — and  ne  langer  she'd  wait. 
But  strite  she  ran  hyem  an'  gat  oot  a  clean  plate : 
"  Oh  Tommy,  maw  Tom,  ony  haud  up  thy  heed, 
Here's  somethin  '11  mend  thee,  suppose  thou  wes  deed. 

"Thou  mun  eat  up  that  haggish,  but  sup  the  thin  forst, 
Aw's  frighten'd  that  stopple  it  will  be  the  worst" 
"  Oh  Mally !  thou'U  puzzen  poor  Tom  altegither, 
If  aw  drink  a'  the  thin  an'  then  eat  up  the  blethur." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  219 

He  managed  it  a'  wiv  a  greet  deal  to  do : 
"  Oh  Mally,  oh  Mally !  thoo's  puzzen'd  me  noo." 
But  she  tuik  ne  notice  of  poor  Tommy's  pain, 
But  straight  she  ran  off  te  the  docter's  again. 

"  Oh  docter,  maw  hinny !  Tom's  tyened  a'  thegither, 
He  supp'd  up  the  thin,  then  he  eat  up  the  blethur ; 
The  blethur  was  tuif,  it  myest  stuck  iv  his  thropple ; 
If  he  haddent  bad  teeth  he  wad  eaten  the  stopple ! " 

**  Oh  woman,  you  have  been  in  too  great  a  hurry, 
'Stead  of  mendin  your  husband,  you'll  have  him  to  bury, 
'Stead  of  makin  him  better,  poor  Tommy  must  go. 
For  you've  put  in  his  mouth  what  we  put  up  below." 

Armstrong.  Marabair$  CoUeetion,  1827. 


THE   FLOATIW   GRUKTSTART. 

Tune—"  Derry  down." 

Not  lang  since  sum  keelmen  wer'  gaun  doon  te  Sheets, 
When  a  hoop  roond  sum  froth  cam  alangside  thor  keel. 
The  Skipper  saw'd  first,  an'  he  gov  a  greet  shoot. 
How,  begger,  man,  Dick,  here's  a  grunstan  afloat 

Derry  down,  etc. 

Dick  leuk'd,  an'  he  thowt  that  the  Skipper  was  reet. 
So  they'd  hev  her  ashore,  an'  then  sell  her  that  neet : 
Then  he  jumped  on  te  fetch  her — ^my  eyes  I — what  a 

splatter, 
Ne  grunstan  wes  there,  for  he  fand  it  wes  watter. 

Derry  down,  etc. 


220  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  Skipper  astonished,  quite  struck  wi'  surprise, 
He  roar'd  oot  te  Dickey  when  he  saw  him  rise — 
How,  smash,  marrow— Dick,  ho !  what  is  thou  aboot  ? 
Cum  here,  mun,  an'  let's  hae  the  grunstan  tyen  oot. 

Derry  down,  etc 

A  grunstan !  says  Dick — whey,  ye  slaverin  cull, 

Wi'  watter  maw  belly  an'  pockets  are  full ; 

By  the  gowkey,  aw'll  sweer  that  yor  drunk,  daft,    or 

doatin' — 
It's  ne  grunstan  at  a',  but  sum  aud  iron  floatin'. 

Derry  down,  etc. 
Armstrong.  MarsTialFs  Collection,  1827. 


THE   SKIPPER   IN  THE    MIST. 

A  FOG  on  the  Tyne  plays  the  deuce  'mang  the  keels, 
As  wor  skipper  once  fund  as  he  sailed  doon  te  Sheels  ; 
The  fog  com  se  thick,  wig  in  hand,  he  did  roar, 
"  Aw  mun  lay  by  my  swape — Geordy,  lay  by  your  oar  ! 

Derry  down,  etc 

"Now,  hinnies,  me  marrows  I  come  tell's  what  to  dee, 
Aw's  frightened  wor  keel  will  seun  drive  out  to  sea  I " 
So  the  men  an'  their  skipper  each  sat  on  their  buttock. 
An*  a  council  they  held,  wi*  their  legs  down  the  huddock. 

Derry  down,  etc. 

Says  Geordy,  "We  canna  be  very  far  down, 
Wi'  the  wash  o*  my  oar,  aw  hev  just  touched  the  grund  ; 
Cheer  up,  my  awd  skipper,  put  on  yor  awd  wig. 
We're  between  the  King's  Meedowsan'  Newcassel  Brig." 

Derry  down,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  221 

The  skipper,  enraged,  then  declared  he  kenn'd  better. 
For  at  the  same  time  he  had  smelt  the  salt  wetter ; 
•'  And  there's  Marsden  Rock,  just  within  a  styen  thraw, 
Aw  can  see't  throo  the  mist,  aw'll  swear  by  my  reet  paw. 

Derry  down,  etc. 

*'  The  anchor  let's  drop  till  the  weather  it  clears, 
For  fear  we  be  nabb'd  by  the  French  privateers  I " 
The  anchor  was  dropt ;  when  the  weather  clear'd  up, 
They  fund  th'  keel  moor'd  at  th'  awd  Javil  Group. 

Deny  down,  etc. 

The  skipper  was  vex'd,  and  he  curs'd  and  he  swore, 
That  his  nose  had  ne'er  led  him  se  far  wrang  before ; 
But  what  most  of  all  did  surprise  these  four  people 
Was   Marsden   Rock  chang'd  into    Gateshed    Church 
steeple. 

Derry  down,  etc. 
Armstrong.  Fordyee't  '*  NevoeattU  Song  Book,'*  1842. 


BILLY   OLIVER'S    RAMBLE    BETWEEKT 
BEKTWELL   AND   NEWCASTLE. 

**  Billy  Oliver's  Ramble  "  is  first  met  in  Marshall's  Chap-Books,  1823.  No 
author  is  given,  and  although  the  song  has  been  very  popular  and  often 
printed,  none  have  given  an  author's  name.  H.  Bobson,  who  wrote  "  The 
Collier's  Pay  Week,"  was  bom  in  Benwell ;  he  was  writing  in  1823,  and 
may  have  written  it.  The  names  of  others  then  writing,  as  Shield, 
Armstrong,  Watson,  Oliver,  etc..  might  be  given.  Possibly  the  author, 
owing  to  his  soug  holding  the  pitman  so  much  up  to  ridicule,  may  have 
ju^ed  it  beet  to  *<  lie  low/* 

I^e  popularity  of  this  sons  brought  out  a  parody,  "  My  Nyem  is  WiUy 
I>ixon.^'    It  appeared  in  Forayce's  1842  volume. 

Me  nyem  it's  Billy  Oliver, 

Iv  Benwell  town  aw  dwell ; 
An*  aw's  a  clever  chep,  aVs  shure, 

Tho'  aw  de  say'd  me-sell. 
Sec  an  a  clever  chep  am  aw,  am  aw,  am  aw, 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep  am  aw. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

There's  not  a  lad  iv  a'  wur  wark, 

Can  put  or  hew  wi*  me ; 
Nor  not  a  lad  iv  Benwell  toon, 

Can  coax  the  lasses  sae. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 

When  aw  gans  tiv  Newcassel  toon, 

Aw  myeks  me-sell  sae  fine, 
Wur  neybors  stand  and  stare  at  me. 

And  say,  "  Eh !  what  a  shine  !  " 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 

An'  then  aw  walks  wi*  sec  an  air. 

That,  if  the  folks  hev  eyes. 
They  a'wis  think  it's  sum  great  man, 

That's  cumin  i'  disguise. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 

An'  when  aw  gans  down  Westgate  Street, 

An'  alang  biv  Denton  Chare, 
Aw  whussels  a'  the  way  aw  gans. 

To  myek  the  people  stare. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc 

An'  then  aw  gans  intiv  the  Cock, 

Ca's  for  a  pint  o'  beer ; 
An'  when  the  lassie  cums  in  wid, 

Aw  a' wis  says.  Maw  dear  I 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 

An'  when  aw  gets  a  pint  o'  beer, 

Aw  a'wis  sings  a  sang ; 
For  aw've  a  nice  yen  aw  can  sing, 

Six  an'  thorty  vairses  lang. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  223 

An'  if  the  folks  that's  i'  the  house 

Cry,  "  Haud  yur  tongue,  ye  cull ! " 
AVs  sure  to  hev  a  fight  wi'  them, 

For  aw's  as  Strang  as  ony  bull. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 

An*  when  awVe  had  a  fight  or  twee, 

An'  fairly  useless  grown; 
Aw  back,  as  drunk  as  aw  can  be, 
To  canny  Benwell  toon. 

Sec  an  a  clever  chep,  etc. 
Anonymous.  MarahaWt  Chap-Book^  1823. 


THE  DEVIL;  OR,  THE  NANNY  GOAT. 

"The  Shields  Song  Book,  being  a  Ck>llection  of  comic  and  sentimental 
songs  never  before  published,  Written  by  Gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood. 
South  Shields,  printed  by  C.  W.  Barnes,  Thrift  Street,  1826."  Such  is 
the  title  of  the  book  (about  24  pages)  from  which  the  three  following  songs 
are  taken.  Who  these  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood  were  the  book  does 
not  say.  All  the  songs  are  anonymous,  and  inquiries  lately  to  trace  the 
writers  of  them  have  resulted  in  little.  The  Shields  OazetU  a  few  months 
ago  kindly  inserted  an  inquiry,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  A  Shields  gentle- 
man recollects  the  printer  of  the  book,  Mr.  Barnes.  It  appears  somewhere 
between  five  and  ten  years  after  issuing  the  book  he  left  the  printing  and 
started  as  an  auctioneer;  that  of  course  was  long  ago,  and  for  many  years 
he  has  been  dead.  Possibly  from  what  is  known  of  Mr.  Barnes  he  may 
have  had  to  do,  at  least,  with  the  writing  of  some  of  the  songs.  The  comic 
dialect  songs  are  the  best  in  the  book,  and  resemble  very  much  Armstrong's 
humorous  productions. 

A  copy  of  the  "Shields  Song  Book"  is  in  the  Public  Library,  South 
Shields. 

Some  bullies  gaun  doun  i'  their  keel  late  at  night, 
Met  sic  a  still  gale  that  it  ga'  them  a  fright; 
Now,  aw  think  this  might  be  just  about  twelve  o'clock. 
And  the  keel  at  that  time  was  abreest  Howdon  Dock. 

Fal  lal  la,  etc. 


224  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  bullies  and  pee-dee  a'  huddFd  thegither, 
Yen  an'  a'  did  agree  it  was  terrible  weather ; 
To  bring  her  up  there  then  they  thowt  it  wad  be 
The  best  plan,  so  thi^y  got  her  in  close  to  the  quay. 

So  they  a'  got  below,  an'  they  started  to  gob ; 
Seun  a  chep's  turnip  field  they  agreed  for  to  rob ; 
So  the  pee-dee  was  left  i'  the  keel  biv  hees-sel, 
An*  for  robbing  he  thowt  they  wad  sure  gan  to  hell. 

As  they  were  returning  agyen  frae  the  fields, 
A  Nanny  Goat  followed  them  close  by  their  heels; 
She  was  eating  the  skins  as  they  threw  them  away, 
For  she  liked  them  far  better  than  any  new  hay. 

When  the  bullies  had  getten  agyen  to  their  keel, 
The  pee-dee  he  ax'd  them  if  they'd  seen  the  deil ; 
The  Nanny  by  this  time  had  getten  aboard. 
So  they  thowt  he  was  coming — they  call'd  on  the  Lord. 

Now  Nan  couldn't  find  either  skins,  beef,  or  bread, 
So  she  went  to  the  huddock  an'  popp'd  down  her  head, 
And  seeing  them  champ  what  she  thowt  was  her  share, 
Stretch'd  her  neck  an'  jaws  wide,  and  gov  a  greet  blare. 

The  bullies  didn't  know  how  this  devil  to  lay, 
However,  they  thowt  'twas  the  best  plan  to  pray; 
So  the  skipper  roar'd  out  iv  a  terrible  swe't, 
"Our  Fetheers  chart  in  Heven — is  the  beggar  gyen 
yet?" 

The  prayer  not  being  answer'd,  they  started  to  bubble, 
For  they  thowt  they  were  left  by  the  father  in  trouble; 
So  they  fell  on  their  faces,  and  stopping  their  breath, 
Swore  they'd  rather  die  there  as  be  dragged  to  their  death. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  225 

The  innocent  pee-dee  thowt  he'd  nowt  to  fear, 
So  he'd  venture  on  deck  and  see  if  all  was  clear ; 
When  the  Nanny  saw  pee-dee  she  blar*d  out  a  note, 
And  their  devil  prov'd  only  a  poor  Nanny  Goat. 

Arontmous.  Shields  Song  Book,  1826. 


THE   CLIFFS   OF   ITIRGINIA. 

Tune— "Drops  of  Brandy." 

Some  brave  lads  in  their  keel  left  the  spout, 

It  blew  a  fresh  breeze  from  the  west ; 
Now  happy  they  were  without  doubt. 

And  to  Providence  left  all  the  rest. 
The  breeze  seun  increased  to  a  gale, 

The  tide  ran  down  rapid  and  rough. 
For  safety  they  teuk  in  the  sail, 

For  by  this  time  they'd  most  had  eneugh. 
Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 

To  Stop  her  they  now  were  not  able, 

Says  the  skipper,  "  We'll  drive  to  the  ocean, 
Thraw  ower  the  chain-anchor  and  cable. 

For  of  sic  a  trip  aw  ha'  ne  notion." 
The  keel  by  this  time  was  near  swamp'd, 

So  they  threw  all  the  coals  overboard; 
The  skipper  he  shouted  and  stamped, 

And  for  the  help  of  good  Providence  roar'd. 

On  the  deck  they  could  no  longer  stand, 
So  they  pray'd  both  for  succour  and  shelter, 

Bid  adieu  to  their  awn  native  land, 
And  to  the  huddock  they  ran  helter-skelter  : 
15 


226  TYtfESIDE  SONGS, 

There  they  rattled  and  tumbled  about, 
They  pray'd  for  their  bairns  and  wives, 

And  if  Providence  spar'd,  without  doubt, 
They  surely  wad  mend  all  their  lives. 


This  night  spent  in  devotion  and  fasting, 

They  long'd  for  to  see  the  sun  rise ; 
Skipper  swore  his  repentance  was  lasting, 

If  it  wasn't  the  deil  d— n  his  eyes. 
The  gale  being  entirely  hush'd, 

And  the  sun  was  beginning  to  shine  ; 
Up  his  heed  then  he  carefully  push'd, 

And  he  says,  "Lads,  we'll  ne'er  see  the  Tyne." 

The  skipper  roar*d  out  for  Ben  Mackey, 

To  see  the  high  cliffs  of  Virgini, 
Where  they  grow  all  the  green  tea  and  baccy ; 

Ay,  as  sure  as  I'm  living,  my  hinny. 
The  folks  aw  believe  are  all  wild, 

An'  sure  they  will  some  of  us  fry; 
But  now  we're  all  meekness  and  mild, 

We  needn't  mind  how  seun  we  die. 

A  steamer  seun  cam  within  hail — 

They  ax'd  skipper  how  he  got  there : 
"  We  gat  here  during  the  last  heavy  gale ; 

If  ye  please,  sur,  what  land  is  that  there?" 
"  Wey  divn't  you  knaw  Tynemouth  Cassell  ?" 

"  Od,  smash  me,  a'  tuek'd  for  Virgini's." 
So  they  row'd  hard  an*  Strang  for  Newcassell, 

And  lang'd  for  a  kiss  o'  their  hinnies. 
Anonymous.  ShitldM  Song  Book,  1828w 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  227 

THE    SKIPPER'S   MISTAKE. 

Tune—"  The  Chapter  of  Accidents." 

Two  jovial  souls,  two  skippers  bold, 

Were  sailing  down  one  morning 
In  their  keel  black  as  the  deil, 

All  fear  and  danger  scorning. 
The  sky  luck'd  bright  and  seem'd  to  promise 

A  fair  and  glorious  day,  man ; 
But  soon  a  mighty  mist  came  on, 

And  they  cud  not  see  their  way,  man. 

Fal  lal  la,  etc. 

They  pulPd  about  fra'  reet  to  left. 

But  not  knowing  what  to  do,  man ; 
When  poor  pee-dee  began  to  fret 

Lest  they  should  gaun  to  sea,  man. 
Says  Geordy,  "  Should  wor  voyage  be  lang, 

We've  little  stuffing  for  wor  gut,  man  ; 
There's  nowt  but  raw  tates  and  caud  cabbage, 

Some  tripe  and  a  nowt  foot,  man." 

They  got  down  as  far  as  Jarrow  slake. 

When  Geordy  bawl'd  aloud,  man  : 
"  Smash  marrow,  you're  a  bit  of  a  scholar, 

Can't  you  find  our  latitude,  man  ? 
Run  the)  ways  into  the  huddock.  Jack, 

And  fetch  up  the  reada-ma-deasy,  man. 
And  lelf's  see  where  abouts  we  are, 

To  Keep  wor  minds  easy,  man." 

i 

They  jjtudied  hard,  byeth  lang  and  sair, 
Thl)Ugh  hardly  they  cud  read,  man ; 

WheOi  Jack  suddenly  starts  up, 
"-fiw  hev  it  i'  my  heed,  man; 


228  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Let's  pray  to  Heaven  to  keep  us  free 
Frae  all  danger  and  mischance,  man ; 

We're  ower  the  bar,  there's  nowt  left  for  us, 
But  either  Holland  or  France,  man." 

At  length  the  day  began  to  clear, 

The  sun  peep'd  through  the  dew,  man ; 
When  lo,  aud-fashion'd  Jarrow  kirk 

Appear'd  fair  to  their  view,  man. 
They  laugh'd  and  crack'd  about  the  joke. 

And  Geordy  said,  "Smash  marrow,  man, 
Instead  of  being  at  Holland  or  France, 

We're  only  off  at  Jarrow,  man." 

May  wealth  and  commerce  still  increase. 

And  bless  our  native  isle,  man ; 
And  make  each  thriving  family 

In  prosperity  to  smile,  man ; 
And  the  coal  trade  flourish  more  and  more. 

Upon  our  dingy  Tyne,  man. 

Anonymous.  Shields  Song  Book,  1826. 


lariLLIAM   OLIVER. 

William  Oliver,  whose  "Newcassel  Props"  is  justly 
esteemed  as  one  of  the  best  of  the  old  Tyneside  songs,  was 
bom  in  the  Side,  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  on  tbe  5th  February 
1800.  His  father  was  a  cheesemonger,  who  daring  the 
latter  part  of  his  life  carried  on  business  on  his  own  account 
in  tbe  Side.  The  business  selected  for  his  son  was  that  of 
a  draper  and  hatter  ;  and  the  earlier  part  oi  the  poet's  life 
was  passed  with  Mr.  Bowes,  at  the  Bridge  Esd,  Gateshead, 
following  that  occupation.  Eventually  leavinc  Mr.  Bowes, 
he  joined  with  his  brother  Timothy,  who  carried  on  business 
as  a  grocer  at  the  corner  of  the  High  Bridge!  in  the  Cloth 
Market,  and  with  his  brother  he  remained  ufltil  bis  death. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  229 

From  a  collection  of  his  songs  and  poems,  published  in 
1829,  and  inscribed  to  Robert  Bell,  Esq.,  Mayor  of  Newcastle, 
we  extract  the  following : — 

TO  THE  MECHANICS*  INSTITUTE  OF  NEWCASTLE-UPON- 
TYNE. 

Hail !  Temple  of  Science,  break  forth  in  thy  splendour, 

And  scatter  around  thee  a  halo  of  light ; 
Strike  off  the  fetters  of  genius,  and  lend  her 

The  pinions  of  learning  to  aid  in  her  flight. 

Illumine  the  mind  of  the  genius,  who,  friendless, 
And  struggling  with  poverty,  kneels  at  thy  shrine  ; 

Enrich  from  thy  treasure,  so  varied,  so  endless  ; 
Though  fortune  disowns  him,  adopt  him  as  thine. 

Oh !  say,  can  the  'vantage  of  fortune  or  birth  ; 

Can  heraldry's  pomp,  or  the  pageant's  glare  ; 
Can  the  proudest  of  titles,  unhallowed  by  worth, 

With  the  name  of  a  Watt  or  a  Bewick  compare  ? 

How  vain  are  the  efforts  of  marble  and  sculpture 
O'er  the  tombs  of  the  worthless  a  radiance  to  shed  ! 

The  blazoned  escutcheon,  the  gorgeous  sepulchre. 
Are  vain,  for  how  soon  is  their  memory  dead ! 

The  stirring  political  agitation  of  the  years  preceding  the 
passing  of  the  great  Reform  Bill  of  1832  found  in  him  an 
ardent  sympathiser ;  and  his  lines  to  the  memory  of  Riego, 
the  Spanish  patriot,  and  "England,  Awake,"  are  spirited 
pieces  in  praise  of  liberty.  The  songs  in  the  volume  are 
it^^  and  form  but  a  small  part  of  the  work.  They,  like  the 
old  local  songs,  relate  to  events  and  eccentrics  of  the  town. 
They  are  cleverly  written,  and  were  highly  popular  in  their 
day,  when  the  events  and  characters  to  which  they  referred 
were  well  known.  Time  'has  a  little  lessened  their  popularity ; 
but  there  is  little  doubt  his  songs — especially  the  "  Newcassel 
Props" — will  always  retain  a  high  position  amongst  the  best 
of  Tyneside  songs.  The  author  died,  at  the  comparatively 
early  age  of  forty-eight,  on  the  29th  October  1848,  and  was 
buried  at  the  Westgate  Cemetery,  Arthur's  Hill. 

The  preceding  sketch  of  Oliver  appeared  in  our  1872 
edition.  The  information  there  was  got  from  his  brother 
Timothy.  Time  has  made  changes  since  then.  Timothy 
is  now  dead,  and  as  both  brothers  were  unmarried,  further 
information  is  difficult  to  obtain.  From  the  little  fresh  we 
have  gleaned,  it  appears  his  father  before  he  opened  in 


230  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

the  Side  was  a  cheesemonger,  doing  business  at  the  Old 
Market  Cross.  Years  after,  the  making  of  Grey  Street  by 
Grainger  finished  this  old  market,  but  a  remnant  of  its  site 
may  still  be  seen  in  the  open  square  opposite  Watson's  gates, 
High  Bridge.  It  also  appears,  the  poet,  about  1830,  before  he 
joined  with  his  brother  Timothy,  had  a  try  at  business  on 
his  own  account  as  a  hatter.  The  venture  was  made  in  the 
Side,  near  his  birthplace.  It  was  short  and  unsuccessful,  and 
after  that  came  the  joining  with  Timothy. 

Social  meetings,  held  at  public-houses  amongst  the 
tradesmen,  after  business  hours,  appears  then  to  have  been 
the  rage,  and  William  Oliver,  a  writer  and  singer  of 
Tyneside  songs,  would  be  a  welcome  member.  "  Sons  of 
Apollo,"  "  Stars  of  Friendship,"  **  Corinthian  Society,"  these 
are  some  of  the  names  that  have  been  handed  down.  "  The 
Corinthian  Society"  seems  to  have  been  Oliver's  favourite. 
In  his  volume  several  of  the  poetical  addresses  which  he  de- 
livered before  the  members  are  given.  In  addition  to  these, 
we  have  been  favoured  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Hastings  with  the  loan 
of  an  old  manuscript  volume  which  belonged  to  his  father. 
His  father  was  one  of  the  old  Corinthians,  and  the  volume 
contains  poetical  pieces  by  various  members,  some,  as  Oliver 
and  W.  Gill  Thompson,  well  known,  others,  as  R.  Hobkirk 
and  P.  Galloway,  but  little,  if  ever  known,  and  now  about 
forgotten.  A  few  extracts  from  the  old  manuscripts  may  be 
interesting. 

The  praise  of  Corinth  and  the  local  Corinthians  are  thus 
sung— 

"  Go  find  me  a  diadem  pleasing  for  ever, 

All  are  sullied  by  age  and  impaired  by  decay ; 
But  this  I  have  wreath'd  for  you  perishes  never, 

Its  charms  are  for  ever  unfading  and  ^ay. 
'Tis  the  crown  of  true  friendship,  the  faithful  may  share  it, 

And  boast  it  the  choice  and  the  pride  of  the  Tyne. 

I  have  wreath'd  it,  Corinthians  accept  it  and  wear  it — 

The  garland  of  Corinth  enwreathed  with  the  vine." 

Delivered  June  4 eft,  1827.  D.  H.  (likely  D.  Hobkirk). 

Three  months  later  the  Corinthians  listen  to  the  following 
and  six  more  verses — 

"  Companions  of  my  social  hours, 
The  circling  year  is  on  the  wane  ; 
Withering  are  the  mountain  flowers, 
The  daisy's  dying  on  the  plain. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  231 

Oh,  here  then  on  each  meeting  night 
Let  varied  themes  still  roll  along, 
Till  every  eye  beams  with  delight, 
Till  every  heart  be  linked  to  song." 
Delivered  August  29«A,  1827.  P.  G.  (likely  P.  Galloway). 

Unsigned,  but  between  two  pieces,  the  one  by  Thompson 
and  the  other  by  Oliver,  is  a  short  piece  in  which  the  writer 
sings  of  the  fall  of  Corinth,  and  of  its  Tyneside  successor. 
The  following  is  an  extract  :— 

•  •  •  a  •  • 

**  Corinth  no  longer  in  her  grandeur  smiles, 
Mute  is  the  harp  where  dreary  ruin  reigns. 

•  .•••• 
Yet  other  lands  have  caught  the  glowing  strain 

The  pensive  melody,  the  martial  song. 
Corinth,  thy  ancient  harp  resounds  again 
Where  rolls -the  Tyne  its  beauteous  banks  among." 

May  2l8ty  1830.  UNKNOWN. 

The  first,  fifth,  and  sixth  verses  from  a  piece  by  W.  O. 
(Oliver)  may  finish  these — 

*^  I  cannot  enwreath  in  the  garland  I  bring 

The  rarest  of  flowers  in  their  odours  and  hue  ; 

To  the  wild  strains  of  fancy  their  beauties  I  fling, 

The  breath  of  the  heart  is  the  odour  for  you. 


The  favoured  to  fortune,  the  strangers  to  care, 
May  boast  of  their  transient,  fanciful  bliss ; 

But  oh,  in  their  toil  after  pleasure,  how  rare 
Do  they  taste  of  a  heart-leaping  moment  like  this. 

Then  pledge  me  once  more  in  a  bumper,  and  swear. 
With  the  heart  on  the  lip  and  the  soul  in  the  eye. 

That  the  couch  of  the  mourner  will  still  be  your  care, 
As  the  Angel  of  Mercy  ye  still  will  be  nigh." 
Delivered  Dec.  mh,  1830.  W.  O.  (likely  William  Ouver). 

Death  breaks  into  the  Corinthian  band.  Alexander 
Donktn,  a  young  man  of  twenty-four,  dies  on  February  12th, 
1825.  Two  of  his  friends  lament  him ;  a  verse  from  each 
follows : — 

"  Thou  sleepest  now,  and  what  shall  make  thee 
Break  thy  slumbers  so  profound ; 
A  thousand  thunders  will  not  wake  thee 
Till  the  judgment  trump  shall  sound." 

W,  O.  (William  Oliver). 


232  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

'*  No  !  thoughts  of  him  shall  never  perish 
In  a  true  Corinthian  breast ; 
Corinthians  will  his  memory  cherish, 
Till  like  himself  they  glide  to  rest." 

P.  G.  (P.  Galloway). 
Another  of  the  Corinthians,  Richard  Young,  dying,  Oliver 
and  Hobkirk  both  have  very  feeling  pieces  on  his  untimely 
death: — 

To  the  Memory  of  Richard  Young,  who  died  November  4th,  1831, 

aged  29.    Deeply  and  deservedly  regretted. 

•  ••••• 

Corinth,  a  light  hath  left  thee  now, 

A  gem  which  ne'er  can  be  restored ; 
The  dauntless  heart,  the  manly  brow, 

Hath  left  thy  friendship-circled  board. 
Mute  is  the  tongue,  which  the  heart  unveil'd, 
And  the  heart  is  at  rest  that  never  quailed. 

•  •  •  •  9  • 

Farewell,  the  grateful  task  be  ours  to  keep 
Thy  name  and  virtues  from  oblivion's  wave ; 

To  mourn  thy  early  call  to  that  long  sleep, 
And  lay  thy  failings  with  thee  in  the  grave  ; 

To  wear  thee  in  "  our  heart  of  hearts  "  embalmed. 

Until,  like  thee,  we  lie  in  death  becalmed. 
Nw.  4tA,  188L  WiLLUM  Oliver. 

To  the  Memoiy  of  R.  YoUNO. 

0  •  •  ■  •  • 

(4th  verse. ) 

I  could  have  wished  once  more  to  say  farewell, 

And  once  again  to  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine ; 

It  may  not  be,  not  even  friendship's  spell 

Can  win  a  smile  back  to  those  lips  of  thine. 

N<yv.  8fA,  1881.  D.  HOBKIRK. 

These  selections  give  a  fair  idea  of  the  contents  of  the  old 
book,  and  show  the  taste  current  some  sixty  years  ago. 

On  the  publication  of  his  volume  in  1829  Oliver  appears 
to  have  had  a  taste  of  the  political  partisan  criticism  too 
common  at  the  time.  It  was  the  eve  of  the  great  Reform 
Bill,  and  political  feeling  ran  high.  Oliver  appears  to 
have  been  a  Whig.  This  was  enough  for  The  Northern 
John  Bull,  Catching  at  some  trifling  allusions  in  his  songs 
as  an  excuse,  it  fastened  on  them,  and  reminded  Oliver  that 
he  should  be  the  last  to  write  of  personal  appearances,  as 
about  himself  they  could  a  tale  unfold,  .  .  .  and  if  he  did 
not  beware,  they  would.  .  .  .  These  ungenerous  threats, 
there  is   little    doubt,   referred    to   a   slight   lameness   or 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  233 

deformity  in  one  of  Oliver's  legs,  which,  while  little,  yet  in 
walking  could  be  detected.  It  also  would  refer  to  a  cast 
which  Oliver  had  in  the  eye,  which  was  slight,  and  ought 
not  even  by  inference  to  have  been  brought  against  him. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  Matthew  Mackey,  Jun.,  Esq., 
we  are  enabled  to  give  the  following  autograph  and  foe- 


(P/L 


(rv€ota  fuay  C^/hxe/  ^ufwcuitn/COd  #t/e^/ 

Photographed  by  P.  M.  Laws  (slightly  reduced). 

simile  of  the  poet's  handwriting,  which  is  in  a  copy  of  his 
poems,  formerly  belonging  to  Joseph  Crawshaw,  Esq. 

Perhaps  a  few  lines  from  his  piece  on  the  death  of  C.  J. 
Brandling,  M.P.,  may  come  in  here.  The  open-handed 
bounty  of  the  Brandlings  is  yet  spoken  of,  and  Oliver  but 
put  into  verse  the  feeling  their  generosity  had  raised 

On  the  D18ATH  OP  (Feb.  1,  1826)  C.  J.  Brandling,  M.P. 

He  is  gone— the  poor  man's  ready  friend, 
The  orphan's  father,  and  the  widow's  stay ; 
The  prop  of  age,  the  best  of  masters,  sleeps 
Now  in  the  tomb  !    But  words  are  idle  all, 
And  marble  far  too  cold  to  speak  his  praise. 
On  a  nobler  monument  his  virtues 
Shall  be  graven, — on  many  a  swelling  heart, 
Whose  sorrows  he  hath  lightened,  and  made  glad. 


234  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

A  portrait  of  Oliver  would  have  been  an  interesting 
addition ;  but  while  several  recollect  him,  none  have  a 
likenessw  At  his  favourite  Corinthian  Society,  which  was 
held  at  the  Blue  Posts,  Pilgrim  Street,  he  delivered  a 
poetical  address  on  the  closing  of  the  season  on  Whit- 
Tuesday,  May  27th,  1828.  From  this  piece,  which  is  the 
last  in  his  volume,  we  take  the  closing  verses. 

Versbs  addressed  to  the  Corinthian  Society  on  Closing  fob 
THE  Season,  Whit-Tuesday,  May  27th,  1828. 

When  from  this  circle  T  depart, 

I  quit  the  early  friends  I  gained ; 
I  leave  the  generous  open  heart. 

Aye,  and  a  crown,  for  I  have  reigned 
O'er  those  whom  love  not  fear  could  quell, 
To  whom  I  Jifi!er.  would  uf^-teewell. 

The  time  will  come,  it  must  be  so. 

Yet  ere  I  quit  this  cherished  scene. 
Assure  my  heart  before  I  go 

To  rest  beneath  my  shroud  of  green, 
Your  thoughts  will  sometimes  stray  and  dwell 
On  him  who  bids  ye  now — farewell. 

Beneath  his  "shroud  of  green"  he  lies  in  Westgate  Hill 
Cemetery.  No  stone  marks  his  grave,  which  may  be  found 
near  the  centre  of  the  Cemetery,  and  just  behind  the  tomb- 
stone of  one  George  Elliott.    An  elder  tree  marks  the  spot 


THE   NEiarCASSEL   PROPS. 

Tune—"  The  Bold  Dragoon." 
Oh,  waes  me,  wor  canny  toon,  it  canna  stand  it  lang — 
The  props  are  tumblin  one  by  one,  the  beeldin  seun  mun 

gan; 
For  deeth  o'  late  hez  no  been  blate,  but  sent  some  jovial 

souls  a  joggin, 
Aw  niver  grieved  for  Jacky  Tate,  nor  even  little  Airchy 

Loggan. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  235 

But  when  maw  lugs  was  'lectrified  wi*  Judy  Downey's 

deeth, 
Alang  wi'  Heuffy  Scott  aw  cried,  till  byeth  was  oot  o' 

breeth ; 
For  greet  an'  sma',  fishwives  an'  a',  luik'd  up  te  her  wi' 

veneration — 
If  Judy's  in  the  courts  above,  then  for  Aud  Nick  ther'll  be 

ne  'cation. 

Next  Captain  Starkey  teuk  his  stick,  and  myed  his  final 

bow, 
Aw  wonder  if  he's  scribblin  yet,  or  what  he's  efter  now; 
Or  if  he's  drinkin  gills  o'  yell,  and  axin  pennies  te  buy 

baccy — 
If  not  allowed  where  Starkey's  gyen,  aw'm  sure  that  he'll 

be  quite  unhappy. 

Jack  Coxon  iv  a  trot  went  off  one  mornin  varry  seun — 
Cull  Billy  said  he'd  better  stop,  but  deeth  cried,  Jacky, 

cornel 
Oh,  few  like  him  could  lift  thor  heels,  or  tell  what  halls 

were  in  the  county ; 
Like  mony  a  proud  black-coated  chiel.  Jack  lived  upon 

the  parish  bounty. 

But  cheer  up,  lads,  an'  dinna  droop.  Blind  Willie's  ti  the 

fore, 
The  blythest  iv  the  motley  groop,  an'  fairly  worth  the 

score ; 
O,  weel  aw  like  te  hear  him  sing,  'bout  young  Sir  Mat 

an'  Dr.  Brummel — 
If  he  but  lives  to  see  the  king,  thor's  nyen  o'  Willie's 

frinds  need  grummel. 


236  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Cull  Billy,  tee,  wor  lugs  te  bliss,  wiv  news  'bout  t'other 

warld, 
Aw  move  that  when  wor  Vicar  dees,  the  place  for  him  be 

arl'd; 
For  aw  really  think,  wiv  half  his  wit,  he'd  myek  a  reet 

gud  pulpit  knocker, 
Aw'll  tell  ye  where  the  berth  wad  fit,  he  hugs  se  close 

the  parish  copper. 

Another  chep  and  then  aw's  deun,  he  bangs  the  tuthers 

far, 
Yor  mevies  wonderin  whe  aw  mean — ye  gowks!   it's 

Tommy  Carr  I 
When  lodgin's  scairce  just  speak  ti  him,  yor  hapless  case 

he'll  surely  pitty, 

He'll  'sist  upon  yor  gannin  in,  te  sup  wi'  Scott,  an'  see 

the  Kitty. 
Oliver.  Av/thw^i  B&iixon^  1829. 


THE   BONASSUS. 

About  1821,  Wombwell,  with  his  collection  of  wild  beasts,  came  to  New- 
castle, with  an  extra  attraction  in  the  form  of  a  rare  animal,  which  he 
called  a  "Bonassns."  It  was  puffed  as  a  great  curiosity,  and  made  a  con- 
siderable stir  at  that  time.    The  wonderful  *'  Bonassus"  was,  in  reality,  a 

buffalo. 

Tune—"  Jemmy  Johnson's  Wherry." 

Let  Wombwell,  James,  an'  a'  the  pack 

Iv  yelpin'  curs,  beef-eaters, 
Ne  mair  aboot  Bonasses  crack, 

Them  queer,  ootlandish  creturs. 
Be  dumb,  ye  leeing,  yammerin'  hoonds ! 

Nor  wi'  yor  clavers  fash  us ; 
For  suen  aw'U  prove  wor  canny  toon 

Can  boast  its  awn  Bonassus. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  237 

It  chanced  when  honest  Bell  was  mayor, 

An'  gat  each  poor  man's  blessin' — 
When  cheps  like  Gee  an*  Tommy  Carr 

Gat  monny  a  gratis  lessin' — 
Then  Bell  refused  te  stand  agyen, 

Tired  iv  the  sitiwation, 
An*  ne  awd  wife  wad  tyek  the  chain 

Iv  2l  wor  Corporation. 

The  folks  iv  Sheels  hez  lang  begrudg'd 

The  Custom  Hoose  beside  us; 
This  was  the  time,  they  reetly  judged, 

Ti  cum  se  fine  'langside  us. 
They  had  a  chep  (Wright  was  his  nyem), 

Ti  poor  folk  rether  scurvy, 
They  sent  him  up  wor  heeds  te  kyem, 

An*  turn  us  topsy-turvy. 

He  suen  began  ti  show  his  horns, 

An'  treat  the  poor  like  vassals : 
He  sent  the  apple  wives  te  mourn 

A  month  i'  wor  aud  Cassel. 
The  timber  tnarchints  will  ne  mair 

Wiv  "  ten  a  penny  "  deave  us : 
They  sweer  if  Wright's  ti  be  wor  mayor, 

That  i*  the  dark  they'll  leave  us ! 

The  drapers  next  he  gov  a  gleece, 

'Bout  thor  unruly  samples  : 
Bund  ower  the  cloots  te  keep  the  peace, 

Wiv  strings  to  the  door  stanchels. 
The  tatee  market  iv  a  tift — 

(Ye  heuxters,  a'  resent  it ! 
My  certies !  but  that  was  a  shift !) 

Ti  the  Parade  Grund  sent  it 


238  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Ye  gowks !  frae  Sheels  yeVe  oft  slipt  up, 

When  ye  had  little  'cashun, 
Te  see  wor  snobs  thor  capers  cut, 

Or  Geordy's  Coranashun. 
Now  altegither  come  wonce  mair, 

Wor  blissins  shall  attend  ye, 
If  ye'll  but  rid  us  i'  wor  mayor, 

I'  hacknies  back  we'll  send  ye. 

Outer.  AvZhor*8  Edition,  1829. 


TIM   TUHTBELLY. 

The  name  given  by  W.  A.  Mitchell  to  a  series  of  letters  he  wrote  for  his 
paper,  TJie  Tyne  Mercury,  The  letters  began  in  October  1821,  and  lasted  a 
little  over  a  year.  Tim,  with  an  ansparing  hand,  exposed  the  abuses  then 
existing  in  the  unreformed  Corporation.  In  1828  the  letters  were  reprinted 
in  Tolume  form,  price  five  shillings. 

Now  lay  up  your  lugs,  a!  ye  freemen  that's  poor. 

An'  aw'U  rhyme  without  pension  or  hire — 
Come  listen,  ye  dons,  that  keep  cows  on  the  Moor, 

Though  ye  couldn't  keep  them  iv  a  byre — 
An'  a'  ye  non-freemen  wherever  ye  be. 

Though  dame  Fortune  has  myed  sic  objections, 
That  you're  neither  o'  Town  nor  o'  Trinity  free, 

To  be  brib'd  an'  get  drunk  at  elections. 

When  aw  was  but  little,  aw  mind  varry  weel 

That  Joe  C ^k  was  the  friend  o'  the  freemen — 

Aw  mysel'  heard  him  say,  his  professions  to  seal, 

He  wad  care  very  little  to  dee,  man. 
Corporation  corruptions  he  sair  did  expose, 

And  show'd  plain  whee  was  rook  and  whee  pigeon — 
While  El h,  the  cobbler,  in  fury  arose, 

And  pummell'd  Sir  M w's  religion. 


i 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  239 

Some  sly  common  councilman  happened  to  think 

That  the  patriots  each  had  a  pocket — 
So  they  sent  Joe  an  order  for  wafers  and  ink, 

And  the  Custom-House  swallowed  the  prophet 
Now  if  ever  these  worthies  should  happen  to  dee, 

And  Au'd  Nick  scamper  off  wiv  his  booty, 
Just  imagine  yoursels  what  reformin  there'll  be, 

If  belaw  there's  nee  printin  nor  duty. 


But  there's  honest  folk  yet  now,  so  dinna  be  flaid, 

Though  El h  and  Joe  hes  desarted — 

For  a  chep  they  ca'  Tunbelly's  ta'en  up  the  trade, 

And  bizzy  he's  been  sin'  he  started : 
Aboot  town-surveyin'  he's  open'd  wor  eyes, 

And  put  Tommy  Gee  in  a  pickle — 
He's  gi'en  to  Jack  Procter  a  birth  i'  the  skies, 

And  immortal  he's  render'd  Bob  Nichol. 


Now,  if  ony  refuse  to  the  freemen  their  dues. 

They're  far  greater  fules  than  aw  thowt  them — 
Let  R y  ne  mair  stand  godfather  ti  cows. 

Nor  his  cousin  swear  on — till  he's  bowt  them. 
Niver  mind  what  the  cheps  o'  the  council  may  say, 

He'll  seun  sattle  obstropolous  Billy — 
Ne  mair  he'll  refuse  for  a  way-leave  to  pay. 

For  fear  o'  the  ditch  and  Tunbelly. 

The  good  that  he's  duen  scarce  a  volume  wad  tell. 
But  there's  one  thing  that  will  be  a  wonder — 

If  Tunbelly  losses  conceit  iv  his  sel* 
Till  his  head  the  green  sod  be  laid  under. 


240  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

But  we  a'  hae  wor  likens,  what  for  shouldn't  Tim  ? 

An*  aw'm  shure  he  a  mense  to  wor  town  is — 
So  fill  up  yor  glasses  once  mair  to  the  brim, 

And  drink  to  the  Newcassel  Junius. 
Oliver.  Auilwii>8  Edition,  1829. 


THE   NEiarCASTLE   MILLERS. 

Written  on  the  great  prize  fight,  at  Barlow  Fell,  between  Jim  Wallace  and 
Tom  Dunn,  fought  on  the  26th  October  1824,  for  forty  sovereigns.  Wallace 
was  the  victor. 

Tune—"  The  Bold  Dragoon." 

Now  hail,  thou  pride  iv  a'  the  Tyne,  my  glorious  native 

tounj 
As  lang  as  aw  can  cum  ti  time,  thy  nyem  shall  ne*er  gan 

doun; 
Fame  hez  been  lang,  wi'  glorious  moves,  the  pages  i'  thy 

hist'ry  filling. 
But  now  she  sports  her  boxing-gloves,  an*  nowt  gans 

doon  but  rings  an'  milling. 

The  fancy  lads  that  thou  can  boast  .wad  tyek  an  'oor  ti 

tell, 
Let  Cockneys  tawk  o'  Moulsey  Hurst,  well  crack^  iv 

Barlow  Fell. 
Jim  B n  hez  up  te  Lunnin  gyen,  ti  show  them  hoc  ti 

hit  an'  parry ; 
But  still  we've  bits  iv  blud  at  hyem,  that  for  a  croon  wad 

box  Aud  Harry. 

The  greet  turn-up  we've  had  between  Jim  Wallace  an* 

Tom  Dunn, 
Sum  wished  that  day  they'd  niwer  seen,  an'  that  boxers 

a'  were  hung ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  241 

The  butcher  lads  had  a'  ti  pay,  sum  pawned  thor  watches, 

sum  thor  horses, 
An'  a'  the  Tuesday  neet,  they  say,  that  Morpeth  turnpike 

rung  wi'  curses. 

The  'prentice  lads  that  stole  away  ti  see  the  champions 

peel, 
They'll  mind  o'  that,  for  mony  a  day  they  walked  upon  a 

wheel : 
Their  half-'oor  time  they  learn'd  ti  keep,  a  sitiwation 

rether  tryin', 
Just  like  the  chep  iv  CoUingwood  Street,  that's  huggin' 

tiv  his  nose  a  lion. 

Let  men  iv  science  bounce  and  swell,  gi'e  me  the  glass  ti 

swing, 
A  nice  snug  room  for  Barlow  Fell,  filled  wiv  a  jovial  ring ; 
Then  them  that  will  may  tyek  thor  bangs,  the  science 

that  aw  most  delight  in 
Is  drinkin'  yell  an'  hearin'  sangs,  let  Dunn  an'  Wallace 

tyek  the  fightin'. 

Oliyer.  AvLthvfi  EdUion,  1829. 


THE   LAMENT. 

Tune— "The  Bold  Dragoon." 

A  BARD  hez  said  that  "  dowly  thowts  are  mair  wor  frinds 
than  foes  " — 

As  frinds  are  rether  scarce,  ye  ken,  aw've  browt  a  mourn- 
ful dose ; 

Deeth  rammels  on  throo  lane  an'  square,  an'  wiv  his 
dart  byeth  wives  an'  men  pricks, 

Od  bliss  him  I  wad  he  oney  spare  wor  canny  toon  her 
greet  eccentrics. 

16 


242  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Bet  Watt  an'  Soulger  Mallfs  gyen! — ^Yence  mair  his 

dart  he  threw, 
An*  slew  the  bonniest  an'  the  last — the  maid  they  called 

Balloo: 
Ti  hear  her  sweer  how  oft  aw've  staid,  an'  gazed  upon 

her  linsey-winsey ; 
But  Jenny's  cracks  are  now  aw  laid  aboot  her  bruther, 

greet  Lord  Linsay. 

Mysell  aw  suen  began  ti  hug  when  Crummy  was  laid  law, 
Aw  thowt  the  yell  wad  be  a  drug,  'twas  sartin  shure  ti 

fa'j 
Ti  see  him  drink,  that  was  a  treat, — his  thropple  seemed 

a  hogshead  funnel; 
An'  now  that  Crummy's  lost  his  feet,  it  sarves,  aw  fancy, 

for  a  tunnel 

A  story  yence  myed  Sandgate  ring,  the  Key  side  a'  luik 

blue — 
'Twas  then  a  hoax,  or  sum  sic  thing,  but  noo  it's  cum 

ower  true ; 
Oh,  had  it  been  a  duke  or  lord,  aw  wonder  whe  wad 

cared  a  scuddick ; — 
Bold  Archfs  popped  at  last  owerbord,  slipt  withoot  bait 

intiv  his  huddick. 

His  cradle  was  the  keel  deck,  where  Britannia  seeks  her 

tars — 
She  quickly  spied  the  hero  there,  an'  called  him  ti  the 

wars ; 
He  thump'd  the  Spanish  Dons,  'twas  said,  till  they  roared 

oot  for  peace  like  ninnies, 
For  yence,  at  least,  was  Archy  paid  his  good  shag  hat 

chock  full  iv  ginnies. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  243 

Men  are  se  dwiney  nooadays,  that  honest  Archy  cam 
Ti  gi*  the  world,  as  Shakesperre  says,  asshurance  iv  a 

man; 
Ti  see  him  cummin*  up  the  Kee,  se  independent,  stiff, 

an'  starchy — 
His  like  agyen  we'll  niwer  see — peace  ti  the  byens  iv 

poor  Bold  Archy  1 

Oliver.  Avthof'g  Edition,  1820. 


THE    KTElZir    MARKETS. 

"  The  completion  of  the  New  Markets  at  Newcastle,  by  Richard  Grainger, 
was  celebrated  by  a  public  dinner  on  the  22nd  of  October  1885.  The  Mayor 
presided,  and  nearly  2000  individnals  sat  down  under  one  roof  (that  of  the 
Green  Market),  which  forms  but  a  mere  section  of  the  splendid  erections. 
These  markets  are  the  most  magnificent  in  the  world."  .  .  ,—BichardtorCs 
Table-Book, 

Besides  Oliver,  both  Mitford  and  Gilchrist  have  songs  on  the  opening  of 
the  New  Markets. 

Tune—**  Canny  NewcasseL" 

Wey,  hinnies,  but  this  is  a  wonderful  scene, 

Like  sum  change  that  yen's  seen  iv  a  playhoose ; 
Whe  iver  wad  thowt  that  the  aud  Major's  dene 

Wad  hae  myed  sic  a  capital  wey-hoose? 
Where  the  brass  hez  a'  cum  frae  nebody  can  tell. 

Some  says  yen  thing,  and  some  says  another ; 
But  whe  iver  lent  Grainger  't,  aw  knaw  very  well 

That  they  mun  hev  at  least  had  a  fother. 

CAorus, 
Aboot  Lunnen,  then,  divvent  ye  myek  sic  a  rout, 

For  thor's  nowt  there  maw  winkers  ti  dazzle ; 
For  a  bell  or  a  market  thor  issent  a  doot, 

We  can  bang  them  at  canny  NewcasseL 

Wor  gratitude  Grainger  or  sumbody's  arl'd, 

Yet  still  mun  it  myeks  yen  a'  shuther, 
Te  see  sic  a  crood  luikin'  efter  this  warld 

Where  the  Nuns  used  ti  luik  for  the  tuther. 


244  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

But  see  yor  awn  interest — dinna  be  blind, 
Tyek  a  shop  there  whativer  yor  trade  is ; 

Genteeler  cumpany  where  can  ye  find 
Then  wor  butchers,  green  wives,  an'  tripe  ladies  ? 

Aboot  Lunnen,  etc 

Ti  see  the  wives  haggle  aboot  tripe  an'  sheep  heeds, 

Or  weshing  thor  greens  at  a  foontain. 
Where  the  bonny  Nuns  used  te  be  tellin'  thor  beeds, 

An'  had  nowt  but  thor  sins  ti  be  coontin' ; 
There  the  talented  lords  o'  the  cleaver  an'  steel 

May  be  heard  on  that  classical  grund,  sir, 
Loodly  chantin'  the  praise  o'  thor  mutton  an'  veal, 

Tho*  thor  loosin'  a  happney  a  pund,  sir, 

Aboot  Lunnen,  etc. 

When  them  queer  Cockney  folk  cum  stravagin'  this  way 

(Tho'  aw've  lang  thowt  we'd  gettin'  aboon  them), 
They'll  certainly  now  hae  the  mense  just  te  say, 

That  we've  clapt  an  extingisher  on  them. 
It's  ne  use  contendin* — they  just  may  shut  up, 

For  it's  us  can  astonish  the  stranger : 
They  may  brag  o'  thor  lords,  an'  thor  auld  King  ti 
boot, 
What's  the  use  on't  ? — they  hevint  a  Grainger. 

Aboot  Lunnen,  etc. 
Oliver.  Fordyee's  "  Newcastle  Song  BwA,"  1842. 


STElZirCASTLE   IMPROVEMENTS. 

R.  Charlton,  ^hose  name  appears  but  once  in  local  collections,  differs 
from  his  contemporaries  in  this :— they  sing  of  material  improTements,  as 
new  streets,  markets,  etc ;  he  notices  the  social  changes,  and  some  of  them 
not  kindly.  The  song  is  clever,  and  appears  in  Marshall's  1827  volome, 
bat  who  the  author  was,  beyond  the  record  of  his  name,  we  have  no  trace. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  245 

What  a  cockneyfied  toon  wor  Newcassel  hez  grown, 

Wey,  aw  scarce  can  believe  me  awn  senses ; 
Wor  canny  au'd  customs  for  ever  ha'e  flown, 

An'  there's  nowt  left  ahint  for  to  mense  us : 
The  fashions  fra  Lunnin  are  now  a*  the  go, 

As  there's  nowt  i'  wor  toon  to  content  us — 
Aw'U  not  be  surpris'd  at  wor  next  'lection  day, 

If  twe  Cockneys  put  up  to  'present  us. 

Times  ha'e  been  when  a  body's  been  axt  oUt  to  tea, 

Or  to  get  a  wee  bit  of  a  shiver, 
Wor  hearts  were  sae  leet  we  ne'er  thowt  o'  the  caw'd, 

Or  the  fear  o'  wet  feet  plagu'd  us  niver ; 
But  i'  blanket  coats  now  we  mun  get  muffled  up, 

For  fear  that  the  caw'd  should  approach  us — 
And  to  hinder  a  spark  gettin'  on  to  wor  breeks, 

We  mun  jump  into  fine  hackney  coaches. 

Aw've  seen  when  we've  gyen  in  a  kind  freenly  way 

To  be  blithe  ower  a  jug  o'  good  nappy — 
The  glass  or  the  horn  we  shov'd  round  wi'  the  pot, 

For  then  we  were  jovial  and  happy : 
But  now  we  mun  all  hev  a  glass  t'  worsels, 

Which  plainly  appears,  on  reflection, 
We  thinks  a'  wor  neighbours  ha'e  something  not  nice. 

And  are  frighten'd  we  catch  the  infection. 

The  very  styen  pavement  they'll  not  let  alyen. 

For  they've  tuen'd  up  and  putting  down  gravel ; 
So  now,  gentle  folks,  here's  a  word  i'  yor  lugs — 

Mind  think  on*t  whenever  ye  travel : 
If  in  dry  dusty  weather  ye  happen  to  stray, 

Ye'U  get  yor  een  a'  full  o'  stour,  man — 
Or,  if  it  be  clarty,  you're  sure  for  to  get 

Weel  plaister'd  byeth  hint  and  afore,  man. 


246  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

If  a'  their  improvements  aw  were  for  to  tell, 

Aw  might  sit  here  and  sing — aye,  for  ever ; 
There's  the  rum  weak  as  watter  i'stead  o'  the  stuff 

That  was  us'd  for  to  burn  out  wor  liver ; 
Aw's  feir  seek  and  tir'd  o'  the  things  that  aw've  sung, 

So  aw  think  now  aw*!!  myek  a  conclusion, 
By  wishing  the  cheps  iv  a  helter  may  swing, 

That  ha'e  browt  us  tiv  a'  this  confusion. 
Charlton.  MarshcOTs  Collection,  1827. 


THE   NElZirGATE   STREET   PETITION   TO 
MR.    MAYOR. 

About  the  destruction  of  this  famous  gate  in  the  old  town  waU,  Mackenzie, 
in  his  Newcastle,  writes:— "In  June  1823  workmen  began  to  pull  down 
Newgate.  At  this  time  a  clever  jeu  cPesprU  was  privately  circulated,  par- 
porting  to  be  the  petition  of  the  inhabitants  of  Newgate  to  the  Mayor,  pray- 
ing for  the  preservation  of  this  ancient  building ;  and  which  was  understood 
to  be  from  the  pen  of  a  gentleman  weU  known  for  his  poetic  talents  and 
Ids  many  local  and  humorous  productions/' 

This,  there  is  little  doubt,  refers  to  John  Shield— although  Bell,  in  his 
manuscript  list  of  Shield's  pieces,  does  not  include  this  *'  Newgate  Street 
Petition."  The  petition  embodied  the  opinions  of  a  great  many  of  the 
influential  inhabitants— but,  as  in  a  later  case  (the  destruction  of  the 
"  Carliol  Tower"),  they  went  for  nothing. 

Alack  !  and  well-a-day  1 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor ; 
We  are  all  to  grief  a  prey, 

Mr.  Mayor: 
They  are  pulling  Newgate  down, 
That  structure  of  renown, 
Which  so  long  hath  graced  our  town, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

Antiquarians  think't  a  scandal, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor; 
It  would  shock  a  Goth  or  Vandal, 

They  declare : 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  247 

What  1  destroy  the  fioest  Lion 
That  ever  man  set  eye  on ! 
Tis  a  deed  all  must  cry  fie  on, 
Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

St  Andrew's  Parishioners, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
Loud  blame  the  Gaol  Commissioners, 

Mr.  Mayor; 
To  pull  down  a  pile  so  splendid 
Shows  their  powers  are  too  extended, 
And  The  Act  must  be  amended, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

If  Blackett  Street  they'd  level, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
Or  with  Bond  Street*  play  the  devil. 

Who  would  care  ? 
But  on  Newgate's  massive  walls, 
When  destruction's  hammer  falls, 
For  our  sympathy  it  calls, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

Tis  a  Pile  of  ancient  standing, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
Deep  reverence  commanding, 

Mr.  Mayor: 
Men  of  Note  and  Estimation, 
In  their  course  of  Elevation, 
Have  in  it  held  a  station, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

*  Now  called  Ptudhos  Street, 


248  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Tis  a  first-rate  kind  of  College, 
Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 

Where  is  taught  much  useful  knowledge, 
Mr.  Mayor: 

When  our  fortunes  **  gang  aglee," 

If  worthy  Mr.  Gee* 

Does  but  on  us  turn  his  key, 
All's  soon  well,  Mr.  Mayor. 

In  beauty  nought  can  match  it, 
Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor: 

Should  you  think  we  throw  the  Hatchet^ 
Mr.  Mayor : 

John  Adamson,t  with  ease 

(In  purest  Portuguese), 

Will  convince  you,  if  you  please 
To  consult  him,  Mr.  Mayor. 

He'll  prove  t'ye  in  a  trice,     • 
Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 

'Tis  a  pearl  of  great  price, 
Mr.  Mayor: 

For  of  ancient  wood  or  stone, 

The  value — few  or  none 

Can  better  tell  than  John, 
Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

Of  this  edifice  bereft, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 

To  the  neighbourhood  what's  left  ? 
Mr.  Mayor: 

*  The  gaoler  of  debtors'  prison. 

t  The  famous  Portuguese  scholar  and  translator  of  "  The  Luciad.' 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  249 

The  Nun^  Gate^  it  is  true, 
Still  rises  to  our  view, 
But  that  Modern  Babel  few 
Much  admire,  Mr.  Mayor. 

True,  a  building  'tis,  unique^ 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
A  ^Bxmwig  fancy-freaky 

Mr.  Mayor: 
But  candour  doth  impel  us 
To  own  that  strangers  tell  us 
The  Lodge  of  our  Oddfellows^ 

They  supposed  it,  Mr.  Mayor. 

Still  if  Newgate^ s  doomed  to  go, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
To  the  Carliol  Cre/?*— heigh-ho ! 

Mr.  Mayor, 
As  sure  as  you're  alive 
(And  long,  sir,  may  you  thrive), 
The  shock  we'll  ne'er  survive, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor. 

Then  pity  our  condition, 

Mr.  Mayor,  Mr.  Mayor, 
And  stop  its  demolition, 

Mr.  Mayor; 
The  Commissioners  restrain 
From  causing  us  such  pain, 
And  we'll  pay  and  ne'er  complain. 

The  Gaol  Cess^  Mr.  Mayor. 
Anonymous.  MarshalVs  CoUectwn,  1827. 

*  Where  the  new  gaol  in  place  of  Newgate  was  to  be  built. 


250  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THOMAS  MARSHALL. 

Thomas  Marshall,  most  favourably  known  as  a  local 
writer,  was  a  native  of  Newcastle.  He  served  his  apprentice- 
ship as  a  brush-maker  with  Mr.  Laidler,  now  of  Pilgrim 
Street,  but  at  that  time  carrying  on  business  at  the  Carpenters' 
Tower,  and  afterwards  worked  for  many  years  as  a  journey- 
man at  the  same  shop.  In  1829  he  published  a  collection  of 
his  songs.  Like  his  two  best  known  pieces,  "Blind 
Willie"  and  "Euphy's  Coronation,"  they  are  full  of 
allusions  to  local  eccentrics.  Newcastle  in  his  day  had  a 
famous  collection  of  these  worthies,  and  in  his  songs  he 
appears  to  have  delighted  in  recording  their  grotesque  by- 
names, and  faithfully  preserving  their  most  marked  peculi- 
arities. Towards  the  latter  part  of  his  life  he  seems  to  have 
written  little.  He  died  suddenly,  about  the  year  1866,  having 
attained  a  little  over  his  sixtieth  year. 

To  the  above,  which  appeared  in  the  1872  edition,  may  be 
added  some  interesting  memorandums  gathered  by  Mr. 
Hay  from  Marshall's  old  shop-mates  at  Byers  &  Co.'s, 
successors  to  Laidler  &  Nicholson.  Marshall  appears  to 
have  been  for  years  foreman  at  the  brush  works,  and  bis 
autograph,  here  given,  is  reproduced  from  his  signature  to 

the  weekly  pay-sheet.  In  appearance  he  was  slight,  dark, 
and  a  little  under  the  middle  height.  At  his  work  he  would 
often  break  out  with  Watson's  "Thumping  Luck  to  yon 
Town,"  a  favourite  song  of  his.  Music  appears  to  have  been 
his  fancy,  as  for  years  he  was  one  of  the  Guild  of  Bell- 
ringers  of  "All  Saints*  Church."  His  death  was  sudden. 
The  last  entry  of  his  pay  in  the  shop  books  is  on  December 
29th,  1866;  two  days  later,  on  New  Year's  Eve,  he  died  at 
his  residence,  Shield  Street,  Shieldfield,  from  a  paralytic 
attack,  and  was  buried  at  All  Saints'  Cemetery  on  the  2nd 
of  January  1867.  Entering  the  cemetery,  his  grave  is  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  main  walk,  about  one-third  of  the 
way  up  and  about  ten  yards  from  the  edge  of  the  walk.  No 
stone  marks  the  spot. 

Marshall  appears  to  have  begun  and  finished  his  writing 
early ;  he  would  be  only  twenty-one  when  his  collection  of 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  251 

songs  (24  pages)  was  published.  If  he  wrote  anything  after 
this  it  is  unt raced,  as  nothing  appears  to  have  found  its  way 
into  loc£d  collections.  Silver  Street,  it  may  be  added, 
appears  to  have  been  Marshall's  birthplace,  and  of  his 
family  he  had  but  one  son,  a  young  man  who  died  some 
time  before  his  father. 


EUPHY'S  COROWATIOItf. 

Tune—"  Arthur  McBride." 

Te  the  Fish  Market  wor  gannin,  the  queen  is  proclaimed, 
Aud  Euphy's  thor  choice — for  beauty  lang  fam'd ; 
They've  geen  her  full  power — now  she's  justly  ordain'd ; 

So  they've  gyen  te  croon  honest  aud  Euphy ! 
The  Market  wes  crowded  the  queen  for  te  view : 
Euphy  sat  for  promotion,  drest  up  wi'  new ; 
The  procession  appeared  with  the  flag — a  true  blue ! 

And  then  they  surrounded  aud  Euphy. 

The  procession  wes  headed  by  Barbara  Bell ; 

She  wes  followed  by  chuckle-heed  Chancellor  Kell ; 

Mally  Ogle  appeared  wi'  a  barrel  o'  yell, 

Te  drink  te  the  health  ov  aud  Euphy. 
Honest  Blind  Willie,  tee,  gaw  them  a  call ; 
Thor  wes  great  Bouncin  Bet,  Billy  Hush,  and  Rag  Sail, 
The  Babe  o'  the  Wood,  wi'  Putty-mouthed  Mall, 

A'  went  te  croon  honest  aud  Euphy. 

Thor  wes  a  grand  invitation  for  byeth  greet  an'  sma'; — 
Her  subjects  assembl'd  did  loudly  hurra ! 
She  wes  nobly  supported  by  bauld  Dolly  Raw, 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 
But  Ralphy  the  Hawk  wes  in  prey  for  a  job, 
Wiv  his  small  quarter-staif  wished  te  silence  the  mob ; 
He  wes  mum  when  he  gat  the  beer  cask  tiv  his  gob. 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 


252  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Euphy  and  Madge  wes  the  gaze  i'  the  show ; 

They  were  lang  loodly  cheer'd  by  the  famous  Jin  Bo ; 

Te  preserve  peace  an*  order  there  wes  barrel-bag'd  Joe, 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 
Te  make  an  oration  wes  the  Chancellor's  wish, 
While  his  turbot-heed  sweel'd  like  a  smokin  het  dish ; 
Bauld  Dolly  Raw  stopt  his  gob  wiv  a  cod-fish, 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 

By  greet  Billy  Hush,  Euphy  Queen  wes  declared ; 
Te  move  frae  the  Market  her  subjects  prepared : 
Te  the  aud  Custom-hoose  the  procession  repaired, 

Te  drink  at  the  cost  of  aud  Euphy. 
Fine  Barbara  Bell  grand  music  did  play. 
Which  elevated  the  spirits  of  young  Bella  Grey : 
"  Keep  your  tail  up ! "  she  wad  sing  a'  the  way, 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 

Te  lead  off  the  ball  for  the  Queen  they  did  cry : 
Te  please  all  her  people,  she  wes  there  te  comply ; 
Peggy  Grundy  wad  follow,  wi*  big  Bob  an*  X  Y, 

Te  assist  in  the  dance  wi'  Queen  Euphy. 
The  dancin  wes  ended — doon  te  dine  they  a*  sat ; 
Roast  beef  an'  pig  cheek — a  gud  swig  followed  that ; 
The  fragments  were  reserved  in  Chancellor  Kell's  bat, 

At  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 

The  Chancellor's  gob  wes  beginnin  te  swet : 

He  swill'd  it  away  till  he  gat  ower  wet ; 

He  wes  led  te  the  tower  by  young  Beagle  Bet, 

Frae  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 
Bella  Roy  wes  beginnin  te  produce  all  her  slack : 
She  wes  teun  hyem  on  a  barrow  by  wise  Basket  Jack ; 
The  sport  wes  weel  relish'd  by  Billy  the  Black, 

At  the  croonin  ov  honest  aud  Euphy. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  253 

A  speech  wes  now  myed  frae  the  Queen  i'  the  chair — 
Te  study  thor  gud  she  wad  tyek  a  greet  care ; 
They  a'  had  her  blissin — what  cud  she  say  mair  ? 

God  bliss  the  Queen,  honest  aud  Euphy. 
Wi'  cheers  for  the  Queen  the  hoose  oft  did  ring ; 
By  their  humble  request  she  **The  Keel  Row"  did  sing; 
They  a'  happy  retired  wi'  "God  save  the  King !" 

Frae  the  croonin  of  honest  aud  Euphy. 
Marshall.  Author's  Edition^  1829. 


BLIND   ISTILLIE   Y.    BILLY   SCOTT. 

Tune— "Fie,  let's  away  to  the  Bridal." 

Blind  Willie,  one  morning,  was  singin' 

At  the  sign  o'  the  "  Bunch  o'  Grapes," 
Te  amuse  the  folks  he  was  beginnin' 

Wi'  aud  Sir  Matthew's  mistakes. 
Sumbody  shoots,  "Here's  Mister  Scott  cummin!" 

Willie  instantly  wished  for  te  see ; 
"  Aw'll  tell  ye  the  truth,  withoot  funnin, 

He  once  half-a-croon  gav  te  me ! " 

Fal  lal,  etc. 

Willie  now  thowt  they  were  gamin, 

For  Mister  Scott's  cummin  seem'd  lang, 
Till  he  heard  a  voice  gravely  exclaimin, 

"Poor  William  ! — poor  blind  man ! " 
Willie  bawls  oot — "  Ye  canna  deceive  me ! — 

Ye  needn't  think  aw'm  se  silly ; 
Aw's  not  such  a  feul,  ye'll  believe  me,— 

It's  not  Mister  Scott,  but  Cull  Billy!" 

Fal  lal,  etc. 


254  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

"  Blind  man,  come,  don't  be  so  mulish, 

If  I*m  silly,  no  doubt  I'm  not  right ; 
You  for  to  say  that  I'm  foolish ! 

Thank  God  I  I'm  endued  with  my  sight !  " 
"But,  Cull  Billy,  what  browt  ye  here  now? 

Nebody  can  say  that  it's  reet. 
Gan  away,  or  awll  blind  ye  wi'  beer  now, 

For  cummin  te  myek  gam  o'  maw  seet! " 

Fal  lal,  etc. 

"You  stand  on  a  groundless  foundation, 

What  else  can  such  as  you  think  ? 
You  indulge  yourself  in  dissipation. 

You  are  both  blind  and  stupid  with  drink ! " 
Willie  sat  an'  heard  Cull  Billy  pratting. 

Quite  heedless  tiv  a'  the  abuse : 
His  hand  on  his  knee  he  kept  clapping — 

"  Cull  Billy's  cum  fra  the  madhoose ! " 

Fal  lal,  etc. 

Billy  now  turned  quite  ootrageous, 

At  Blind  Willie's  nose  tuik  a  grip  : 
His  baud  he  suin  disengages. 

For  Willie  began  hard  te  kick. 
Willie  still  gav  him  greet  provocation. 

His  raillery  still  wadn't  cease ; 
Billy  went  oot  wiv  a  vile  execration, 

Te  gan  tiv  a  justice  for  peace. 

Fal  lal,  etc 

Willie  fand  hissel  reythur  twisted, 
His  nose  was  beginnin  te  bleed ; 

He  wad  gan  te  the  Mayor,  he  insisted. 
And  let  his  reet  worshipful  see'd. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  255 

Willie  oft  loodly  did  grummel — 

"  The  divil  brust  Cull  Bill/s  bags : 
When  the  aud  wife  let  the  pie  tummel, 

He  sat  doon  an'  dined  on  the  flags  I " 

Fal  lal,  etc 
Willie  tuik  a  consideration, 

He  thowt  the  subject  shud  drop ; 
He  allowed  he'd  gi'en  provocation, 

But  further  mischief  he  wad  stop. 
Te  finish  the  pack,  anuther  gill  he  got, 

But  with  an  oath  he  did  declare, 
The  varry  first  time  he  saw  Billy  Scott, 

He  wad  take  him  before  Mister  Mayor. 

Fal  lal,  etc 
Marshall  Autlwii*t  Edition^  1829. 


TARS   AND   SKIPPERS. 

This  song  is  a  relic  of  the  old  resarrection  dayi.  The  Burke  and  Hare 
excitement  caused  a  great  many  country  churchyards  to  be  regularly 
watched,  the  people  forming  themselves  into  gangs  or  sets  of  watchers.  This 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  the  case  in  Newcastle.  Here,  according  to  old 
inhabitants,  watching  was  common,  but  it  was  done  by  friends  of  the 
deceased,  or  by  parties  engaged  by  them  for  that  purpose. 

TUNB— "Derry  Down." 

Four  hardy  Jack  tars,  wi'  a  noble  intent, 
To  protect  the  remains  of  a  messmate  they  went, 
To  the  Ballast  Hills  arm'd,  just  about  the  midwatch, 
To  prevent  resurrectionists  moving  his  hatch. 

Derry  down. 

Each  tar  took  his  post,  no  way  daunted  with  fear, 
When  two  drunken  skippers  near  the  place  did  appear ; 
While  stawping  alang,  it  dropt  into  their  head. 
They  wad  byeth  gan  an'  watch  a  friend  they  had  dead. 

Deny  down. 


2S6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  tars,  now  alarm'd,  they  prepared  for  attack — 
Ower  a  styen  byeth  the  skippers  now  fell  on  their 

back; 
O  Lord !  exclaim'd  Jacky,  we  cannot  lie  here, 
Or  we'll  byeth  be  tyen  off  by  resurrectioners,  aw  fear ! 

Derry  down. 


Who's  there  ?  cried  the  tars,  or  who  may  you  be  ? 
Ax  about !  replied  Jacky,  what's  that  to  ye  ? 
We're  not  robbers  like  ye — what  else  can  wi  say? — 
Come  here  for  to  carry  the  dead  folks  away. 

Derry  down. 

Here's  me  and  friend  Ralph  knew  a  friend  down 

the  shore. 
For  pulling,  wi'  him  neyn  could  touch  the  oar; 
So  me  and  my  neighbour's  just  come  for  to  see 
If  his  body's  tu en  off  by  sic  robbers  as  ye. 

Derry  down. 

A  signal  for  action — the  tars  gave  a  cough. 
To  the  skippers'  amazement,  a  pistol  went  off— 
The  skippers  byeth  drunk,  now  sober  did  feel, 
To  get  out  o'  their  way,  they  byeth  tuik  to  heel 

Derry  down. 

Ralphy,  he  thowt  'twould  been  a  terrible  job, 
If  they'd  byeth  gettin  a  plaister  clapp'd  on  their  gob; 
For  the  skippers  tuik  the  tars  for  resurrection  men — 
The  tars  tuik  the  skippers  to  be  just  the  syem. 

Derry  down. 

Marshall.  Authm*8  Edition,  1820. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  257 

ISTEEL   MAY   THE   KEEL   R012ir 

THAT  GETS   THE   BAIRNS   THEIR   BREED. 

Weel  may  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 

Weel  may  the  keel  row, 

And  better  may  she  speed ; 

Weel  may  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row,  the  keel  row, 

Weel  may  the  keel  row. 

That  gets  the  bairns  their  breed. 

We  tyuk  wor  keel  up  to  the  dyke. 
Up  to  the  dyke,  up  to  the  dyke, 
We  tyuk  wor  keel  up  to  the  dyke. 

An'  there  we  gat  her  load ; 
Then  saird  away  doon  to  Shields, 
Doon  to  Shields,  doon  to  Shields, 
Then  sail'd  away  doon  to  Shields, 

And  shipp'd  wor  coals  abroad. 

Singin* — Weel  may  the  keel  row,  etc. 

Then  we  row'd  away  up  to  the  fest, 
Up  to  the  fest,  up  to  the  fest, 
We  row'd  away  up  to  the  fest, 

Cheerly  every  man ; 
Pat  by  wor  geer  and  moor*d  wor  keel, 
And  moor'd  wor  keel,  and  moor'd  wor  keel, 
Pat  by  wor  geer  and  moor'd  wor  keel, 

Then  went  and  drank  wor  can.. 

Singin* — Weel  may  the  keel  row,  etc 

Our  canny  wives,  our  clean  fireside. 
Our  bonny  bairns — their  parents'  pride, 
Sweet  smiles  that  make  life  smoothly  glide. 
We  find  when  we  gan  hyem ; 
17 


258 


Unknown. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

They'll  work  for  us  when  we  get  au'd, 
They'll  keep  us  frae  the  winter's  cau'd, 
As  life  declines  they'll  us  uphaud — 
When  young  we  uphaud  them. 

Singin' — Weel  may  ftie  keel  row,  etc. 

MarshaXCs  CoOeetim,  1827. 


THOMAS   12iriLSON. 

"  Honour  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise ; 
Act  weU  your  part,  there  aU  the  honour  lies.** 

Thomas  Wilson,  trapper  boy,  schoolmaster,  merchant,  and 
poet,  is  a  fine  example  of  what  natural  ability,  joined  to  high 


character,  can  raise  a  man  to,  however  lowly  may  be  the  lot 
in  which  he  is  bom.    Thomas  Wilson,  who,  as  a  song- 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


259 


writer,  comes  into  our  list,  was  born  at  Gateshead  Low  Fell, 
on  November  14th,  1773.  At  the  age  of  eight  he  was  sent 
down  the  pits  as  a  trapper  boy,  and  there  often  eighteen  out 
of  the  twenty-four  hours  were  spent  in  darkness  sitting 
behind  his  door. 

Possibly  it  was  a  little  recollection  of  this  olden  time 
Wilson  introduced  into — about  the  latest  piece  he  wrote — 
"The  Market  Day"  (published  when  he  was  over  eighty).  It 
is  "  Pay  Week,"  the  husband  is  ready  for  Newcastle ;  the 
wife  has  all  her  wants  told, 

**  When  just  as  he  was  gawn  to  leave, 
A  little  curly-heeded  callant 
Tuik  deddy  softly  by  the  sleeve, 
And  said,  *  Eh  1  fetch  me  hyem  a  ballant.' " 

The  fancy  and  the  taste  which  prompted  such  a  request, 
if  not  his  own,  seem  to  have  been  strong  in  the  trapper  boy ; 
he  determined  to  better  his  lot,  and  set  about  educating 
himself.  This  he  did  with  much,  self-denial,  and  with  such 
success  that  he  qualified  himself  for  the  oflice  of  school- 
master. This  was  but 
a  step  to  further  pro- 
gress. After  a  while 
he  obtained  a  clerk- 
ship on  the  Quay, 
which,  after  a  few 
changes,  led  up  to  a 
partnership  with  Mr. 
Losh.  This  two  years 
later  (1807),  by  the 
addition  of  Mr.  Bell, 
became  the  famous 
Tyneside  firm  of  Losh, 
Wilson,  &  Bell. 

What  Armstrong's 
and  Palmer's  are  to- 
day, employing  their 
thousands  and  enrich- 
ing the  district,  that 
Losh,  Wilson,  &  Bell 


FELL  HOUSE. 

From  a  Painting  by  Canniohael. 


were  in  their  day  on 

the  Tyne.      His  pro-  . 

Mcss  now,  to  adopt  the  language  of  a  present-day  politician, 
woald  be  one  of  "leaps  and  bounds,"  and  he  was  enabled  to 


26o  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

accomplish  what  had  long  been  a  cherished  object — 2l  resi- 
dence on  the  spot  where  he  was  bom.  Fell  House  was  the 
realisation  of  this,  and  at  Fell  House,  Gateshead,  the  rest  of 
his  long  life  was  passed. 

For  a  life  of  Wilson  the  reader  may  refer  to  Routledge's 
edition  of  his  works,  which  is  published  at  a  popular  price. 
Here  we  can  only  touch  upon  a  few  points.  In  1826,  in  the 
Newcastle  Magazine^  appeared  the  m-st  part  of  his  famous 
**  Pitman's  Pay."  The  second  part  appeared  the  following 
year,  and  two  years  later  came  the  conclusion.  The 
opening  of  this  picture  of  pit  life,  one  hundred  years  ago, 
begins — 

"  I  sing  not  here  of  warriors  bold, 
Of  battles  lost  or  victories  won, 
Of  cities  sack'd  or  nations  sold, 
Or  cruel  deeds  by  tyrants  done. 

I  sing  the  pitmen's  plagues  and  cares, 

Their  labour's  hard  and  lowly  lot, 
Their  homely  joys  and  humble  fares, 

Their  pay-night  o'er  a  foaming  pot" 

This  leads  up  to  a  description  of  the  varied  scenes  that  a 
pay-night  shows  in  a  public-house.  The  picture  is  one 
drawn  before  the  rise  of  the  teetotal  movement  had  told 
upon  the  drinking  habits  of  the  country,  and  when  the 
drinking  was  the  freer  from  the  fact  that 

"The  *  Caller'  dizn't  call  te-mom." 

The  night  thus  wears  on ;  the  men,  half  drunk,  are  sought  for 
by  their  wives.    Here  is  one  little  gem  of  a  picture. 

"  Here  Nanny,  modest,  mild,  an'  shy, 
Took  Neddy  gently  by  the  sleeve : 

*  Aw  just  luik'd  in  as  aw  went  by — 

Is  it  not,  thinks  te,  time  te  leave  ? ' 

*  Now,  Nan,  what  myeks  thi  fash  me  here — 

Gan  hyem  and  get  the  bairns  te  bed ; 
Thou  knaws  thou  promis'd  me  maw  beer. 
The  varry  neet  before  we  wed.* 

'  Hout,  hinny,  had  thy  blabbin'  jaw, 

Thou's  full  of  nought  but  fun  an'  lees  ; 
At  sic  a  kittle  time,  ye  knaw. 

Yen  tells  ye  onytfalng  te  please. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  261 

'  Besides,  thou's  bad  eneugh  o'  drink, 

And  mair  wad  only  myek  thee  bad ; 
Aw  see  thy  een  begin  te  blink, 

Gan  wi'  me,  like  a  canny  lad.' 

*  0  Nan,  thon  hez  a  witchin'  way 

0'  myekin'  me  de  what  thou  will. 
Thou  needs  but  speak,  and  aw  obey, 

Yet  there's  ne  doubt  aw's  maister  still.' " 

More  like  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  poem ;  to  that  the  reader 
is  referred.  Here  we  can  only  add  W.  H.  Dawson's  appreci- 
ative notice  of  Wilson,  taken  from  his  Local  Poets : — 

"Graceful  and  easy  in  the  measured  flow  of  his  melody,  like  some 
weird  sage  who  casts  the  glamour  over  his  victim,  he  holds  his  reader 
spell-bound.  In  all  his  efforts  he  betrays  a  master  mind.  Never 
flagging  in  interest  for  one  moment,  '  The  Pitman's  Pay '  may  vie  in 
descriptive  power  with  McNiel's  beautiful  poem  of  *  Will  and  Jean,' 
whilst  its  declamatory  portions  are  no  way  inferior  to  Wilson's  well- 
known  *  Watty  and  Meg.*  .  .  .  We  are  not  aware  of  any  single  work 
which  so  thoroughly  exhibits  every  trait  of  the  pitman's  character,  his 
feelings  and  failings,  his  passions,  prejudices,  and  predilections.  It  is 
a  perfect  gem  from  beginning  to  end.  In  the  portrait  of  the  miner, 
nothing  that  was  essential  to  the  correctness  of  the  picture  has  been 
omitted.  The  poet  has  not  been  spaiing  of  their  foibles,  but  he  does  it 
with  a  tenderness  that  shows  he  treats  of  men  who  are  endowed  with 
failings  common  to  humanity." 

Wilson  was  over  fifty  when  he  printed  his  "  Pitman's  Pay," 
and  of  his  miscellaneous  pieces,  none  go  further  back  than 
1824.  Possibly  some  of  them  might  have  been  written 
earlier ;  if  so,  he  seems  to  have  left  the  printing  of  them 
until  his  business  had  brought  him  leisure.  A  few  extracts 
from  his  short  miscellaneous  pieces  may  be  given.  The 
following,  from  "The  Petition  of  the  Old  Apple  Tree 
threatened  with  Destruction,"  is  feelingly  put — 

**  Your  children  all  have  round  me  played, 
As  happy  as  the  day  was  long. 
And  oft,  with  longing  eyes,  surveyed 
The  tempting  prize  my  leaves  among. 

Nay,  I  have  borne  them  on  my  arms. 
And  helped  them  up  to  pluck  my  fruit, 

For  those  below,  urged  by  my  charms, 
To  scramble  after  at  the  root ; 

Then,  still  let  tbem  quite  happy  be. 
In  climbing  up  their  favourite  tree." 


262  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Next,  a  mouse  running  across  the  road  before  him  in  winter 
(January)  sets  him  musing :  his  musings  are  after  the 
style  of  Burns'  famous  lines  on  his  mouse,  and  thus 
conclude — 

<*  Come,  then,  ye  daft  and  thriftless  crew, 
And  in  this  monsely  mirror  view 
Yourselves  displayed  in  colours  true, 

With  a*  your  pride : 
With  boasted  human  reason,  too, 
Your  steps  to  guide. 

Then  learn,  ere  hirplin'  age  appears, 
When  friendship  aft  a  canldness  wears, 
Which  fills  the  aged  een  wi'  tears. 
The  heart  wi'  grief. 


To  live  so  that  the  closing  years 
Ma3m't  need  relief." 


Old  age  creeping  over  him,  he  thus  breaks  out  in  "  Long, 
Long  Ago  " — 

^^  Oh,  memory !  paint  me  those  days  of  delight 
Long,  long  ago— long,  long  ago  ! 
When  every  hour  scattered  joys  in  its  flight 

Long,  long  ago—long  ago. 
Give  me  a  glimpse  of  the  form  I  held  dear, 
Recall  me  the  smile  which  at  all  times  could  cheer — 
The  sound  of  that  voice  I  delighted  to  hear 
Long,  long  ago — long  ago ! " 

In  keeping  with  this  love  of  the  old  is  the  following  interest- 
ing account  of  the  closing  years  of  his  long  and  active  life : — 

"  His  seat  at  the  office  window  was  regularly  taken,  even  when  he 
was  eightv  years  of  age,  and  for  some  time  afterwards.  His  arm-chair 
at  home  he  occupied  'still  longer— a  chair  which  his  muse  has  immor- 
talised in  lines  concluding— 

*  Thy  joints  are  creaking  now  with  age. 
Mine  get  more  rigid  daily  too  ; 
A  few  more  seasons  in  this  stage 
Must  bring  us  to  our  last  adieu. 
And  when  the  curtain  falls  at  last. 
Should  any  one  our  story  tell. 
May  this  the  sentence  be  that's  pass'd — 
They  both  their  parts  have  acted  well.* 

The  prayer  is  fulfilled.  The  gentle  poet,  with  full  faith  in  the  Christian 
verities,  calmly  passed  away  on  the  9th  of  May  1858,  in  the  eighty-fifth, 
year  of  his  age,  drawing  his  last  breath  as  ne  had  done  his  first  on 
the  day  of  rest  and  peace.  His  remains  were  interred  in  his  family 
vault  at  St.  John's,  Gateshead  FeXL^'—RtmUedgefs  Edition. 

To  the  courtesy  of  Mrs.  Cook  (daughter  of  the  poet)  we 
are  indebted  for  the  portrait  of  Thomas  Wilson,  the  view 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  263 

of  Fell  House,  and  for  the  loan  of  the  original  manuscript 
from  which  this  reduced  copy  of  a  page  of  "  The  Pitman's 

^  /7i)»*»v  ^br»w  Xm^  a.  ^.i^t»;3^«:<jC^^m^  ^^^^"^"^ 

Photographed  by  Mr.  P.  M.  Laws,  Blackett  Street. 
Pay"  has  been  photographed.    The  autograph  is  from  a 


presentation  copy  of  "The  Pitman's  Pay"  made  by  the 
author  to  the  late  Dr.  George  N.  Clark. 


264  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


THE   12irASHIKrG-DAY. 

Copy  of  original  note  sent  with  "  The  Washing-Day  "  to  the  Editor  of  the 
NeweoitU  Magazine  :— 

"  November  7th,  1831. 

"Deab  Sir,— Below  yoa  have  a  trifle  descriptive  of  a  washing-day  in  a 
poor  man's  cottage,  to  be  said  or  snng  to  the  tune  of  *  There's  nae  Lack 
aboot  the  House.'  If  you  think  they  merit  a  place  in  the  local  department 
of  the  NeweaHU  Magazine  they  are  much  at  your  service.  I  was  led  to  this 
subject  by  seeing  a  song  under  this  name  in  a  collection  published  in  this 
town  by  Marshall,  wherein  the  matter  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  in  keeping 
with  the  operation  described.  I  have  availed  myself  of  the  author's  ideas 
so  fkr  as  they  suited  my  purpose,  and  how  far  I  have  improved  the  sketch 
of  this  important  day  by  the  addition  of  my  own  I  will  leave  you  and  your 
readers  to  determine.  —Yours,  etc. ,  '*  W.  T." 

"  W.  T.,"  his  initials  reversed,  was  Wilson's  usual  signature  in  the  New- 
eaeUe  Magazine.  The  Magazine  just  at  the  time  was  discontinued,  and  the 
song  did  not  appear. 

Tune—"  Xae  Luck  about  the  House." 

Of  a'  the  plagues  a  poor  man  meets 

Alang  life's  weary  way, 
There's  nyen  amang  them  a'  that  beats 

A  rainy  weshin'  day ; 
And  let  that  day  come  when  it  may, 

It  a'ways  is  maw  care, 
Before  aw  break  maw  fast  to  pray 

It  may  be  fine  and  fair. 

CAorus. 

For  it*s  thump  1  thump  !  souse  I  souse ! 

Scrub!  scrub  away  1 
There's  nowt  but  glumpia'  i'  the  house 

Upon  a  weshin'  day. 


For  sud  the  morn  when  Sall  turns  oot 

Be  rainy,  dark,  or  dull, 
She  cloots  the  bits  o'  bairns  aboot. 

And  packs  them  off  to  skuel. 


TYNES2DE  SONGS.  265 

In  iv'ry  day  throughout  the  week 

The  good  man  hez  his  say, 
But  this,  when  if  he  chance  to  speak, 

It's  "  Get  oot  o*  maw  way  I " 

For  it*s  thump,  thump,  etc. 


Her  step  hez  stern  defiance  in't, 

She  luiks  a'  fire  and  tow, 
A  single  word,  like  sparks  frae  fiint, 

Wad  set  her  iv  a  low ; 
The  varry  claes  upon  her  back, 

Se  pinn'd  and  tuck*d  up  are. 
As  if  they'd  say  to  bairns  and  Jack, 

**  Come  near  me,  if  you  daur ! " 

For  it's  thump,  thump,  etc. 


The  cat's  the  pictur  o'  distress. 

The  kitlins  daur  nut  play, 
Poor  PiNCHER  niver  shows  his  fyece 

Upon  this  dreary  day ; 
The  burd  sits  mopin'  on  the  balk, 

Like  somethin'  iv  a  flay, 
The  pig's  as  hungry  as  a  hawk, 

The  hens  lay  all  away. 

For  it's  thump,  thump,  etc. 


The  hearth  is  a'  wi*  cinders  strewn, 
The  floor  wi'  dirty  duds. 

The  hoose  is  a'  torn'd  upside  doon, 
When  Sall  is  i'  the  suds ; 


266  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

But  when  the  fray's  a'  ower  an'  deun, 

And  a's  hung  up  to  dry, 
A  cup  and  blast  o'  baccy  suin 

Blaws  a'  bad  temper  by. 

Then  the  thump  I  thump  !  souse  1  souse  ! 

Scrub  !  scrub  away  1 
Myek  ne  mair  glumpin'  i*  the  house 

Until  neist  weshin'  day. 
T.  Wilson.  Author't  Editioti,  1848. 


CARTER'S   12ir£LL. 

For  nearly  150  years  Carter's  Well  has  been  famed.  The  water  at  first 
came  from  the  side  of  the  hill ;  the  supply  wss  scanty,  the  inhabitants 
often  waiting  until  midnight  and  taking  it  up  with  a  saucer.  When  Sheriff 
Hill  Colliery  commenced  the  owners  improved  the  supply.  On  the  colliery 
ceasing  to  work,  the  inhabitants  (Thomas  Wilson  as  chairman  of  the  com- 
mittee) put  the  well  into  a  thorough  state  of  repair. 

TUNE~"  Mrs.  Johnson." 

WoR  faithers  o'  "the  olden  time" 
The  praises  sung  in  sparklin'  rhyme 
Of  rosy  wine  and  nectar  pfrime, 

For  gods  and  men  the  dandy ; 
But  they'd  ha'e  telFd  a  diflF'rent  tyel 
Had  they  knawn  owt  o*  Cairter's  Well, 
The  Helicon  o'  Gyetside  Fell, 

Or  sec  a  thing  as  brandy. 

But  they'd  ha'e  tell'd,  etc 

Ne  other  spring  wiv  it  can  vie, 
It  is  a  tap  that  ne'er  runs  dry — 
A  cellar  where  a  rich  supply 
Suits  iv'ry  rank  and  station. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  267 

And  if  awd  age  myeks  tipple  fine, 
Wors  mun,  aw  think,  be  quite  divine, 
For  it's  a  batch  of  Adam's  wine 
We  gat  at  the  Creation. 

And  if  awd  age,  etc 

And  iver  since  we've  swigg'd  away 

Frae  flowin'  cans,  day  efter  day; 

We've  cheer'd  and  soaked  wor  drouthy  clay 

Wi'  Cairter's  iverlastin'. 
But  mony  think  a  drop  or  two 
Of  brandy,  rum,  or  mountain-dew, 
Wad  help  a  deal  to  get  us  through, 

When  care's  the  mind  ow'rcastin'. 

'  And  if  awd  age,  etc. 

Let  sic  te  Hetherington's  repair. 
And  sit  an'  sip  their  mixtur'  there ; 
And  if  for  toddy  they  declare, 

"At  eight  the  kettle's  boilin'." 
But  gi'e  me  Cairter's  caller  spring. 
For  mixtur'  just  the  varry  thing ; 
We  then  care  ower  the  shoother  fling. 

And  gi'e  wor  wigs  an  oilin'. 

And  if  awd  age,  etc. 

And  then  for  news  there's  nowt  can  beat 
The  well  where  all  the  lasses  meet. 
An'  gi'e  their  tongues  a  pleasant  treat 

On  village  speculations. 
The  coortin  that's  te  '*  callin  "  led, 
The  couples  that  are  suin  te  wed, 
When  the  last  bride  will  get  her  bed. 

And  sec  like  gleg  occasions. 

And  if  awd  age,  etc. 


268  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

OPENING   OF  THE   NE12irCASTLE   AND 
CARLISLE    RAIL12irAY. 

Jnne  18th,  1888. 

A  day  of  great  rejoldiiff.  The  Corporations  of  Newcastle,  Gateshead/and 
Oarlisle  attended.  Thirteen  engines  and  a  hundred  and  twenty  carriages, 
taking  well  on  to  fonr  thousand  passengers,  made  the  opening  Jonmey. 

Strange  as  it  may  sound  now,  when  all  are  so  accustomed  to  the  con- 
▼enience  of  the  "Central,**  the  first  Newcastle  station  was  in  the  Close. 
The  railway  itself  ran  only  to  the  Bedheugh,  close  by  the  water's  edge,  the 
Qateshead  station,  where  it  finished,  being  about  the  Junction  of  the 
Bedheugh  and  the  Teams.  A  steamboat  took  the  passengers  across  the 
Tvne  from  the  Close  station  to  Bedheugh,  where  the  line  began.  T. 
Wilson,  as  an  Alderman  of  Gateshead,  would  attend  the  opening. 

Mems.  from  Bichardson's  "Table  Book":— 

1886.  BaQway  opened  between  Hexham  and  Blaydon.    A  stage  coach  then 

took  the  passengers  from  Bigg  Market  to  Blaydon. 

1887.  Bailway  opened  from  Bedheugh  to  Blaydon. 

Lass  !  lay  me  out  maw  Sunday  claes, 
Te-morn's  te  be  the  day  o'  days — 

The  railroad's  gaun  te  oppen ; 
And  we'll  be  there  amang  the  rest, 
Buss'd  as  aw  was  iv  a'  maw  best 

At  the  last  Westgate  Hoppin'. 


Aw'll  tell  thou  mair  when  aw  come  back, 
For  then  we'll  hev  a  sappy  crack 
'Boot  a*  aw've  heerd  and  seen. 


Now,  hinny,  here  aw's  back  agyen, 

Thou'U  think  aw's  flaid  maw  time  aw've  tyen, 

Aw've  been  se  lang  i'  comin. 
But  when  twee  sic  awd  standards  meet, 
The  pain  o'  pairtin's  varry  greet, 

Thow  knaws,  maw  bonny  woman. 

We  left  the  Heugh  i'  gallant  style, 
And  shot  away  for  awd  Carlisle, 

Snug  seated  i'  the  Queen, 
Amang  the  swarms  wor  canny  toon 
And  Gyetshed  planted  up  and  doon 

Te  see  se  rare  a  scene. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  269 

Wr  murth  and  fun  the  country  rung, 
The  lairks  and  Unties  roun  us  sung ; 

And  when  the  day  was  sunny, 
The  scenery  rich  and  richer  grew, 
Until  we  seem'd  just  glidin  through 

A  land  o'  milk  and  honey. 

We  suin  reech'd  Gilsland's  famish  wells, 
Which,  when  a  lung  or  liver  fyels, 

Or  other  ailin  maiters, 
Myek  sick  folk  flee  frae  doctors'  pills 
Te  souk  health  frae  the  heather  hills, 

Or  draw  it  frae  the  waiters. 


Could  but  the  folks  of  awd  lang  syne 
Luik  out  upon  this  bonny  line 

And  see  what  we  are  deein, 
They  could,  aw  think,  compare  't  wi'  nowse 
But  Clootie's  gang  a'  brocken  lowse, 

And  frae  his  clutches  fleein. 

It  was  a  pleasant  seet  te  see 
Wor  canny  town  and  Carlisle  tee, 

Byeth  yit  se  hale  and  hearty, 
In  spite  of  a'  the  Border  frays 
In  which  they  fowt  i'  former  days, 

The  bravest  o'  their  party. 

And  now  the  travellers  wi'  their  trains 
Will  thraw  young  blood  into  the  veins 

O*  Carlisle's  murry  city. 
And  Grainger  may  some  efternuin 
Slip  ower  and  touch  her  up  when  duin 

Here  wi'  her  canny  titty. 


270  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

What  lots  o'  brass  it  mun  ha'e  tyen, 
And  labour  frae  lang-heeded  men, 

Te  join  this  ancient  pair — 
Te  myek  them,  as  it  war,  shake  hands, 
And  knit  them  close  iv  iron  bands 

Te  separate  ne  mair. 

T.  Wilson.  AiUhor^a  Edition,  184S. 


THE   MOVEMENT. 

Where  canny  Newcassel  will  gan  te  at  last 

Is  far  ayont  maw  understandin'; 
But  if  it  gans  on  as  its  duin  for  years  past. 

It'll  suin  about  Hexhim  be  landin'. 

For  toon  within  toon,  and  street  efter  street, 
Grainger  pops  up — without  ever  heedin' 

How  they're  to  be  filFd,  unless  some  new  leet 
Shows  him  folks  will  like  rabbits  be  breedin'. 

But  this  railroad-pace  of  increasin'  wor  race 
Wad  be  tom'd  topsy-torvy  by  steamin'; 

The  folks  now-a-days  hev  ne  dwellin'-place. 
Of  hoose  or  of  hyem  niver  dreamin'. 

This  howiver,  ne  doot,  is  Grainger's  luik-out. 
The  greet  Court-and-Market-exchanger ; 

And  wors  iVry  inch  o'  the  grund  to  dispute. 
When  the  props  o'  wor  toon  are  in  danger. 

The  Markets  are  gyen,  exceptin*  just  yen 
Which  the  Cooncil  kept  out  of  his  clutches; 

And  the  Courts  hell  grab  suin,  if  they  let  him  alyen, 
But  the  day  he'll  repent  he  them  touches. 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  271 

For  the  crabby  awd  dealers  in  ling^  cod^  and  brats^ 
And  the  vurgins  that  tempt  us  wi'  nice  maiden  skyet^ 

Will  niver  aw  hope  be  the  gudgeons  ot  flats 
Ttfloonder  aboot  i'  this  huge  movement-«^/. 

Hell  neist  try  the  Quay — the  Custom  Hoose  tee — 
The  Brig — and  wor  awd  coaly  River; 

But  in  spite  o'  the  warst  that  a'  Grainger  can  dee, 
They're  wor  awn,  and  we'll  keep  them  for  iver. 

They're  cronies  we've  lang  been  accustom'd  to  see, 
For  some  o'  them  battled  afore  lang  and  sair ; 

And  though  we're  grown  grey  i'  the  cause  o'  the  Quay, 
We  hev  pluck  eneugh  left  for  a  few  tussels  mair. 

They're  fixtors,  some  awd-fashioned  bodies  may  say, 
But  where  can  we  now  for  sec  rarities  surch  ? 

For  a  man  walkin'  off  wiv  a  Play-hoose  te-day, 
May  te  morn  slip  away  wi'  St  Nicholas'  Chorch. 

Let  the  Trinity  folks  o*  their  moorin's  tyek  care. 
Let  them  double  their  watch — or  as  sure  as  a  gun 

They'll  wyeken  some  morn  leavin'  Trinity  Chare, 
And  driftin'  tiv  Elswick  afore  a'  be  duin. 

The  Radical  movement  is  now  all  the  go, 
But  little  like  wors  as  ye'U  easily  guess, 

When  aw  tell  ye  that  Grainger  can  move  te  and  fro 
A  chorch  or  a  chapel  like  figurs  at  chess. 

The  Cooncil,  then,  led  by  wor  brave  British  Tar,* 

Mun  battle  and  watch  for  wor  canny  awd  toon ; 
And  byeth  tar  and  feather  the  hallion  that  dar' 
Te  hoist  his-sel  up  by  haulin'  huz  doon. 
T.  Wilson.  Arxthor'i  Edition^  1848. 

*  Geoive  Straker,  Esq. 


272  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE   PEA  JACKET. 

The  author,  in  a  note  to  this  song,  writes :— "  At  the  time  those  emblems 
of  civic  dignity,  Aldermen's  gowns,  went  ont  of  fashion,  a  new  species  of 
attire— to  wit,  *Pea  Jackets'— came  up.  The  lines  on  *The  Pea  Jacket' 
embody  the  feelings  of  an  honest  keelman,  expressed  to  his  wife  on  wit- 
nessing the  metamorphosis  which  the  *  male  creatures '  had  undergone." 

Wey,  Mally,  maw  hinny !  what  thinks  te  aw've  seen, 

And  aw  niver  saw  nowt  half  se  dashin'  ? 
AwVe  seen  i'  the  toon,  if  aw  may  trust  maw  een, 

Maw  Pea  just  the  pink  o'  the  fashion ! 

Frae  the  cut  and  the  claith  and  the  hornbuttons  tee, 

Aw  said  te  mawsel,  aw  was  sarten 
The  fellow  had  snaffled  maw  best  Sunday  Pea 

Thou  a'ways  said  aw  was  se  smart  in. 

If  he'd  breeches  on,  a'  lowse  at  the  knee, 

And  a  chow  iv  his  cheek  o'  rag  backy, 
Thou'd  sworn  as  he  swagger'd  doon  Newcastle  Quay 

That  he  was  thy  awn  canny  Jacky. 

Wor  skipper  cam  up  and  aw  telFd  him  maw  tyel, 

The  Pea  i'  maw  heed  a'ways  runnin' ; 
"Wey,  man,"  says  he,  "surely  thou  isn't  thyself 

Not  te  knaw  what's  been  gaun  on  in'  Lunnen. 

"The  awd  Corporations,  the  Doctors  a'  say. 
That  meet  at  the  hoose  call'd  St.  Stephen, 

Are  at  their  last  gasp,  and  by  next  New  Year's  Day 
There  winnet  be  yen  o'  them  leevin'. 

"  It  lang  hez  been  said  they  war  gannin'  te  pot. 

But  wor  awn  set  it  a'  doon  for  leein', 
Till  the  Mayor  and  the  Aldermen  a'  teuk  the  rot. 

And  are  now  just  like  rotten  sheep  deein'. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  273 

"  Aw've  just  been  up  street — the  toon's  iv  a  low, 
And  aw's  frighten'd  some  mischief  is  brewing 

As  a  deed  Corporation's  not  worth  an  awd  chow, 
An'  aw  wadn't  say  much  for  the  new  un. 

"For  the  cock'd  hat  and  goon  that  govern'd  the  toon, 

r  the  days  of  awd  Alderman  Blackett, 
The  Alderman  myekin'  are  gawn  te  lay  doon, 

An'  put  on  a  keelman's  Pea  Jacket  1 " 

T.  Wilson.  Auihtyt'B  Edition,  1843. 


A   GULNCE   AT   POLLY   TECHNIC. 

"  A  collection  of  the  most  splendid  productions  of  nature  and  art  ever 
exhibited  in  Newcastle,"  this,  the  first  Polytechnic  Exhibition,  was  opened 
April  6th,  1840.  It  had  a  threefold  object— to  raise  funds  for  the  North 
of  England  Fine  Arts  Society,  the  Newcastle  Mechanics'  Institute,  and 
the  Gateshead  Mechanics'  Institute.  The  Polytechnic  closed  with  up- 
wards of  £1,500  as  a  clear  surplus  to  divide  amongst  the  three  institutions. 
It  was  here  that  John  Watson,  the  brother  of  the  author  of  "Thumpin' 
Luck,"  exhibited  specimens  of  his  beautiful  engravings  on  glass.  (See  Life 
of  William  Watson,  page  205.) 

Aw'vE  travelled  East  as  weel  as  West, 
At  Carlisle  and  the  sea  awVe  been, 

And  i'  maw  time  aw  think  the  myest 
Of  a'  the  marvels  here  aw've  seen. 

At  Grainger's  warks  aw've  wonder'd  sair, 
Aw've  stared  at  a'  the  feats  o'  steam, 

But  at  the  'Sociation*  mair — 
Till  now  of  a'  that's  grand  the  cream. 

But  this  is  all  a  bagay  tyel, 

For  now  the  seet  just  torns  maw  brain, 
Sin'  Polly  Technic  cam  hersel 

Wiv  a'  her  wonders  in  her  train. 

*  The  British  Association's  visit  to  Newcastle,  1838.  The  "wise  week" 
was  crowded  with  meetings,  lectures,  exhibitions,  etc. 

18 


274  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

She*s  gyen  an'  ransack'd  iv'ry  pairt, 

For  rarities  of  iv'ry  kind, 
As  weel  of  Natur  as  of  Airt, 

The  pith  o'  mony  a  maister-mind. 

Aw  glower'd  aboot  the  Pictur  Place, 

Aw  ax'd  for  Judy  o'  the  Hutch, 
But  Judy's  fyece  aw  cudn't  trace — 

The  want  o'  Judy  vex'd  me  much. 

There's  Belted  Will  the  Border  chief, 
If  he  wad  speak,  could  thraw  some  leet 

On  where  se  rankly  prowled  the  thief 
That  honest  men  war  bad  te  meet. 

And  here's  maw  horny-letter'd  frien', 

The  corner-styen  of  a'  wor  lare. 
It  is  the  finest  thing  aw've  seen — 

0  dear !  aw's  glad  te  see  it  there. 

Some  feuls  may  giggle  at  the  nyem 

O'  byeth  the  Hornbuick  and  Tom  Thumb ; 

But  where  is  it  if  not  frae  them 
That  a'  yor  Polly  Technics  come  ? 

The  "  branks,"  a  kind  o'  brake,  is  here, 
Wor  faithers,  when  a'  else  was  vain, 

Compell'd  the  noisy  jades  te  weer 
Whene'er  their  clappers  ran  amain. 

Eh !  "nick-sticks !  nick-sticks !  "  what  are  they? 

0 1  now  aw  hae'd : — they're  used  at  hyem, 
And  when  kept  decently  in  play 

The  branks  was  but  an  empty  nyem. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  275 

And  here's  wor  hatless  Minstrel  *  tee, 
That  roam'd  aboot  wor  canny  city, 

And  chann'd  the  guzzlers  o'  the  Quay 
Wr  mony  a  simple  hyem-spun  ditty. 

Aw  think  aw  hear  him  fiddlin*  still, 
And  on  Sur  MafTa  sweetly  strummin. 

Which  help'd  away  wi'  mony  a  gill 
'Mang  fuddlin'  men  aitid  queerjsh  women. 

But  aw  mun  end  maw  simple  tyel — 
It's  now  ower  lang,  aw  sadly  fear ; 

Te  Polly  praise  there's  nyen  can  fyel — 
Wor  bairns  will  praise  her  mony  a  year. 

T.  Wilson.  ArUhor't  EdUion,  1843. 


THE    MARKET   DAY. 

Oh  !  hinny  Jack,  aw've  wearied  sair 
To  see  thee  come  back  frae  the  pay, 

That  aw  may  get  it  ettled  reet : 
Te-morn,  thou  knaws,  is  market  day. 

Aw  gat  the  bits  o'  bairns  te  bed, 

Conn'd  ower  the  things  we  wanted  myest ; 
But  'til  aw  knaw'd  what  thou  had  myed. 

Maw  ettlin'  was  but  nobbut  guessed. 

Aw's  glad  te  see  it  is  se  much. 
And  noo  hev  hopes  to  get  the  goon 

Thou  promised,  in  thy  wily  way, 
The  varry  furst  good  fortnith's  hewin*. 

*  Blind  WiUie. 


276  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

This  mun  stand  furst  upon  the  list 

That  sadly  croods  maw  muddled  brain ; 

And,  just  like  wanderin'  iv  a  mist, 
Te  fix  the  rest  seems  all  in  vain. 

Thou  munnet  Bobby's  clogs  forget 
That  we  hev  promised  him  se  lang, 

Te  keep  him  frae  the  cawd  and  wet 
He's  barefoot  trudged  for  weeks  amang. 

And  little  Sail  wants  varry  sair 
A  bit  new  ribbon  for  her  hat ; 

She  says,  "  Aw's  sure  ye  this  mun  spare  : 
Ye  knaw  aw've  lang  expected  that." 

Thou  wants  some  odds  and  ends  thyseP  : 
Thy  panties  luick  but  varry  bare  ; 

Thy  coat's  beginnin'  sair  te  fyell, 
At  elbows  it  wants  some  repair. 

Thou'll  mebby  call  at  Alder  Dunn's 
To  see  if  maw  bit  hat  be  duin. 

For  aw've  te  stand  for  Nelly's  bairn 
In  it,  neist  Sunday  efternuin. 

Now,  just  as  he  was  gawn  te  leave, 

A  little  curly-heeded  callant 
Tuik  deddy  softly  by  the  sleeve, 

And  said,  "  Eh !  fetch  me  hyem  a  ballant, 

"Or  else  some  funny  story  buick 
That  aw  may  read  tiv  Uncle  Joe, 

As  he  sits  laughin'  i'  the  nuick — 
He  diz  enjoy  these  worthies  so. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  277 

"The  feats  of  Hickathrift  and  Hood 
All  pass  with  him  for  Gospel  truth, 

And  ony  doot  he  nivir  could 
Admit,  e'en  frae  the  preacher's  mooth." 

Noo,  hinny !  mind  thou  comes  suin  hyem, 
Aw'll  hev  a  white  kyeck  for  thy  tea, 

Thou  knaws  the  treat's  nut  like  the  syem 
Withoot  thy  canny  company, 

T.  Wilson.  "Northern  Tribune,**  1864. 


THE   COAL   TRADE. 

TUNB— "  The  Keel  Row." 

Good  people,  listen  while  I  sing 

The  source  from  whence  your  comforts  spring. 

And  may  each  wind  that  blows  still  bring 

Success  unto  the  Coal  Trade. 
Who  but  unusual  pleasure  feels 
To  see  our  fleets  of  ships  and  keels  ? 
Newcastle,  Sunderland,  and  Shields 

May  ever  bless  the  Coal  Trade. 

May  vultures  on  the  caitiff  fly, 
And  gnaw  his  liver  till  he  die, 
Who  looks  with  evil,  jealous  eye 

Down  upon  the  Coal  Trade. 
If  that  should  fail,  what  would  ensue? 
Sure  ruin,  and  disaster,  too  ! 
Alas,  alas !  what  could  we  do, 

If  'twere  not  for  the  Coal  Trade  ? 


278  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

What  is  it  gives  us  cakes  of  meal  ? 
What  is  it  crams  our  wames  sae  weel 
With  lumps  of  beef  and  draughts  of  ale  ? 

What  is't  but  just  the  Coal  Trade  ? 
Not  Davis'  Straits,  or  Greenland  oil, 
Nor  all  the  wealth  springs  from  the  soil, 
Could  ever  make  our  pots  to  boil, 

Like  unto  our  Coal  Trade. 

Ye  sailors'  wives  that  love  a  drop 
Of  stingo  fra  the  brandy  shop, 
How  could  you  get  one  single  drop 

If  it  were  not  for  the  Coal  Trade? 
Ye  pitman  lads,  so  blithe  and  gay, 
Who  meet  to  tipple  each  pay  day, 
Down  on  your  marrow  bones  and  pray. 

Success  unto  the  Coal  Trade. 

May  Wear  and  Tyne  still  draw  and  pour 
Their  jet  black  treasures  to  the  shore, 
And  we  with  all  our  strength  will  roar. 

Success  unto  the  Coal  Trade ! 
Ye  owners,  maisters,  sailors,  a', 
Come  shout  till  ye  are  like  to  fa' ; 
Your  voices  raise — huzza !  huzza ! 

We  all  live  by  the  Coal  Trade. 

This  nation  is  in  duty  bound, 

To  prize  those  who  work  underground. 

For  'tis  well  known  this  country  round 

Is  kept  up  by  the  Coal  Trade. 
May  Wear,  and  Tyne,  and  Thames  ne'er  freeze, 
Our  ships  and  keels  will  pass  with  ease, 
Then  Newcastle,  Sunderland,  and  Shields 

Will  still  uphold  the  Coal  Trade. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  279 

I  tell  the  truth,  you  may  depend, 
In  Durham  or  Northumberland, 
No  trade  in  them  could  ever  stand, 

If  it  were  not  for  the  Coal  Trade. 
The  owners  know  full  well  'tis  true. 
Without  pitmen,  keelmen,  sailors  too, 
To  Britain  they  might  bid  adieu. 

If  it  were  not  for  the  Coal  Trade. 

So  to  conclude,  and  make  an  end 

Of  these  few  lines  which  I  have  penn'd. 

We'll  drink  a  health  to  all  these  men 

Who  carry  on  the  Coal  Trade : 
To  owners,  pitmen,  keelmen  too, 
And  sailors,  who  the  seas  do  plough, 
Without  these  men  we  could  not  do, 

Nor  carry  on  the  Coal  Trade. 

UNKNOWlf.  UanhalX*  ColUction,  1S27. 


THE  COLOURS. 

Written  on  the  memorable  election  for  the  County  of  Northumberland 
in  1826,  when  there  were  four  candidates.  The  contest  lasted  from  the 
20th  of  June  to  the  6th  of  Julv,  and  the  numbers  i>olled  for  each  candidate 
were :— The  Hon.  H.  T.  Liddell,  1662 ;  M.  Bell,  Esq.,  1S80 ;  T.  W.  Beau, 
mont,  Esq.,  of  Bywell,  18S6;  and  Lord  Viscount  Howick  (who  declined^the 
contest  on  the  SrdX  976. 

Robert  Snrtees,  historian  of  the  county  of  Durham,  bom  in  Durham  City, 
died  at  his  seat  at  Mainsforth  on  the  11th  February  1834,  aged  56  years. 

O'er  Northumbria's  hill  and  dale, 
Far  and  wide  the  summons  flew ; 

Dallying  with  the  summer  gale, 
Four  gay  banners  court  the  view. 

Where  bright  beauty's  glance  is  beaming, 

Lasses'  love,  and  lads'  delight, 
See  young  LiddelTs  colours  streaming 
nk  and  white. 


28o  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

Unstained  and  true  see  deep  true  blue 

With  lighter  tints  combine, 
For  honest  Bell  the  triumph  swell, 

And  deck  the  coaly  Tyne. 

From  Hexham's  towers,  from  BywelVs  bowers, 

From  Allen's  wilder  shade. 
While  Beaumonfs  name  loud  bands  proclaim, 

Glints  forth  the  White  Cockade. 

From  mountains  rough,  old  blue  and  buff^ 

That  oft  has  won  the  day, 
Is  loath  to  yield,  untried  the  field, 

And  waves  once  more  for  Grey. 

Two  must  win,  though  y2?«r  may  woo, 

Mingle,  while  ye  mingle  may. 
Pink  and  white,  and  buff^Jid  blue. 

In  a.  medley  strange  and  gay. 

Gay  fleeting  colours  shift  and  blend 

Beneath  the  sunbeam  bright ; 
Two  may  last  to  six  years'  end. 

And  two  must  fade  ere  night. 

'Twas  thus  Northumbria's  genius  spoke. 
And  cast  a  pitying  glance  behind. 

As  from  old  Alnwick s  bowers  she  broke, 
And  mounted  on  the  eddying  wind. 

She  raised  on  high  the  bonny  Bell, 
And  LiddelVs  red  rose  streaked  with  pale ; 

The  blue  and  buflf,  and  the  White  Cockade, 
She  scattered  on  the  rising  gale. 

SuRTEES.  Iiichurd8<m*s  TabU'Book,  l^i. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  281 


DAVID    ROSS   LIETCH. 

Although  not  in  the  dialect,  "The  Cliffs  of  Old  Tyne- 
mouth,"  from  its  interesting  local  subject,  as  well  as  its 
popularity,  may  fittingly  find  a  place  in  this  collection.  The 
aatbor,  David  Ross  Lietch,  was  bom  at  North  Shields,  and 
for  some  years  practised  there  as  a  medical  man.  In  1838 
appeared  his  volume,  Poetic  Fragments.  "The  Cliffs" 
(apparently  a  later  production)  is  not  in  it,  but  it  contains 
many  very  fine  pieces.  The  following,  "Red  Eric  and 
Lord  Delaval,"  from  its  spirited  nature  and  local  character, 
becoming  very  popular,  Wilson,  in  one  of  his  famous  "Tales 
of  the  Borders,"  publishing  it : — 

KED  ERIC  AND  LORD  DELAVAL. 

Red  Eric,  the  Dane,  o'er  the  ocean  has  come ; 
His  course  was  as  swift  as  the  wind-driven  ioam  • 
As  the  storm-risen  sea  rushes  wild  o'er  the  strand, 
He  has  swept  the  fair  shores  of  Northumbria's  land. 
There  was  wailing  and  weeping  in  cottage  and  hall, 
O'er  the  plundered  domain  of  the  Lord  Delaval. 

The  gallant  young  baron  went  forth  with  his  train, 
To  bring  home  a  oride  to  his  princely  domain — 
'Twas  the  Lady  Edith,  the  flower  of  the  Type— 
In  beauty,  how  peerless !  in  grace,  how  divine  1 
Oh,  ne'er  was  there  maiden,  in  cottage  or  hall. 
More  fair  than  the  bride  of  the  brave  Delaval ! 

The  bridal  train  trooped  a-down  Hallowell  Dale ; 
The  last  rays  of  sunlight  yet  gleamed  on  their  mail. 
And  brightened  their  banners  and  steel-headed  spears — 
When,  hark  1  a  loud  wail  tills  each  warrior's  ears ; 
And  the  towering  flames  leapt  aloft  o'er  the  wall. 
And  whirled  round  the  castle  of  Lord  DelavaL 

His  vassals  came  crowding,  in  tears,  round  their  lord  ; 
They  had  fled  from  the  fierce  Scandinavian  horde  ; 
Their  daughters  were  stolen,  dishonoured  their  dames, 
Their  cattle  were  slaughtered,  their  roofs  were  in  flames ; 
Thus  wretched  they  knelt,  and  for  vengeance  did  call 
On  Eric  the  Bloody,  from  Lord  Delaval. 

Dark  red  grew  his  brow,  and  his  glances  more  keen, 
He  leapt  from  his  steed,  and  he  knelt  on  the  green ; 
Then,  raising  his  helm— "May  I  never,"  he  cried, 
*'  Press  the  couch  of  Editha,  my  beautiful  bride. 
If  aught  else  I  think  of,  ere  vengeance  shall  fall 
On  the  savage  destroyer  of  fair  Delaval. 


282  TYNESJDE  SONGS. 

"  On  the  land,  on  the  oceani  by  night  or  by  day, 

Alone,  or  amid  his  barbaric  array 

Of  savage  despoilers,  I  swear  to  pursue, 

And  my  steel  in  the  best  of  his  blood  to  imbrue  ; 

Or  a  blood-bolter'd  corse  'neath  his  weapon  to  fall— 

St.  Cuthbert,  so  speed  me !  "  quoth  brave  Delaval. 

Again  to  her  home  Lady  Edith  has  gone, 

And  away  rode  her  lord  on  his  war-steed  alone. 

He  sought  every  bay,  and  each  cliff  on  the  coast. 

For  the  ships  of  the  fierce  Scandinavian  host ; 

And  often  in  rage  on  Red  Eric  did  call — 

**  Fierce  savage !  prepare  thee  to  meet  Delaval ! " 

As  the  gates  of  the  abbey  of  Tynemouth  he  passed, 

The  warder  was  iled,  and  the  gates  were  all  fast ; 

But  a  warrior  stood  near,  in  full  armour  arrayed. 

Him  courteous  saluting,  brave  Delaval  said — 

''  Enow'st  thou  aught  of  Red  Eric,  whom  fiends  shall  enthral, 

For  the  woes  he  has  wrought  upon  fair  Delaval  ? " 

"  Leave  thy  steed  and  I'll  show  thee,"  the  warrior  cried. 
In  an  instant  brave  Delaval  stood  by  his  side. 
''  Dost  thou  see  those  dark  galleys  drawn  up  on  the  sand, 
And  their  crews  round  their  watch-fires  that  blaze  o'er  the 

strand  ? 
Then  these  are  the  Norsemen  who  fired  your  fair  hall, 
And  I  am  Red  Eric,  thy  foe,  Delaval ! " 

"  Ha !  have  I  then  got  thee  ? "  the  Baron  exclaimed, 

And  forth  in  the  moonlight  his  falchion  fiamed  ; 

And  there,  all  unseen,  was  such  valour  displayed 

As  the  sun  should  have  witnessed,  the  world  have  surveyed. 

Oh  !  ne'er  did  such  strokes  upon  habergeon  fall. 

As  when  Bloody  Fjic  fought  Lord  Delaval. 

They  struck,  and  they  parried,  they  woimded,  they  bled, 
Till  the  turf  which  they  trampled  grew  slippery  and  red  ; 
Their  bucklers  were  spfintered,  their  helmets  were  riven, 
In  their  flesh  the  sharp  edge  of  tiie  fragments  were  driven, 
Till  a  heart-splitting  stab  caused  Re^Ecic  to  fall, 
With  a  howl  of  despair,  before  brave  DelavidL 

He  has  hacked  off  the  head,  ere  the  blood  ceased  to  flow- 
He  has  hied  to  the  horde  who  were  feasting  below — 
He  flung  it  among  them  ;  his  war-cry  he  raised — 
The  Norsemen  all  rushed  to  their  galleys  amazed  ; 
They  have  left  the  lost  maidens,  their  plunder,  and  all, 
And  have  fled,  terror-stricken,  before  young  Delaval. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  283 

Nor  yet  they  escaped ;  for  a  tempest  arose, 
And  wrecked  on  her  beach  fair  Northunibria's  foes : 
Some  perished,  engulfed  in  the  depths  of  the  waves, 
And  some  to  the  serls  they  had  mocked  became  slaves. 
Now,  his  bride  in  his  arms,  and  his  knights  in  his  hall. 
Oh  1  who  is  so  happy  as  brave  Delaval  ? 

The  ballad  of  "Red  Eric"  is  not  Dr.  Lietch's  only  con- 
tribution to  the  popular  Border  Tales ;  several  stories  by 
him  also  appear.  Towards  the  end  of  his  life  the  author 
retired  to  the  Lake  district,  where  he  died  on  August  i6th, 
1881.  He  lies  in  Crossthwaite  churchyard,  not  far  from  the 
grave  of  Soutbey. 

In  connection  with  this  song,  some  forty  years  ago,  John — 
familiarly  known  as  Jack — ^Dent,  when  in  his  cups  (and  he  was  often 
so),  used  to  claim  the  authorship.  Dent  was  one  of  the  old  band  of 
Black  House  amateurs,  and  wrote  a  good  many  pieces ;  perhaps  his 
best  was  his  lines  on  seeing  Joe  Wilson's  portrait  in  Mr.  France's 
window : — 

"  Hail,  youthful  Bard  of  Coaly  Tyne, 
Child  of  the  musing  dream, 
I've  scann'd  that  thoughtful  brow  of  thine. 
And  thus  it  prompts  my  theme. 


Hold  fast  the  Bard's  unfading  crown, 

Ne'er  sell  thy  pen  for  lucre  ; 
The  poet's  thoughts  are  not  his  own. 

They  live  but  lor  the  future. 

I  would  not  play  the  critic's  part. 
Nor  speak  one  word  to  wound  thee  ; 

My  worst  wish  is — thou  honest  heart. 
May  fortune  smile  around  thee." 

That  his  talk  of  the  authorship  was  only  idle  (although  he  had 
his  supporters)  is  best  seen  in  this :  about  1870  he  collected  his 
pieces  into  a  small  volume,  and  "  The  Cliffs  "  is  not  there.  Poor 
Dent  towards  the  end  grew  erratic  ;  shortly  after  Ned  Corvan's  death 
he  was  found  in  St.  Andrew's  churchyard  pulling  at  the  grass  and 
scratching  the  soiL  When  asked  why  he  was- doing  that  and  what 
he  wanted,  his  only  answer  was,  he  wanted  to  find  Ned  Corvan's 
grave.    He  died  shortly  after. 


284  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE  CLIFFS  OF  OLD  TYNEMOUTH. 

Tune—"  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters." 

Oh  !  the  Cliffs  of  old  Tynemouth  they're  wild  and  they're 

sweet, 
And  dear  are  the  waters  that  roll  at  their  feet ; 
And  the  old  ruin'd  Abbey,  it  ne'er  shall  depart : 
'Tis  the  star  of  my  fancy,  the  home  of  my  heart. 

Oh!  'twas  there  that  my  childhood  fled  cheerful  and  gay, 

There  I  loitered  the  morning  of  boyhood  away ; 

And  now  as  I  wander  the  old  beach  alone, 

The  waves  seem  to  whisper  the  names  that  are  gone. 

'Twas  there  with  my  Alice  I  walked  hand-in-hand, 
While  the  wild  waves  in  moonlight  leapt  o'er  the  bright 

sand; 
And  sweet  were  the  echoes  of  the  dark  Cliffs  above, 
But,  oh  !  sweeter  her  voice  as  she  murmured  her  love. 

Other  lands  may  be  fairer,  but  nought  can  be  seen 
Like  the  shore  where  our  first  love  and  boyhood  have 

been; 
Oh !  give  me  the  Cliffs  and  the  wild  roaring  sea — 
The  Cliffs  of  old  Tynemouth  for  ever  for  me. 

Dr.  Lietch.  Broadiheet  about  184a 


ROBERT   EMERY. 

Robert  Emery,  author  of  the  celebrated  Tyneside  songs, 
"Sandgate  Pant,"  "Hydrophobic,"  etc.,  was  bom  on  the 
26th  of  September  1794,  at  Edinburgh  ;  but  his  parents 
removing  to  Newcastle  when  he  was  very  young,  all  the 
associations  of  his  long  life  are  connected  with  *'  Canny 
Newcassel."     He  served  his  apprenticeship  as  a  printer  with 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


285 


Mr.  Angus,  bookseller  and  printer,  in  the  Side.  Whilst 
there  he  made  his  first  appearance  as  an  author,  by  writing 
children's  nursery  rhymes  for  the  penny  and  halfpenny  books 
sold  by  his  master.  During  his  apprenticeship  the  great 
frost  of  18 13-14  occurred.  He  had  as  a  fellow-apprentice 
one  Thomas  Binney,  who  was  bound  in  the  same  establish- 
ment, learning  the  business  of  a  bookbinder.    Being^com- 


Photo, 


Butmiflter. 


panions,  they  agreed  between  them  to  write  a  song  about  the 
severe  frost,  then  the  great  topic  of  the  day.  Robert  wrote 
the  first  and  second  verses.  Unfortunately,  the  first  verse  of 
this  interesting  joint  production  is  all  that  is  preserved,  and 
it  most  curiously,  through  being  printed  on  silk,  and  kept 
within  the  case  of  a  large  old-fashioned  watch  which  he 
wore.     It  ran  as  follows  : — 


286  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Gbeat  Frost  on  the  River  Ttnb, 
January  and  February  1814. 

**  Behold  the  Coaly  Tyne,  now  frozen  o'er, 
I'hat  lAtely  ships  ot  mighty  burden  bore ; 
Where  watermen,  for  want  to  row  in  boats, 
Make  use  of  tents  to  get  their  pence  and  groats." 

The  remainder  of  the  song  was  written  by  his  fellow- 
apprentice,  Thomas  Binney,  who,  from  this  lowly  beginning 
in  life,  has  gradually  risen,  until  now  we  find  him  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Binney,  the  celebrated  preacher,  who  has  officiated 
for  so  many  years  at  the  Weigh  House  Chapel,  London,  and 
who  is  generally  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  most  able,  if  not 
the  ablest  man  in  the  Independent  body.*  After  Robert's 
apprenticeship  expired,  he  worked  journeyman  for  many 
years  at  the  different  printing  offices  in  the  town,  writing 
songs  upon  the  various  topics  of  the  day,  many  of  them 
becoming  highly  popular,  **  Sandgate  Pant "  and  ^  Hydro- 
phobie  "  especially  so.  Amongst  Tyneside  songs  there  are 
few  so  popular  as  his.  They  are  found  in  all  collections ; 
and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  be  did  not  carry  out  the  inten- 
tion he  had  of  publishing  a  collected  edition  of  his  songs, 
as  they  would  have  been  an  interesting  contribution  to  local 
literature.  As  it  is,  they  are  scattered  about  in  various 
collections  ;  many  of  them  were  only  printed  in  sheets  by 
himself,  and  are  now  very  scarce.  About  the  year  1850  he 
began  business  as  a  printer  on  his  own  account  in  Silver 
Street,  in  premises  belonging  to  himself.  Here  he  continued 
for  about  twenty  years.  About  a  year  before  his  death  he 
left  Silver  Street,  and  removed  to  more  extensive  premises 
at  the  foot  of  Pilgrim  Street,  where  the  business  is  still 
carried  on  by  his  son.  He  died  on  March  28th,  1871,  at  the 
advanced  age  of  77,  after  a  short  illness,  and  was  interred  at 
All  Saints'  Cemetery,  his  funeral  being  attended  by  a  large 
number  of  his  friends  and  admirers. 

The  information  in  the  above  appeared  in  our  1872 
edition,  and  was  got  partly  from  the  poet  and  partly  from 
his  son.  To  it  there  is  really  little  to  add — steady  and 
methodical,  Emery's  life  was  uneventful  Lambert's,  in  Grey 
Street,  was  the  last  place  he  worked  at;  and  at  Lambert's 
appears  to  have  come  to  a  head  his  wish  to  better  his  con- 
dition in  life,  as  he  left  there  to  begin  on  his  own  account 

*  Now  dead ;  died  February  24th,  1874. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  287 

Amongst  Lambert's  old  hands  he  is  remembered  as  the 
laureate  of  the  establishment,  he  furnishing  them  with  a  new 
song  each  year  on  the  occasion  of  their  annual  trip.  The 
following,  on  their  trip  to  Warkworth,  is  probably  the  first : — 

TRIP  TO  WARKWORTH. 

Some  love  to  siag  of  days  gone  by, 
How  warriors  made  their  foes  to  fly, 
A  better  theme  I  mean  to  try, — 

Our  glorious  trip  to  Warkworth. 
Our  lads  were  smart — the  lasses  gay — 
The  sun  shone  out  to  grace  the  day — 
Each  heart  was  ea^er  for  the  fray, 
And  seem*d  impatient  at  delay  ; 
At  length  we  heard  the  signal  clear, — 
We  tbuoder'd  forth  a  hearty  cheer— 
The  train  ru8h*d  on  till  we  came  near 

The  bonny  town  of  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days  of  "  Anld  Lang  Syne  " 
Did  youth  and  beauty  e'er  combine, 
To  journey  from  the  Banks  of  Tyne 
With  lighter  hearts  to  Warkworth. 

Ord's  bugle  sounded  through  the  dell. 
Which  soon  dissolv'd  the  magic  spell 
That  hound  the  hermit  to  his  cell, 

Who'd  ages  slept  at  Warkworth. 
In  merry  mood,  with  staff  in  hand. 
He  from  his  little  boat  did  land — 
On  Coquet's  banks  once  more  did  stand, 
And  wish'd  to  join  our  joyous  band — 
The  castle  green  he  longd  to  see. 
Where  loud  resounded  mirth  and  glee, 
And  Sons  of  Tyne,  so  kind  and  free, 

Regal'd  their  friends  at  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days,  etc. 

The  hermit  mounts  the  castle  wall, 
And  soon  espied  his  old  friend,  Hall, 
Dispensing  cneer  to  great  and  small, 
Upon  the  green  at  Warkworth. 
Bold  Harry,  too,  with  wond'rous  skill 
Performed  bis  part  with  right  good  will. 
And  swore  he'd  take  it  very  ill, 
If  we  refus'd  to  eat  our  fill — 


288  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

With  that  the  bugle  sounded  clear, 
When  lots  o'  famous  beef  and  beer 
From  groaning  tables  disappear, 
A  glorious  feast  at  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days,  etc. 

Aparty  reach'd  the  hermit's  cave. 
Where  trees  around  so  gently  wave, 
And  channted  many  a  pleasant  stave, 

To  charm  their  friends  at  Warkworth. 
<'  The  Boatie  Bow  "  with  catch  and  glee, 
Re-echoed  over  tower  and  tree ; 
And  Stephen's  voice  so  bold  and  free, 
Fill'd  all  around  with  melody : — 
Back  to  the  Castle  we  repair, 
Enchanted  with  the  scenes  so  fair ; 
The  bugle's  notes  did  rend  the  air 

Around  us  all  at  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days,  etc. 

The  hermit  sprung  upon  the  green, 

And  such  a  sight  was  never  seen. 

For  mirth  and  fun  each  heart  was  keen 

To  join  the  sport  at  Warkworth. 
The  band  struck  up  and  play'd  so  sweet, 
Each  lad  and  lass  start  to  their  feet. 
And  join'd  the  dance  and  waltz'd  so  neat. 
Sure  ne'er  could  joy  be  more  complete  ; 
For  tarsy-warsy  some  did  cry, 
While  cricket  balls  around  us  fly. 
One  fairly  knock'd  Kay's  head  awry 

While  drinking  tea  at  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days,  etc. 

Our  merry  day  too  soon  flew  past, 
For  mortal  joys  but  seldom  last ; 
The  bugle  sounds,  we  muster  fast 

To  join  the  train  at  Warkworth. 
The  hermit  o'er  us  breath'd  a  prayer, 
And  slowly  *•  vanish'd  into  air." 
Then  through  the  town  we  all  repair. 
In  grand  procession  form'd  with  care— 
The  band  so  merrily  did  play, 
We  reached  the  train  witnout  delay. 
But  e'er  for  home  we  bent  our  way, 

We  gave  three  cheers  for  Warkworth. 

For  ne'er  since  days  of  '*  Auld  Lang  Sjme  " 
Did  youth  and  beauty  e'er  combine, 
To  journey  from  the  banks  of  Tyne 
With  lighter  hearts  to  Warkworth. 

Emery.  "  Bardt  of  the  Tyne;'  1849. 


J 


TYNESIDE  SONGSi  289 

The  following  verse,  showing  Emery's  handwriting,  is  from 
a  hitherto  unpublished  song  of  his : — 


The  second  verse  runs — 

"  Newcaasel  f oaks  like  when  tber  neighbora  de  weel, 
And  when  owt  gans  wrang  they  hev  hearts  that  can  feel ; 
But  when  ffowks  endevour  wor  gud  nyem  te  rob, 
He's  nowt  Dut  a  calf  that  wad  then  hand  his  gob." 

''  Canny  Sbeels"  (p.  156),  to  which  he  refers,  certainly  does 
not  spare  Newcastle.  Unfortunately  Emeiy,  in  replying, 
gives  no  information  about  the  writer. 

About  1829  he  was  with  Edgar  as  a  printer.  This  Edgar, 
some  four  years  before,  had  brought  out  a  small  Collection 
of  **  Original  Local  Songs,"  mainly  by  Oddfellows,  and  in  this 
collection  we  first  trace  Emery,  his  "Hydrophobic"  and 
other  songs  appearing  there. 

In  Marshall's  1827  edition  of  songs  he  is  one  of  the  trio  of 

local  bards — Mitford,  Ross,  and  Emery — ^who  break  into 

song  on  the  occasion  of  the  fishwives  being  removed  from 

their  open  stand  on  the  Sandhill  to  the  new  covered  market. 

•      This  change  they  resented.    A  verse  and  the  chorus  runs — 

"O  kind  Sir  Matt. — ye  bonny  star, 
6an  to  the  King  an'  show  this  ditty. 
Tell  him  what  canny  folks  we  are, 
And  make  him  free  us  frae  this  Kitty. 

Oh  I  hinnies,  Corporation  ! 

A  t  marcy !  Corporation  ! 

Ye  hev  duen  a  snemful  deed, 

Te  force  its  fra  wor  canny  station." 

19 


290 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


in  Fordyce  (1842)  **  Jean  Jamieson's  Ghost"  appears,  and 
here  and  in  slips  printed  by  himself  are  to  be  found  the 
'  rest  of  his  songs. 

The  view  given  shows  the 
old  house  in  Silver  Street,  that 
in  which  some  forty  years  of 
Emer/s  life  was  passed.  In 
the  heart  of  old  Newcastle,  it 
yet  had  a  pleasant  outlook,  the 
trees  andgreenery  of  All  Saints* 
being  before  it.  Robert  Em- 
ery's mild  and  genial  dis- 
position made  him  a  general 
favourite.  Metcalfe  Ross,  a 
master  printer  in  the  town, 
paid  a  tribute  to  him  in  the 
following  ingenious  play  upon 
the  letters  of  his  name  : — 

TO  ROBERT  EMERY. 

A  health  to  Robert  MRE, 
Who  handles  oft  his  A  B  C  ; 
A  friend  presumes  his  name  to  UU, 
And  hopes  the  freedom  he'll  XQQ. 
His  well-known  wit  need  I B  telling, 
In  song  or  LEG  XLing  ? 
He  to  XS  ne'er  went  astray. 
E'en  with  his  shopmate  ThomS  E. 
U  cannot  be  the  NME 

AiiLj  lV  tiiiLJ(hj^;k,    Of  honest  Robert  MRE.* 
Joe  Wilson,  another  printer-poet  and  friend,  also  compli- 
ments Emery  in  the  following  acrostic  : — 

E  mery  fill'd  each  breest  wi'  pride, 

M  irth-provoking  songs  he  wrote, 

E  neuff  te  please  a'  far  an'  wide. 

R  ich  an'  racy  tiv  a  note, 

Y  e'd  hear  his  sangs  a'  roond  Tyneside. 

Joe's  acrostic  is  interesting,  not  only  as  showing  his  kindly, 
estimate  of  the  old  veteran,  but  also  as  being  a  connecting 
link  between  the  old  and  new  Tjmeside. 

*  Robert  Gilchrist',  some  fifteen  vears  before,  had  done  something  similar 
in  the  shape  of  a  sonnet  addressed  to  Miss  BelLt   The  first  four  lines  ran— 
2  E  D  f y  or  even  to  M  U*s, 
2  sing:  thy  Tirtnes,  lovely  M. A.B^ 
Goold  I  in  terms  proportionate  F  ITs, 
My  song  the  fine  L  end  of  time  would  C 
t  The  daughter  of  his  friend,  John  Bell,  the  noted  antiquarian  and  book 
collector. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  29I 

HTDROPHOBIE;  OR,   THE  SKIPPER  AND 
THE  QUAKER. 

Tune—"  Qood-morrow  to  your  Nightcap." 

As  Skipper  Carr  an'  Markie  Dunn 

Were  gannin  drunk  through  Sandgate, 
A  dog  bit  Mark  and  off  did  run, 
But  sair  the  poor  sowl  fand  it : 

The  skipper  in  a  voice  se  rough, 
Aw  warn'd,  says  he,  it's  mad  eneugh, 
Howway,  an'  get  some  docter's  stuff, 
For  fear  of  Hydrophobie ! 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 

The  doctor  dress'd  the  wound  se  wide. 

An'  left  poor  Markie  smartin', — 
Then,  for  a  joke,  tells  Carr,  aside, 
Mark  wad  gan  mad,  for  sartin. 

Now,  skipper,  mind,  when  in  yor  keel, 
Be  sure  that  ye  watch  Markie  weel, 
If  he  begins  to  bark  and  squeel, 

Depend  it's  Hydrophobie ! 
Fal  de  ral,  etc 

For  Shields,  next  day,  they  sail'd  wi'  coal, 

And  teuk  on  board  a  Quaker, 
Who  wish'd  to  go  as  far's  Dent's  Hole, 
To  see  a  friend  call'd  Baker ; 

The  skipper  whisper'd  in  his  ear, 
Wor  Markie  will  gan  mad  aw  fear  1 
He'll  bite  us  a', — as  sure's  yor  here, 

We'll  get  the  Hydrophobie ! 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 


a92  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

Said  Quack,  I  hope  this  can't  be  true — 

Nay,  friend,  thou  art  mistaken ; 
We  must  not  fear  what  man  can  do — 
Yea  1  I  will  stand  unshaken  ! 

The  skipper,  to  complete  the  farce, 
Said  "  Maister  Quaker,  whaf  s  far  warse, 
A  butcher's  dog  bit  Markie's  leg. 

And  browt  on  Hydrophobie." 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 

Now  Markie  overheard  their  talk. 

Thinks  he,  aw'U  try  the  Quaker — 
Makes  P.  D.  to  the  huddock  walk. 
Of  fun  to  be  partaker. 

To  howl  an'  bark  he  wasn't  slack. 
The  Quaker  owerboard  in  a  crack. 
With  the  fat  skipper  on  his  back. 

For  fear  of  Hydrophobie  I 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 

How  P.  D.  laughed  to  see  the  two, 
.  Wiio,  to  be  sav'd,  were  striving, 
Mark  hauVd  them  oot,  wi'  much  ado. 
And  call'd  them  culls  for  diving : 

The  Quaker  seun  was  put  on  shore, 
For  he  was  frightened  very  sore, 
The  skipper  promised  never  more 

To  mention  Hydrophobie ! 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 
Emert.  Edgta'B  CoUeetion  0/  Odd  Songs,  182&. 


TYNBSIDB  SONGS.  393 

HACKNEY   COACH    CUSTOMERS; 

OR,  NEWCASTLE  WONDERS. 

January  26th,  1824,  hackney  coaches  established  in  Newcastle.     The 
stand  appointed  to  be  the  square  in  front  of  St.  Nicholas'  Church. 

Tune—"  Gee,  ho,  Dobbin.* 

Since  the  Hackneys  began  in  Newcassel  to  run, 
Some  tricks  hae  been  play'd  off  which  myed  lots  o'  fun: 
For  poor  folks  can  ride  now  that  ne'er  rode  before, 
The  expense  is  se  canny,  it's  seun  gettin  o'er. 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc 

'Mang  the  rest  o'  the  jokes  was  a  lad  fra  the  Fell, 
Where  he  lives  wiv  his  feyther — his  nyem's  Geordy  Bell; 
For  hewin  there's  nyen  can  touch  Geordy  for  skill ; 
When  he  comes  to  Newcassel  he  gets  a  good  gill. 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 

One  day,  being  cramm'd  wi'  fat  flesh  and  Strang  beer, 
Left  some  friends  at  the  Cock,  an'  away  he  did  steer, 
Wiv  his  hat  on  three  hairs,  through  Wheat  Market  did 

stride, 
When  a  Coachman  cam  upj  an'  said — Sir,  will  ye  ride? 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 

Wey,  smash  noo — ^whe's  thou,  man? — How?  what  dis 

thou  mean  ? — 
I  drive  the  best  coach,  sir,  that  ever  was  seen, — 
To  ride  iv  a  coach !  Smash,  says  Geordy,  aw's  willin' — 
Awll  ride  i'  yor  coach  though  it  cost  me  ten  shillin'  1 

So  Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 

Then  into  the  coach  Geordy  claver'd  wi'  speed, 
And  out  at  the  window  he  popp'd  his  greet  heed  :— 
Pray,  where  shall  I  drive,  sir — please  give  me  the  nyem  ? 
Drive  us  a'  the  toon  ower,  man,  an*  then  drive  us  hyem ! 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 


294  TYNESJDE  SONGS, 

Then  up  and  doon  street  how  they  rattled  alang, 
Till  a  chep  wi'  the  news  tiv  aud  Geordy  did  bang, 
'Bout  his  son  in  the  coach,  and  for  truth,  did  relate, 
He  was  owther  turn'd  Mayor  or  the  great  Magistrate  ! 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 

Aud  Geordy  did  caper  till  myestly  deun  ower, 
When  Coachee,  suen  after,  drove  up  tiv  his  door — 
Young  Geordy  stept  out,  caus'd  their  hopes  suen  to 

stagger, 
Said  he'd  paid  for  a  ride  just  to  cut  a  bit  swagger. 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc. 

To  ride  fra  Newcassel  mun  cost  ye  some  brass : — 
Od  smash,  now,  says  Geordy,  thou  talks  like  an  ass ! 
For  half-a-crown  piece  thou  may  ride  to  the  Fell — 
An' for  eighteen-pence  mair,  smash,  they'll  drive  ye  toH — ^11. 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc 

Aud  Geordy  then  thowt  there  was  comfort  in  storey 
For  contrivance  the  coaches  nyen  could  come  before : 
Poor  men  that  are  tied  to  bad  wives  needn't  stick — 
Just  tip  Coachee  the  brass  an'  they're  off  tiv  Au'd  Nick. 

Gee,  ho,  Dobbin,  etc 
Bmbrv.  Edgai'8  Collection  of  Odd  Simgs,  1825. 


THE   PITMAN'S    RAMBLE. 

Tune— "  The  Kebbuckstane  Wedding." 

WoR  j)it  was  laid  in,  an'  but  little  ti  de, 

Says  aw,  "  Neibour  Dickey,  let's  off  te  Newcassel, 

Thor  grand  alterations  aw's  langin'  te  see. 
They  say  thor  se  fine  that  they'll  gar  wor  een  dazzel" 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  295 

We  reached  the  Black  Hoosey  an'  we  call'd  for  sum  beer, 
When  whe  shud  pop  in  but  the  landlord,  se  handy ; 

He  wished  us  se  kindly  a  happy  new  eer, 
An'  he  rosin'd  wor  gobs  wiv  a  glass  o'  French  brandy. 


We  left  wor  gud  frind,  an'  got  doon  te  the  shop, 

That  hes  sum  fine  lasses  frae  Lunnin  se  cliver ; 
Astonished,  aw  stared  till  near  like  for  te  drop, 

At  thor  greet  panes  o*  glass  that  wad  cover  Tyne  river 
Says  Dick,  "  It's  been  myed  for  greet  folk  like  Lord  'Size, 

It  belangs  te  Broad  Brim  that  myed  brass  at  the 
corner  ; 
At  poor  folks  like  us,  now,  he'll  cock  up  his  eyes. 

As  he  sits  at  the  end  there  like  Little  Jack  Homer." 

We  wheel'd  reet  aboot — spied  a  far  finer  seet, 

As  we  went  to  the  grocer's  to  get  sum  rag  backey : 
Lairge  goold  cups  an'  watches,  se  bonny  an'  breet. 

An'  fine  Fardin  Pants  runnin'  whisky  an'  jackey ; 
Aw  wish'd  aw  cud  get  mi  gob  fair  at  the  spoot, 

Aw'd  pay  for  a  sook  o'  this  liquor  se  funny ; — 
Says  Dick,  "  The  doors  bowlted  te  keep  the  crood  oot. 

It's  a  place  myed  te  glower  at,  but  not  te  tyek  munny." 

We  doon  te  the  Doctor's  that  leeves  i'  the  Side, 

That  cure's  folks  o'  hairy-legg'd  monsters  like  donkies, 
Cull  cheps  for  his  worm  kyekes  frae  far  an'  near  ride. 

Poor  pitmen,  an'  farmers,  an'  keelmen,  an'  flonkies, 
A  chep  at  the  window  did  offer  te  sweer, 

For  truth,  that  this  doctor,  se  clivver  an'  cunnin', 
Did  tyek  frae  his  sister,  the  varry  last  eer, 

A  worm  that  wad  reach  frae  Newcassel  te  Lunnin ! 


296 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


At  last,  te  the  play-hoose  aw  swagger'd  wi'  Dick, — 

They've  used  the  King's  Airms  an'  the  paintings  most 
shockin' ; — 
Yen  said,  since  the  hoose  had  been  kept  by  Awd  Nkk^ 

Wi'  humbugs  an'  lees  he'd  Newcassel  been  mockin'. 
Says  aw,  "  Canny  man,  dis  Awd  Nick  manage  here — 

That  cunnin'  black  fiend  that  gav  Eve  the  bad  apple  ? 
Us  Ranters  will  suen  frae  this  place  myek  him  sheer, 

An'  we'll  preach  in't  worsels,  then  we'll  bang  Bruns- 
wick Chapel  I " 

Fwdyetfi  *'  Newcastle  Sang  Booh,**  1842. 


Bmbry. 


KING   WILLY'S   COROWATIOHT. 

Copied  from  an  old  mannscript  of  Robert  Emery's,  and  sent  to  the  WeeJOff 
Chronicle  by  Emery's  son,  1879.  The  Coronation  took  place  on  September 
8th,  1831.  The  song  very  fairly  records  the  re^joicings  on  the  occasion. 
It  recalls  the  previous  coronation — ^that  of  George  the  Fonrth,  in  1819 — 
to  which  it  affords  a  pleasing  contrast.  Marshall's  and  Fordyce's  Local 
GoUections  have  about  a  dozen  songs  on  that  coronation,  in  which  QeoTf^o 
the  Fourth  and  the  authorities  of  the  town  are  both  severely  lashed,  as— 

It  adds  but  UtUe  to 
your  praise. 

To  see  your  lavish, 
wasteful  ways. 

To  see  a  keelman, 
from  his  huddock. 

Within  your  wine 
trough  wash  his 
buttock, 

Wliich  ne'er  before 
was  drenched  in 
wine. 

But  often  plunged 
in  Coaly  Tyne. 


What  did  yoor  wil- 

--    ^--vai.fix^     '^  waste  avail  ? 

■^^^-^rfSJi  Your  fountains  rtm- 

rz-^     ning  wine  and  ale? 

g^^  The  bronzed  dome, 

theglitt'ringctowB, 

Tom  by  an  eniag'd 

people  down? 
Who  cheering  haird 

Queen  Caroline, 
Borne  b^  the  bloom- 
ing fair  on  l^ne. 

THE  SANDHILL  WINE  PANT. 

The  song  does  not  exaggerate ;  the  rough  scenes  described  actually  occurred. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  297 

From  another— 

Hey !  to  the  pants,  where  dribbling  wine 

And  brewers'  rot-gut  beer  distil ; 
With  speed  let  every  greedy  swine 
Swig  what  he  can !  aye,  swig  his  fill. 

Three  royal  fountains  running  beer. 

And  one  to  dribble  wine,  0, 
Would  make  them  flock  from  far  and  near, 

To  grunt  like  royal  swine,  0. 

Two  bullocks  roasted  whole,  'twsui  thought, 

Would  be  a  grand  donacion, 
To  toss  among  the  **  rabble  rout " 

At  George's  Coronation  t 

Disorder  and  riot  characterised  the  whole  of  the  1819  festivities. 

O  MARROWS  a',  noo  clear  yor  throats, 

An*  drop  yor  botheration ; 
Come,  join  me  in  a  stave  or  two 

Aboot  the  Coronation. 
Whe  wad  refuse  wi'  me  to  sing 
The  praises  o'  wor  canny  king— 
Of  Brunswick  House,  the  breetest  star — 
NewcasseFs  pride — a  jolly  tar? 

Fra  Mistor  Mayor  to  wor  P.D. 

Extend  yor  jaws,  an'  sing  wi'  glee 
King  Will/s  Coronation. 
Fal  de  ral,  etc. 

Tho*  Shield*  may  sing  in  magic  strains 

The  mony  happy  days,  man, 
When  wor  Association  lads 

Engrossed  the  folks's  praise,  man : 
In  Blackett's  field  we'd  sic  a  feast, 
Where  sixteen  hundred  men,  at  least, 
Did  exercise  wi'  knife  an'  fork, 
An'  hew'd  away  at  beef  an'  pork. 

*  See  Shield's  songs,  page  62. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS^ 

We'd  loyal  toasts,  an*  clivvor  spokes, 
Wi'  music  fine,  an'  funny  jokes 
On  Willy's  Coronation, 

Ma  sarties,  hed  ye  nobbit  seen 

Green's  bonny  silk  balloon,  man ! 
Reet  fra  the  Spital  to  the  clouds 

It  flaffer'd  very  suen,  man. 
Wi'  starin'  aw  near  lost  ma  seet, 
Amang  the  crowd  in  Westgate  Street ; 
Fra  some  aw  gat  an  ugly  thump, 
They  brak  my  nose  agyen  the  pump, 

An'  stole  my  hat,  an'  tore  my  sark ; 

Becrike,  but  there  was  bonny  wark 
On  Willy's  Coronation. 

Oflt  helter-skelter  wi'  the  thrang, 

Aw  reach'd  Newcassel  Brig,  man, 
To  view  the  boats  that  were  to  run 

Wor  clivvor  Sandgate  gig,  man. 
Away  they  flew,  'mid  noise  and  din ! 
Byeth  Shields  and  Scotswood  tried  to  win, 
But  Sandgate  lads  are  just  the  breed, 
Like  hearts  of  oak  they  tuik  the  lead ; 
To  win  the  prize  they  warn't  lang — 
Byeth  sides  o'  Tyne  their  victory  sang 
On  Willy's  Coronation. 

Aw  jump'd  as  aw  went  te  the  Garth    , 
Wi'  cousin  Dicky  Reed,  man, 

An'  at  a  stangie's  shop  aa  bowt 
A  cover  for  ma  heed,  man ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  299 

Then  cruick'd  wor  houghs  at  the  Blue  Bell, 

Talk'd  ower  the  spree,  an'  smack'd  the  yell ; 

Then  toddled  hyem  to  wor  dame  Peg — 

At  scolding  she  is  such  a  cleg — 

Aboot  ma  sark  for  years  she'll  chat, 
My  broken  nose,  an'  fine  shag  hat, 
On  Willy's  Coronation. 

Emery.  ,  Local  Songs  and  Shmg-Writera,  "Weekly  Chronide,'*  1879. 


SANDGATE  PANT;  OR,  JBSM   JAMIESOWS 

GHOST. 

Jane  Jamieson,  a  street  vendor  of  fruit.  Executed  March  7, 1829,  on  the 
Town  Moor,  Newcastle,  for  killing  her  mother  with  a  poker  while  in  a 
fit  of  passion. 

Tune—"  rd  be  a  Butterfly." 

The  bell  of  St.  Ann's  toU'd  two  in  the  morning, 

As  brave  Skipper  Johnson  was  gawn  to  the  keel ; 
From  the  juice  o'  the  barley  his  poor  brain  was  burning, 

In  search  of  relief  he  through  Sandgate  did  reel. 
The  city  was  hush,  save  the  keel  bullies  snoring, 

The  moon  faintly  gleam'd  through  the  sable-clad  sky ; 
When  lo!  a  poor  female,  her  hard  fate  deploring, 

Appear'd  near  the  Pant  and  thus  loudly  did  cry. 
Fine  Chenee  oranges,  four  for  a  penny. 
Cherry  ripe  cornberries,  taste  them  and  try. 

Oh,  listen,  ye  hero  of  Sandgate  and  Stella, 
Jin  Jemieson  kens  that  your  courage  is  trig ; 

Go  teU  Billy  EUi*  to  meet  me,  brave  fellow, 
Aw*ll  wait  your  return  on  Newcassel  Tyne  Brig. 

•  Billy  Elli  In  Cochrane's  Monthly  Circular  for  September  1891  "  The 
Old  Boy"  tells  the  following :—"  The  '  fancy  man'  of  the  woman  Jamleson 
was  named  Ellison.  He  was  very  ignorant.  At  the  trial  Ellison's  name  as  a 
witness  was  called  in  vain.  Forsyth,  town  marshall,  got  permission  to 
call  him  in  his  own  way ;  he  cried  out  *  Elli/  At  the  sound  of  the  familiar 
name  the  man  stood  up  at  once,  and  by  his  evidence  proved  the  guilt  of  the 
half-witted  creature,  and  so  helped  her  to  the  place  of  execution." 


300  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Oh  I  mercy,  cried  Johnson,  yor  looks  gar  me  shiver. 

Maw  canny  lass,  Jin,  let  me  fetch  him  next  tide, 

The  spectre  then  frowned,  and  she  vanished  for  ever, 

While  Sandgate  did  ring  as  she  vengefully  cried, 

Fine  Chenee  oranges,  four  for  a  penny, 

Cherry  ripe  cornherries,  taste  them  and  try. 

She  waits  for  her  lover,  each  night  at  this  station, . 

And  calls  her  ripe  fruit  with  a  voice  loud  and  clear ; 
The  keel  bullies  listen  in  great  consternation, 

Tho'  snug  in  their  huddocks  they  tremble  with  fear. 
She  sports  round  the  Pant  till  the  cock  in  the  morning 

Announces  the  day,  then  away  she  does  fly, 
Till  midnight's  dread  hour,  thus  each  maiden's  peace 
scorning. 
They  start  from  their  couch  as  they  hear  her  loud  cry, 
Fine  Chenee  oranges,  four  for  a  penny. 
Cherry  ripe  cornberries,  taste  them  and  try. 

Emert.  Fordyce^t  "  NewuMtU  Song  Book,**  1842. 


BAGGY   NANNY;   OR,  THE    PITMAN'S   FROLIC. 

A  humorous  account  of  the  visit  of  the  Great  Fiddler  "Paganini"  to 
Newcastle,  September  9th-Uth,  1838. 

Tune—"  The  Kebbuckstane  Wedding,*' 

Come,  lay  up  your  lugs,  and  aw'U  sing  ye  a  sang, 

It's  nyen  o*  the  best,  but  it's  braw  new  and  funny ; 
In  these  weary  times,  when  we're  not  varry  thrang, 

A  stave  cheers  wor  hearts,  tho'  it  brings  us  ne  money. 
Aw  left  Shiney  Raw, — for  Newcassel  did  steer, 

Wi'  three  or  four  mair  of  our  neighbours  se  canny, 
Determin'd  to  gan  to  the  play-house  to  hear 

The  king  o'  the  fiddlers,  the  great  Baggy  Nanny. 

Right  iaX,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  301 

We  reach'd  the  Arcade,  rather  drouthy  and  sair — 

It's  a  house  full  o'  pastry-cooks,  bankers,  an'  drapers; 
At  the  fine  fancy  fair,  hoo  my  marrows  did  stare, 

On  the  muffs,  hats,  an'  beavers,  se  fam'd  i'  the  papers. 
At  Beasley's^  where  liquor's  se  cheap  an'  se  prime, 

A  bottle  aw  purchas'd  for  maw  sweetheart  Fanny, 
We  drank  nowt  but  brandy — ^and  when  it  was  time 

We  stagger'd  away  to  see  great  Baggy  Nanny, 

Right  fal,  etc. 


We  gat  t'  the  door,  'mang  the  crowd  we  did  crush,. 

Half-way  up  the  stairs  aw  was  carried  se  handy — 
The  lassie  ahint  us  cried  "  Push,  hinny  I  push  " — 

Till  they  squeezed  me  as  sma'  an'  as  smart  as  a  dandy. 
We  reach'd  the  stair-heed,  nearly  smuther'd  indeed ; — 

The  gas-letters  glitter'd,  the  paintin's  look'd  canny; 
Aw  clapt  mysel  doon  'side  a  lass  o'  reet  breed. 

Maw  hinny !  says  aw,  hae  ye  seen  Baggy  Nanny  ? 

Right  fal,  etc. 


The  lassie  she  twitter'd,  and  look'd  rather  queer, 
.  And  said,  in  this  house  there  is  mony  a  dozen, 
They're  planted  se  thick  that  there's  ne  sittin'  here, 

They  smell  se  confounded  o'  cat-gut  an'  rosin. 
The  curtain  flew  up,  and  a  lady  did  squall. 

To  fine  music  play'd  by  a  Cockney  bit  manny. 
Then  frae  the  front  seats  aw  seun  heard  my  frinds  bawl, 

Hats  off,"  smash  yor  brains  1  here  come»vgreet  Baggy 
Nanny. 

Right  fal,  etc. 


302  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

An  ootlandish  chep  seun  appeared  on  the  stage, 

An'  cut  as  odd  capers  as  wor  maister's  flonkey, 
He  skipp'd  and  he  fiddled  as  if  in  a  rage — 

If  he  had  but  a  tail  he  might  pass  for  a  monkey ! 
Deil  smash  a  gud  teun  could  this  bowdykite  play — 

His  fiddle  wad  hardly  e'en  please  my  aud  granny, — 
So  aw  seun  joined  maw  marrows,  and  toddled  away, 

And  wish'd  a  gud  neet  te  the  greet  Baggy  Nanny. 

Right  fal,  etc. 

On  crossin  Tyne  Brig,  hoo  wor  lads  ran  the  rig. 

At  being  se  silly  deun  oot  o'  thor  money ! 
Odd  bother  maw  wig !  had  he  played  us  a  jig, 

We  might  teird  them  at  hyem  we'd  seen  something 
quite  funny ; 
But,  law  be  it  spoke,  and  depend  it's  ne  joke, 

Yen  and  a'  did  agree  he  was  something  uncanny — 
Tho,  dark  ower  each  tree,  he  before  us  did  flee. 

And  fiddled  us  hyem,  did  the  greet  Baggy  Nanny. 

Right  fal,  etc. 

Emert.  Fordyetfs  "Newcastle  Song  Book**  1842. 


THE    SKIPPER'S   VISIT   TO   THE 
POLYTECHNIC. 

Written  on  the  second  Polytechnic  Exhibition,  comniencing'  Batter 
Monday,  1848«  It  was  held  in  the  same  suite  of  rooms  as  tbe  first  (1840) ; 
the  entrance  was  from  the  Academy  of  Arts,  Blackett  Street;  a  gallery 
crossing  High  Friar  Street  connecting  the  rooms  with  those  in  the  Grainger 
Street  division.  In  the  Exhibition,  on  a  press  worked  by  the  aathor,  Mr. 
Emery,  the^ong  was  first  printed. 

Tune— *»X,  Y,  Z.- 

O,  GEOkDY,  hinney,  gan  away, 
An*  see  what  aw  hev  seen,  man — 

The  Polytechnic's  such  a  treat,    . 
'Twad  please  wor  very  Queen,  man  I 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  303 

Prince  Albert  tee,  aw  hev  ne  doot, 
Wad  swear  that  Lunnin  oot  an'  oot 
Was  fairly  be't  with  all  her  pride, 
And  give  the  palm  te  wor  Tyneside. 
E'en  Billy  Purvis  an'  his  show 
And  Thome's  Theatre  are  no  go 

To  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic, 


The  paintings  there  wad  make  ye  stare, 
Some  awd  an'  some  quite  new,  man, 
And  lots  o'  bonny  China  ware 
Of  patterns  not  a  few,  man. 
There's  relics  now  not  worth  a  groat, 
Like  Cuddy  Willie's  awd  greet  coat. 
With  arms  and  armour  fra  the  Tower, 
That  sav'd  wor  lads  in  mony  a  stour ; 
There's  coats  and  caps  a'  myed  o'  steel, 
An'  clubs  wad  make  awd  Horney  squeel, 
In  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic 


They've  lantrens  that  can  raise  the  deil 
An'  myek  him  wag  his  tail,  man, 

With  microscopes  that  turn  at  once 
A  sprat  into  a  whale,  man. 

There  birdies  sing  an'  look. so  nice. 

Rare  plants  fra  Eden's  Paradise. 

The  incubcator  scar'd  me  sore. 

For  bairns  an'  chickens  by  the  score 

It  manufactures  very  free, 

'Twad  neither  suit  wor  Peg  nor  me, 
At  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic 


304  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

There's  plows  and  harrows  for  the  sod, 

An'  mirrors — such  a  show,  man, 
At  which  a  skipper  and  his  men 

Might  shaYe  frae  top  to  toe,  man. 
There's  Armstrong,  by  some  magic  wand. 
Makes  great  machines  work  at  command ; 
The  weavers  they  were  thrang  at  wark, 
Amaz'd — aw  roar'd  oot — smash  my  sark, 
Wor  Peg  shall  hev  a  posey  gown 
To  mense  her  when  she  comes  to  toon 
To  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic. 


A  water  fountain  in  full  play, 

Where  ships  o'  war  might  float,  man ; 
And  on  a  stand  not  far  away 

Was  Harry  Clasper's  boat,  man ; 
But  here  maw  brains  began  te  reel, 
Enchanted  at  the  organ's  peal ; 
Its  pipes  like  distant  thunder  roU'd, 
Then  squeek'd  like  mice  i'  wor  keel's  hold, 
Aw'd  sit  an'  listen  half  a  year. 
For  music  fine  the  heart  does  cheer 
In  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic. 


A  chep  was  pulling  at  a  thing, 
Its  nyem  aw  cuddent  guess,  man ; 

He  said  te  me  se  very  free 
It  is  a  printing  press,  man, 

And  if  you  do  not  take  the  hint, 

I'll  soon  put  all  your  thoughts  in  print, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  305 

An'  sure  enough,  before  'twas  lartg, 
He  form'd  maw  thowts  into  this  sang ; 
'Twas  very  like  a  magic  trick, 
But  suen  fra  him  aw  cut  maw  stick 

At  wor  Tyne  Polytechnic. 

Aw've  been  at  France,  aw've  been  at  Shields, 
An'  likewise  Shiney  Raw,  man, 

Where  aw've  seen  lots  o'  wondrous  things 
Above  grund  and  belaw,  man  ; 

But  these  greet  wonders  mun  give  in. 

To  say  owt  else  wad  be  a  sin, 

The  Polytechnic  cuts  the  shine, 

An'  sheds  a  ray  o'er  Bonny  Tyne ; 

E'en  Cocknies  ower  their  midnight  bowls 

Will  toast  with  glee  like  jolly  souls 

Wor  Town  and  Polytechnic. 

Embrt.  Broadsheet  printed  at  Pdyteehnie,  1848. 


MALLY   AND   THE   PROPHET. 

In  conaeqnence  of  the  appearance  of  a  bill  announcing  the  arrival  of  a 
most  extraordinary  prophet  in  Newcastle,— whose  dress  was  coeval  with 
Adam,  whose  unshod  feet  and  habits  of  teetotalism,  together  with  his 
prophetic  epirit,  mariced  him  as  a  sight  worth  seeing,— crowds  of  persons 
thronged  the  square  of  St.  Nicholas  in  hopes  of  beholding  this  LUSUS 
NATUBJB,— when  lo  and  behold!— the  "chanticleer  of  the  morning" 
strutted  forth  in  all  the  majesty  of  the  dunghill,  and  with  his  shrill  clarion 
announces  himself  as  the  veritable  prophet. ~What  a  dress  \— Author's  Note. 

Tune—"  Barbara  BelL" 

'TwAS  rumour'd  about  that  a  wonderful  Prophet, 
Who  liv'd  mony  years  afore  Adam  an'  Eve, 

Wad  preach  to  the  folks  in  Newcassel  Wheat  Market, 

Which  myed  them  a'  run  his  advice  to  receive ; 

20 


3o6  TYNESJDE  SONGS. 

The  coat  on  his  back  fairly  puzzles  the  tailors, 
An'  deil  smash  a  shoe  or  a  stockin'  he'll  wear ; 

He  drinks  nowt  that's  stranger  than  pure  caller  waiter, 
An'  turns  his  nose  up  at  wor  Newcassel  beer. 

Right  fal,  etc. 

Wor  Mally,  determined  to  be  like  her  neighbours, 

Suen  dress'd  her-sel'  up  in  her  fine  chintzie  goon  ; 
Thro'  Sandgit  she  waddled  as  cliver  as  Lunnin ; 

To  see  this  queer  man  she  steered  straight  for  the  toon. 
She  hail'd  Cuckoo  Jack  at  the  foot  of  the  Kee,  man  : 

He  capered  an'  roar'd  like  a  cull  silly  block — 
"  O  marrows  I  see !  yonder  gans  crazy  awd  Mally, 

To  glow'r  like  a  feul  at  Hepple's  gyem  cock." 

Right  fal,  etc. 

The  keel-bullies  nicker'd,  but  on  Mally  toddl'd, 

An'  said  tiv  her-sel,  "  May  the  deil  cock  ye  blind ; 
Aw'U  speak  to  the  Prophet  to  send  ye,  the  next  tide, 

To  the  bottom  o*  Tyne  iv  a  greet  gale  o'  wind." 
She  reached  the  Sandhill,  where  Blind  Willie  was  tellin' 

The  truth  'bout  the  Prophet,  yet  thowt  he  did  mock  ; 
'•There's  nowt  there,"  says  he,  "but  a  few  wanton  huzzies, 

Thrang  catchin'  an'  pullin'  Bob  Hepple's  gyem  cock." 

Right  fal,  etc. 

Still  Mally  push'd  forward,  quite  sure  she  wad  see  him, 

Not  heedin'  the  jeers  and  the  jokes  that  were  pass'd ; 
To  laugh  at  a  prophet  she  thowt  it  was  cuUish. 

Wi'  sair  tues  she  reach'd  the  Wheat  Market  at  last ; 
Cull  Billy  cam  up,  an'  she  ask'd  for  the  Prophet 

(By  this  time  St  Nicholas'  had  struck  ten  o'clock); 
"  There's  no  such  thing,  woman,"  said  Billy,  "I'm  certain ; 

I  fancy  you  want  to  see  Hepple's  game  cock." 

Right  fal,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  307 

Aud  Mally,  enraged,  was  about  to  give  battle, 

But  Billy  convinc'd  her,  which  seun  stopp'd  her  mouth, 
That  both  cocks  an'  hens,  he  said,  liv'd  before  Adam ; 

That  each  cock's  a  prophet  is  well  known  for  truth. 
The  hoax  thus  explained,  greet  was  Mally's  vexation, 

To  think  she'd  been  made  a  complete  laughing-stock  ; 
Then  kilted  her  coats  and  trudg'd  back  to  the  Swirle, 

And  often  gets  vext  aboot  Hepple's  gyem  cock. 

Right  fal,  etc. 
Embrt.  "  Bard»  of  the  Tyne,"  1849. 


THE   CURDS-AND-GREAM    HOUSE    GHOST. 

Tune— "Walker,  the  Twopenny  Poetman." 
O,  THE  neet  was  pick  dark,  and  a  Strang  wind  did  roar, 
When  abuen  the  Cat's  Tail*  wor  aud  keel  ran  ashore ; 
And  in  tryin'  te  clear  her  we  brak'  wor  sweep  oar, 

So  she  stuck  there  as  tight  as  a  post,  man. 
Te  get  her  afloat  a'  wor  strength  waddent  de ; 
Says  Dick,  "Let's  a'  hands  back  te  toon  on  the  spree. 
And  fast  in  the  huddock  we'll  leave  the  Pee  Dee, 

Te  be  freeten'd  te  deeth  wi'  the  ghost,  man." 

They'd  scarce  jumped  ashore  when  Pee  Dee,  the  sly  rat. 
Gat  oot,  and  ran  doon  to  a  stile,  where  he  sat 
Till  the  bullies  cam  up,  then  he  squalled  like  a  cat ; 

**  O,  marrows ! "  roared  Dick,  "  that's  the  ghost,  man !  " 
Such  yells  in  the  dark  myed  the  brave  bullies  stop ; 
And  doon,  deed  as  mutton,  the  skipper  did  drop ; 
Cries  Dick,  "  We're  poor  men  nobbet  gawn  on  the  hop ! 

Hev  marcy  on  us,  maister  ghost,  man ! " 

*  Hie  scene  of  the  song--a  smaU  valley  a  little  above  the  Shot  Tower. 


308  TYNBSIDE  SONGS. 

"Te  the  regions  beUw,"  cried  the  ghost,  **cum  away  \  " 
Then  the  skipper  jumped  up^  shooting,  <<Pray,  hinnies, 

pray!" 
"  Ye  ken  Gospel,"  ki  Dick,  "  so  kens  best  what  te  say. 

Speak  ye  le  this  monstrous  ghost,  man  1 " 
Wi'  thor  hair  reet  on  end,  and  thor  blud  like  te  freeze^ 
Myest  deaved  wi'  greet  yells,  they  dropped  doon  on  thor 

knees, 
And  blubbered  and  cried,  "We'll  de  owt  that  ye  please, 
Nobbit  leave  us  alyen,  hinny  ghost,  man  1 " 

When  off  the  ghost  fiew  wiv  a  terrible  scream : 

They  ran  into  a  hoose  where  they  sell  cruds  and  cream ; 

My  sai^ti^s,  astonished  the  wifie  did  seem, 

When  they  swore  hoo  they'd  mawled  a  greet  ghost, 
man; 
But  had  they  but  knawn  it  was  nobbit  Pee  Dee, 
They  wad  hammered  his  ribs,  just  te  letten  him  see 
That  te  put  them  in  fear  he'd  hev  much  mair  te  de 

Than  te  yelp  in  the  dark  like  a  ghost,  man. 

Embbt.  Author^s  Copy,  1802. 


THE    IZITIZARD   OF   THE   KTORTH;    OR,  THB 
MYSTIC   POLICEMAKT. 

Mr.  John  EUiott,  now  Superintendent  of  the  Gateshead  Police  Force,  wm« 
for  several  years  the  chief  detective  at  Newcastle-upon-Tyne.  He  was 
noted  for  his  skill.  The  "Journeyman  Tailor,"  a  by-name  by  which  he 
was  spoken  of  by  the  criminal  classes^whose  security  he  often  disturbed — 
is  an  allusion  to  his  business  before  he  joined  the  force.  —IfoU,  1872  JBdUion. 

Mr.  Elliott  resigned  the  office  of  Chief  Constable,  June  1891. 

Tune—"  Hurrah  for  the  Bonnets  o'  Bonnie  Dundee." 

Aw'vE  cum  fresh  frae  Mackie's  tae  sing  ye  a  sang, 
Aboot  a  queer  chap — but  aVU  not  keep  ye  lang — 
Of  the  prime  cock-tail  stingo  aw  just  had  my  shares 
When  the  Journeyman  Tailor  popp'd  in,  I  declare. 


I 


TYNESIDE  SOJ^GS,  309 

Chorus, 
He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  as  sure  as  you're  here, 
For  he's  leam'd  him  the  art  to  restore  stolen  gear ; 
But  stop  her  there,  Tommy — ^lang  may  wor  boast  be, 
That  the  Journeyman  Tailor's  the  top  o'  the  tree. 

He  can  flee  through  the  air  like  a  witch  on  a  broom, 
And  bring  a  defaulter  straight  back  to  his  doom ; 
In  spite  of  all  weather,  blow  foul,  or  blow  fair. 
The  Journeyman  Tailor  is  sure  to  be  there. 

He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  etc. 

He  has  cunning  black  eyes,  and  they  shine  in  the  dark, 
For  the  thief  thinks  him  near  if  he  sees  but  a  spark ; 
And  he  steps  just  as  light  as  wor  Granny's  Tom  Cat, 
And  springs  on  his  victim  as  it  wad  on  a  rat 
He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  etc. 

His  smell  is  so  keen  that  he  kens  biv  his  nose 
When  a  pick-pocket's  near,  and  he's  soon  on  his  toes ; 
So  ye  light-fingered  kiddies  at  races  beware, 
For  the  Journeyman  Tailor  is  sure  to  be  there. 
He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  etc. 

The  Cockneyfied  runners  of  Bow  Street  may  pine. 
To  think  they're  eclips'd  by  a  son  of  the  Tyne ; 
Let  them  bluster  like  Yankees,  but  little  we  care, 
For  wor  Journeyman  Tailor  can  make  them  all  stare. 
He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  etc 

Three  cheers  for  Newcastle !  three  cheers  for  the  Tyne ! 
Where  "had-away  Harry,"  se  often  did  shine  1 
And  for  peace  and  protection  we'll  never  despair 
As  long  as  the  Journeyman  Tailor  is  there. 

He's  a  limb  of  the  deevil,  etc. 
Emsrt.  AiUhar^i  Manuscript,  1862. 


310 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


THE   OWL. 

In  this  song  Emery  contributes  his  share  to  the  hubbub  which  some  sixty 

years  ago  stirred  Newcastle.    T.  Waller  Watson  brought  an  action  at  New- 

_^^  ^    _  1-^^=^    ^  castle    Assizes,     August 

^^^^^-'^^SS'.^Z^^^—.  1823,again8t  Thomas  Carr, 

Captain  of  the  Watch, 
for  assault  and  false  im- 
prisonment. Carr  was 
fined  forty  shillings  and 
costs,  evidently  to  the 
delight  of  the  local  poets, 
who,  in  some  half-dozen 
songs,  rejoice  over  his 
defeat.  Mr.  (afterwards 
Lord)  Brougham  was 
counsel  for  Carr,  and 
Sykes,  the  compiler  of 
Local  Beeords,  published 
a  report  of  the  trial. 

Carr  appears  not  to  have 
paid  the  fine,  hence  the 
imprisonment  of  the  Cap- 
tain of  the  Watch,  and 
the  exuberance  of  the 
local  poets.  "Gappy,"  who 
was  the  Captain  of  the 
Watch  in  charge,  and  who 
is  urged  to  "keep  him 
tight,"  was  keeper  of  the 
Old  Castle,  then  used  as 
the  debtors'  gaol  of  the 
town.  See  "  Cappy,"  p.141. 


OLD  CASTLE,  1810. 


Tune— "X,  Y,  Z.» 


Now,  run  away  amang  the  snobs 
An'  stangies  i'  the  Garth,  man, 
An'  hear  about  the  great  black  owl 

That's  let  on  Capp/s  hearth,  man. 
Of  sic  a  breed,  the  deil  his  sell 
It's  marraw  canna'  find  in  h — 11 ; 
It  hops  about  wiv  its  sloutch  hat. 
Can  worry  mice  like  wor  Tom  Cat; 
An'  sic  a  yarkin  blubber  heed. 
It  bangs  X  Y,  that  famous  steed, 
Or  ony  thing  ye  like,  man. 

Fal,  de  ral,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  311 

Oft  frev  its  nest,  in  Cabbage  Square^ 

It  flaifer'd  oot  at  neets,  man, 
'Mang  sic  a  flock  that  neetly  blare, 
An'  carry  crooks  an'  leets,  man ; 
Then  prowFd  wor  streets  in  search  of  prey. 
An'  if  a  mouse  but  crossed  his  way, 
He  quickly  had  it  by  the  nose, 
An'  pawk'd  it  off  to  kuel  its  toes. 

Did  Hoo !  Hoo !  wi'  the  blubber  heed,. 
That  bangs  X  Y,  that  famous  steed, 
So,  Cappy,  keep  him  tight,  man. 

To  tell  how  Cappy  gat  his  burd, 

Aw  wad  be  rather  fash'd,  man. 
Some  say  that,  of  its  awn  accord. 

It  went  to  get  white-was^ d^  man ; 
So  scrub  him,  Cap,  with  aw  yor  might. 
Just  nobbit  make  the  lubbart  white ; 
But  if  yor  brushin'  winna  dee, 
There's  Waller  Watson,  Walton  tee, 

They'll  scrub  him  as  they  did  before, 

An'  make  the  bowdy-kite  to  roar. 
If  Cappy  keeps  him  tight,  man. 

St.  Nich'las  bells  now  sweetly  ring, 

Yor  music's  se  bewitchin'; 
Ye  lads  in  Neil's,  now  louder  sing, 
An'  warble  weel.  Hell's  Kitchen, 
For  yor  awd  friend  is  in  the  trap, 
Alang  wi'  his  awn  brother.  Cap. 
Then  shout  hurra !  agyen  we're  free 
At  neets  te  hev  a  canny  spree. 

In  gannin  hyem,  ne  mair  we'll  dreed 
The  lubbart  wi'  the  chuckle  heed ; — 
Mind,  Cappy,  keep  him  tight,  man. 

Embrt.  MarthalVt  CoUeetiorit  1827. 


SI2  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

THE   SKIPPER'S   DREAM. 

This  Mng  we  tint  find  in  Th$  Tyne  SongtUr,  a  choice  selectioii  of  songs 
in  the  Newcastle  dialect.  The  collection,  one  of  72  pages,  was  printed  and 
sold  by  W.  Orange,  North  Shields,  1827.  The  song  appears  without  an 
author's  name,  but  in  Fordyce's,  1842,  where  it  next  appears,  T.  Moor  is  glTon 
as  the  writer.  Moor  was  a  shoemaker,  who  carried  on  business  at  Denton 
Chare.  He  was  a  good  bass  singer,  and  one  of  the  choir  of  St.  Andrew's. 
Mrs.  Leyboume,  yet  remembered  as  a  popular  favourite,  singing  both  at  the 
Theatre  Boyal  and  public  concerts,  was  his  daughter.  This  seems  Moor's 
only  song,  and  about  it  there  is  related  an  odd  fact.  Robert  Emery,  the 
famous  I^eeide  writer,  when  he  got  a  glass  too  much  used  regularly  to 
break  out  with  this  song ;  it  is  just  possible  Emery  had  something  to  do 
with  the  writing  of  it  Silver  Street,  where  he  lived  for  so  many  years,  is 
not  the  place  to  parade  the  spirit  or  the  sentiments  of  "The  ffldpper's 
Ihream."  Moor  (who  used  to  sing  the  song),  connected  with  the  church, 
had  associations  more  in  keeping  with  it. 

ToTHER  day,  ye  mun  knaw,  wey  aw'd  had  a  sup  beer; 
It  ran  i'  maw  heed,  and  myed  me  sae  queer, 
That  aw  lay  doon  to  sleep  i'  wor  huddock  sae  snug, 
An'  dreem'd  sic  a  dreem  as  gar'd  me  scart  me  lug. 


Aw  dreem'd  that  the  queerest  man  iver  aw  see'd. 
Cam  stumping  alang  wi'  three  hats  on  his  heed; 
A  goon  on  like  a  priest  (mind  aw's  telling  ne  lees). 
An'  at  his  side  there  was  hingin  a  greet  bunch  o*  kees. 

He  stares  i'  maw  fyece,  and  says,  "  How  d'ye  de?  " 
"  Aw's  teufish,"  says  aw,  "  canny  man,  how  are  ye  ?  " 
Then  he  says,  wiv  a  voice  gar'd  me  trimmle,  aw's  shure, 
"  Aw*s  varry  weel,  thank  ye,  but  yor  day  is  nigh  ower." 

Aw  studdies  awhile,  then  says  aw,  "  Are  ye  Deeth, 
Come  here  for  to  wise  oot  a  poor  fellow's  breeth  ?  " 
He  says,  "  No,  aw'm  the  Pope,  cum  to  try  if  aw  can 
Save  a  vile  wretch  like  ye  fra  the  nasty  Bad  Man. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  3^3 

He  said,  yen  St  Peter  gov  him  them  greet  kees 
Telet  into  Hiven  wheiver  he'd  please; 
An'  if  aw'd  turn  Papish,  and  giv  him  a  Note, 
He'd  send  me  to  Hiven,  without  ony  doot. 

Then  a  yel  heep  o'  stuff  he  talk'd  about  sin, 

An'  sed  he'd  forgi'  me  whativer  aw'd  deun ; 

An'  if  that  aw'd  murther'd  byeth  fayther  and  muther, 

For  a  five  shillin  piece,  wey,  aw  might  kill  me  bruther. 

Says  aw,  "  Mister  Pope,  gi's  ne  mair  o'  yur  tauk, 
But  oot  o'  wor  huddock  aw's  beg  ye  to  wauk ; 
An'  if  ye  divent  get  oot  before  aw  count  Nine^ 
Byeth  ye  and  yor  keys,  man,  aw'U  fling  i'  the  Tyne." 

So  aw  on  tiv  me  feet  wiv  a  bit  iv  a  skip. 
For  aw  ment  for  to  give  him  an  Orangeman's  grip ; 
But  aw  wakened  just  then  in  a  terrible  stew, 
And  fand  it  a  dream  as  aw've  teld  ye  just  noo. 

T.  Moon.  **Tyn6  Songiter^*  1827. 


WILLIAM   STEPHENSON,  JUN., 

Like  bis  father,  has  contributed  to  the  songs  of  the  dis- 
trict. Bom  in  Gateshead,  Sept.  2nd,  1797 ;  he  was  to  business 
a  printer,  beginning  early  on  his  own  account,  at  the 
Bridge  End,  Gateshead;  in  1824  be  published  a  very 
interesting  collection  of  "Original  Local  Songs,"  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Tyneside  Minstrel,"  Mitford,  Oliver,  his 
father,  himself,  and  others  contributing.  His  business 
seems  partly  to  have  been  that  of  supplying  hawkers 
with  songs,  slips,  last  dying  confessions,  etc,  as  these 
with  his  imprint  turn  up  in  the  lots  of  collectors.  In 
"The  Tyneside  Minstrel"  appears  his  "Beggars'  Wed- 
ding"; it  is  signed  S.    About  a  dozen  sentimental  pieces 


314 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


signed  X.  seem  also  to  be  by  him,  amongst  them  ''The 
lass  that  shed  a  tear  for  me,"  and  *'  Ellen,"  to  the  tune  of 
"Robin  Adair,"  the  first  verse  of  which  may  be  given — 

'  Who  makes  this  life  so  sweet  ? 

Ellen,  my  love. 
Who  makes  the  hours  so  fleet  ? 

Ellen,  my  love. 
But  when  her  heart  is  sore, 
Time  is  to  me  no  more, 
Unless  in  sighing  for 

Ellen,  my  love." 

^In  1832  he  published  his  father's 
volume  of  poems  and  songs. 
About  the  same  time  he  would 
be  busy  with  his  most  important 
work,  The  Gateshead  Intelligencer, 
This  was  a  sixpenny  monthly,  a  sort  of  half  newspaper,  half 
magazine.  It  began  in  1830  and  finished  in  1833,  but 
before  it  finished  he  had  contrived  through  it  to  get  into 
mischief  with  the  Gas  Company,  and  had  to  apologise  for 
his  remarks  about  them. 

Giving  up  his  printing,  he  commenced  in  his  native  town 
as  an  auctioneer,  and  succeeded  in  doing  a  good  business. 
He  died  at  a  comparatively  early  age,  the  Gateshead 
Observer  of  May  26,  1838,  thus  briefly  recording  his  death  : 
"  On  Sunday  (May  20),  after  a  long  illness,  aged  40,  much 
respected,  Mr.  W.  Stephenson,  printer." 


THE    BEGGARS'    laTEDDING. 

Tune— *•  Quayside  Shaver." 

When  Timber-legged  Harry  Crook'd  Jenny  did  marry, 

In  fam'd  Gateshead  town — and,  not  thinking  of  blows, 
Three  ragmen  did  quarrel  about  their  apparel, 

Which  ofttimes  affrighted  both  small  birds  and  crows. 
This  resolute  prial,  fought  on  battle  royal, 

Till  Jenny  spoke  this,  with  hump  back  and  sharp  shins : 
**Be  loving  as  brothers,  as  well  as  the  others. 

Then  we  shall  get  orders  for  needles  and  pins  I  " 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  313 

The  bride-maid,  full  breasted,  she  vowed  and  protested. 

She  never  saw  men  at  a  wedding  so  rude ; 
Old  Madge,  with  her  matches,  top  full  of  her  catches, 

Swore  she  would  be  tipsy  e*er  they  did  conclude ; 
The  supper  being  ended,  some  part  still  contended 

For  wholesome  malt  liquor  to  fill  up  each  skin ; 
Jack  Tar,  in  his  jacket,  sat  close  to  Doll  Flacket, 

And  swore  he'd  drink  nothing  but  grog  and  clear  gin. 


Black  Jack,  with  his  fiddle,  they  fixed  in  the  middle, 

Who  had  not  been  washed  since  the  second  of  June ; 
Old  Sandy,  the  piper,  told  Nell  he  would  stripe  her. 

If  she  wouldn't  dance  while  his  pipe  was  in  tune : 
They  played  them  such  touches,  with  wood  legs  and 
crutches — 

Old  rag-pokes  and  matches,  old  songs  flew  about ; 
Poor  Jack  being  a  stranger,  his  scratch  thought  in  danger, 

He  tenderly  begg'd  they  would  give  up  the  rout. 


Jack  being  thus  ill-treated,  he  begg'd  to  be  seated 

Upon  an  old  cupboard  the  landlord  had  got, — 
Like  madmen  enchanted,  they  tippled  and  ranted. 

Till  down  came  the  fiddler  as  if  he'd  been  shot 
They  drank  gin  by  noggins,  and  strong  beer  by  flagons, 

Till  they  had  sufficiently  softened  each  maw ; 
Then  those  that  were  able  retir'd  to  the  stable, 

And  slept  with  their  noses  like  pigs  in  the  straw. 

W.  Stephenson,  Jun.  *' Tyneside  Minstray**  1824. 


^6  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

THE   SASTDHILL  MONKEY. 

Tune—"  Drops  of  Bnndy." 

A  STORY  air's  gaun  for  t*  tell, 

An' t'  ye  it  may  luik  vairy  strange : 
It  was  in  a  shop  on  the  Sandhill, 

When  the  Craw's  Nest*  was  on  the  Exchange, 
A  monkey  was  each  day  drest  soon, 

Ahint  the  coonter  he  sat  i'  the  shop, 
Whe  cam  in  an'  their  money  laid  doon, 

Jaco  straight  in  the  till  wad  it  pop. 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc. 

A  skipper  he  cam  in  yen  day, 

He  couldn't  help  luiking  at  Jackey, 
On  the  coonter  his  money  did  lay, 

Saying,  "Please,  sir,  an  oonce  o*  rag  baccy." 
His  money  Jake  popt  in  the  till, 

The  skipper  kept  luiking  at  him, 
A'  the  time  on  his  seat  he  sat  still, 

An'  he  luik'd  at  the  skipper  quite  grim. 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 

"Noo,  pray,  sir,  will  ye  bear  a  hand? 

For  aw  mun  be  at  Sheels  now  this  tide ! 
Now,  pray,  be  as  sharp  as  ye  can. 

For  wor  keel  she  is  at  the  Keeside ; 

*  In  1788  a  pair  of  crows  built  their  nest  above  the  mne  upon  Oi*  apize 
of  the  steeple  of  the  Exchange,  SandhilL  The  iron  rod  upon  which  tha 
▼ane  was  fixed  went  through  the  centre  of  the  nest,  which  turned  with 
every  change  of  wind.  They  attempted  to  build  it  the  year  following,  but 
other  crows  pulled  it  to  pieces  before  it  was  finished.  In  the  years  1785-6-7-8, 
the  same  crows,  as  it  was  thought,-buitt  t>n  the  same  spot,  or  rather  point, 
and  succeeded  each  year  in  rearing  their  young. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  317 

Aud  man,  are  ye  deef?"  then  he  cried* 

An'  intiv  a  passion  he  fell ; 
On  the  coonter  lay  some^  ready  weigh'd, 

Says  he,  "  Smash  I  but  aw'U  help  me-sel." 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 

Then  he  tuik  up  an  ounce  o'  rag  baccy, 

But  afore  he  could  get  turned  aboot, 
Off  his  seat  then  up  started  aud  Jacky, 

An'  catch'd  him  hard  fast  by  the  snoot ; 
He  roar'd  and  he  shooted  oot  "  Murder ! " 

The  maister  he  see'd  a'  the  fun. 
Not  wishin  the  joke  t'  gan  farther, 

Straight  intiv  the  shop  then  he  run. 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 

"What's  the  matter,  my  canny  good  man?" 

An'  he  scarcely  could  keep  in  the  laugh ; 
"Take  this  aud  man  off  me — bear  a  hand! 

For  aw  think  now  that's  matter  eneuf. 
What's  the  matter,  ye  ax  ?  Smash !  that's  funny ; 

(An'  he  still  kept  his  eye  upon  Jackey,) 
Aw  paid  yor  granfayther  the  money, 

But  he'll  not  let  me  hae  me  baccy." 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 

"  Now,  mind  ye,  maw  canny  good  man. 

If  iver  thou  comes  in  wor  keel,  man, 
For  the  trick  thou  hes  play'd  me  the  day, 

Wor  pee-dee  shall  sobble  ye  weel — 
Aye,  for  a'  yor  fine  claes  aw'U  engage. 

An'  for  a'  yor  a  sturdy  aud  man, 
Tho'  he's  nobbut  twelve  years  of  age. 

He  shall  thresh  ye  till  ye  canna  gan." 

Rum  ti  iddity,  etc 
W.  Stephenson,  Jun.  "  2V««  Swgtter,"  1827. 


3i8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

M£RRT   LADS   OF*  GTETSHEAD. 

I  First  appeared  in  the  Tynetide  Minstrel,  1824,  published  by  W. 
Stephenson,  Jun.  There  is  no  author  given,  only  the  initial  B.  It  is  the 
only  song  in  the  collection  under  that  signature. 

Tune— "Sunny  Banks  of  Scotland." 

Come,  lads,  assemble  in  a  ring, 

And  a*  your  flutes  an'  fiddles  bring, 

And  join  wi'  me  all  ye  that  sing, 

To  praise  the  lads  of  Gyetshead. 
They  are  se  frank,  they  are  se  free. 
They  please  the  lasses  tiv  a  tee ; 
They  cry  there's  nyen  that  e'er  aw  see 

Can  match  the  lads  of  Gyetshead. 

Chorus — 
Then  fill  the  glasses  up  wi*  glee, 
And  drink  to  them  wi'  three  times  three, 
Lang  may  they  live  and  happy  be, 
The  merry  lads  of  Gyetshead. 

The  mothers  warn  their  dowters  fair 
Of  a'  young  men  for  to  beware. 
But  myest  of  a',  ma  bairn,  tyek  care 

Of  them  blithe  lads  of  Gyetshead. 
They  are  se  wily  and  se  kind, 
They  seun  wad  win  a  lass's  mind. 
When  aw  was  young  'twas  rare  to  find 

A  lad  like  them  of  Gyetshead. 

Then  fill  the  glasses,  etc. 

Whene'er  they  gan  to  tyek  a  gill 
At  Jenny  Brown's,  or  where  they  will, 
Ye  find  them  blithe  and  cheerful  still. 
The  merry  lads  of  Gyetshead ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  319 

Or  when  at  Kenmir's  house  they  meet, 
Se  happily  they  spend  the  neet, 
Say  what  ye  will,  there's  nyen  can  beat 
The  merry  lads  of  Gyetshead. 

Then  fill  the  glasses,  etc. 

At  hoppin  times,  when  fiddles  play. 
When  lads  and  lasses  dance  a'  day, 
Abyun  them  a*  they  tyek  the  sway. 

The  merry  lads  of  Gyetshead. 
The  country  lads  to  beat  them  try, 
But  na,  na,  na,  they  canna  come  nigh ; 
The  aud  wives  cock  their  thumbs  and  cry, 

Weel  dyun,  the  lads  of  Gyetshead. 

Then  fill  the  glasses,  etc. 
Aw  henna  power  their  worth  to  tell, 
Abyun  a'  else  they  bear  the  bell. 
And  oh !  let  me  for  ever  dwell 

Amang  the  lads  of  Gyetshead 
Ye  power  abyun,  to  them  be  kind, 
And  keep  them  still  in  friendship  joined ; 
When  life  is  o'er  then  let  me  find 

In  Heaven  the  lads  of  Gyetshead. 

Then  fill  the  glasses,  etc. 
B.  "  Tyneaide  Minstrel,'*  1824. 

ROBERT   MURTRT. 

Robert,  familiarly  known  as  Bobby  Nunn,  the  author  of 
many  popular  Tyneside  songs,  was  to  business  a  slater.  In 
early  life,  while  following  his  occupation,  he  fell  from  the 
roof  of  a  house,  and  unfortunately  lost  his  eyesight  from  the 
effects  of  the  accident.  Being  unable  to  follow  his  business, 
he  afterwards  supported  himself  and  his  family  by  his  talents 
as  a  musician,  and  attended  with  his  fiddle  the  different  merry- 
makings, etc.,  in  the  town.  A  picture  of  his  life  at  this 
period  is  well  drawn  by  his  friend,  Robert  Emery,  in  the 
song,  "  The  Sandgate  Lassie's  Lament " — 


320 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Oh !  hinny,  Mall,  aw's  very  bad,  my  heart  is  like  to  break  ; 
The  dowley  news,  aw*8  greeved  to  say,  hes  nearly  dyun  the  trick  : 
For  Dick  the  Deevil  on  the  Kee  declar'd  to  me  th'  dav, 
While  sobbin  sair,  that  deeth  had  tyen  poor  Bobby  Nunn  away, 
Poor  Bobby  Nunn  away  1 

Head-meetin*  days  were  spent  in  glee  when  Bobby  tjruk  the  chair. 
Whene'er  we  saw  his  sonsie  face  wor  steam  got  up  for  fair. 
His  merry  sang  an'  fiddle  good  did  banish  care  an'  pain. 
But  cruel  deeth  hes  stopp'd  his  breeth, — he'll  never  sing  again  1 

Oh !  he'll  never  sing  again. 
The  happy  days  o'  Christmas  ne  joy  te  us  will  bring  | 
E'n  Peter  Nichol's  bonny  birds  most  dowley  dirges  smg ; 
But  while  Tyne's  stream  runs  to  the  sea,  Nunn's  fame  can  never  set. 
He  always  was  Newcassel's  pride,  an*  sae  will  he  yet. 

An'  sae  will  he  yet,  an'  sae  will  he  yet. 

Besides  the  attractions  of  his 
fiddle,  he  was  a  good  singer,  and 
composed  a  great  number  of  local 
songs,  which  he  sung  with  great 
success.  Many  of  his  songs, 
written  upon  passing  events,  and 
sometimes  rather  coarse  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mixed  companies 
he  amused,  are  now  forgotten, 
but  several  which  appear  in  this 
volume  have  taken  their  places 
as  standards  amongst  Tyneside 
songs,  and  are  highly  popular. 
He  died  at  Queen  Street,  Castle 
Garth,  Newcastle,  on  the  2nd  of 
May  1853,  aged  forty-five  years. 

Robert  Emery  supplied  the 
information  about  Nunn  which 
appears  above.  W.  H.  Dawson, 
in  his  Local  Poets^  has  further 
information.  **  Robert  Nunn  was 
eminently  a  Newcastle  man,  and 
had  the  *burr'  in  all  its  delightful 
purity.  He  could  not  be  con- 
sidered a  man  of  any  intellectual 
culture,  and  it  is  therefore  the 
more  creditable  that  he  has  pro- 
duced so  many  songs.  Some  of 
them  will  not  bear  a  close  inspec- 
tion, on  account  of  their  approach- 
ing the  questionable.    There  were 


House  in  which  Nunn  died. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  321 

circumstances  to  account  for  that ;  be  had  some  talent  as  a 
performer  on  the  fiddle,  and  being  in  the  habit  of  attending 
women's  boxes  or  benefit  clubs  on  the  occasion  of  their 
holding  their  head-meeting  days,  when  the  old  ladies  had 
plied  themselves  with  a  plentiful  supply  of  stimulants  they 
would  disport  themselves  on  the  *  lighUy-gay  fantastic  toe ' 
to  the  pleasing  scrapings  of  *  Bobby's*  fiddle.  To  diversify 
their  delight  he  would  entertain  them  with  a  song,  and  a 
professor  of  moral  ethics  would  have  got  a  lesson  had  he  seen 
how  the  more  than  innuendoes  were  received.  No  doubt 
this  would  urge  him  on  the  more  in  that  direction.  That 
was  no  reason,  however,  they  should  ever  have  appeared 
in  print" 

*'  *  Bobby  NuMn,'  as  he  was  generally  called,  was  a  heavy 
looking  man,  a  great  favourite  at  resorts  of  which  we  have 
spoken,  and  no  party  of  the  kind  was  considered  complete 
without  *  Bobby '  and  his  fiddle." 

The  bard,  for  Nunn  is  worthy  of  the  name,  did  not  confine 
his  efforts  in  supporting  his  family  to  his  musical  abilities 
only ;  no  honest  work  came  amiss  to  him.  His  musical  gifts 
were  generally  in  demand  at  nights,  and  during  the  day 
Bobby,  for  Sopwith  and  other  turners  and  cabinet-makers, 
turned  the  big  wheels  of  their  lathes.  When  not  busy  with 
that  he  indulged  his  love  of  birds,  for  which,  blind  as  he 
was,  he  had  a  passion  in  making  cages  for  them.  That  his 
home,  despite  his  blindness,  was  a  happy  one,  the  follow- 
ing song,  which  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  wife,  fairly 
shows : — 

ROBY'S  WIFE'S  LAMENTATION. 

(Second  and  third  verses.) 

When  Roby's  in  my  heart  is  leet, 

He  tyeks  the  fiddle  doon ; 
He  drives  away  a  winter's  neet 

Wi*  playin*  a  hearty  tune. 
He  talks  about  th'  happy  neets 

He  had  when  coortin*  me, 
Aside  the  bom  among  the  com 

Where  oft  we  ynest  to  be. 

Clwrui. 

Boby  he's  gyen  oot  th'  n«et 
Ti  see  his  sister  Jin; 

It's  now  struck  nine,  he's  past  his  time, 
Aw  wish  he  wad  cum  in. 

21 


332  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

When  sittin'  bi  the  fireside, 

What  pleasure  div  aw  feel ; 
He  smiles  an'  ca's  me  his  dear  bride, 

An'  says  he  likes  me  weel. 
An'  when  aw'm  sittin'  on  his  knee, 

He  tugs  at  me  for  fan ; 
Lang  may  aw  say,  blist  be  th'  day 

That  aw  was  called  a  Nunn. 

Roby  he's  gyen  oot  th'  neet,  etc 

Some  fifty  years  ago,  at  the  annual  treats  to  the  aged  poor 
of  St.  Nicholas'  at  Christmas-tide,  Bobby  was  at  home  (St 
Nicholas  was  his  parish) ;  and  at  the  treats,  after  tea  came 
the  entertainment,  thus  described  by  one  who  saw  and 
heard : — 

*•  Bobby  was  great  at  the  annual  treats,  his  rendering  of  '  Jocker,* 
'Newcastle  is  my  Native  Place,'  'The  Ropery  Banks,'  and  'Drucken 
Bella  Roy,  O,'  never  failing  to  provoke  the  merriment  of  the  old 
women.  Occasionally  he  would  compose  impromptu  verses  on  the 
company,  and  at  such  times  the  usually  grave  clergy  and  the  charming 
young  ladies  who  ladled  out  soup  in  the  kitchen  in  the  Long  Stairs  in 
the  winter  time,  and  who  always  attended  the  Christmas  party,  could 
not  by  any  means  retain  their  gravity.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle 
of  the  blunt  and  uncouth  in  the  language  and  sentiment  of  his  songs 
that  characterised  the  local  poets  of  a  former  generation,  but  his 
inimitable  drollery  covered  all  blemishes  and  created  a  merriment 
that  made  his  presence  always  welcome." — Elfin,  Daily  Chronicle^ 
December  lothy  1887. 

Where  poor  Nunn  lies,  "after  life's  fitful  fever,"  is  uncer- 
tain. His  sons  have  left  the  town,  and  his  daughter  is  dead. 
Old  neighbours  of  his  say  he  lies  in  St.  Nicholas'  churchyard, 
but  there  is  no  entry  of  his  burial  there  for  1853  (the  year 
of  his  death),  or  for  some  years  previous.  The  churchyard 
was  closed  in  1853,  and  the  cemetery  opened.  The  register 
of  the  cemetery  has  also  been  searched,  but  in  vain.  The 
uncertainty  of  his  place  of  burial  does  not  extend  to  the  fate 
of  his  songs :  they  will  live.  Dawson  writes  of  their  being 
very  melodious.  It  is  a  happy  term,  and  some  of  his  best, 
as  the  "Sandgate  Lass  on  the  Ropery  Banks"  and  ''Blind 
Willie's  Death,"  richly  deserve  the  name. 

*'  Workmen's  trips,  now  so  common,  were  unknown  until 
about  1847,  when  R.  &  W.  Hawthorn  begun  them  by  giving 
the  workmen  at  their  famous  engine  works,  Forth  Banks, 
a  two-days'  trip  to  Edinburgh.  It  being  the  first  of  its 
kind  (the  factory  band  accompanying  it),  the  trip  made  a 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  323 

great  talk,  and  St.  Nicholas'  bells  were  rung  in  honour  of  the 
occasion.  Nunn,  on  the  look-out  for  anything  fresh,  wrote 
a  song  about  it,  which  he  sung  on  pay-nights  at  public- 
houses  near  the  works  amongst  the  men.     It  begins— 

"  *The  twentieth  of  August  the  weather  was  fine, 

When  Hawthorn's  mechanics  went  oflf  from  the  Tyne, 
To  visit  Auld  Reekie.'  .  .  . 

The  song  was  a  lengthy  one.  It  described  the  journey,  with 
the  sights  to  be  seen,  and,  as  sung  by  Nunn,  went  well.  It 
would  be  about  the  last  he  wrote,  as  he  died  not  long  after." 
Joe  Wilson,  in  an  acrostic  on  his  death,  thus  gives  his 
estimate  of  Bobby  Nunn — 

N  e  mair  will  we  hear  him  play  a  bonny  teun  ; 
U  nequalled  wes  he  when  the  dancin'  wes  deun. 
N  yen  cud  chant  like  him,  his  sangs  myed  lots  0'  fan, 
N  ebody  pleased  them  like  canny  Bobby  Nunn. 

His  songs  we  first  find  in  Fordyce's  1842  volume  ;  in  fact, 
Fordyce's  may  be  said  to  be  the  only  place,  as  the  collec- 
tion referred  to  by  Dawson,  and  the  broadsheets  issued  by 
himself,  are  about  lost. 

An  imperfect  copy  of  Nunn's  songs,  at  the  last  moment, 
has  been  found.  The  date  (probably  about  1840)  is  torn  off. 
"The  Poor  Aud  Horse"  and  "The  Quarter  of  Currans," 
two  songs  much  sung  by  Nunn,  unfortunately  are  not  in  it. 
If  they  ever  formed  part,  they  must  be  amongst  the  missing 
leaves.  The  songs  here,  as  far  as  possible,  are  corrected 
from  it. 


THE    PITMAN   AND   THE    BLACKIKT'. 

The  first  song  in  Nunn's  book  is  said  to  be  the  first  song  he  wrote,  and 
for  which,  the  story  runs,  he  got  half-a*crown  as  his  pay.  The  McCrees, 
whose  bhickinghe  puffs,  were  some  fifty  years  ago  well-known  tradesmen  in 
Newcastle.  The  Bev.  T.  McCree,  about  the  first  to  devote  himself  to 
mission  work  amongst  the  outcast  poor,  was  another  brother. 

Tune—"  Cole  Hole." 
O,  Betty,  come  and  see  my  byuts, 

The  upper  leather's  crackin' ; 
It's  a'  wi'  cleanin'  them  wi'  syut, 

And  niver  usin'  blackin'. 


334  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

But,  Betty,  awl  gan  ti  the  toon 
Ti-morn,  and  see  my  uncle  Brown ; 
And  if  it  costs  me  half-a-crown. 
Awl  buy  a  pot  o'  blackin\ 

For  comin'  hyem  fra  wark  te  neet, 

Aw  met  wi'  Willy  Dewar ; 
His  shoes  were  glitterin'  on  his  feet — 

He  lyuckt  like  some  heed  viewer. 
My  eyes  bein'  dazzled  at  the  seet. 
Says  aw,  what  myeks  your  shoes  se  breet, 
He  said  to  me,  In  Blackett  Street 

Aw  bought  a  pot  o'  blackin'. 

It's  myed,  said  he,  by  T.  McCree, 
It's  noted  up  and  down,  man  ; 

It  is  the  best,  it  heads  the  rest 
In  a'  Newcassel  toon,  man. 

Byeth  pyest  and  liquid  ye  may  get 

Te  myek  yor  shoes  as  black  as  jet ; 

It  will  presarve  them  when  they're  wet, 
This  celebrated  blackin*. 

There's  Warren  hes  a  vast  o'  slack. 

And  cuts  a  deal  o'  capers, 
But  still  McCree  he  hes  the  crack 

In  a'  Newcassel's  papers. 
Then  if  thou  wants  thy  byuts  ti  shine, 
Or  shoes  ti  be  as  breet  as  mine, 
Gan,  Tommy,  thou  to  toon  in  time, 

And  buy  a  pot  o'  blackin*. 

Then,  Betty,  jewel,  if  this  be  true. 
Awl  gan  ti-morrow  mornin'. 

And  awl  bring  hyem  a  pot  or  two. 
Awl  not  be  lang  returnin'. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  32$ 

Then  Betty,  it'll  be  a  joke, 
When  ye  get  on  yor  tartin  cloak ; 
They'll  tyek  us  for  some  better  folk, 
Wor  shoes  being  bright  wi'  blackin'. 

NUNN.  AvXhdft'i  Edition, 


THE   NEWCASTLE   LAD; 

OR,  NEWCASTLE  IS   MY   NATIVE   PLACE. 
This  song,  in  all  probability,  a  little  of  Nunn's  own  early  life. 

Tune—"  An'  sae  wiU  we  yet'* 

Newcastle  is  my  native  place,  where  my  mother  sigh'd 

for  me, 

I  was  born  in  Rewcastle  Chare,  the  centre  of  the  Kee ; 

There  early  life  I  sported,  quite  free  from  care  and  pain ! 

But  alas  I  those  days  are  past  and  gone,  they'll  never 

come  again. 

No,  they'll  never  come  again,  etc. 

They  sent  me  to  the  Jub'lee  school,  a  scholar  to  make 

me. 
Where  Tommy  Penn,  my  monitor,  learned  me  my  A,  B,  C ; 
My  master  to  correct  me,  often  used  his  whip  and  cane. 
But  I  can  say  with  confidence,  he'll  never  do't  again. 

No,  he'll  never,  etc. 

I  left  the  school  and  to  a  trade  I  went  to  serve  my  time ; 
The  world  with  all  its  flattering  charms  before  me  seem'd 

to  shine ; 
Then  there  was  plenty  cash  astir,  and  scarce  one  did 

complain, 
But  ah !  alas  1  those  days  are  past,  and  ne'er  will  come 

again. 

No,  they'll  never,  etc. 


326  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Like  other  youths  I  had  a  love  to  wander  by  my  side, 
And  oft  I  whisper'd  in  her  ear  that  she  should  be  my 

bride ; 
And  ev'ry  time  I  kissed  her  lips,  she  cried  "  O  fie^  for 

shame ! " 
But  with  "Good  night,"  she  always  said,  "Now  mind  you 

come  again ! " 

Now  mind,  etc. 

At  last  to  church  I  went  away  with  Sally  to  be  wed. 
For  thoughts  of  matrimony  came,  and  troubled  then  my 

head. 
The  priest  that  tied  the  fatal  knot,  I  now  can  tell  him 

plain, 
If  I  was  once  more  single  he  should  never  do't  again. 

He  should  never,  etc 

Now,  like  another  married  man,  IVe  with  the  world  to 

fight. 
But  never  mind,  let  friendship  reign  amongst  us  here 

to-night, 
Then  with  a  bumper  in  each  hand  let  every  heart  exclaim. 
Here's  happy  may  we  separate  and  happy  meet  again  ! 

And  happy  meet,  etc. 
NUNN.  Auihoi's  Edition. 


LUCKEY'S   DREAM. 

Tune—"  Caller  Fair." 

The  other  neet  aw  went  t'  bed, 

Bein'  weary  wi  maw  wark,  man, 
Aw  dreamt  that  Billy  Scott  was  deed, 

It's  curious  t'  remark,  man. 
Aw  thowt  aw  saw  his  buryin'  fair, 

An'  knew  the  comp'ny  a',  man. 
For  a'  poor  Billy's  frinds  were  there, 

Ti  see  him  levelled  law,  man. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  327 

Blind  Willie  slawly  led  the  band, 

As  beagle  on  the  way,  man, 
A  staff  he  carried  in  his  hand, 

An'  shook  his  heed  se  grey,  man ; 
At  his  reet  hand  was  Buggy  Jack, 

Wi'  his  hat  brim  se  broad,  man ; 
And  on  his  left  was  Bill  the  Black, 

Ti  lead  him  on  his  road,  man. 

Big  Bob,  X  Y,  and  oth^r  two, 

That  leeves  upon  the  deed,  man. 
They  bore  his  corpse  before  the  crew, 

Expectin'  t'  be  fee'd,  man. 
His  nyemsyek,  Euphy  Scott,  was  there, 

Her  bonny  Geordy,  tee,  man ; 
Distressed,  they  cried,  this  happy  pair, 

Ne  mair  we  will  him  see,  man. 

Bold  Jocker  was  amang  them,  tee. 

Brave  Cuckoo  Jack  an'  a',  man ; 
And  Hairy  Tom,  the  keelman's  son, 

And  Bonny  Dolly  Raw,  man ; 
And  Bella  Roy  and  Tatie  Bet, 

They  cried  till  oot  o'  breath,  man ; 
For  sair  these  twosome  did  regret 

For  canny  Billy's  death,  man. 

But  Hangy  luickt  above  them  a'. 

He  is  see  sma'  and  lang,  man ; 
And  Bobby  Knox,  the  Dogbank  ox. 

Was  sobbin'  i'  the  thrang,  man. 
And  Coiner,  wi'  his  swill  and  shuU, 

Was  squeakin'  like  a  bairn,  man ; 
And  Knack-knee'd  Mack,  that  drucken^fyul, 

Like  a  monkey  he  did  gaira,  man. 


338  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Tally-i-oo,  that  dirty  wretch, 

Was  then  the  next  aw  saw,  man ; 
And  Peggy  Powell,  Step-and-Fetch, 

Was  haddin'  up  her  jaw,  man : 
And  frae  the  Close  was  Bobby  Hush, 

Wi'  his  greet  gob  se  wide,  man ; 
Alang  wi*  him  was  Push-Peg-Push, 

Lamentin'  by  his  side,  man. 

And  Roguish  Ralph,  and  Busy  Bruce, 

That  lives  upon  their  prey,  man, 
Did  not  neglect,  but  did  protect 

Their  frinds  upon  the  way,  man. 
And  Jimmy  Liddle,  drest  in  black, 

Behint  them  a'  did  droop,  man ; 
He  had  a  coat  on  like  the  quack 

That  feeds  us  a'  wi'  soup,  man. 

Now,  when  they  got  him  tiv  his  grave, 

He  then  began  to  shoot,  man, 
For  Billy  being  but  in  a  trance^ 

B'  this  time  cam'  aboot,  man. 
Then  Jocker  wi'  a  sandy  styen 

The  coffin  splet  wi'  speed,  man — 
They  a'  rejoiced  to  see  agyen 

Poor  Bill  they  thowt  was  deed,  man. 

When  a'  his  friends  that  roond  him  stood 

Had  gettin'  him  put  reet,  man. 
They  a'  went  ti  the  Robin  Hood, 

To  spend  a  jovial  neet,  man. 
Ne  mair  for  Billy  they  did  weep. 

But  happy  they  did  seem,  man : 
Just  then  aw  waken'd  frae  my  sleep. 

And  fund  it  was  a  dream,  man. 

NUNN.  Author't  BdUion. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


329 


ST.    NICHOULS'    CHURCH. 

Mr.  J.  R.  Boyle,  F.S.A.,  in  his  recently  published  CatJiedral  Church  o/St 
Nxchola»t  writes :— "  Our  only  written  authority  as  to  the  early  history  of 
this  church  is  in  the  MSS.  of  Dr.  Nathaniel  Ellison,  as  these  are  quoted  in 
Brand's  History  of  NeiocMtle.'* 

'•  A.D.  1091,  in  the  fourth  year  of  William  Rufus,  the  Church  of  St  Nicholas 
was  founded  by  Osmund,  Bishop 
of  Salisbury."— Ellison. 

Gray,  in  his  CAoro^(ipAta,1649, 
writefl:>^"  Saint  Nicholas,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Towne;  a  long 
faire  and  high  Church,  having 
a  stately  high  stone  Steeple, 
with  many  pinakles;  a  stately 
stone  Lantheme,  standing  upon 
foure  stone  Arches  builded  by 
Robert  de  Rhodes,*  Lord  Priour 
of  Tinemouth  in  Henry  VI.  ^ 
dayes.  It  lif teth  up  a  head  of  ^- 
Majesty,  as  high  above  the  rest 
as  the  Cypresse  Tree  above  the 
low  Shrubs." 

Ben  Jonson. 
My  Altitude  high,  my  Body  foure 

square ;  _ 

My  Foot  in  the  grave;  my  Head  ^ 

in  the  Ayre ;  "^ 

My  Eyes   in    my    sides;   Ave 

Tongues  in  my  wombe ; 
Thirteen  Heads  upon  my  Body ; 

foure  Images  alone. 
I  can  direct  you  where  the  Winde 

doth  st^. 
And  I  tune  God's  Precepts  twice 

a  Day. 
I  am  seen  where  I  am  not ;  I  am 

heard  where  I  is  not : 
Tell  me  now  what  I  am,  and  see 

that  you  misse  not. 
This  riddle  on  St.  Nicholas'  appears  in  the  Choroffraphiay  and  is  said  to 
have  been  written  by  Ben  Jonson  when  passing  through  Newcastle  on  his 
way  to  visit  the  poet  Drummond  at  Hawthomden. 

Tune—"  Nae  Luck  about  the  House." 

Oh,  bonny  church,  yeVe  studden  lang 

Ti  mense  wor  canny  toon, 
An'  aw  believe  ye  are  se  Strang 

Ye  niver  will  come  doon. 

*  Mr.  Boyle  thinks  not  Prior  Rhodes,  but  Robert  Rhodes,  Esq. ,  who  lived  in 
Newcastle  at  the  same  time,  built  the  steeple.  He  quotes  Bourne  as  inclining 
to  that  belief,  and  adds  that  all  more  recent  writers  are  of  that  opinion. 


330  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

The  Arkiteckts,  wiv  a'  their  wit, 

May  say  that  ye  will  fa', 
But  let  them  talk,  aw'U  match  ye  yet 

Agyen  the  churches  a'. 

Chorus, 
Of  a'  the  churches  in  our  land, 

Let  them  be  e'er  se  braw, 
St.  Nicholas'  of  Newcassel  toon 

Completely  bangs  them  a*. 

Ye  lang  hae  stud  the  bitter  blast. 

But  lang'r  yet  ye'U  stand ; 
And  ye  hae  been  for  ages  past 

A  pattern  for  wor  land. 
Yor  bonny  steeple  lyuks  se  grand. 

The  hyel  world  speaks  o'  ye; 
YeVe  been  the  crack  for  centreys  back, 

An'  will  be  when  we  dee. 

It's  true  they're  patching  ye  aboot 

Wi'  iron,  styen,  an'  wood, 
But  let  them  patch,  aw  hev  a  doot 

They'll  de  ye  little  good. 
But  te  be  sure  it's  myekin  wark. 

There's  plenty  lives  on  ye, 
Not  only  tradesmen  an'  their  clerks, 

But  greedy  black  coats  tee. 

Yor  bonny  bells  there's  nyen  excels 

In  a'  the  country  roun' ; 
They  ring  se  sweet,  they  are  a  treat 

When  they  play  Jinny's  tyun ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  331 

And  when  all's  still  an'  dark  at  neet, 

Ye^  wi'  yor  fiery  eye, 
Can  tell  the  travellers  i'  the  street 

The  time  as  they  pass  by. 


O  that  King  William  wad  cum  doon 

To  see  his  subjects  rare, 
And  view  the  buildins  i'  wor  toon, 

He  wad  crack  on  them  sair; 
But  when  he  saw  ye,  canny  church, 

Aw  think  how  he'd  admire 
The  ancient  glorious  Gothic  arch 

That  bears  the  lofty  spire. 

Now  to  conclude  my  little  song, 

Maw  simple  local  theme, 
Aw  trust  that  if  aw've  said  owt  wrang 

That  aw  will  be  forgi'en. 
Then  lang  may  fam'd  St.  Nicholas'  stand, 

Oh  niver  may't  come  doon, 
That  when  we  dee  wor  bairns  may  see 

The  glory  o'  wor  toon. 

NUNN.  Author'i  Edition, 


THE   KEELMAN'S   REASONS   FOR   ATTENDING 
CHURCH. 

TpNE—**  Jemmy  Joneson's  Whurry." 

Two  keelmen,  efter  leeving  church, 

Before  me  they  were  walkin' ; 
When  close  behind  them  1  did  march. 

An'  owerheer'd  them  talkin' ! 


332  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  one  cried,  "  Dick,  me  heart  is  sair, 
Since  aw  hev  heard  that  sarmin — 

It's  enuef  te  myek  me  drink  nc  mair, 
For  it  surely  was  alarmin' ! 


"  When  he  began  ti  tawk  o'  hell, 

As  bein'  a  sinner's  dwelling 
Faith,  Dick !  aw  tyekt  te  meesel — 

It  set  maw  heart  a-swellin' ; 
An'  when  he  said  each  wicked  man 

Wad  leeve  alang  wi'  deevils, 
Aw  surely  thowt  that  aw  wad  gan 

For  a'  me  former  evils. 


"  Now,  Dick,  war  yp  not  varry  bad 

When  ye  heard  him  thus  preachin'  ? 
Now  tell  us,  was  your  heart  not  sad 

When  he  se  fine  was  teachin'  ? 
Aw'm  sure,  Dick,  aw  cud  roar'd  amain. 

Had  it  not  been  wor  Willy ; 
For  he  wad  gyen  an'  tell'd  wor  men, 

An'  they  wad  thought  me  silly." 


Then  up  spoke  Dick — "Aw  divint  knaw- 

Aw  thowt  it  a'  a  folly. 
Aw  was  thinkin'  on  the  fad  o'  straw 

That  Jack  gae  te  wor  Dolly ; 
An'  then  aboot  the  fight  aw  had 

Wi'  Geordy  i'  the  huddock, 
When  aw  upset  the  clever  lad, 

An'  cut  him  on  the  buttock. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  333 

"  Aw  just  gan  there  te  see  the  preest, 

An'  hear  the  bonny  organ ; 
Aw'd  suener  hev  a  haggish  feast, 

Or  drink  wi'  skipper  Morgan. 
Te  tell  the  truth  what  myeks  me  gan, 

Wor  maistor  he's  religious, 
He'll  think  that  aw's  a  godly  man, 

An'  mebbies  raise  me  wages  ! 

"  For  instance,  just  the  tuther  day, 

Aw  heard  it  on  the  Kee,  man, 
A  chep  that  lairns  the  folk  te  pray 

Drinks  just  as  hard  as  me,  man. 
So,  Tommy,  if  ye  gan  te  hell, 

That  preest  'ill  gan  there  tee,  man ; 
Then  come  away,  let's  heh  sum  yell, 

An'  let  such  things  abee,  man." 

NUNN.  AMXhm's  Edition, 


THE    SANDGATE   LASS    ON   THE    ROPERY 
BANKS. 

The  Ropery  Banks  deriTed  their  name  from  the  Bopery  that  was  built  on 
the  first  Ballast  Hill  that  was  formed  outside  the  town.  They  were  once  a 
pleasant  resort  for  the  youth  of  the  neighbourhood,  but  *'  now  their  glory  is 
departed."— ^ot0, 1872  Edition, 

Tune—"  The  Skipper's  Wedding." 

On  the  Ropery  Banks  Jinny  was  sittin — 

She  had  on  a  bed-goon  just  new, 
And  blythely  the  lassie  was  knittin 

Wi'  yarn  of  a  bonny  sky-blue : 
The  strings  of  her  cap  they  were  hingin, 

Se  lang  on  her  shoulders  se  fine, 
And  hearty  aw  heard  this  lass  singin — 

Maw  bonny  keel  lad  shall  be  mine. 


334  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Chorus, 
O  wad  the  keel  come  doon  the  river. 

That  aw  my  dear  laddie  coald  see ; 
He  whistles,  he  dances  se  diver, 

Maw  bonny  keel  laddie  for  me. 

Last  neet  in  amang  these  green  dockins 

He  fed  me  wi'  gingerbreed  spice — 
Aw  promised  to  knit  him  these  stockins, 

He  cuddled  and  kiss'd  me  se  nice ; 
He  ca'd  me  his  jew'l  and  his  hinny; 

He  ca'd  me  his  pet  and  his  bride, 
And  he  swore  that  aw  should  be  his  Jinny, 

To  lie  at  neets  doon  bi  his  side. 

O  wad  the  keel,  etc 

That  mornin  forget  aw  will  niver, 

When  first  aw  saw  him  on  the  Kee, 
The  "  Keel  Row  "  he  whissel'd  se  cliver, 

He  wun  my  affections  frae  me ; 
His  drawers  on  his  doup  luik'd  se  canny, 

His  keel  hat  was  cock'd  on  his  heed, 
And  if  aw'd  not  gettin  my  Jimmy, 

Faith,  by  this  time  aw  wad  been  deed. 

O  wad  the  keel,  etc. 

The  first  time  aw  spoke  to  maw  Jimmy — 

Now  mind  ye  it  isn't  a  lee — 
My  mother  had  gi'en  me  a  penny, 

To  bring  her  a  penn'orth  o'  tea ; 
When  a  lad  i*  the  street  cried  oot  "  Bessie  I " 

Says  I,  "  Hinny,  that's  not  my  nyem ; " 
"Becrike,  niver  mind,"  he  said,  'lassie, 

To-neet  aw  will  see  ye  syef  hyem." 

O  wad  the  keel,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  335 

Since  then  aw  hae  been  his  true  lover, 

Aw've  lov'd  him  as  dear  as  my  life, 
And  in  spite  o'  byeth  fethor  and  mother, 

Aw'll  suen  be  maw  keel-laddie's  wife ! 
How  happy  we'll  be  then  together, 

When  he  brings  hyem  his  wages  ti  me, 
Wiv  his  bonny  bit  bairn  cryin  "Fethur," 

And  another  one  laid  o'  my  knee. 

O  wad  the  keel,  etc. 
NuNN.  Auihofi  Edition. 


DRUOKEN   BELLA    ROY,    O! 

Bella  Boy  was  a  well-known  street-Tendor  of  fruit,  fish,  etc.  Although 
in  her  latter  days  an  object  of  pity  through  drink,  when  a  young  woman, 
some  sixty  years  ago,  she  was  noted  amongst  her  class  for  her  great  per- 
sonal attractions  and  neat  appearance.— J^ote,  1872  Edition. 

Tune— "Duncan  M'Callaghan." 

When  Bella's  cummin  hyem  at  neet. 

An'  as  she's  walkin  doon  the  street, 

The  bairns  cry  oot,  **Whe  pawned  the  sheet? 

Wey,  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O! " 

Chorus, 
Then  styens  te  them  gans  rattlin,  rattlin. 
They  a*  set  off  a  gallopin,  gallopin, 
Legs  an'  airms  gans  wallopin,  wallopin. 
For  fear  o*  Bella  Roy,  O  ! 


Noo,  when  she's  gannin  throo  the  chares. 
The  bairns  begins  an'  shoots  an'  blairs, 
An'  cries,  as  she  gans  up  the  stairs, 

"Where's  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O !" 

Then  styens,  etc. 


336  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Noo,  if  she's  had  a  sup  o'  beer, 
She  sets  te  wark  te  curse  an'  sweer, 
An'  myeks  them  run  away  for  fear, 
Frae  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O  ! 

Then  styens,  etc 

Then  in  the  hoose  she  sits  an'  chats, 
The  bairns  then  hits  her  door  such  bats — 
She  calls  them  a'  the  dorty  cats, 
Dis  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  0 1 

Then  styens,  etc. 

She'll  myek  the  place  like  thunner  ring. 
An'  down  the  stairs  her  things  will  fling, 
An'  cry,  "  Get  oot,  ye  plagey  thing," 
Cries  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O ! 

Then  styens,  etc. 

She  shoots  until  she  hurts  her  head, 

An'  then  she's  forc'd  te  gan  te  bed, 

Which  is  a  piece  o'  straw,  doon  spread 

For  Drucken  Bella  Roy,  O ! 

Fal,  lal,  lal,  etc 
NUNN.  AvAhof't  EdiHon. 


JOCKER. 

Tune—"  O,  gm  aw  had  her." 

Hae  ye  seen  ray  Jocker  ? 
Hae  ye  seen  my  Jocker  ? 
Hae  ye  seen  my  Jocker 

Comin'  up  the  Kee  ? 
Wiv  his  short  blue  jacket, 
Wiv  his  short  blue  jacket, 
Wiv  his  short  blue  jacket. 

And  his  hat  agee  ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


337 


Spoken, — ^JiN.  A  !  lyucka,  noo,  at  clarty  Nan,  there  ! — what's 
she  singin*  at  ? 

Nan.  What  is  aw  singin'  at  1  What's  that  ti  ye  ?  What  is  aw 
singin'  at !  Ah,  wey,  noo — hev  aw  ti  giv  ower  singin*  for  ye  ?  Ah  ! 
wey,  noo,  there's  a  platter-fyeced  hunter  for  ye  I — there's  a  pink 
amang  the  pissy-beds  !  Ye'd  mair  need  gan  hyem  and  get  the  dust 
wesht  off  ye.     Ah  !  wey,  noo — what's  that  ? 

Chorus, 
O,  maw  hinny,  Jocker, 
O,  maw  hinny,  Jocker, 
O,  maw  hinny,  Jocker — 
Jocker's  the  lad  for  me  ! 


Jocker  was  a  keel  man, 
Jocker  was  a  keelman, 
Jocker  was  a  keelman, 
When  he  followed  me. 

Spoken. — But  he's  exalted 
now — oh  I  bliss  him  1  aye — 
for 

He's  a  porter-pokeman, 

He's  a  porter-pokeman, 

He's  a  porter-pokeman, 

Workin'  on  the  Kee. 

Spoken, — Nan.  A'say,Jin 
— hae  ye  seen  owt  o'  wor 
Jocker  doon  the  Kee  there  ? 

Jin.  Ay;  aw  saw  him 
an'  Hairy  Tom  just  gan  inti 
the  Low  Crane  there. 

Nan.  The  Low  Crane, 
ye  clarty  thing — whe  are 
ye  myekin  yor  gam  on  ? 

Jin.  Noo  call  me  a  clarty 
thing,  an'  aw'll  plaister  yor 
gob  wi'  darts. 


338  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Nan.  Ay !  bliss  us  a*,  Jin,  what  are  ye  gettin'  intiy  a  rage  aboot  ? 
Jin.  Wey,  didn't  ye  ax  me  if  aw'd  seen  owt  o'  Jocker  doon  the 
Kee  there,  and  aw  teld  ye  the  truth,  an'  ye  wadn't  believe  us. 
Nan.  Wey,  is  he  there? 
Jin.  Ti  be  sure  he  is. 
Nan.  Wey,  aw*ll  sit  doon  here  till  he  comes  oot,  then. 

O,  maw  hinny,  Jocker,  etc. 

Jocker  was  a  rover, 
Jocker  was  a  rover, 
Jocker  was  a  rover, 

When  he  courted  me. 
But  noo  his  tricks  are  over, 
But  noo  his  tricks  are  over, 
But  noo  his  tricks  are  over, 

He  tyeks  me  on  his  knee. 

spoken, — Nan.  A1  here  he's  comin';  here's  maw  jewel  comin*. 
Cum  inti  my  airms,  maw  trade  dumplin',  an'  giv  us  a  kiss.  Where 
hae  ye  been  ?    Aw've  been  lukin'  for  ye  all  ower. 

Jocker.  Where  hev  aw  been  I  Aw*ve  been  walkin'  up  an*  doon 
th'  Kee  here.    Where  hae  ye  been? — ^aw  think  ye've  been  i'  th*  Sun. 

Nan.  Wey,  maw  jewel,  aw've  just  been  i'  th'  Custom  Hoose 
gettin'  a  glass,  an'  aw've  com'd  doon  the  Kee  ti  seek  ye,  ti  gan  hyem 
thegether. 

O,  maw  hinny,  Jocker,  etc. 
NUNN.  Author's  Edition. 


THE   FIERY   CLOCK   FYECE. 

The  dial  of  the  clock  in  St.  Nicholas'  Church  first  lighted  with  gas, 
December  6th,  1829.  The  dial  blown  out  by  a  Tiolent  storm  of  wind, 
October  19th,  1862 ;  re-lighted,  November  16th,  1862. 

Tune—"  Coal  Hole.** 

O  Dick,  what's  kept  ye  sJ  this  time, 

Aw've  fretted  sair  aboot  ye, 
Aw  thought  that  ye'd  fa'n  in  the  Tyne, 

Then  what  wad  aw  duin  without  ye? 


TYNESTDE  SONGS.  339 

O,  hinny,  Dolly,  sit  thee  down, 
And  hear  the  news  aw've  brought  fra  toon, 
The  Newcassel  folks  hes  catch'd  a  moon, 
And  myed  it  a  honny  clock-fyece. 

Thou  knaws  St  Nicholas'  Church,  maw  pet, 

Where  we  were  tied  tigether — 
That  place,  aw  naw,  thoull  not  forget, 

Forget  it  aw  will  never. 
'Twas  there  then,  jewel,  aw  saw  the  seet, 
As  aw  cam  staggerin'  through  the  street, 
Aw  thought  it  queer  at  pick-dark  neet 

Ti  see  a  fiery  clock-fyece. 

The  folk  they  stood  in  flocks  about — 
Aw  cried,  how !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Aw  glower'd — at  last  aw  gav  a  shoot 
For  them  to  fetch  some  watter. 

The  church  is  a-fire,  and  very  suin 

That  bonny  place  will  be  burnt  doon ; 

Ye  fyul,  says  a  chep^  it's  a  bonny  moon 
They've  catch'd  and  myed  it  a  clock-fyece. 

On  Monday,  when  aw  gan  to  wark, 

Aw'U  surely  tell  wor  banksman, 
If  we  had  sic  a  leet  at  dark, 

We'd  never  break  our  shanks,  man. 
Maw  marrows  an'  awll  gan  ti  the  toon, 
Ti  see  if  we  can  catch  a  moon — 
If  we  can  only  coax  one  doon, 

We'll  myek't  a  bonny  clock-fyece. 

Then  if  we  get  it  down  the  pit. 

We'll  hed  stuck  on  a  pole,  man, 
'Twill  tell  us  how  wor  time  gans  on. 

Likewise  to  hew  wor  coal,  man. 


340  TYKESIDE  SONGS. 

So  noo,  maw  pet,  let's  gan  ti  bed, 
And  not  forget  the  neet  we  wed ; 
Thi  morn  we'll  tell  wor  uncle  Ned 
Aboot  the  bonny  clock-fyece. 

NUNN.  Fordyee"$  " Newcastle  Sony  Book"  ISAS* 


SANDGATE   lariFE'S   NURSE   SONG. 

A,  U,  A,  maw  bonny  bairn, 

A,  U,  A,  upon  my  airm, 

A,  U,  A,  thou  seun  may  learn 

Te  say  dada  se  canny. 
Aw  wish  thy  daddy  may  be  weel, 
He's  lang  i'  comin'  frae  the  keel ; 
Tho'  his  black  fyece  be  like  the  deil. 

Aw  like  a  kiss  frae  Johnny. 

A,  U,  A,  etc. 

Thou  really  hes  thy  daddy's  chin, 
Thou  art  like  him  leg  and  wing, 
And  aw  wi'  plishure  can  thee  sing, 

Since  thou  belangs  my  Johnny. 
Johnny  is  a  clivor  lad — 
Last  neet  he  fuddled  a'  he  had ; 
This  morn  he  wasn't  varry  bad, 

He  luik'd  as  blithe  as  ony. 

Tho'  thou's  the  forst,  thou's  not  the  last ; 
Aw  mean  te  hae  me  bairns  fast ; 
And  when  this  happy  time  is  past, 

Aw  still  will  luve  my  Johnny : 
For  his  hair  is  broon,  and  se  is  thine ; 
Yo'r  eyes  are  grey,  and  se  are  mine ; 
Thy  nose  is  taper'd  off  se  fine — 

Thou's  like  thy  daddy,  Johnny. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  34i 

Thy  canny  dowp  is  fat  and  roond, 

And,  like  thy  dad,  thou's  plump  and  soond ; 

Thou's  worth  te  me  a  thoosen  poond, 

Thou's  a'tegither  bonny. 
When  daddy's  drunk  he'll  tyek  a  knife, 
And  threaten  sair  te  tyek  my  life ; 
Whe  waddent  be  a  keelman's  wife, 

Te  hev  a  man  like  Johnny  ? 

But  yonder's  daddy  cummin  now, 
He  luiks  the  best  amang  the  crew ; 
They're  a'  gawn  te  the  Barley  Mow, 

My  canny,  gudlike  Johnny. 
Cum,  let's  now  get  the  bacon  fried, 
And  let  us  myek  a  clean  fireside, 
Then  on  his  knee  he  will  thee  ride, 

When  he  cums  hyem  te  mammy. 

Nuxx.  Fordyc^a  "  Newcastle  Song  Book*'  1842. 


JOHN   BRODIE   GILROY. 

Some  forty  years  ago  little  was  to  be  heard  in  the  way 
of  street  songs  in  Newcastle  but  Gilroy's  "  Noodle."  This 
clever  parody  was  a  palpable  hit,  the  children  shouting  after 
the  old  volunteers,  when  up  for  training,  the  lines  (slightly 
varied) — 

"  Ye  blue-tailed  bumlor,  cock-tailed  tumlor, 
Ye  durnet  gan  te  war." 

About  the  author,  who  appears  only  to  have  written  this  one 
song,  W.  W.  W.,  in  the  Weekly  Chronicle^  gives  an  interest- 
ing sketch: — "Foreman  at  Lambert's  Printing  Office,  Grey 
Street,  he  was  a  well  read  man,  of  ready  wit  and  great 
natural  ability.  He  would  say  such  extraordinary  things 
when  vexed  or  annoyed — to  the  men  or  lads— that  even  the 
recipients  of  these  blessings  could  not  refrain  from  laughing. 
Warm-hearted  and  generous  even  beyond  his  means,  he 
was,  in  spite  of  his  hot  and  fiery  temper,  much  liked  by  those 
around  him.    With  all  his  peculiarities,  few  men  led  a  more 


342  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

pure  and  sinless  life  than  Brodie  Gilroy.  He  died  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year  1853,  at  the  early  age  of  35  yeaxs. 
Eccentric  to  the  last,  he  was  buried,  at  his  owa  request, 
with  his  trousers  and  boots  on.  He  Has  in  Westgate  Hill 
Cemetery." 


THE   NOODLE. 

Tune— "  Jeannette  and  Jeannot.'* 

You're  going  to  be  a  Noodle  bold,  a  valiant  Volunteer; 
You  tbink  you'll  have  a  lazy  week,  and  get  your  swig 

of  beer. 
But  you'll  fight  your  battles  o'er  your  pipe,  and  ne'er 

receive  a  scar, 
You  blue-tail  humbler,    cock-tail  tumbler,  dare  not  go 

to  war. 

When  you   wear  the   dirty  whites,  and  the  sloggerin' 

jacket  blue, 
I  fear  that  you  will  then  forget  what  we  may  think  of  you. 
With  your   musket   backside  first,  and    your  bayonet, 

lord  knows  where. 
You'll  be  marching  like  a  hero,  to  make  the  lasses  stare. 

When  the  trumpet  sounds  for  glory,  you'll  be  madly 

rushing  in 
To  Atkins'  or  to  Thomas's,  to  spend  your  kard-eaxncd  tin: 
And  there  you'll  sit  carousing  till  you're  turned  out  at 

night, 
Well  knowing  it  is  better  fair  to  fuddle  than  to  fight 

I  would  I  were  our  noble  Queen,  much  better  Matty  Bell, 
I'd  send  such  would-be  warriors  to  a  place  I  dare  not 

tell; 
All  the  town  should  be  at  peace,  and  the  fellows  who 

compose 
The  swaggerin'  volunteers    should    find  themselves   in 

meat  and  clothes. 

OluiOT.  SelkirVs  CoUeetUm,  ISfiSL 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  343 

JOHN   PEACOCK. 

Mr.  William  Brockie,  in  "Local  Songs  and  Song  Writers" 
in  the  Weekly  Chronicle^  gives  the  following  sketch  of  John 
Peacock  : — "  A  native  of  South  Shields,  he  went  to  sea  at 
the  age  of  twelve,  was  taken  prisoner  during  the  French 
war  and  confined  for  several  years  in  the  north  of  France. 
He  was  a  very  remarkable  man — a  shoemaker,  a  chartist, 
a  co-operative  storekeeper,  a  second-hand  bookseller,  in 
South  Shields  Market  Place ;  sober,  intelligent,  sharp 
witted,  verily,  a  public  institution  in  the  place.  He  was  the 
author  of  several  creditable  pieces  of  poetry,  most  of  which 
appeared  in  the  Shields  Garland^  1859.     He  died  in  1867." 


MARSDEN   ROCK. 

Marsden  Rock  is  situated  about  two  miles  from  Sonth  Shields.  The  shore 
is  in  the  highest  degree  savage  and  terrible.  Vast  fragments  of  rock  stand 
in  every  variety  of  grotesque  form  and  combination.  One  enormous  mass, 
riven  from  the  parent  beach,  now  stands  detached  about  one  hundred  yards. 
The  natural  beauties  of  this  romantic  spot  have  long  attracted  pleasure 
parties.  Mr.  Peter  Allen  conceived  the  bold  idea  of  scooping  out  for  him- 
self a  habitation  in  the  rock.  In  this  he  succeeded,  and  resided  in  this 
wild  retreat  for  many  years,  continually  adding  to  his  accommodation,  until 
he  at  length  possessed  fifteen  apartments,  all  hewn  out  of  the  living  rock, 
and  fitted  up  as  a  public-house.  He  died  in  August  1850 ;  his  family  still 
carry  on  the  establishment. 

Tune— "Jockey  to  the  Fair." 

The  sultry  sun  aloft  has  roll'd. 

And  ting'd  the  hills  and  dales  with  gold ; 

The  sea  her  silv'ry  robes  unfold 

Her  swelling  bounds  along. 
Th*  enraptured  sky  is  calm  and  clear, 
Come  now  to  Marsden  Rock  repair  : 
Inhale  the  fresh  and  balmy  air. 
Which  floats  in  cooling  breezes  there. 

The  bright  blue  waves  among. 

The  fruitful  tree,  and  rustling  corn, 
Wave  beauteous  to  the  rosy  morn  ; 
The  birds,  on  rosy  pinions  borne, 
Proclaim  it  in  a  song. 


344  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

In  fleecy  showers  the  pearly  spray, 
From  ocean's  briny  fountain  play ; 
And,  skimming  o'er  the  watery  way, 
The  Sea-mews  strike  their  finny  prey 
The  bright  blue  waves  among. 

Let  steamers  gay  with  beau  and  belle 

Chime  up,  for  Seaton  Delaval, 

Or  Warkworth's  towers  and  hermit's  cell. 

May  fascinate  the  young ; 
But  Marsden  Rock  has  charms  for  me, 
Reposing  on  a  summer  sea : 
Their  features  wild  I  love  to  see, 
And  on  the  velvet  beds  to  be 

The  bright  blue  waves  among. 

The  tumbling  surge  unrapts  the  strand, 
Bespangled  lays  the  beaming  sand, 
Your  early  footsteps  to  command, 

And  pleasures  to  prolong. 
Away !  the  fragrant  fields  in  flow'r 
Perfumes  the  path  to  AlletCs  bow'r ; 
With  pealing  mirth  awake  the  shore 
And  ring  old  Marsden's  rocky  tow*r, 

The  bright  blue  waves  among. 

Then  crown  the  beach,  enchanted  roam — 
And  hail  their  Hght-ships  to  their  home — 
Our  fostered  seamen,  now  they  come, 

And  to  its  bosom  throng. 
With  beauty  graced  in  smiles  divine. 
We'll  tribute  pay  to  Peter's  shrine. 
And  drink  success  to  Wear  and  Tyne ; 
For  long  may  their  proud  Commerce  shine 

The  bright  blue  waves  among. 

P£ACOCK.  "  Bardi  cf  the  Tyne,"  184ft. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


345 


JOSEPH   PHILIP   ROBSON. 


Of  Joseph  Philip  Robson,  "Bard  of  the  Tyne  and 
Minstrel  of  the  Wear,'*  the  author  of  some  of  our  most 
popular  local  songs,  we  cannot  pretend  to  give  more  than 
a  brief  sketch.  To  those  wishing  more  information,  his 
most  interest- 
ing autobiogra- 
phy, recently 
published,  will 
supply  the  want 
most  agreeably. 
From  this  auto- 
biography we 
learn  he  was 
bom  in  Bailiff- 
gate,  Newcas- 
tle-on-Tyne, 
September  24, 
1808.  At  an 
early  age  he  lost 
his  parents ;  his 
mother  dying 
when  he  was 
six,  and  his 
father  when  he 
was  only  eight 
years  of  age. 
His  father  had 
studied  at 
Stoneyhurst 
College  for  the 
Roman  Catho- 
lic priesthood, 
but  his  health 
failing,  he  had 
been  obliged  to 
relinquish  his 
studies;  and  finally  settled  at  Newcastle  as  teacher  of  the 
Catholic  School.  In  due  time  our  future  bard  was  sent  to 
learn  a  business,  and  apprenticed  to  a  plane  maker;  but 
severely  spraining  himself  by  lifting  a  heavy  log  of  wood,  he 
took  up  the  more  congenial  occupation  of  a  schoolmaster. 


346  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

He  had,  from  an  early  age,  been  a  lover  and  a  writer  of 
poetry,  and  now  began  to  think  of  publishing  the  fruits  of 
his  muse,  and  in  the  year  1831  he  issued  his  first  volume. 
Blossoms  of  Poesy ^  bis  other  works  appearing  as  follows : — 
Poetic  GaiheringSy  1839;  The  Monomaniac^  1847;  Poetic 
Pencillings,  1852;  Hermione  the  Beloved^  1857;  and  Evan- 
geline; or  J  the  Spirit  of  Progress^  1869, 

By  the  publication  of  his  works  he  won  a  high  reputation 
as  a  poet,  and  gained  the  friendship  and  praise  of  many 
distinguished  wnters,  including  Eliza  Cook,  Charles  Swain, 
Lord  Ravensworth,  etc,  etc.  Of  the  latter  he  particularly 
speaks  as  a  kind  friend,  and  one  ever  ready  to  give  his 
valuable  critical  assistance.  Although  it  is  perhaps  as  a 
local  writer  he  will  eventually  be  best  remembered,  it  is 
singular  that  it  was  only  at  the  solicitation  of  two  musical 
friends  that  he  took  to  writing  in  the  dialect.  The  song  he 
wrote  being  successful,  he  followed  it  by  others:  profit,  as 
well  as  praise,  being  a  consideration,  he,  like  the  majority  of 
the  "tuneful  throng,"  having  his  share  of  the  poverty 
generally  acconipanying  the  poet.  On  the  publication  of 
Hermione  the  Beloved^  in  1857,  through  Lord  Palmerston, 
the  Queen  sent  him  the  handsome  present  of  twenty  pounds. 
This  was  but  a  transient  gleam :  he  found  it  a  hard  fight  to 
live  by  his  pen,  clever  and  ready  as  it  undoubtedly  was.  In 
1849  he  wrote  the  life  of  Billy  Purvis.  In  1849-50  he  edited 
the  Bards  of  the  Tyne,  a  collection  of  local  songs,  in  which 
appeared  some  of  the  best  of  his  own.  On  the  visit  of  Prince 
Lucien  Bonaparte  to  the  North  in  1859,  he  was  engaged  by 
the  Prince  to  make  a  version  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  into 
the  Lowland  Scotch.  This  task  he  executed  satisfactorily, 
the  critics  and  the  Prince  alike  being  pleased.  The  latter 
years  of  his  life  were  perhaps  his  most  prosperous.  He 
contributed  to  ''Chater's  Comic  Almanack,''  and  had  a 
regular  engagement  on  the  North  of  England  Advertiser^ 
to  which  paper  he  sent  his  weekly  Local  Letter,  signed  "  A 
Retiort  Keelman."  This  letter  he  wrote  in  the  local  dialect, 
and  it  was  eagerly  looked  for  in  the  various  towns  and 
villages  of  the  North :  his  great  local  knowledge  and  exten- 
sive reading  enabling  him  to  make  it  most  interesting. 

About  the  middle  of  1869,  while  his  last  work,  Evan- 
geline^  was  passing  through  the  press,  he  was  seized  with  a 
paralytic  stroke.  After  a  time  he  slightly  improved;  but 
finally  sunk  under  the  attack  on  the  26th  of  August  1870,  in 
his  sixty-second  year. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  347 

The  following  beautiful  lines  may  be  appropriately 
appended,  as  it  was  his  wish  that  they  should  be  regarded 
as  his  Parting  Address  to  the  people  of  Tyneside. 

"  When  this  hand  that  the  harp  of  old  Tyne  oft  awakened 

With  lays  rude  and  simple  lies  low  in  the  earth; 
When  the  Angel  of  Peace  to  his  bosom  has  beckon'd, 

And  called  him  from  friendship,  from  music,  and  mirth ; 
Let  the  sunlight  of  kindness  in  silence  beam  o'er  him, 

And  gild  the  dark  spots  on  his  mem'ry  that  lie ; 
Let  the  radiance  of  love  to  a  rainbow  restore  him, 

And  hope  spread  her  beautiful  wings  to  the  sky. 

Let  the  strains  that  he  warbled, — poor  bird  of  the  morning, 

Find  echo  in  bosoms,  the  tender  and  true  ; 
And  his  spirit  to  earth  in  its  gladness  returning. 

In  the  Valley  of  Shadows  his  songs  may  renew. 
O  ye  loved  and  true-hearted,  forget  all  his  errors, 

Clothe  his  mem'ry  in  robes  of  a  penitent  child  ; 
Let  the  grave  where  he  slumbers  be  shorn  of  death's  terrors, 

And  love's  daisies  shall  bloom  in  their  gentleness  wild." 

To  this  brief  sketch,  which  appeared  in  1872,  we  may  add, 
"  the  grave  where  he  slumbers  "  is  in  Jesmond  Old  Cemetery. 
Directly  on  entering  the  gates,  turn  to  the  left,  then,  about 
fifty  yards  along  still  on  the  left,  you  come  to  where  he  lies. 
The  grave  may  be  easily  found,  a  neat  tombstone  marking 
the  spot  On  the  stone  which  was  erected  by  his  many 
admirers  are  the  following  lines,  taken  from  a  piece  to  his 
memory  by  his  friend,  Mr.  Joseph  McGill : — 

**Tho'  dead, — in  lamenting  thee 
Still  be  it  mine 
To  honour  thy  name,  sweetest  Bard  of  the  Tyne." 

Joe  Wilson,  forgetting  past  differences,  also  contributed 
his  offering  to  Robson's  memory.  In  the  following  acrostic 
he  praises  him  with  no  niggard  hand : — 

ACROSTIC. 

R  emember,  ye  Bards,  the  famous  J.  P., 
0  V  Tyneside, — a  Poet  ov  highest  degree ; 
B  ard  o'  the  Tyne  an*  Minstrel  o'  the  Wear, 
S  preedin  the  harmony  we  like  te  hear ; 
Ova'  the  greet  writers  reet  foremost  he'll  shine, 
N  00  an'  for  iver  'mang  Bards  o*  the  Tyne. 

By  the  kindness  of  Matthew  Mackay,  Jun.,  we  are  enabled 
to  give  z,  facsimile  of  Robson*s  handwriting  and  autograph. 
Other  examples  given  here  have  had  to  be  reduced  by 


3^8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

photo{(raphy  to  fit  the  page.     Robson's  writing,  small  and 
beautifully  fine,  is  reproduced  exactly  the  s  ze  it  was  written. 

^^.4^,  ^  -5^,  ^  ^' 

•^i*^  /^CiZ-    ^CO    i^»y^*»»^^*^*^    ^-^^^    «!»^«^   . 

THE    EXILE'S    RETURN. 

This,  "The  Return,"  is  the  last  of  the  six  "Lays  of  the  Tyne  Exile." 
The  first,  "  The  Departure,"  opens— 

**  Soft  fell  the  light  of  dying  day  on  Tyne's  fair  flowing  flood, 
As  on  the  shore,  with  burning  breast,  the  hapless  exile  stood ; 
To-morrow  he  must  leave  his  heme,  his  pleasures  and  his  pride ; 
Sad  were  his  farewell  strains  of  woe,  as  thus  the  mouriier  cried." 


Then  comes  "  In  Childhood  we  Wander,"  "  Farewell,  Fair  Fields,"  ♦*  Maid 
of  my  Bosom,"  "Banks  o'  Tyne,"  and  "The  Return,"  last,  but  not  the 
least,  as  it  is  by  far  the  most  popular  of  the  whole,  and  written  when  he 
was  in  his  seventeenth  year.    It  appeared  in  Fordyce^  1842. 

Recitative— "  The  Old  English  Gentleman." 

From  wandering  in  a  distant  land,  an  exile  had  return'd. 
And  when  he  saw  his  own  dear  stream,  his  soul  with 

pleasure  burn'd ; 
The  days  departed,  and  their  joys,  came  bounding  to  his 

breast. 
And  thus  the  feelings  of  his   heart   in   native  strains 

expressed. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  349 

Tune— ••  The  Keel  Row."— fifunflr  nlowly. 

Flow  on,  majestic  river, 
Thy  rolling  course  for  ever ; 
Forget  thee  will  I  never, 

Whatever  fate  be  mine ! 
Oft  on  thy  banks  I've  wander'd, 
And  on  thy  beauties  ponder'd : 
Oh  !  many  an  hour  Fve  squandered 

By  bonny  coaly  Tyne ! 

Flow  on,  etc. 

Oh !  Tyne,  in  thy  bright  flowing 
There's  magic  joy  bestowing ; 
I  feel  thy  breezes  blowing, 

Their  perfume  is  divine  ! 
I've  sought  thee  in  the  morning, 
When  crimson  clouds  were  burning, 
And  thy  green  hills  adorning. 

Thy  hills,  oh,  bonny  Tyne ! 

When  stormy  seas  were  round  me, 
And  distant  nations  bound  me. 
In  memory  still  I  found  thee 

A  ray  of  hope  benign ! 
Thy  valleys  lie  before  me. 
Thy  woods  are  waving  o'er  me ; 
My  home,  thou  dost  restore  me  I 

I  hail  thee,  bonny  Tyne ! 

CAorus, 

Flow  on,  majestic  river, 
Thy  rolling  course  for  ever  ; 
Forget  thee  will  I  never, 
Whatever  fate  be  mine  ! 
J.  P.  ROBSON.  *•  Bardi  of  the  Tyne,''  1849. 


350  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

THE   larONDERFUL   TALLYGRIP. 

The  following  humorous  account  of  that  modern  wonder,  the  electric 
telegraph,  was  originally  sung  at  the  Wheat  Sheaf  Music  Saloon,  Cloth 
Market.    It  became  at  once  a  great  favourite. 

Tune—"  Barbara  BelL" 

Iv  a'  the  greel  wonders  that  dazzles  wor  blinkers. 

The  Tallygrip*s  sartin  the  king  o'  them  a' ; 
It  bothers  wor  maisters,  an'  viewers,  an'  sinkers, 

An'  bauds  them  as  dumb  as  a  cuddy's  lockjaw. 
Whei  it's  just  a  bit  wire,  like  the  string  ov  a  fiddle, 

Gans  alang  biv  some  stobs  for  te  ring  a  bit  bell ; 
The  leetnin',  ye  ken,  runs  alang  by  the  middle, 

An'  turns  th'  twe  pointers  se  cliver  te  spell. 


The  Tallygrip  travels  by  neet  an'  by  day,  man. 

An'  sends  a'  the  news  te  the  man  i'  the  meun ; 
If  ye  want  te  be  wedded  there's  nowse  for  te  pay,  man — 

Wivoot  ony  parson  the  job  can  be  deun. 
Big  Matty,  wor  keeker,  was  married  at  Howdon 

Wivoot  ony  ring  but  the  ring  iv  a  bell ; 
An'  Mally,  his  bride,  was  then  stoppin  at  Bowden, — 

Smash  !  the  Tallygrip  said  a'  the  sarvis  itsel. 

Hoot,  man,  thor's  ne  prenter  nor  shorthandy  writer 

Can  scribble,  like  Tally,  the  speeches  se  fine ; 
She  kens  ivery  blaw  that  can  sobble  a  fighter, 

An'  coonts  ivery  feul  on  the  banks  o'  wor  Tyne. 
The  "blue-bottle"  cheps  hes  queer  sprees  on  the  rail,  man; 

The  Tallygrip  catches  folks  'fore  they  can  leet ; 
That  little  clock  fyece  gars  the  "swells"  hing  their  tail, 
man, — 

Ralphy  Little  ca's  Tally  the  Policeman's  Beat     . 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  351 

Rowley  Hill,  aVs  ailaid,  mun  be  knock'd  on  the  heed,  man, 

An'  letters  gan  free  by  the  Tallygrip's  string ; 
Ne  trouble  o'  writin',  an'  far  quicker  speed,  man — 

Gox !  we'll  lairn  a'  the  blackies  "  Pit  Laddie  "  W  sing. 
But  the  negurs  '11  ken  that  us  whiteys  is  traders, 

When  we  cork  a'  wor  jaws  "Lucy  Nesrt".for  te  shoot, 
Wi'  wor  knackers  an'  drums,  like  aud  Nick's  sorrynaders, 

An'  crawin'  like  Banties  that>  bad  i'  the  moot. 


Aw  went,  t'other  neet,  for  te  hear  some  fine  singin*. 

At  Balmbra's  grand  consort,  an'  hear  a'  thor  cracks ; 
An'  there  aw  9eun  spied  a'  thor  Cupid  lads  hingin'. 

An'  gas-leeters  myed  oot  o'  cannels  o'  wax. 
A  ch^  played  Pianny,  an'  bonny  she  soonded : 

A  leddy  sung  sweet,  like  a  bird  i'  the  skies ; 
A  chep  they  ca'  Spiers  was  the  joker  that  croon'd  it, 

But  Charley,  the  fiddler,  bang'd  a'  for  his  size. 


Noo,  what  de  ye  think  ?  it's  as  true  as  aw's  stannin. 

Afore  aw  gat  hyem  te  wor  hoose  on  the  Fell, 
Aw  met  wi'  Blue  Bella,  an'  ca*d  at  the  Cannon, 

An'  just  was  beginnin  o'  Balmbra's  te  tell, 
When  a  gentleman  chep  stopt  me  short  i'  me  story. 

Says  he,  "  Sir,  ye  heerd  a  grand  consort  last  neet ; 
The  news  cam'  te  Lunnon — I  knew  it  before  ye," 

Gox,  smash !  'twas  the  gospel — the  Tally  was  reet ! 


So  aw'd  hae  ye,  maw  marrows,  te  mind  what  yor  deein, 
An'  not  gan  galantin  wi'  sweethearts  an'  that. 

For  the  tellypie  Tally  'ill  seun  send  her  fleein. 
An'  mevies  sum  cheps  might  get  inte  the  hat  I 

/ 


352  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Whei  dinnet  ye  knaw  when  wor  Queen  gat  her  bed,  man, 
The  couchers  o*  Lunnon  scarce  'liver'd  a  son — 

Aye,  afore  the  young  prince  wi'  spice  boily  was  fed,  man, 
The  greet  'lumination  o'  the  Tyne  was  a'  deun. 


larnEN  iste  istere  at  the  Skuel. 

Tune—**  Nae  luck  aboot  the  hoose." 

I  JUST  maun  chaunt  a  wee  bit  sang, 

An'  play  for  yence  the  fyul ; 
An'  tell  the  evils  o'  the  days 

When  we  were  at  the  skuel. 
Ah  1  weel  ye  mind  the  wooden  leg, 

An'  think  ye  hear  it  stump ; 
Ye'U  no  forget  the  "Grey  Meer  Meg," 

The  name  just  gars  me  jump. 

Chonis. 

When  we  were  at  the  skuel,  my  lads, 
We  oft  wished  to  be  men ; 

We  gat  our  wishes :  now  we  lang 
To  be  at  skuel  agyen. 


The  Dom'nee  lo'ed  the  "Quaker's  Wife"— 

The  sang,  I  mean — fu'  weel ; 
He  whistled  as  we  sang  for  life, 

He  drummed  to  make  us  squeeL 
The  dreadful  "Clog"  fast  to  the  ring, 

An'  ••Ginglesby,"  the  sprite, 
That  in  the  garret  wav'd  his  wing. 

Filled  a'  our  hearts  wi'  fright. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  353 

Ah,  man  !  to  kneel  two  hours  or  sae 

Upon  a  ruler  round 
Was  sic  a  pleasure  in  that  day, 

The  like's  now  seldom  found. 
An'  then  upon  a  desk  to  kick, 

Gripp'd  fast  by  leg  and  arm, 
Weel  hammer'd  wiv  a  clubby  stick — 

It  garred  ye  feel  a'  warm. 

The  maister  was  a  canty  chiel. 

At  ba'  in  skuel  he'd  play ; 
He  did  not  heed  the  lads  a  deal, 

An'  what  could  callants  say  ? 
He'd  fry  us  pancakes  at  a  pinch, 

An'  clout  our  heads  when  dull. 
An'  nip  wor  lugs,  and  gar  us  flinch — 

They  were  grand  times  at  skuel 

Methinks  I  see  the  bonny  spot 

Where  pears  an*  apples  grew ; 
We  didna  like  to  see  them  rot, 

Sae  kindly  pluck'd  a  few. 
Wor  lads — the  maisters  kens  it  a' — 

Stuff  bags  down  ilka  back. 
And  if  the  cane  should  chance  to  fa', 

Ye'll  never  tent  the  crack. 

Ye'll  no  forget  the  Washing  Tubs, 
The  burn's  Green  Water  Pyul?* 

Ye'll  maybe  mind  o*  Tommy's  rubs, 
When  ye  cam'  late  to  skuel  ? 

^  Both  famous  bathing  places  for  boys  at  Jesmond  Burn. 
23 


354  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

Your  memory  o'  the  battle  speaks, 
When  foes  were  doomed  to  fa' ; 

Tho'  Roman  chiels,  ye  fought  like  Greeks, 
But  best — ahint  the  wa' ! 

The  days  are  gyen — ^yet  still  we  cling 

To  recollections  dear ; 
We  haud  the  bee  without  the  sting— 

The  thought  without  the  fear. 
Oh !  merry  were  the  days  o'  yule, 

When  our  good  pastor  came 
Wi'  grand  prize  bulks  and  cakes  to  skuel, 

An'  sent  us  dancing  hame. 

Where  is  that  honoured  pastor  now  ? 

His  fate  was  like  the  lave : 
Time  laid  his  cauld  hand  on  his  pow : 

We  bore  him  to  his  grave. 
An'  when  his  image  meets  our  ken, 

The  faithful  tear  is  given ; 
But — let  us  never  weep  again, — 

He'll  no  come  back  frae  Heaven. 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  "  Bard»  of  the  Tyns,"  1849. 


POLLY'S    UriCKSTICK. 

Written  on  the  second  Polytechnic  Exhibition,  opened  Easter  Monday, 
1848. 

Tune— "X,  Y,  Z." 

Smash,  marrows !  but  aw's  like  to  drop, 
At  summat  aw  mun  tell,  man ! 

Aw  went  te  see  wor  Polly's  shop  : 
Aw  thowt  te  see  hersel',  man ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  355 

In  Blackett  Street  the  place  aw  fand, 
For  Poll's  awn  hoose  'twas  ower  grand  ; 
But  in  aw  bowls : — when,  in  a  box, 
A  chep  says,  "  Sixpence,  sir ! "  by  gox ! 
"Hoot,  man,"  says  aw,  **yor  pickin'  fun  ! 
Aw's  Polly's  feyther's  youngest  son. 
Just  com  to  see  her  Nickstick ! " 

Aw  pays  the  lad  the  money  doon 

(For  brass  aw  niver  cares,  man  !), 
An'  suen  seed  picturs  stuck  aroon', 

An'  kissin'  folks  in  pairs,  man  !* 
A  little  lad,  wi'  greyhoond  bitch. 
Was  gan  a  bonny  bool  te  pitch  ;t 
A  lass  wes  shiverin'  wi'  the  caud,  \ 
An'  bonny  legs,  poor  thing,  she  had  : 
Says  aw,  "  Maw  bairn,  gan  hyem  wi'  me, 
An'  ye  shall  hae  spice  kyek  and  tea. 

An'  leave  wor  Polly's  Nickstick. 

A  chep  was  snorin'  'mang  the  trees. 
They  said  'twas  Charley  King,  man !  § 

Says  aw,  "  Giv'  ower  wi'  yor  lees, 
Aw  kens  another  thing,  man ! 

For  Charley's  pluck  for  ony  thieves. 

And  wadn't  skulk  amang  the  leaves. 

So,  freend,  just  drop  yor  Cockney  craw, 

Or  me V vies  aw  may  crack  yor  jaw." 

So  at  his  lug  aw  myed  a  spring, 

Te  tell  him  aw  was  Charley  King, 
The  freend  o'  Polly's  Nickstick ! 

*  Cupid  and  Psyche.  \  Statue,  by  Oott 

X  The  Outcast,  by  J.  H.  Foley. 

§  Charles  the  First  in  the  Oak,  by  H.  Q»  Towsshend. 


356  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Queen  Bess  aw  spied  in  Punch's  box, 
Wi'  ruffles  roond  her  chin,  man  !  * 
An'  Burley,  slee  as  ony  fox ; 

An'  Leester,  luikin'  thin,  man ! 
A  greet  fat  chep,  wi'  horns  a  pair, 
Was  dancin'  wi'  sum  Jioo-hoos  there ; 
An'  Fletcher,  wiv  his  play-hoose  crack, 
Wi'  aud  rare  Benny,  drest  i'  black ; 
An'  Shakspur,  tee,  that  stole  the  bull, 
Then  ca'd  the  may'r  a  slaverin'  cull, 
A'  graced  wor  Polly's  Nickstick. 

Bill  Martin  wagg'd  me  tiv  his  side, 

Te  prove  his  brother's  skill,  man ! 
Says  he,  "  That  king  yence  stopp'd  the  tide,t 

An'  held  the  waves  at  will,  man  ! 
The  chucks  an'  gravel  luiks  alive, 
An'  in  yon  wave  a  whale  might  dive ! " 
Says  aw,  **By  gox!  that's  Cullercoats, 
Except  there  is  ne  fisher  boats ; 
An',  smash !  the  sun  is  gan  te  fry 
Yon  cloods  that  luik  like  plucks  on  high, 
Te  feed  wor  Polly's  Nickstick !  " 

Noo,  fra  this  show  aw  hows  away, 
'Mang  fishes,  birds,  and  beasts,  man!  J 

An'  certainly  aw's  boun'  te  say. 
Aw  had  a  cliver  feast,  man ! 

Pall  parrots,  snipes,  and  kangaroos. 

Redshanks,  an'  squarrels,  an'  cuckoos ; 

*  Queen  Elizabeth  at  the  Globe  Theatre,  witnessing  the  play  of  "  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."— D.  Scott,  R.S.A. 

t  King  Canute  and  his  Courtiers.— John  Martin,  K.H. 
X  The  Museum,  Victoria  Room. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  357 

White  skulls  o'  bairns,  or  else  baboons ; 
Stufl'd  hedgehogs,  otters,  and  racoons ; 
Tape  worms,  an'  crabs,  an'  turtles  rare, 
Sea  serpents,  shorks,  an'  tyeds  was  there. 
Like  live  at  Polly's  Nickstick. 

But  when  aw  seed  the  engine  grand,* 
That  turns  the  'lectric  clock,  man ! 
An*  Lousy  filly's  dune  by  hand. 

Upon  a  weaver's  block,  man !  t 
Says  aw,  "Why,  Armstrang,  thou's  a  king, 
Thou'll  suen  gie  Hudson's  steam  the  fling : 
For  louse-traps  here  thou  mykes  o'  wire ; 
Thy  wetter  wonders  never  tire ;  X 
Thou  cracks  steel  nuts,§  an'  figures  glass,  || 
Thaw  engine  does  the  world  surpass : 
It  graces  Polly's  Nickstick. 

But,  Lor !  te  tell  ye  all  aw  seed 

Wad  fill  a  bible  beuk,  man ! 
Balloons  was  dancin'  biv  a  threed, 

An'  folks  hung  biv  a  heuk,  man  1 
A  Can  tells  oot  the  chickens  therein 
Here's  Cheeny  folks  wi'  silver  hair ; 
Fans,  pipes,  an'  dwarfs,  wi'  heeds  like  bulls. 
An'  giants  wi'  greet  iron  skulls ; 
An'  gowlden  cups,  an'  bonny  glass. 
An'  Clasper's  skiff,  an'  forrin  grass. 

Was  at  wor  Polly's  Nickstick. 

*  Mr.  Armstrong's  Water  Pressure  Engine, 
t  The  Jacquard  Loom.  §  Shank's  Screw  Cutter. 

X  Card  Machine.  D  Glass  Engraving. 

1[  Cantelo's  Incubator. 


358  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

An  organ  grand  was  bummin'  lood,* 
But  nyen  cud  tell  the  tuen,  man ! 

Aw  paid  maw  penny  wi'  the  crood, 
Te  see  the  glassy  mune,  man  ! 

Wor  Tommy's  Ropes  t  they  ca*d  a  thing, 

Like  rainbows  runnin*  iv  a  ring ; 

An'  croods  o'  things  wi'  hairy  tails,! 

An'  ships  wi'  wings  asteed  o*  sails ; 

Grace  Darling,  tee,  cam  iv  her  boat,§ 

An'  saved  the  wreckers  iv  her  float ; 

An'  smash  I  wor  Poll  amang  the  mist 

Peep'd  oot,  and  said,  "  Gud  neet," — be  blist ! 
Then  vanish'd  frae  the  Nickstick. 


Aw  left  the  place  wi*  sair  regret, 

Tho'  aw  had  spoiled  a  gill,  man  ! 
But  weel  it's  worth  the  brass  they  get, 
Let  folks  say  what  they  will,  man  ! 
Thinks  aw,  "  By  George  !  aw'll  up  an*  see 
Yence  mair  the  engine  an'  the  spree  " — 
When,  gannin  past,  aw  touched  a  wire,  || 
Why,  smash  I  my  neeves  was  a'  afire — 
The  verra  hair  stud  on  my  heed, 
Away  aw  cuts  wi'  pith  an'  speed ; 
An'  bools  reet  throo  a  rowley  gate, 
An'  in  a  varry  narvous  state, 
Aw  left  wor  Polly's  Nickstick. 

J.  p.  ROBSON.  "  Bards  qfthe  Tyne,"  1849. 

*  Organ,  by  Nicholson.  X  Oxy-hydrogen  Microscupe. 

t  Chromotropes.  §  Dissolving  Views. 

|]  Electrical  Conductors. 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  359 

THE    HIGH   LEVEL   BRIDGE. 

For  long,  all  that  was  to  be  seen  of  the  mach-taIked<of  **  High  Level " 
was  the  wherry  from  which  boring  operations  were  carried  on. 

TuNB— "Drops  of  Brandy.** 

Aw  tyuk  the  cheap  train  t'other  day, 

For  wor  Mally  begun  for  to  fidge,  man ; 
To  Newcassel  aw  hastened  away, 

To  luik  at  the  High  Level  Bridge,  man. 
The  folks  o'  wor  raw  was  aflaid — 

They  telFd  us  a  brig  was  purjected 
That  wad  spoil  a*  the  colliery  trade, 

For  wi'  Lunnon,  they  said,  *twas  connected. 

But  when  aw  gets  oot  i'  the  train, 

Aw  hows  doon  the  stairs  iv  a  hurry, 
And  the  High  Level  seun  aw  seed  plain. 

It  was  stuck  o'  the  top  iv  a  whurry. 
But,  man,  when  the  Garth  aw  espied. 

Aw  was  nowther  to  baud  or  to  bind,  man, 
For  translators  an'  tailors  aw  cried, 

But  the  deevil  a  yen  cud  aw  find,  man. 

Aw  seed  a  chep  dress'd  up  i'  black, 

For  the  Garth,  the  folk  said,  he  was  mournin'. 
Aw  ask'd  him  for  Trimmel-leg  Jack, 

'Cawse  he  had  maw  blue  trousers  in  turnin'; 
He  set  up  a  terrible  shout. 

Aw  thowt  the  poor  man  was  gawn  daft,  man, 
Says  he,  "  He  is  lost  in  the  rout " — 

Aw  luik'd  at  the  feul  an'  aw  laughed,  man. 

Aw  dropped  in  at  Jude's,  o'  the  Cock, 
An'  whe  de  ye  think  aw  seed  there,  man  ? 

Billy  Purvis,  as  fresh  as  a  rock. 
An'  cursin'  the  brig,  aw  declare,  man. 


36o  TYNESWE  SONGS, 

Says  he,  "They  hae  stopp'd  the  bug  breed, 
The  clocks  is  a'  scrammird  an'  kilFd,  man, 

The  snips  is  clean  oot  o'  thor  heeds, 

Since  the  Level  they  started  te  build,  man. 

"  The  claes- wives  lost  a'  their  fine  goons, 

The  silkies  was  torn  in  the  laps,  man ; 
The  shifts  saiVd  aboot  like  balloons. 

An'  they  pull'd  off  the  white  trouser-flaps,  man." 
Says  aw,  "  Then  maw  breeches  is  gyen  ! " 

Says  Billy,  "An'  Trimm el-leg  tee,  man ; 
They've  turn'd  his  sheep-shanks  inte  styen, 

Te  striddle  across  the  greet  sea,  man. 

"  The  sweepers  was  forced  for  to  brush, 

They  gae  the  poor  deevils  the  sack,  man ; 
The  chimleys  cam  doon  iv  a  rush, 

An'  Lumley  was  laid  on  his  back,  man. 
The  pie-men  an'  sassage-wives,  tee. 

Gat  notish  ne  langer  te  tarry  : 
The  blackin'  folks  a'  had  te  flee, 

An*  the  hatters  was  croon'd  by  awd  Harry. 

But  spite  o'  their  ravish  an*  root, 

Blue-styeny  is  still  te  the  fore,  man  ; 
The  apple-wives  on  her  still  shoot. 

Dandy-candy's  still  sell'd  in  galore,  man. 
Let  the  'tractors  an'  beeldors  purceed, 

An'  cramp  wi'  greet  bowlts  ivery  styen,  man, 
A  secret  aw  hae  in  maw  heed — 

We  mun  just  start  an'  level  agyen,  man. 

.J.  p.  ROBSON.  "Sard*  of  the  Tyne,"  1S49. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


361 


callerforhtey. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

TuNK—"  Alley  Croaker.' 

Mally.        Oh,  hinny,  Geordy,  canny  man, 

Thou  kens  aw  likes  thou  dearly  I 
For  thee  aw  turned  oflF  baggy  Crooks, 

An'  used  Tim  Targit  queerly; 
Billy  Benson  coax'd  me  sair  to  wed, 

But  man,  aw  cuddent  spurn  thee ! 
Oh,  hinny,  canst  thou  think  o'  this, 

An'  gan  te  Callerfomey  ? 
Oh,  Callerfomey !  fuilish  Callerfomey ! 
Like  honey  blobs  my  heart  11  bmst. 

If  thou  gans  te  Callerfomey. 


Geordy.      Hoots,  Mally,  haud  yor  whinjin  gob, 

Maw  mind's  myed  up  for  sartin ; 
Maw  peeks  an'  spyeds  is  i'  my  kist — 

The  morn  aw's  sure  be  startin', 
Aw'll  seun  be  hykin  on  the  sea, 

An'  fleein'  roond  Cape  Horney ; 
Aw  kens  the  seam  to  hew  for  goold, 

When  aw  gets  te  Callerfomey. 
Oh,  Callerfomey,  bonny  Callerfomey, 
The  vary  clairts  upon  the  street 

Is  goold  in  Callerfomey. 


Mally.        Thou's  mevies  me,  maw  collier  lad. 
When  in  the  waves  thou's  sprawlin, 
When  crocidiles  and  unicorns 
Is  at  thaw  hoggers  haulin. 


362  ,TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Thou's  not  hae  luck  like  Joney,  man, 
In  some  whale's  guts  to  turn  thee ; 

Thou'll  lang  to  be  wi'  me  at  hyem, 
An'  far  frae  Callerforney, 

Oh,  Callerfomey,  shem  on  Callerforney ! 

Bob  Stackers  sweers  thor*s  nowt  but  fules 
Wad  gan  te  Callerforney. 


Geordy.      Thou's  rang  aw  tell  thee,  Mally  lass, 

Just  read  the  papers,  hinny, 
The  place  is  verra  like  the  mint. 

Another  Coast  o*  Guinea ! 
Tho'  mind  thee,  yence  aw  heer'd  it  telFd 

The  cannibals  wad  burn  ye, 
An'  make  goold  ointment  o'  yor  byens, 

When  ye  get  te  Callerforney. 
Oh,  Callerforney,  whei  noo,  Callerforney, 
Hoots,  Mally  aw  can  thresh  them  a', 

Aw'U  conquer  Callerforney ! 


Mally.        Consither,  Geordy,  aw's  thee  wife, 

Aw  divent  gan  contrary. 
If  thou  mun  gan,  thou's  tyek  the  lass 

Thou  ca's  thaw  bonny  Mary  I 
But  weel  aw  kens  afore  thou  gans, 

Thou's  trim*lin  at  the  journey ; 
Sea  sarpints  tee  may  cowp  the  boat. 

Then  where's  thaw  Callerfomey  ? 
Oh,  Callerforney,  tice'n  Callerforney ! 
Aw  wish  that  folks  was  not  se  poor, 

To  want  thee,  Callerforney  1 


.  TYNESIDE  SONGS,  363 

Geordy.      Cheer  up,  maw  duck !  thou'll  gan  wi'  me, 

Aw  niver  heeds  the  danger ! 
Poor  collier  lads  works  hard  for  nowt, 

An'  still  to  deeth's  ne  stranger. 
Like  Whittin'ton  aw  heers  the  bells 

That  says,  "  Come  on  yor  journey ! " 
Goold's  better  far  than  howkin*  coals — 

Oh  dear,  this  Callerforney  ! 
Oh,  Callerforney,  we're  comin',  Callerforney, 
Fareweel  to  splint,  choke  damp,  an'  blast  I 

Huzza !  for  Callerforney. 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  "  Bards  of  the  Tyne,"  1849. 


THE  PAiJirnrsHOP  bleezin* 

This  celebrated  song  is  written  on  Mrs.  Trotter's  Pawnshop,  formerly 
situated  in  the  Side,  Newcastle,  being  entirely  destroyed  by  fire,  in  the  year 
1849.  Although  a  humorous  composition,  it  foithf  ully  describes  the  horrors 
and  misery  attending  the  use  of  such  establishment«i,  and  is  certainly  one 
of  the  author's  most  popular  productions.— ^0^0, 1872. 

TUNB-"X,  Y,  Z." 

WOR  Sail  was  kaimin'  oot  her  hair, 

An'  aw  was  turnin'  dosy, 
Whiles  snot'rin'  in  wor  easy  chair, 
That  myeks  a  chep  sleep  cosy. 
When  frae  the  street  cam  screams  an'  cries — 
Wor  Sail  says  **  Wheest ! "  aw  rubs  my  eyes ; 
An'  marcy  1  shoots  o'  **Fire ! "  aw  hears — 
Aw  myeks  yen  lowp  doon  a'  wor  stairs. 
An'  smash,  aw  seed  a  queerish  seet, 
Yel  thousands  crooded  i'  the  Street — 
It  was  the  Pawnshop  bleezin'. 


364  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  wimmin  folks  'twas  sair  to  see 

Lamentin'  their  distresses ; 
For  roony  a  goon,  an'  white  shemee, 

Was  burnt  wi'  bairns'  dresses ; 
Peg  Putty  stamp'd  an'  cried,  "  Oh,  dear, 
Wor  Georde/s  breeks  is  gyen,  aw  fear ; 
Maw  bonny  shawl  an'  Bella's  frock — " 
Says  Betty  Mills,  "  x\n'  there's  wor  clock, 
An'  a'  maw  bits  o'  laddies'  claes — 
My  pillowslips  an*  pair  o'  stays — 
Is  in  the  Pawnshop  bleezin'." 

i 
A  dowpy  wife  wi'  borrovf  d  fat^ 
An'  wiv  a  puggy  beak,  man, 
Cam  pushin'  wiv  her  bonnet  flat,  | 

And  puffin  oot  her  cheeks,  man  ;  | 

Ye  niver  seed  sic  bullet  eyes — 
Her  screams  aw  thowt  wad  splet  the  skies ; 
"  Oh  Lord !  maw  babbie's  things  is  gyen ! 
Maw  unborn  babe  hes  claes  noo  nyen ! 
An'  when  wor  Billy  finds  it  oot, 
There'll  murder  be,  aw  hae  nee  doot ; 

Oh  dear !  what  garr'd  me  put  them  in  ? 
'Twas  a'  the  races  an'  curs'd  gin — 
That  set  my  claes  a-bleezin'." 


**  Oh,  marcy,  aw'U  be  hammer'd  tee  1 " 
Cries  Orange  Jinny,  blairin'; 

•*  Aw  popp'd  Ned's  suit  te  hae  a  spree, 
But  suen  aw'U  get  me  fairin', — 

He  thinks,  poor  sowl,  his  claes  is  reet. 

Hell  want  yen  suit  o*  Friday  neet — 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  365 

What  mun  aw  dee  ?  aw  wadent  care, 

But,  hinnies,  watch  an'  seal  is  there ; 

An'  warse  an'  warse !  he'll  quickly  knaw, 
That  earrings,  weddin'  ring  an'  a' 
Is  in  the  Pawnshop  bleezin'  I " 

Lang  Skipper  Jack,  wi'  mony  a  sweer, 

Cam  laingerin'  up  the  Side,  man. 
Says  he,  **  What's  a'  the  matter,  here  ? 

Noo,  here's  a  bonny  tide,  man  ! 
Why,  marrows,  sure  it  cannit  be, 
This  isn't  Trotter's  place  aw  see  ?  " 
So  oot  his  baccy  fob  he  tuik, 
Hawled  oot  some  tickets  frae  a  buik : 
"  Why  sink  the  sowls  of  a'  the  lot ; 
Aye,  d — n  the  yel  scrape's  gyen  to  pot. 
There's  a'  maw  fortin  bleezin' ! " 

The  yells,  an'  blairs,  an'  curses  lood, 

And  cries  o'  stupefaction  : 
An'  bits  o'  bairns  amang  the  crood, 

Increased  the  mad  distraction ; 
Aye,  mony  a  wife  will  rue  the  day 
She  put  her  husband's  things  away; 
An'  men  will  groan  wi'  bitter  grief — 
(For  Pawnshop  law  hes  ne  relief) — 
Ta  find  their  labour,  toil,  an'  pain, 
To  'pear  like  decent  foaks  is  vain — 
There  a'  their  goods  is  bleezin' ! 

The  world  was  better  far  aw'm  sure. 
When  Pawnshops  had  ne  neym,  man ; 

When  poor  folks  could  their  breed  procure, 
Withoot  a  deed  d  shyem,  man  I 


366  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Ther  Boxes  luik  like  cuddies'  stalls ; 

There's  hell-fire  in  ther  hollow  balls ; 

Their  gains  is  large,  wor  chance  is  sma' — 

They  often's  get  wor  pledges  a' — 

Just  like  the  plagues  ov  Egypt  sent, 
They  J)anish  peace  an'  calm  content — 
Aw  wish  they  a'  were  bleezin*. 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  "  Bards  cfthe  Tyne^**  1849. 


THE   USE   AN'  THE   ABUSE; 

OR,  THE  PITMEN  AN*  THE  PREACHERS. 

That  there  is  another  aspect  to  the  drink  question  besides  this,  so 
glowingly  depicted  b^ow,  Bobson  himself  shows.  "Maw  mairas,  tyek 
wamin^  be  me,"  of  which  the  following  is  the  first  verse,  shows  it— 

MAW  MABBAS,  TYEK  WABNIN*  BE  ME; 

Maw  shift  in  this  world  nobbut  lasts  a  few  days. 

Then  afore  stairin'  croods  aw  mun  dee ; 
It's  a'  on  iocoont  o'  my  wild  drinkin'  ways, 

An'  poor  Nell's,  for  she  lik'd  a  drop,  tee, 
Thit  the  rope  o'  cawd  deith  seun'll  stop  Matty's  breeth, 

On  a  life  cmshin'  hang-gallas  tree. 
Drink,  drink  was  maw  bane,  aw  repeat  it  again  ;— 

Then,  maw  marras,  tyek  wamin'  be  me ! 


(Last  four  lines.) 
Oh  !  fra  drink,  marras  awl,  keep  away,  is  maw  cawl— 

Leest,  like  Matt,  for  fool  muitier  ye  dee ; 
It's  the  last  word  aw  say— /ra  ittrang  drink  bide  away, 

O,  maw  marras,  tyek  wamin'  be  me. 

TuNB— **  GEumy  Newcassel." 

Teeto^lers  may  jaw  'boot  the  drink  as  they  will, 

An*  preach  till  they're  black  i*  the  muzzle ; 
Maw  feyther  an'  muther  byeth  lik'd  a  gud  gill, 

An'  ther  son,  tee,  maun  wheeten  his  whusseL 
Gud  yell  has  duen  mair  for  te  warm  a  man's  breest, 

When  Misfortin'  hes  cum  wiv  his  hammer, 
Then  a  thoosan'  dry  sarmins  frae  ranterfied  preest, 

That  gets  paid  for  his  lees  an'  his  yammer. 

Foaks  gob  aboot  drink;  wes  the  grapes  sent  for  nowt 
But  te  stuff  i'  wor  dumplins  an'  hinnies  ? 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  367 

If  the  goold  frae  the  yerth,  man,  had  niver  been  browt, 
Smash !  the  mint  cudn't  coin  monny  ginnies. 

Becaws  a  man's  hung,  mun  we  rayek  ne  mair  twine  ? 
Mun  we  starve  'cas  some  fules  gormydises  ? 

If  a  keel  gets  upset,  maun  we  shut  up  the  Tyne  ? 
Gox !  such  humbug  maw  reason  surprizes ! 

Bill  Wallis  is  turn'd  a  teetotaller,  noo, 

An'  lyeps  up  the  fizzyfied  wetter ; 
But  aw  find,  on  the  slee.  Bill  his  toddy  can  brew, 

For  his  beak  is  to  brandy  a  debtor. 
His  wife,  huiky  Fan,  gat  the  key  ov  his  box, 

Iv  a  raw  the  black  bottles  were  pleyc'd  in ; 
Like  as  fizik  frae  doctors,  a'  labell'd,  bi  gox ! 

But  poor  Fanny  gat  mortal  wiv  tyestin'  t 

Whei,  it's  deeth,  me  vies  warse,  if  te  Balmbra's  ye  gan 

For  a  glass,  an'  te  hear  the  fine  singin' ; 
They  sweer  that  the  landlord's  the  deevil's  best  man. 

An'  the  band's  nowt  but  imps  ov  his  bringin'. 
Man,  ther  spited  te  see  that  the  "Wheat  Sheaf"  hes 
sprung 

Frae  the  seeds  o'  lang  pashins  an'  murit ; 
Smash !  ther  awn  duzzy  consarts  is  shemfully  sung. 

For  ther  sangs,  like  thersels,  hes  ne  spurit 

Aw  divent  praise  fules  that,  like  pigs  i'  the  muck, 

Gan  gruntin'  an'  guzzlin'  for  iver ; 
There's  ne  cayshun  te  soom  i'  the  drink  like  a  duck, 

But  just  sup  what'U  myek  a  chep  clivor. 
Noo,  ye  ken  verry  weel  what  King  Solyman  says, 

An'  he  dissent  mean  gluttons  te  'tice,  man : 
"  Eat,  drink,  an'  be  merry,  to  lengthin  yor  days  " — 

An*,  bi  gox !  but  aw'll  tyek  his  advice,  man. 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  **  Bwr^  of  the  Tyne,**  1849. 


368  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

DATS   AND    DBEDS    OF   SHAKSPERE. 

Tune—"  The  Old  English  Gentleman." 

Aw'll  sing  ye  a  braw  new  sang, 

Aboot  Bill  Shakspur*s  plays  : 
A  chep  that  kep  wor  toon  i*  tow 

Wi'  queerish  neets  an'  days. 
He  wes  born  i'  th'  Swirl,  i*  Sandgate,  man, 

This  poet  ov  a'  natur ; 
And  hadded  horses  for  ha'pennies, 

Aside  wor  aud  Theatur. 

Ch4>rus, 

Oh  !  a  cliver  chep  wes  Shakspur,  lads, 
An*  the  brag  an'  pride  o'  Tyne. 

Ne  lad  like  him  cud  heave  a  bool, 

Or  set  the  dogs  away ; 
For  hingin'  hares  i'  Fenira  wood, 

Bill  wes  the  time  o'  day. 
He  had  a  kind  o'  conj'rin'  gun 

That  browt  the  pheasans  doon ; 
He  yence  let  flee  at  CrummePs  hat, 

An'  wammel'd  oot  the  croon. 


O'  gamkeepers  Bill  made  his  gam', 

An'  smok'd  his  cutty  pipe ; 
For  poets,  man,  oft  leeve  on  air 

Or  suction,  like  the  snipe. 
At  hoppins  Bill  won  the  meat. 

For  he  wes  fond  o'  greese ; 
He  clamb  the  mast  o'  a  ship  ca'd  Fame^ 

An'  gat  the  goolden  fleece. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  369 

Jack  Ford,  Rare  Ben,  an'  Messenger, 

Fair  deevils  for  a  lark. 
Went  oot  wi'  Bill  te  Ravensworth, 

Yen  neet  when  a'  wes  dark. 
They  rammerd  ower  that  bonny  wood, 

Wivoot  a  sign  o'  luck. 
Till  Bill  gat  haud  o'  twe  lang  horns. 

An'  hauFd  away  a  buck. 

The  keeper-man  poor  Willy  nail'd. 

An',  gox !  there  was  a  spree ! 
He  garr'd  the  pollis  luik  like  fuils, 

Aye,  may'r  an'  'torneys,  tee. 
He  tell'd  them  he  had  browt  the  horns 

The  magistrate  te  fit : 
Yen  cock-eyed  doctor  laugh'd  se  lood, 

They  say  his  jaws^wes  split. 

Noo  Shaksy  went  upon  wor  stage, 

An'  acted  tiv  a  won'er ; 
He  grund  the  rosel  for  the  leetnin', 

An'  rowrd  big  bools  for  thun'er ; 
He  myed  hell-fires  o'  reed  an'  bluej 

An',  for  a  spreeish  joke, 
He  popp'd  up  thro'  a  greet  kale-pot. 

An'  frighten'd  a'  the  folk. 

Yence  Bill  went  on  to  act  a  pairt. 

But,  man,  he  lost  the  words ; 
The  trapper  laddie  lowsed  the  boult. 

An*  Bill  fell  thro'  the  boards ! 
The  owerman  went  stampin'  mad, 

Te  see  the  play  disgraced : 
So  Shakspur  cut  the  actor's  life 

Biv  thrawin'  up  the  "Ghaist  I " 
24 


370  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  Bill  ran  hyem  an'  scribbl'd  plays, 

That  pit  lads  like  te  read ; 
The  Ranters  said  he  was  aud  Nick, 

'Cas  he  cud  raise  the  deed. 
For,  smash !  he  kenn'd  a*  things  se  weel, 

'Boot  fairies,  kings,  an'  fyuls ; 
Thor's  mair  grand  sermons  iv  his  buik 

Than  cums  frae  Cambridge  skyuls. 

He  tells  us  ov  a  blackeymoor, 

Wi'  goggle  eyes  se  queer. 
That  Dissymolly  scumfished. 

For  a  handkercher,  aw  hear. 
An'  when  the  pollis  tuik  him  up. 

He  shooted  for  his  wife ; 
Then  stuck  a  gully  iv  his  throat, 

An'  stopped  his  gam  for  life. 

Folks  tawk  o'  conjuration  sprees, 

An'  dealings  wiv  aud  Nick ; 
Noo  Prossy  Joe  white  spurrits  gat. 

By  waggin'  ov  a  stick. 
Fra  Jarrow-Slek  a  lass  he  browt. 

Beside  a  monkey-man, 
That  liked  a  cask  o'  Jemmykay, 

They  ca'd  him  Callerbran ! 

Fra  thun'er  eludes  blacK  witches  cam, 

An'  fairies  frae  the  myun ; 
Green  mermaids,  tee,  frae  Hartley  Pans, 

That  kaim'd  thor  heeds  like  fun. 
Will  banged  a'  poets  wiv  his  pen ; 

But  fules  will  gan  astray ; 
They  like  wild  beasts  and  lion  kings, 

Far  mair  than  Shaksy's  play. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  371 

Yen  neet  aw  heerd  a  spurit's  voice, 

It  cried,  "  Save  Shakspur's  neck  : 
Translate  him  te  the  vulgar  tongue, 

An'  crum'letators  check. 
There's  Sherry  Knowles  can  mind  his  hoose, 

An'  greet  will  be  thaw  blame, 
If  thou,  Bob  Stackers,  divint  start, 

An'  save  Will  Shakspur's  name." 

Se  hinnies  a',  byeth  leish  an*  sma*, 

An'  lasses  o'  wor  Tyne, 
Poor  Bobby  comes  afore  ye  noo, 

Te  favour  his  design. 
An'  if  aw  gets  a  greeter  praise 

Then  mevvies  is  maw  reet. 
Aw  cannit  rob  the  bonny  Swan, 

Because  his  fame's  cumplete. 

J.  p.  ROBSON.  '*  Bardt  of  the  Tym;*  1U9, 


HAMLICK,   PRIMCE    OF   DENTON. 

PART    FIRST. 

In  these  burlesque  days,  when  H.  J.  Byron  flourishes,  and  nothing  seems 
safe  from  the  pen  of  the  bi^rlesque  writer,  it  is  no  wonder  that  this  clever 
travesty,  which  gives  to  the  melancholy  Bane  "a  local  habitation  and  a 
name,"  should  be  highly  popular.  "  Denton  Burn,"  where  the  poet  locates 
the  prince,  is  a  small  village,  just  outside  Newcastle,  on  the  West  road.— 
NoU,  1872  Edvtim, 

Tune— "Merrily  Dance  the  Quaker's  Wife." 

Ov  a'  the  lads  o'  Denton  Burn, 
Young  Hamlick  had  ne  marrow. 

He'd  put  or  hew  an'  take  his  turn 
Te  drive  the  rolley-barrow. 


372  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

His  feythor  kept  a  corver's  shop, 
His  muther  teuk  in  sewin ; 

But,  man,  they  say  she  liked  a  drop, 
An'  drunk  gin  like  a  new  un. 


Noo,  Hamlick  had  a  sweetheart  tee, — 

Oh,  Feeley,  she  was  canny ! 
The  weddin-day  was  seun  to  be. 

For  Feeley  lov'd  her  manny ; 
The  furnitary  a'  was  bowt, 

The  chairs  wis  polished  bonny, 
A  German  chep  the  clock  had  browt ; 

An'  the  bed  wad  challinge  onny. 


But  iv  a  suddent  a'  was  stopp'd, 

Misfortin  cam  se  cruiket ; 
The  marridge  meetin'  seun  was  dropped, 

Aud  Ham  had  kicked  the  bucket. 
An'  what  was  queer,  afore  a  week 

The  widdy  wed  agyen,  man ; 
The  deed  un's  brother  had  the  cheek 

Te  coax  her,  it  was  plain,  man. 


Noo  bonny  gam'  there  was,  aw  sure, 

Yung  Hamlick  swore  like  Hector : 
He  vow'd  he  wad  his  mother  cure, 

If  biv  hersel  he  neck'd  her. 
An'  Clawdy,  tee,  might  chucky  oot. 

His  jaws  he'd  surely  plaister ; 
Whei !  if  he  didn't  gar  him  shoot. 

Then  Ham  wad  own  his  maister. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  373 

'Twixt  twelve  an'  yen,  the  meun  was  sma', 

As  Hamlick  hyem  was  gannin'; 
Just  cummin  past  aud  Denton  Ha', 

He  seed  a  white  thing  stannin. 
Tho'  freeten'd  sair,  says  he,  "Whe's  there?" 

His  kneebyens  nack'd  thegither ; 
It  answered  wiv  a  groaning  blair, 

**  Oh,  Hamlick !  aw's  thaw  feyther." 


"What  thou?"  says  he,  "it  cannit  be! 

Aw  seed  thee  fairly  harried ; 
But,  feyther,  tell  us  what  te  de. 

For  mother  to  uncle's  married." 
"Then  listen,  hinny,  for  the  cock 

Aw's  flaid  'ill  seun  be  crawin' ! 
Ye  ken  it's  lang  past  twelve  o'clock. 

An'  yen  mun  stop  maw  jawin. 


"  Ye'll  mind  that  neet  aw  wun  the  pig. 

Aw  went  hyem  like  a  lammie, 
Tho  Gurty  sairly  run  her  rig, 

An'  shameful  used  her  Hammy. 
But  warse,  me  lad — thaw  Uncle  Clawde 

Bowt  ars'nic  frae  thaw  cousin, 
An'  mixed  it  wi'  some  fat  he  had, 

An'  aw  lick'd  up  the  puzzen. 


"  Ah  man,  aw  cud  sum  queer  things  tell, 

But  the  deevil's  verra  jellis ; 
Tho  aw've  a  fairish  place  i'  hell — 

Aw's  heed  man  at  the  bellis. 


374  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

But,  wheest !  the  banty's  craw  aw  hear, 
Come,  shake  hands  wi'  yor  daddie ; 

Thou'll  mevies  cuik  thaw  uncle's  beer ; 
Ta,  ta — ta ;  ta — maw  laddie ! " 

When  Hamlick  stuck  his  daddie  oot, 

Te  grip  his  feyther's  paw,  man, 
He  gav  a  kind  o'  croopy  shoot. 

To  find  the  caud  styen  wa',  man. 
The  ghaist  was  gyen — but  sic  a  smell 

Was  fund  like  aud  shoes  burnin, 
That  Hamlick's  niver  been  hissel 

Since  yen  o'clock  that  mornin. 

PART   SECOND. 

Some  strowlin'  folks  to  Denton  cam', 

A'  ridin  on  thor  donkeys, 
An'  conj'rin  cheps  wi'  nowt  but  sham, 

Spy  shows  was  there  wi'  munkeys. 
The  actors  fund  young  Hamlick  oot, 

An'  spun  him  sic  a  yarn,  sir ; 
Says  Ham,  "  The  gentlemen  can  spoot 

In  Lissy  Larabton's  barn,  sir ! " 

The  play  was  made  biv  Hamlick's  sel, 

His  mother's  sowl  to  press,  man, 
The  scene  was  laid  at  Barley  Fell, 

The  lingo  was  Bosjesman. 
•*  The  Blighted  Boar,  or  Puzzen'd  Pluck," 

The  folks  a'  flock'd  to  see,  man ; 
An'  Feeley  i*  the  front  was  stuck, 

Wiv  Hamlick  on  her  knee,  man. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  375 

Up  went  the  cloot — the  crood  sat  mum — 

A  pig-fyeced  thing  appearin ; 
Upon  a'  fowers  'twas  seed  to  cum — 

By  gox,  it  was  a  queer  un ! 
It  grunted  thrice — thrice  wagged  its  heed, 

An*  hadded  up  his  paw,  then ; 
Then  myed  believe  that  it  was  deed, 

By  droppin  doon  its  jaw,  then. 


In  popped  a  wife  an'  blubbered  sair, 

Aboot  her  gissy's  fate,  then  \ 
"  Wise  pigs"  says  she,  "  takes  better  care^ 

Thotis  licJid  apuzzen^dplate^  then; 
Aii/d  seuner  loss  my  man^  the  Turk  ! 

Aw  wish  that  minis  was  taken; 
Thaw  pluck  to  neet  sail  de  the  wark — 

Therms  arinic  in  thaw  baconJ** 


Ham's  mother  dother'd  like  a  duck, 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  aw's  drop  noo  I 
Divent  ye  hear  about  the  pluck? 

Howay  I  aw  winnit  stop,  noo ! " 
An'  frae  the  play  like  mad  she  flew. 

The  crowd  a'  gyept  an'  won'er'd, 
**  Ho,  ho  I "  shoots  Ham,  "the  ghaist  spak  true, 

Play-actors  for  a  hun'er'd ! " 

Next  pay,  Ham's  feyther  'peared  agyen, 

I'  th'  spot  he  elways  haunted ; 
"  Oh,  Hamlick,  Hamlick !  tell  us  when 

Aw'll  get  maw  wishes  granted  ? 


376  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Thaw  heart's  like  withered  haws  or  hips : 
Revenge  thaw  feyther's  deeth,  then ; 

Ta,  ta ! "     Ham's  een  was  i*  th'  'clipse, 
He  gyep'd  clean  oot  o'  breeth,  then. 


To  Feeley's  house,  wivoot  a  stop, 

Throo  puils,  cross  progly  ditches, 
Young  Ham  ran  peltin  neck  an'  crop, 

His  sark  ootside  his  britches. 
He  brak  the  door  an'  smashed  the  glass, 

Spanghewed  poor  Feeley's  feyther, 
An'  tuik  the  coal-rake  tiv  his  lass. 

An*  jaw'd  a  heap  o'  blether. 

The  police  cam  wiv  a'  thor  speed. 

But  whe  daur  Hamlick  tyek,  then  ? 
The  crooner  sat  upon  the  deed, 

A  verdick  clear  to  myek,  then. 
Noo  Feeley  cam  in  rantin  mad, 

Wiv  a  gyus's  thropple  screamin ; 
She  ca'd  her  Ham,  **Her  bonny  lad 

That  set  her  daft  wi'  dreamin." 


Her  heed  was  dressed  wi'  docken  leeves, 

Stuck  roond  wi'  cabbage  caskets, 
An'  milky  thrustles  in  her  neeves. 

An'  rusher  caps  and  baskets. 
The  crooner  bad  his  men  gie  place 

Te  let  her  view  her  feyther : 
She  smack'd  the  forsman  on  the  face, 

Then  chow'd  sum  bits  o'  leather. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  yi*j 

She  leeved  on  grass  an'  paddick's  stuils, 

Dry  asks  and  tyeds  she  chorish'd ; 
An'  Tommy-lodgers  frae  the  puils, 

Iv  blackin-pots  she  norished. 
Yen  day  she  plodg'd  to  catch  a  duck, 

A  soomin  seized  her  heed,  there, 
An'  in  the  slek  poor  Feeley  stuck, 

And  **  Cuckoo''  fand  her  heed,  there. 

PART  THIRD. 

The  winter  efterneun  was  dark, 

The  winds,  like  bairns,  was  cry  in, 
The  fun'ral  folk  had  left  the  kirk, 

Where  Feeley  cawd  was  lyin. 
Yung  Hamlick  lowp'd  oot  frae  a  dyke, 

Seiz'd  fast  o'  Feeley's  bruther, 
An'  Ham  was  Larty  gan  te  strike. 

When  oot  cam'  Hammy's  muther. 

"  For  shem,  ye  feuls,  on  sic  a  neet, 

Te  set  yor  neeves  for  boxin, 
'Twad  sarve  thee  reet,  Ham,  varry  reet, 

To  stick  thaw  shanks  the  stocks  in : 
Thou  hes  ne  chance  wi'  Lart/s  fist, 

Thou  kens  he  was  a  ring-man ; 
He'll  let  the  day-leet  to  thaw  kist— 

He  is  a  second  Spring,  man ! " 

The  match  cam  off  at  Throckley  Fell, 
Ham's  uncle  own'd  the  field,  man ; 

His  mother,  tee,  cam'  there  hersel. 
Ham's  fate  she  thowt  concealed,  man. 


378  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

To  wark  they  went,  Ham  drew  first  blood, 
Tho'  Larty  ken'd  the  science ; 

But  Hamlick  like  a  tarrier  stood, 
An'  grinn'd  a  blue  defiance. 

Hoot,  Larty,  hinny's  fairly  blawn, 

His  breeth  cums  thick  and  shorter ; 
But  what's  that  stuff  Clawde's  sleely  thrawn, 

And  mixed  amang  the  porter  ? 
But  Larty's  deun,  the  time  is  ca'd. 

Ham's  mother  seems  a'  queer,  noo. 
She  grabs  the  glass  and  drinks  like  mad, 

She's  drunk  the  pussin*d  beer,  noo. 


"Oh,  hinny,  Clawde,  what's  this,  maw  lad? 

This  porter's  queerly  fettled ! " 
Clawde  blair'd  oot,  ''Lass!  put  doon  that  glass." 

Poor  sowl,  her  hash  was  settled. 
Smash  at  his  uncle's  jaws  struck  Ham, 

Doon  went  the  tyestral  sprawlin, 
Doon  went  his  puzzen'd  mistrest  flam. 

The  crood  for  help  was  bawlin ! 

Up  stackered  Larty  for  a  blaw. 

Fair  on  Ham's  jug'lar  nibb'd  him ; 
But  Ham  swung  roond  his  iron  paw, 

An'  wiv  a  deeth-thraw  fibb'd  him. 
The  victims'  bodies  iv  a  dray 

Te  their  last  hyem  was  sent  on : 
Oh  I  mourn  for  Hamlick  neet  and  day. 

For  he  was  Prince  o'  Denton. 

J.  p.  B0B80N.  AiUhor'8  Vol,  "Evangeline." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  379 

THE   PITMAN'S    HAPPY   TIMES. 

Had  this  admirer  of  the  **good  old  times"  lived  at  th«  present  time  (1872), 
when  pitmen's  wages  are  advancing  10  and  15  per  cent,  at  a  bound,  he  even 
most  have  doubted  whether  the  past  was  better  than  the  present.— ^ote, 
1872  EdUUm, 

Tune—"  In  the  days  when  we  went  gipsying." 

When  aw  wes  yung,  maw  collier  lads, 

Ne  man  cud  happier  be ; 
For  wages  was  like  sma'  coals  then, 

An'  cheps  cud  raise  a  spree. 
Wor  pay-neet  cam'  wiv  drink  an'  dance, 

Wor  sweethearts  luckt  se  fine ; 
An'  lumps  o'  beef,  an'  dads  o'  duff, 

Wes  there  for  folks  te  dine. 
An'  then  we  spent  sic  merry  neets. 

For  grum'lin'  we  had  nyen  ; 
But  the  times  o'  wor  prosperity 

Will  niver  cum  agyen. 

Wor  hooses  then  wes  ower  sma', 

For  ivery  nuik  was  chock ; 
Wor  drawers  wes  fair  mahoginy. 

An'  se  wes  chairs  an'  clock. 
Wor  feather  beds,  and  powls  se  fine, 

Wes  welcum  te  the  seet ; 
A  man  work'd  harder  i'  the  day, 

Wi'  thinkin'  o'  th'  neet. 
Spice  hinnies  on  the  gurdle  fizz'd ; 

Maw  tea  had  rum  in't  then ; 
But  the  times  o'  wor  prosperity 

Can  niver  cum  agyen. 

Wor  wives  cud  buy  new  shawls  an'  goons. 

An'  niver  heed  the  price ; 
The  spyed-yace  ginnies  went  like  smoke 

Te  myek  wor  darlins  nice. 


38o  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  drapers  used  ne  tickets  then, 

The  country  gowks  te  coax : 
They  got  thereckly  what  was  ax'd, 

An*  prais'd  us  collier  folks. 
The  butcher  meat  was  always  best 

When  Kenton  paid  thor  men ; 
But  the  days  o'  wor  prosperity 

Can  niver  cum  agyen. 

When  aw  gat  wed — gox,  what  a  row ! 

The  bindin*  brass  aw  spent : 
Aw  bowt  new  gloves  an'  ribbons,  man, 

For  aw  the  folks  aw  kent 
At  ivery  yell  hoose  i'  this  toon, 

We  had  a  cocktail  pot ; 
Wi'  treatin*  a'  the  company  roond, 

Maw  kelter  went  like  shot. 
But  smash  !  we  had  a  merry  neet, 

Tho'  fights  we  had  but  ten ; 
Thor  wes  sic  times  for  collier  lads — 

They'll  niver  come  agyen. 

We  didn't  heed  much  lairnin*  then. 

We  had  ne  time  for  skyul ; 
Pit  laddies  work'd  for  spendin's  syek, 

An'  nyen  wes  thowt  a  fyul. 
Noo,  ivery  bairn  can  read  and  write — 

Extonishin'  to  me  I 
The  varry  dowpie  on  my  lap 

Can  tell  his  A  B  C 
Sum  folks  gets  reet,  and  sum  gets  wrang, 

Biv  lettin*  buiks  alyen ; 
But  this  aw'll  sweer,  ne  times  like  mine 

Can  iver  cum  agyen. 

J.  p.  EOBSON.  "  Bardt  af  ths  Tyne,"  1849. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  381 


THE   HORRID   IZITAR   I*    SAISGEYT. 

The  following  song  most  faithfully  describes  what  the  author  teims  "  The 
Horrid  War  i'  Sangeyt."  The  cause,  the  description,  and  the  result  of  the 
horrid  war  are  strictly  in  keeping  with  the  newspaper  reports ;  it  only 
remains  to  add  that  this  memorable  war  took  place  on  Sunday  evening, 
May  11th,  1851. 

Tune—"  The  King  o'  the  Cannibal  Islands." 

Thor's  nowt  se  bad  awVe  heerd  foax  say, 
Is  let  fyul  preechors  hae  thor  way, 
An'  that  was  proov'd  the  tuther  day, 

Be  the  horrid  war  i'  Sangeyt. 
As  Rantor  Dick  preeched  frev  a  chair, 
While  singin'  oot  wi'  cuddy  blair, 
An'  gi'en  the  Pope  a  canny  share 
O'  hell-fire  comfort,  aw  declare  ; 
When  Paddy  Flinn  set  up  a  howl, 
An'  Squintin  Dan  wi'  Ted  McCowl, 
Myed  preest  an'  beuk  an'  styul  te  rowl 

I'  the  muck  an'  clarts  o'  Sangeyt. 


Nan  Dodds  an'  me  an'  Mettor  Jack 
Wes  stannin  be  the  preechor's  back, 
Says  aw,  "  Ye  thunderin  Irish  pack, 

Dor  ye  start  yor  gam  i'  Sangeyt  ?  " 
Then,  wi'  me  neeve,  aw  shuts  a  blaw, 
An'  levils  Dan  an'  Cowley  law ; 
Wor  Jack  pick'd  up  the  rantor  craw, 
An'  teird  him  nut  'gyen  Popes  te  jaw. 
An'  noo  the  bonny  gam  begun, 
The  Pats  frev  oot  thor  hooses  run  : 
They  poored  be  hundreds  frae  the  "  Sun," 

Te  start  a  war  i'  Sangeyt. 


383  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

They  cam  frae  loosy  dens  wi'  howls, 
Like  harrin — man  1  they  cam  i'  showls, 
Wi'  buzzum-shanks  an'  aud  bed-powls, — 

Styens  flew  like  shot  throo  Sangeyt 
The  poUis  cam  wi'  thor  black  sticks, 
But  sum  gat  fell'd  wi'  greet  hawf-bricks, 
Then  rowlin-pins  an'  shafts  o'  picks, 
Wes  browt  te  de  the  naytivs'  tricks : — 
The  Paddies  screem'd  till  a*  wes  bloo, 
"  Let's  slay  the  Saxon  hay  thins,  now  ; 
Down  wid  the  Inglish  thieves !     Hooroo ! 

An'  we'll  be  Kings  i'  Sangeyt ! " 


They  cam  frae  Quinn's  an'  Simpson's  tee, 
Frae  Ford's,  an'  hoosis  lang  the  Kee, 
Frae  Piporgyet  an'  Mill  Intree, 

Te  the  horrid  war  i'  Sangeyt ! 
The  Irish  force  wes  fairly  quashed, 
When  on  the  Keeside  porters  dashed ; 
Then  tongs  went  up,  bed-powls  got  smashed, 
An'  heeds  wes  crack'd,  an'  windors  crashed; 
Then  brave  keel-laddies  tyuk  thor  turn, 
Wi'  smiths  an'  potters  frae  the  burn, 
They  cut  the  "  White  Boys  "  doon  like  corn. 

An'  lyed  them  law  i'  Sangeyt. 

The  sweeps  noo  teemed  wi'  sic  a  rush, 
The  Paddies  flew  before  the  brush, 
Ned  Fish's  heroes  myed  a  push. 

An'  blacked  the  boys  i'  Sangeyt. 
Bill  Johnson's  crew  an*  Clarke's  wes  there, 
An'  Knight's  an'  Lumley's  pack  fowt  sair ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  383 

Jim  Frame's  bool'd  frae  the  Cassel  Square, 
Wi'  Blower's  Blacks  an'  monny  main 
The  landlords  joined  the  jolly  row, 
Bob  Carr  got  help  frae  "Barley  Mow," 
Moor  put  his  ** Steam  Boat"  cheps  i*  tow, 
An'  a*  wes  war  i'  Sangeyt. 


Nell  Prood  chucked  up  her  three-legged  styul, 

An'  lyed  it  inte  Dermitt's  skull, 

An*  dog's-dort  Peg  whorled  roond  her  shull. 

An'  splet  sum  heeds  i'  Sangeyt 
Young  Oyster  Bet  and  Tatie  Sal, 
Gat  three  greet  navvies  gyen  the  wall. 
Bet  prickt  them  wiv  a  cobbler's  awl ; 
Peg  powsed  thor  jaws  an'  myed  them  squall. 
An'  when  the  Pats  wis  fairly  deun, 
Wor  Sally  for  the  pollis  run, 
An'  te  the  stayshun  they  wor  teun, 

For  raisin  war  i'  Sangeyt 


The  pollis  wad  gyen  doon  aw  fear, 
If  cheps  like  us  had  not  been  near, — 
Man,  Keeside  blud's  se  full  o'  beer, — 

We'd  fight  the  world  for  Sangeyt ! 
Wor  Jack  an'  me  te  the  Manors  tyuk, 
Just  sixteen  Pats  be  Scott's  awn  byuk ; 
We  seized  them  like  a  grapplin  hyuk, 
An'  caged  them  for  sum  mair  te  lyuk. 
O'  Mundor  morn  aw  fand  a'  sair, 
When  aw  wis  cawled  afore  the  Mare, 
An'  swore  'twas  a'  the  Rantor's  prayer 

That  cawsed  the  war  i'  Sangeyt. 


384  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Te  jale  the  dorty  trash  wis  sent, 
Wi'  brockin  skulls,  an*  fairly  spent ; 
They  lyuk'd  like  owt  but  foax  content 

Wi'  raisin  war  i'  Sangeyt. 
Noo,  when  thor  free,  aw*ll  say  agyen, 
Just  let  us  Inglish  foak  alyen, 
Newcassel  lads  can  rool  a  main^ 
In  owther  seas  or  cocks — that's  plain. 
Then  let's  away  te  sum  yell-hoose. 
An'  hev  a  sang,  an'  gan  on  croose, 
Let's  proove  us  Keeside  chaps  is  doose ; — 

The  conk'rin  blades  o'  Sangeyt ! 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  Author's  Copy,  about  185L 


BETTT  BEESLET  AND  HER  ISrOODEN   MAN. 

Tune—"  The  Bold  Dragoon." 

Bet  Beesley  was  a  skipper's  wife 

For  twe  lang  years  an'  mair ; 
They  leeved  a  kind  o'  howstrow  life — 

Smash,  man,  they  fettled  sair ! 
They  gum'd  like  cats — thor  gob  browt  bats — 

Byeth  often  wished  the  yen  was  croakin'; 
So  Deeth  yen  day  stopp'd  Tommy's  chats. 

An'  left  the  widow  Bet  heart-broken. 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley ! 

Dinnet  break  thaw  heart,  maw  hinny ! 
No,  Betty  Beesley — get  another  man ! 

Bet  Beesley  had  a  bonny  fyece. 

An'  was  a  smartish  queen ; 
A  fairy's,  foot  an'  leg  o'  grace, 

An'  twe  black  roguish  een. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  385 

Noo  Nabob  Tate,  that  had  o'  late 

Fra  Indy  cum  wi'  loads  o*  siller, 
Teuk  Bet  to  see  his  hoose  an'  plate, 

An'  fairly  popped  the  questin  tiv  her  : 
"  Oh,  Betty  Beesley ! 

Dinnet  say  thou  winnet,  hinney  ! 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley,  tyek  me  for  thaw  man  ! " 


Smash  !  Betty  wed  this  Nabob  grand. 

Turned  oot  a  leddy  fine ; 
She  gat  silk  gloves  upon  her  hand. 

An'  cut  wi'  rings  a  shine ; 
The  happy  day  seun  slipped  away, 

An'  neet  cam  on,  ye  ken — Oh,  deary  ! 
Tate's  servant  carried  him,  they  say. 

To  Betty's  room,  a  little  beery ! 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley  I 

What  a  spree  thou'U  hae,  maw  hinney  ! 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley,  cuddle  close  thee  man  ! 

Poor  Betty  thowt  a  vast  o'  sheym, 

Else  myed  believe  to  de ; 
But  Tate  was  jolly  seun  at  hyem, 

An'  clapp'd  Bet  on  his  knee. 
3et  thowt  his  legs  fand  hardish  pegs. 

Says   she,  "Oh,  dear!    what's   thor   things 
stickin'?" 
"**  These  are  my  stumps ! " — and  up  he  jumps — 

"  Aw'U  screw  them  off  else  they'll  be  breekin'." 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley ! 

Hes  thee  man  ne  shanks,  maw  hinny  ? 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley — what  a  Wooden  Man  I 
25 


386  TVNESIDE  SONGS. 

**  Hoots  I  what's  the  use  o'  tryin',  Tate, 

To  screw  thaw  legs,  maw  dear  ? 
Ye  men  folks  spoil  the  weddin'  state 

Wi'  tyekin'  se  much  beer ! " 
"  Come  thou,  maw  pet — this  way,  lass  Bet, 

An'  when  thou  gets  mnw  pins  dissected. 
Maw  airms  thou'U  feel  is  wood  an*  steely 

So  thou  can  lowse  them  as  directed." 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley! 

Nouther  legs  nor  airms,  maw  hinney, 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley,  thou's  wed  a  trunkey  man. 


But  Bet  turned  dwamy,  like  to  fall, 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  I "  she  cries ; 
Says  Tate,  "  But,  Bet,  this  isn't  all, 

Cum,  tyek  oot  teeth  an'  eyes  ! 
Then,  to  complete  the  screwin'  feat 

(Gox,  what  a  thing  to  get  a  breed  off!), 
Just  coup  me  backward  in  maw  seat, 

An'  try,  maw  luve,  to  screw  maw  heed  off! ' 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley ! 

What  a  job  thou's  deun,  maw  hinny ! 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley,  thou  hesn't  half^i  man! 

'Twas  mair  then  mortal  flesh  cud  stand, 

Bet,  shootin',  cut  her  stick — 
•*  Aw  thowt  to  get  sum  nabob  grand, 

Aw's  bobbed  m*  fair  aud  Nick." 
"Cum  back,"  says  he,  "it's  nobbet  spree. 

The  heed  is  fast  upon  yor  mannie ; 
So  now  to  bed  thou's  cairy  me, 

We'll  sleep  the-gether  douce  an'  canny." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  387 

Oh,  Betty  Beesley ! 

What  a  pairtner  for  thee  hinny, 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley,  be  canny  wi'  thee  man. 

The  howdy  nine  muens  efter  this 

Iv  hyest  was  summonsed  late ; 
Poor  Bet  gat  through  it  not  amiss, 

A  bairn  for  Mister  Tate. 
Bet  lyuk'd  up,  glad  to  see  the  lad  ; 

Says  she,  "Peg,  try  the  airms  arC  legs  orCt^ 
For  ififsfashuns  like  its  dad^ 

Thou' II  find  steel  airms  an*  wooden  pegs  onH,^^ 
Oh,  Betty  Beesley! 

Dinnet  fret,  maw  bonny  hinny, 
For  oh,  Betty  Beesley,  the  Nabob's  proved  a  man. 

J.  p.  BOBSON.  **  Bardi  of  the  Tyne,"  1849. 

EDWARD    CORVAN. 

"  Comic  iv  iv'rything,  clivor  at  owt."     So  Joe  Wilson  aptly 
hits  off  the  character  of  his  versatile  predecessor,  Ned  Corvan. 
Corvan,  as   a  Tyneside   writer, 
brings  to  mind  De  Foe's  famous 
lines,    which,     slightly    altered, 
might  run — 

*'  A  mixture  of  all  kinds  heg&n 
Tliat  heterogeneous  thing,  a  Tyno- 
side  man," 

English,    Scotch,  and    now    in 

Ned's    case,   Irish   contributing 

to  the  roll  of  Tyneside  writers. 

In    the    1872    edition    of    this  ■ 

work  it  was  stated  that  Corvan  I 

was   bom  in   the   Stockbridge, 

On  the  authority  of  his  widow, 

who    outlived    him    twenty-five 

years,  it  should  have  been  //i?^ 

h?m,  but    brought    up   in    the 

Stockbridge,  Liverpool  really  being  his  birthplace.     Although 


388  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Tyneside  thus  cannot  claim  his  birth,  yet  to  Newcastle  he 
belonged  from  an  early  age,  his  parents  removing  here  when 
he  was  only  four  years  old.  Three  years  later  his  father 
died  in  Newcastle  Infirmary,  while  undergoing  an  operation, 
and  young  Corvan  (again  quoting  his  widow)  "was  brought 
up  by  his  widowed  mother,  who  bad  many  a  hard  struggle, 
the  same  as  I  have  had  myself."  This  may  readily  be 
believed,  the  family  of  three  or  four  depending  upon  the 
widow's  scanty  earnings  would  have  many  a  hard  struggle, 
and  there  is  little  doubt  Ned's  early  days  are  in  the  main 
truly  told  in  his  songs  **  Ne  place  now  te  play,"  and  "  The 
Death  of  Billy  Purvis.*'  There  he  has  "  Aw  used  te  play 
the  wag  doon  the  Kee  thonder.  Aw've  monny  a  time  browt 
up  three  French  apples  at  a  time;  but  wor  aud  wife 
said  if  aw  fell  in  an'  got  droon'd,  she'd  skin  me  alive  when  aw 
cum  hyem,  so  aw  played  the  wag  doon  the  burn  efter  that 
Some  o'  wor  lads  an'  me  petitioned  the  magistrates  for  a  new 
playground,  an'  they  tell'd  us  te  gan  te  bordin  skuels.  What 
an  idea  1  Wor  aud  wife  hes  sair  tues  te  raise  the  penny  for 
Monday  mornin's  ;  the  maister  seldom  gets  it  tho' — aw  buy 
claggem  wid,  then  the  maister  hes  te  tyek't  out  in  flaps. 
Aboot  thirty  years  since  them  was  maw  happy  days,  when 
aw  wad  beg,  borrow,  or  steel  to  get  a  luik  at  aud  Billy's 
show.  A've  seen  me  gan  aboot  wi'  me  shart  tail  sticking  oot 
behint ;  an*  as  for  shoes,  the  ony  pair  aw  had  on  me  feet 
wer  the  pair  the  cobbler  had  away  mendin'.  But  what  did 
aw  care  aboot  shoes,  aw  had  big  toes  like  styens.  Oh, 
what  music  aw  fund  i'  the  bells  of  St.  Nicholas'  when  the 
Easter  halidays  myed  thor  appearance.  Hoo  leet  was  maw 
youthful  heart !  ne  stain  wes  there  to  mar  maw  happiness." 
In  this  extravagance  and  nonsense  with  which  Ned  was 
so  liberal  in  many  of  his  songs,  there  can  be  little  doubt  are 
embedded  many  genuine  bits  of  autobiography.  But  time 
went  on,  these  happy  harum-scarum  days  were  to  end. 
Young  Ned  was  getting  old  enough  to  add  his  mite  to  the 
scanty  family  income,  so  to  work  he  went,  sail-making  being 
the  business  he  was  sent  to.  But  sail-making  soon  palled ; 
he  could  not  forget  his  early  admiration  for  Billy's,  or  pro- 
perly speaking,  the  Victoria,  Theatre,  which  under  Billy 
Purvis's  management  at  that  time  made  lengthened  visits  to 
Newcastle.  So,  smitten  with  a  fancy  for  the  life  of  an  actor, 
he  left  his  sail-making,  and  joined  Billy  Purvis's  dramatic 
company.  Here  his  duties  were  of  a  varied  but  scarcely  of 
a  dramatic  character.    He  played  the  violin  in  the  orchestra. 


TTNESIDE  SONGS. 


389 


sung  comic  and  local 
songs  between  the 
pieces,  took  his  turn 
at  scene  painting, 
bill  -  sticking,  and 
made  himself  gener- 
ally useful  With 
Billy  he  remained 
some  years,  but  never 
made  any  figure  as  an 
actor,  bis  efforts  in 
that  line  being  con- 
fined to  small  parts. 
His  most  successful 
hit  at  Billy's  was  in 
local  songs ;  here  was 
foreshadowed  the  line 
in  which  he  was  after- 
wards to  make  his 
name.  "He  wad  be 
a  Noodle"  was  a 
great  hit.  If  not  his 
first  local  song,  it  was 
his  first  markedly 
successful  one,  and 
Ned,  now  about 
twenty  years  of  age, 
became  a  more  im- 
portant member  of 
Billy's  company. 

About  1850  the 
Railway  Company 
bought  from  the 
Newcastle  Corpora- 
tion its  ancient  public 
Rrottnds,  "The 
Forth,"  and  let  a  part 
near  the  Infirmary  to 
Madame  Toumaire 
for  the  purpose  of 
building  a  circus. 
After  the  circus  sea- 
son ended,  the  land 
stillnot  being  wanted. 


CoRTAN  AS  "  Cat-out  Jim." 


390  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

the  circus  was  altered  into  a  concert  hall,  and  named  the 
"  Olympic,"  under  the  management  of  a  Mr.  Howard.  This 
was  Corvan's  chance  :  he  left  Billy,  joined  the  Olympic  Com- 
pany as  a  local  singer,  and  carried  all  before  him.  With  Billy 
it  might  be  said  he  had  been  feeling  his  way ;  here,  sure 
of  his  powers,  he  launched  boldly  out  "  Oh,  what  a  price 
for  sma'  coals  1 "  and  "  Ne  place  now  te  play,'*  literally  took 
his  audience  by  storm.  And  when,  a  little  later  on,  he  wrote 
"  Asstrilly ;  or,  the  Pitman's  Fareweel,"  and  "Asstrilly's  Goold 
Fields,"  they  were  so  successful  that  for  long  he  was  almost 
a  permanent  member  of  the  company.  Corvan  was  the 
first  who  combined  the  writing  and  singing  of  Tyneside 
songs  as  a  profession,  and  who  added  to  their  attractions  by 
singing  them  in  character.  Finding  concert  business  to  be 
his  line,  he  devoted  himself  entirely  to  it,  and  left  for  good 
his  old  dramatic  associates. 

A  few  words  upon  the  after  career  of  some  of  the  fellow- 
players  along  with  him  at  Billy  Purvis's  may  be  interesting. 
Spears  and  Stead,  like  himself,  both  left  the  drama  for 
the  concert  hall.  Spears  winning  great  popularity  as  a 
singer  of  Irish  songs,  his  "Black  Turf"  being  a  hit; 
and  Stead  becoming  famous  as  the  original  singer  of  the 
"Perfect  Cure,''  the  popularity  of  this  song  being  almost 
without  a  parallel,  Stead  by  its  success  being  placed 
in  the  front  rank  of  concert  hall  artistes.  C.  H.  Stephen- 
son kept  to  the  drama,  and  from  Billy's  has  risen  to 
fill  almost  every  position  in  the  highest  theatres  in  the 
United  Kingdom.  He  is  now  living  in  retirement,"*  and 
only  last  year,  under  the  title  of  "How  I  Interviewed 
Myself,"  contributed  to  the  Newcastle  Weekly  Chronicle 
his  most  varied  and  interesting  experiences  as  an  actor. 

Ned  Corvan,  as  a  popular  concert  hall  artiste,  now 
travelled  the  North,  making  himself,  by  his  Tyneside  songs, 
a  favourite  everywhere.  After  some  years  of  this  life  he 
settled  in  South  Shields  as  a  publican ;  but  this  was 
not  a  happy  change.  Ned  was  too  fond  of  his  glass, 
and  too  many  sought  his  company.  After  three  or  four 
years  as  a  publican  and  proprietor  of  Corvan's  Mosic 
Hall,  Wapping  Street,  he  gave  it  up,  and  returned  to 
his  local  singing,  which  he  followed  regularly  until  his 
death.  As  a  concert  hall  artiste,  Ned  had  few  equals,  his 
qualifications  were  so  various.  He  was  a  fair  singer  ttid 
an  excellent  performer  on  the  violin.  With  that  in  his  hand 
he  often  occupied  the  stage  agreeably  for  half-an-honr.    In 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  391 

many  of  his  songs  he  introduced  a  deal  of  patter  or  speaking. 
This  he  did  with  such  wit  and  humoar,  that  it  generally  was 
the  most  '*  taking '^  part  of  the  song.  Again,  with  a  bit  of 
chalk  he  would  draw  on  a  black-board  the  portrait  of  his 
old  master,  Billy  Purvis,  accompanying  the  drawing  with  a 
running  commentary,  as  **  That's  his  heed,  canny  aud 
fellow !  That's  his  mooth  ;  mony  a  three-happorth's  gyen 
doon  there,"  etc.  Ned,  who  was  of  Irish  extraction,  had  the 
ready  wit  of  his  race,  and  once  it  stood  him  in  good 
stead  when  singing  his  song  on  Billy  Purvis.  He  was 
just  about  to  begin  the  portrait  of  Billy,  and  all  was  still, 
when  some  one  shouted  out,  "  Myek  us  a  cuddy,  Ned." 
"  All  reet,"  replied  Ned,  without  a  moment's  hesitation ; 
"  stand  up^^  and  he  turned  as  he  spoke,  with  the  pencil  in 
his  hand,  to  where  the  voice  came  from,  but  the  cuddy 
brayed  no  more.  Ned  had  silenced  him.  "The  Fire 
on  the  Kee"  was  a  song  his  audience  never  tired  of;  its 
picturesque  description  of  the  great  calamity,  its  variety  of 
treatment,  its  wit  and  humour,  all  combined  to  make  it  a 
favourite.  Once  when  singing  it  at  Stanley's  Tyne  Concert 
Hall,  Thomas  Sayers,  landlord  of  the  "  Blue  Bell,"  a  noted 
house  which  stood  where  the  new  Post  Office  now  stands, 
was  sitting  in  the  pit.  He  was  very  stout,  and  Ned's  humour 
and  drollery  as  the  distressed  mother  looking  for  her  lost 
Jimmy,  to  use  a  common  phrase,  "convulsed  him  with 
laughter."  The  convulsing  in  this  case  was  not  a  figure  of 
speech,  but  a  reality — he  was  really  ill  with  laughing;  but 
Ned's  drollery  was  such  that  he  was  powerless  to  resist  it. 
"  Ned,  for  God's  sake,  drop  ;  aw's  killin'  me-sel,'*  at  last  he 
contrived  to  gasp  out.  Stopping  his  song  and  putting  on  a 
half- alarmed  look,  Ned  came  to  the  front.  "  Ye  munnit  de 
that,"  he  said,  "or  they'll  heh  me  up  for  Tommycide,^ 
Another  night,  he  was  doing  the  last  turn  at  the  Tyne  before 
closing  for  the  night  He  was  at  his  best,  and  introducing 
new  patter,  which  the  character  gave  him  every  chance  of 
doing,  as  in  it  he  is  dressed  as  a  female  street  hawker 
seeking  for  her  lost  son  Jimmy.  With  the  fresh  fun  thus 
introduced  he  kept  delighting  his  audience  so  long,  that  those 
who  were  behind  the  scenes  waiting  to  be  done  for  the  night 
whispered  from  the  side  wings,  "  Ned,  if  ye'U  finish,  you 
shall  have  what  you  like  at  the  Durham  Ox  over  the  way." 
"What's  that  aw  hear?"  says  Ned,  stopping  his  song  sud- 
denly, and  making  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  where, 
taking  off  his  tattered  bonnet  and  looking  at  his  audience, 


392  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

he  said,  "  Ye'll  excuse  the  parental  feelings  of  a  poor  muther, 
but  aVve  just  got  word  the  laddie's  been  fund  ;  he's  ower  at 
the  Durham  Ox.  Gud  neet"  And  so  at  once  the  perform- 
ance finished.  Such  are  samples  of  the  stories  remembered 
of  Ned.  Towards  the  latter  part  of  his  life  his  voice 
failed  considerably,  and  he  had  to  rely  more  than  before 
upon  such  extra  attractions.  Sitting  in  the  audience  part 
of  the  Oxford  one  night,  not  long  before  his  death,  Joe 
Wilson  was  on  the  stage  singing  "Aw  wish  yor  Muther 
wad  cum,"  then  in  all  its  freshness  and  making  a  great  hit. 
A  friend  who  was  sitting  beside  him  said,  "A  good  song 
that,  Ned."  "Yes,"  said  Ned  in  a  voice  which  towards 
the  end  had  become  almost  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Yes,"  said 
he  huskily,  "a  gud  song,  but  aw'm  writin'  one  that'll  knock  its 
end  in."  Poor  fellow,  he  had  then  written  his  last  song;  the 
one  that  was  to  play  such  havoc  with  Joe's  never  appeared. 
It  was  not  by  any  new  song  that  he  was  to  compete  against 
his  young  rival  On  his  songs  already  written  was  his  true 
reliance.  These  songs,  whatever  their  worth,  were  the  true 
outcome  of  his  feelings  and  surroundings,  and  on  them  his 
fame  rests.     While  comic  undoubtedly  was  Ned's  true  line, 


^jji^      )   [a^  U^/c  i^JULca    ^^^*' 


/ 


Corvan's  handwritiog  slightly  reduced.    From  photo  by  P.  M.  Laws. 

yet  in  his   "Hartley  Calamity"  and  "The   Caller,"  both 
sentimental  songs,  he  made  great  hits. 

THE  CALLER. 

"Why  sweet  slumber  now  disturbing, 
Why  break  ye  the  midnight  peace, 
Why  the  sons  of  toil  perturbing, 
Have  their  hours  of  rest  to  cease  ? 

Ho !  marrows,  'tis  the  Caller  cries, 
And  his  voice  in  the  gloom  of  the  night  mist  dies. 

The  twinkling  stars,  through  night  shade  peering, 
Blink  above  with  heavenly  light 
On  the  sleeping  world,  as  a  voice  calls  clear, 
In  the  stilly  air  of  the  sable  night, 

Ho !  marrows,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  393 

The  collier  sleeps,  e'en  now  he's  dreaming 
Of  a  pure  bright  world  and  loved  ones  there, 
He  basks  in  the  rays  of  fortune  beaming 
In  some  far  land,  full  and  fair. 

Ho  I  marrows,  etc. 

Dream  on,  thou  poor  and  ill-used  collier. 

For  slaves  should  aye  have  visions  bright. 

There's  one  above  who  deems  thee  hoUer 

Than  the  wealthiest  in  his  sight. 

Ho !  marrows,  etc. 

Speed,  thee,  old  man,  let  him  slumber 
"When  happy  thoughts  are  in  his  breast  • 
Why  should  the  world  his  peace  encumber  ? 
60,  let  the  weary  collier  rest. 

Ho  I  marrows,  etc. 

Not  long  after  Joe  Wilson  appeared,  Ned's  health,  which 
had  been  failing,  grew  worse.  After  an  illness  of  about  three 
months  he  died  at  his  residence,  Newgate  Street  (a  little  below 
St.  Andrew's  Church,  on  the  opposite  side),  on  the  31st  August 
1865,  in  his  35th  year,  and  was  buried  at  St.  Andrew's 
Cemetery.  Twenty-five  years  have  passed  since  Ned's 
death,  and  yet  among  Tyneside  songs  there  are  few  so 
popular  as  his.  An  illustration  of  this  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
only  last  year,  on  the  23rd  January  1890,  at  E.  D.  Archbold's 
Sunday  Evening  Lecture  at  the  Tyne  Theatre,  the  subject 
being  Edison's  Latest  Phonograph,  Ned's  song,  "The 
High  Level  and  the  Aud  Bridge,"  was  sung  into  the  phono- 
graph. And  this,  with  Ned's  song  as  a  sample  of  Tyneside, 
will  be  taken  by  the  lecturer  to  distant  parts,  and  many 
a  Tynesider  at  Australia,  the  Cape,  and  other  English 
Colonies,  will  have  old  memories  stirred  as  they  listen  to 
the  familiar  dialogue  between  the  bridges. 

As  bearing  out  the  following  acrostic  by  Joe  Wilson,  it 
may  be  added,  Ned  was  a  good  painter,  and  many,  both 
sea  pieces  and  landscapes,  are  from  his  brush. 

ACEOSTIC. 
C  omic  iv  iv'rything — clivor  at  owt 
Ova*  the  professions — stickin  at  nowt, 
B  eal  witty  !  as  poet  an'  singer  at  hyem ; 
V  ersatile  Artiste,  wes  Corvan's  reet  nyem, 
A  s  painter,  fiddler,  comedian,  cloon, 
N  ed  was  the  maister  ov  all  1'  the  toon. 

The  above  is  Joe  Wilson's  tribute  to  Corvan's  genius.  When 
a  boy  some  ten  years  of  age  Joe  first  heard  Ned.    Ned  was 


394  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

then  the  rage  at  the  Olympic,  and  Joe  was  taken  by  his 
uncle  to  see  him.  Years  after  they  often  came  together,  and 
of  Ned  Joe  always  had  a  high  opinion. 


/<r&^ 


HE   ISTAD    BE   A   NOODLE. 

Tune—"  Gee  wo,  Dobbin." 

WoR  Geordy,  won  day — the  greet  slaverin'  cull  I — 
He  wad  be  a  noodle,  and  act  like  a  fuil ; 
Wor  aud  wife  advis'd  him  sic  nonsense  te  drop, 
But  he  wad  be  a  noodle,  nowt  his  notion  cud  stop. 

For  he  wad  be  a  noodle,  a  sowjer-like  noodle, 
For  he  wad  be  a  noodle,  the  greet  slaverin*  cull ! 

To  be  a  brave  volunteer  was  Geordy's  desire ; 
Smash  I  he  langed  for  a  gun  at  the  pigeons  te  fire. 
At  neet  he  wad  dream  'bout  his  gun  an'  fine  claes, 
An  how  a'  the  lasses  his  figure  wad  praise. 

When  he  was  a  brave  noodle,  etc 

When  he  first  got  his  gun,  man,  aw'U  niver  forget 
How  he  frightened  te  fits  poor  Black  Puddin'  Bet : 
Wi'  his  kite  full  o'  yell,  an'  his  gun  in  his  hand, 
Gox,  he  ordered  twe  tripe  wives  te  'liver  an'  stand. 
For  he  wad  be  a  noodle,  etc 

Spoken, — The  roguish  animal  I  te  rob  the  poor  tripe  wife.  But 
that's  nowt.  That  varry  efternuin  him  an*  me  had  te  gan  tiv  a  tea 
party  doon  the  Bum,  at  Mally  Home's.  Aw  wes  followin'  Tenny 
Hagishnose — (her  fethur  had  ne  nose  ;  but  niver  mind,  aw  had  nose 
eneuf  for  ony  family :  for  aw  put  aV  thor  noses  oot  that  followed 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  395 

maw  Jenny) ;  so  aw  wes  sittin'  amang  them,  thou  knaws,  when  wor 
Bob  com  rushin'  in  on  tiv  us,  wiv  his  kite  blawn  oot  wi'  Mackey's 
fowerpenny  jrell.  The  fuil  wes  noodle-struck,  and  so  he  riched 
ower  for  a  bit  o'  lump  sugar,  and  cowped  the  cream  jug,  an'  then 
started  te  lickt  up  wiv  his  greet  lang  tung  (and  what  a  melt  he 
had  1),  afore  a'  the  wives  an'  lasses ;  an'  then  tuik  a  moothful  o' 
scaddin*  het  tea — sent  it  fleein*  oot  agyen — ^an*  burnt  iy'rybody's 
nose  end  roond  the  tyeble. 

At  the  aud  Ridin'  Skyul  he  learned  "  reet  aboot," 
But  his  knees  they  stuck  in,  and  his  toes  they  stuck  oot. 
His  heart  it  was  firm,  and  as  teuf  as  his  belt, 
So,  defyin'  a*  danger,  te  the  Moor  he  did  pelt. 
For  he  wad  be  a  noodle,  etc. 

When  they  gat  te  the  Moor,  for  the  prize  they  wad  fire. 
Then  Geordy's  ambition  gat  higher  and  higher ; 
So  he  tuik  up  his  gun,  gox,  he  cuddn't  tell  how — 
He  fired  reet  past  the  target  an*  killed  an  aud  cow ! 
Unfortunate  noodle,  etc. 

Geordy  sent  in  his  kit,  for  he'd  noodle  ne  mair. 
He  thowt  of  misfortunes  he'd  hadden  his  share ; 
Six  punds  for  the  cow  he  laid  doon ; — lads,  aVs  sure 
Geordy  winnit  forget  when  he  march'd  te  the  Moor. 
For  te  be  a  brave  noodle,  etc. 
CoavAN.  AvXIwi'm  Bditiofu 


THE   TOOX   IMPROVEMENT   BILL; 

OR,   NB  PLEYCE   NOO  TE  PLAY. 

The  Forth  and  Spital  were  favourite  places  of  recreation  for  the  young. 
Belonging  to  the  town,  they  were  open  to  all;  and  the  scene  they 
presented  is  faithfully  described  in  the  song.  On  them  the  Central  Station 
and  its  approaches  now  stand. 

Nog,  O  dear  me,  what  mun  aw  de  ? 

AwVe  ne  place  noo  te  play, 
Wor  canny  Forth,  an'  Spital  tee, 

Eh,  man !  they've  tyuen  away. 


396  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Ne  place  te  bool  wor  peyste  eggs  noo, 

Te  lowp  the  frog,  or  run  : 
They're  elways  beeldin'  summick  noo — 

They'll  spoil  Newcassel  suen. 

Spoken, — Thor's  ne  pleyce  te  play  the  wag  noo ;  the  gran's  a'  tnen 
up  wi'  High  Levels,  Central  Stations,  an'  dear  knaws  what  else. 
Aw  used  te  play  the  wag  doon  the  Kee  thonder.  Aw've  seen  me 
fish  for  days  tegither.  The  lads  ca'd  me  the  fisherwoman's  boy. 
Aw  was  a  stunner.  Aw've  mony  a  time  browt  up  three  French 
apples  at  a  time ;  but  wor  aud  wife  said  if  aw  fell  in  an'  gat  drooned 
she'd  skin  me  alive  when  aw  com  hyem ;  so  aw  played  the  wag  doon 
the  Bum  efter  that.  But,  noo  to  myek  improvemints,  they've  filled 
it  up  wi'  cairt  loads  o'  muck  te  beeld  hooses  on.  Sum  o'  wor  lads 
an'  me  petitioned  the  magistrates  for  a  new  play  grund,  an'  they  tell'd 
us  te  gan  te  bordin'  skuels.  What  an  idea !  Wor  aud  wife  hes  sair 
tues  to  raise  the  penny  for  Monday  momin's :  the  maister  seldom 
gets  it  tho' :  aw  buy  claggum  wid :  then  the  maister  hes  te  tyek't 
oot  in  flaps.  But  aw's  broken  hearted  when  aw  think  aboot  wor 
canny  Forth,  wiv  its  aud  brick  wall.  What  curious  days  aw've 
spent  there  1  Man,  aw've  seen  me  play  the  wag  for  hyel  days 
tegither,  wi*  maw  mooth  a*  covered  wi'  claggum  an'  clarts.  What  a 
chep  aw  was  for  one-hole-teazer  then  !  mony  a  time  aw've  fowt  an 
oor  for  a  farden  bullocker.  Aw  used  te  skin  thor  knockles, 
when  aw  won  mee  beeks.  Aw  used  te  fullock — man,  what  a 
fuUocker  aw  was  !  But  what's  the  use  o'  jawin'  noo  ?  the  gams  are  a' 
gyen.  Thor's  widdy-widdy-way-the-morrow's-the-market-day-slyater- 
cummin-away  and  King- Henry *s-boys-go-round — what  a  gam  that 
was  ! — aw  used  te  be  King  Henry  !  But  aw'd  better  drop  ofif,  or 
maw  feelin's  will  set  me  on  a  bubblin' — for 

Chorus, 
Oh  dear  !  what  mun  aw  de? 
Aw've  ne  pleyce  noo  te  play, 
Wor  canny  Forth,  an*  Spital  tee, 
Eh,  man  !  they've  tyuen  away. 

The  Toon  Improvemint's  myed  greet  noise, 

But  aw  heard  me  fethur  say, 
Thor  was  summick  mair  than  little  boys 

Kept  wor  wise  heed  at  play ; 
Thor's  bonny  wark  amang  thorsels, 

But  aw  mun  baud  mee  jaw ; 
But  still  thor's  folks  *boot  here  that  smells 

The  cash  buik  wiv  its  flaw. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  397 

Spoken, — Aw  heard  my  fethur  tell  my  muther  yen  neet  all  aboot 
the  toon  concerns.  They  thowt  aw  was  asleep,  but  aw's  a  cute  lad. 
Aw's  el  ways  waken  when  the  tripe*s  fryin*  for  fethur's  supper.  Aw 
heard  him  say  thor  was  a  vast  o  rates — sic  as  poor  rates,  leet  rates, 
sewer  rates,  an'  watch  rates ;  but  aw  think,  at  ony  rate,  thor*s  ne 
first-rate  rates  amang  them.  Noo,  thor's  the  watch-rate — that's  the 
pollis.  Noo,  we  cannit  de  wivoot  pollis,  but  it's  not  fair  te  tyek  a 
chep  up  for  playin'  at  holes ;  but  the  magistrators  isn't  dein'  fair 
wiv  us  at  nowt.  Aw's  lossin'  a'  maw  learnin'  noo.  What  a  heed- 
piece  aw  had  yen  time!  Aw'd  te  use  a  shoe-horn  te  put  my 
Sunday  hat  on,  my  heed  gat  swelled  wiv  knowledge  se.  Noo,  a' 
thor  days  is  gyen,  so  aw'll  lairn  te  chow  backy. 

For,  O  dear  me,  etc 

Bedstocks — that  canny  gam's  noo  duen, 

An'  three  hole  teazer,  tee ; 
They've  duen  away  wor  best  o'  fun, 

So,  lads,  what  mun  aw  de  ? 
Aw'll  bubble  tiv  aw  dee,  begox ! 

Or  tyek  sum  arsynack. 
Then  corporation  men  may  funk, 

When  aw's  laid  on  maw  back. 

For,  O  dear  me,  etc. 

Noo,  a'  ye  canny  folks  that's  here. 

Just  think  on  what  aw  say, 
And  reckolect  yor  youthful  days, 

When  ye  were  fond  o'  play. 
Ye  say  yor  skuel  days  was  the  best. 

So  help  me  in  maw  cawse. 
An'  cheer  poor  Bobby  Snivvelnose 

By  gi'en  him  yor  applause. 

For,  O  dear  me,  etc. 
Cory  AN.  AtUh(n'9  EditiotL 


398  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

THE  RISE  IKT  COAIiS. 

The  snaw  fell  doon  fast,  and  poor  folks  seem'd  shy, 

Clos'd  up  in  their  hyems  as  the  storm  pelted  by ; 

And  they  wish'd  roond  their  nuiks  such  times  suen  wad 

pass, 
For  provisions  was  dear,  and  they'd  sav'd  little  brass. 
And  as  money  and  firing  war  meltin'  away, 
There  seems  nowt  but  caud  dowps  for  uz  sons  o'  clay. 
The  woman  foaks  flew  te  fill  their  coal  holes. 
To  the  depoe,  but  hang  them,  they've  rais'd  wor  sma' 

coals. 

O  what  a  price  for  sma'  coals, 

Hinny  how,  they've  raised  wor  sma'  coals. 

Goshcab,  what  caud  weather,  wor  Dicky  did  shoot — 
Muther,  fetch  some  coals  in,  for  wor  fire's  gawn  oot; 
Some  coals,  lad,  thou's  fond,  and  she  gyep'd  all  amazed. 
Thou  maun  eat  less,  and  drink  less,  the  sma'  coals  are 

raised. 
But,  hinnies,  that's  nowt,  for  aw's  still  sair  beset, 
Coals  is  thrippence  a  beetmint,  and  nyen  for  te  get : 
The  only  bit  comfort  maw  aud  body  consoles 
They've  tuen  off  at  last  when  they  raised  wor  sma'  coals. 
O  what  a  price  for  sma*  coals,  etc. 

Aw  went  te  the  depoe,  aw  think  that's  the  nyem. 
And  aw  stood  tiv  aw  shivered,  aw  really  thowt  shem  : 
Amang  sic  a  gang  had  ye  seen  me  that  day, 
Thou'd  mebbies  come  suener  then  aw  did  away. 
They  fit  like  fair  deevils  and  far  warse  aw's  sure. 
For  they  ken'd  what  it  was  when  the  fire  got  poor ; 
But  if  poor  folk  had  sense  they'd  fill  a'  thor  holes 
Wi'  cinders,  to  spite  them  for  raisin'  the  coals. 

O  what  a  price  for  sma'  coals,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  399 

Yen  jaws  aboot  sects,  but  aw  gyep'd  wi'  surprise 
Te  see  sic  a  queer  squad  wi'  maw  pair  o'  eyes ; 
There  was  scrushin  an'  pushin'  sic  a  mixture  o'  folks, 
Wiv  sweels,  pillow  slips,  cuddy  cairts,  and  lang  pokes  ; 
But  the  aud  wives  bang'd  a'  as  they  scream'd  wi'  thor 

tins, 
Canny  man,  gis  a  pennorth  te  warm  wor  aud  shins ; 
Aw've  tetties  te  boil, — says  another,  aw've  stew. 
Canny  man,  put  your  shuil  in  and  gis  a  wee  few. 

O  what  a  price  for  sma'  coals,  etc. 

Some  keelmen  'bove  the  bridge,  aw  heard  an  aud  wife 

say. 
Had  lang  been  frozen  up  an'  scairsh  could  get  away. 
They  thowt  their  fuddlin  days  were  surely  duen  at  last, 
So  they  doon  upon  their  knees  te  myek  up  for  the  past 
How,  marrows,  cries  a  bully,  awVe  an  idea  a  some  price. 
We'll  find  Sir  John  Franklin  if  we  howk  throo  the  ice; 
First,  let  us  find  the  North  Powl,  it's  some  way  aboot, 
Then  get  on  the  top  on't  an'  give  him  a  shoot 

Aw'U  tell  him  they've  raised  wor  sma*  coals,  etc. 

They  ken  hoo  te  swindel  poor  folks  wi'  their  loads, 

Pretendin  they're  raised  and  the  snaw  stop'd  the  roads ; 

But  a  pitman  tell'd  me  te  stop  up  sic  jaw, 

For  it  niver  rained  hailstones  nor  snaw'd  doon  belaw. 

And  he  said  if  thou'll  tyek  advice  frae  a  fuel. 

When  there's  a  greet  vast  o'  weather,  get  thaw  holes 

chock  full ; 
And  while  thou's  warmin  thy  shins  by  the  fire,  as  the 

snaw 
Drops  doon  the  lum,  think  o'  pitmen  belaw. 

For  they  toil  hard  an'  sair  for  sma'  coals,  etc. 


40Q  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

ASSTRILLT;   OR,  THE  PITMAN'S  FAREWELL. 

Tune—"  All  round  my  hat* 

Noo,  marrows,  aw's  gawn  te  leeve  ye,  an'  sair,  sair  'twill 
grieve  me 
Te  leave  wor  canny  Tyneside  shores,  where  aw've  had 
mony  a  spree ; 
Tho'   it's   sair  agyen  mee  likin',  tiv  Asstrilly  awTl  gan 

hykin',  . 

For  wor  maistors  keeps  us  strikin',  so  what  mun  a 

pitman  de  ?  | 

Aw  mind  the  time  when  collier  lads  cud  work  for  goold 
at  hyem,  man ; 
Dash  !  aw  mind  the  time  when  collier  lads  cud  spend 
a  pund  each  pay  ; 
But  noo  the  times  thor  queer,  man,  we've  nowther  sangs 
nor  cheer,  man : 
When  we  cannit  raise  wor  beer,  man,  it's  time  te  gari 
away. 

Greet  men  may  de  a  vast,  man,  but  wor  fine  tiroes  thor 

past,  man ;  I 

Gosh !  aw  waddent  leave  wor  canny  toon,  but  aw's 
forc'd  te  gan  away  : 
So  aw'll  myek  ne  mair  emoshun,  but  cross  the  salt  sea 

oshun,  i 

Where  aw've  a  kind  o'  noshun  when  aw  howk  aw'll        i 
get  gud  pay. 

Aw'll  bid  fareweel  te  pit  wark,  an'  howk  for  lumps  o' 
goold,  man; 
Goshcab !  aw'll  suen  be  rich  aw've  varry  little  fear ; 
So  aw'll  bid  fareweel  te  mammy,  an'  maw  sweetheart  o' 
the  Lammy ; 
It's,  weel   knawn  aw's  ne    hammy — so  tiv  Asstrillyi 
lads,  aw'll  steer. 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  401 

Spoken, — It's  ne  use  stoppin'  here ;  aw  mun  gan  tiv  Asstrilly. 
Still  aw's  kind  o*  flaid  when  aw  cum  te  think  o'  bein'  sea-sick,  an* 
sailin'  ower  places  where  thor's  ne  bottom  !  Noo,  if  the  sea  was  te 
run  cot  there,  an'  a*  hands  be  lost,  what — O  Lord  I — what  a  nibble 
aw'd  be  for  a  shark  1  An'  thor's  Geordie  Hall,  te ;  aw've  con- 
swaded  him  te  gan  a'  aw  can.  He'd  myek  a  fortin  oot  there  i'  ne 
time  !  Sic  a  man  ibr  yarbs,  tee  !  He  can  stuff  bird  cages  an' 
canaries  wiv  onny  man  i'  Northumberland.  Thou  shud  see  his 
tarrier  bitch — she's  a  fair  hare  for  rabbits !  Sic  a  hunter !  Geordie's 
a  greet  politishnist  as  weel :  he  says  he'd  suiner  hev  a  reed  herrin' 
at  hyem  than  a  beef-steak  at  Asstrilly.  Aw  say,  what  a  slaverin' 
cull  !  Thor's  nowt  'ill  stop  me  frae  gannin'.  What  odds  if  aw's 
drooned  three  or  fower  times,  as  lang  as  aw  get  there  safe  1 

O,  fare  ye  weel,  ye  happy  scenes,  where  youthful  days 
awVe  spent,  man! 
Fare  ye  weel !  for  better  times  'boot  here  thor'll  nivver 
be. 
So  aw  munnet  be  a  gowk,  man,  but  for  goold  aw'll  gan 
an  howk,  man, 
Tho'  maw  boiley  aw  may  bowk,  man,  aw'll  seun  skim 
ower  the  sea. 

CORVAN.  Author's  Edition. 


ASSTRILLY 'S  GOOLD  FIELDS;  OR,   TOMMY 
CARR'S  LETTER. 

Tune— "  Marble  Halls." 

Aw  dreamt  that  aw*d  landed  in  Strilia's  goold  fields, 

Wi'  Bessie,  maw  wife,  by  maw  side ; 
An'  aw  also  dreamt  how  aw  toil'd  i'  the  keels 

On  the  Tyne,  still  maw  home  an'  maw  pride. 
Aw  dreamt  aw  was  howkin  goold  day  an'  neet, 

An'  fand  greet  big  lumps  in  galore. 
Then  aw  thowt  te  mee-sel  what  a  rich  chep  aw'd  be 

When  aw  cum  back  te  leeve  doon  the  shore. 

Aw  dreamt  that  aw  landed,  etc. 
26 


402  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Aw  dreamt  that  aw  saw  some  aud  cronies  there, 

All  howkin  for  goold  like  mee-sel, 
An'  wishin',  while  sweetin'  wi'  byens  stiff  an'  sair, 

For  a  swag  o'  good  Newcassel  yell. 
Aw  also  dreamt  aw'd  sell'd  a'  maw  goold, 

And  gettin  the  brass,  every  scuddock ; 
But  aw  waken'd  an'  fand  mee-sel  lyin',  silly  man, 

Fast  asleep  doon  belaw  in  the  huddock. 

Aw  dreamt  that  aw  landed,  etc. 

Aw  was  rubbin'  me  eyes  when  the  Pee-dee  cries  out, 

Aw  say,  skipper,  the  keel's  gyen  adrift ; 
Where  is  aw  ?  says  aw  wi'  a  terrible  shoot. 

Then  aw  gav  his  young  backside  a  lift. 
How,  skipper,  what's  that  for  ?  thou  aud  crazy  fuil ! 

The  Pee-dee,  the  trash,  bawls  te  me ; 
Then  aw  spang-hew'd  him  weel,  the  gobby  young  cull, 

But  he  danced  like  an  imp  full  o'  glee. 

Spoken, — Goshcab,  the  bit  laddie  went  mad  varry  nigh. 
What's  the  matter  wi*  thee  ?  says  aw.  Wey,  here's  a  letter  ftae 
Asstrilly  for  thee.  Blaw  me  rags,  so  it  was ;  that  was  just  maw 
dream — what  a  queer  thing  dreams  is,  efter  all.  Aw  say,  what 
gobby  things  laddies  is  nooadays :  they  think  men's  mice,  or  folks 
is  people — but  aw  stop  a'  thor  jaws.  Thor's  a  vast  o'  rats  i'  wor 
huddock,  sir, — but  aw's  forgettin'  the  letter— (Cj^wj  the  letter)  ;— 
it's  frae  Tommy  Carr ;  stop,  aw'll  read  it  ower. 

Melbourne,  Octember,  aw  mean  Septober  the  35th, 
18  hundred  en  eggs  en  bacon. 
Dear  Bobby, 

Afore  thou  opens  this  letter  excuse  maw  bad  spellin' :  pens 
is  varry  bad  here,  en  hoo  can  a  body  spell  wiv  a  PHEMWHTN 
(pen).  [Marcy  (aside),  what  a  lot  o'  letters  he  hes  for  spellin'  pen. 
What  a  schollar  he's  turned  ;  he  must  gan  tiv  a  neet  skeul  through 
the  day:  aw  shuddent  wonder.] 

Wor  byeth  i'  gud  health  here,  except  me  en  Bob.  Aw've  teun 
the  Yaller  fever  wi'  snuffin  goold  dust,  en  Bob's  broke  his  three 
legs,  en  can  scairshly  stand  o'  the  tother;  wishin'  ye  the  same 
benefits  at  hyem.  Aw'll  mebbies  be  deed  the  next  time  aw  write 
te  thee. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  403 

There's  bonny  wark  oot  here  wi'  the  Convicts,  the  Blackies, 
Robbers,  en  Bushrangers.  Man,  the  time  aw's  writin'  this  letter 
aw*ve  a  loaded  pistol  i*  one  hand  en  a  sword  i'  the  tother,  defendin* 
me  heed.  {{Aside,)  The  greet  thick-heeded  lubbert !  What  set 
him  there  ?  he  wis  deein'  weel  here,  puddlin  at  Ilawks's — three 
days  a  week  overtime  an*  ne  wages.]  Give  maw  respects  te  Bill 
Scott,  the  Shingler,  oot  at  Consett,  en  tell  him  te  hev  a  luck  at  the 
tin  bottle  for  maw  sake.     Ned  Corvan  says  he's  nobbit  a  reet  un. 

A'  kinds  o'  provisions  iz  varry  cheap  here,  except  victuals  en 
fustin  jackets.  We  hae  nee  tripe,  so  we  struggle  wi'  fustin — there's 
ne  Butcher's  meat  here,  except  Wild  Buffaloes  en  Yarmouth  beef. 

Little  Jimmy's  nowt  like  his  feythor  noo  ;  some  hungry  convicts 
bit  off  the  laddie's  lugs;  if  ye  saw  him  ye'd  'mawjin  he'd  been  at 
Carson's  drawing  the  Badger. 

Nee  more  at  present  from  yor  Confectionate  Brother, 

TOMMY  CARR. 

'P.S^—KAside,)  Pint  o'  Soup!]  Fat  Hanna's  mother's  wife's 
cousin's  brother's  aunt's  teun  the  measles. 


Noo  contented  an'  happy  at  hyem  aw'll  still  be, 

Wi'  Bessey,  maw  canny  bit  bride, 
An'  aw'll  whiles  hev  a  gill  an'  whiles  hev  a  spree, 

Wi'  comfort  at  mee  awn  fireside ; 
So  excuse  maw  bit  rhyme,  for  some  other  time 

Aw'll  tell  ye — though  strange  the  tale  seems — 
'Bout  the  places  aw've  been,  an'  the  wonders  awVe  seen 

I'  the  huddock,  when  lying  'mang  dreams. 

Corvan.  Author's  Manuscript^  1862. 


TOMMY  CARR'S  ADVENTURES  IN  ASSTRILLY. 

Here  aw  is,  byeth  skin  an'  byen,  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Man,  aw  wished  aw'd  stopt  at  hyem  frae  Asstrilly,  O I 
Maw  inside's  a'most  gyen, 
Tho'  aw  wonce  weighed  thirteen  styen, 
Noo  aw  scairshly  can  weigh  yen  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 


404  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Aw  seird  maw  keel  for  twenty  pund  throo  Asstrilly,  0 ! 
Not  a  morsel  o'  gowld  aw  fund  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Sum  natives  com  one  day, 

An'  brunt  maw  hut  like  hay, 
An'  Fat  Hannah  stole  away  in  Asstrilly,  0 1 

They  tied  me  tiv  a  tree  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 
But  a  Yankee  set  me  free  in  Asstrilly,  O  !  * 

Aw  'scap'd  withoot  a  hurt, 

But  they  stript  me  te  my  shurt, 
So  aw  rubbed  mee-sel  wi'  durt  in  Asstrilly,  O  ! 

Aw  paid  for  vittels  wiv  a  froon  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 
Three  taties  for  a  croon  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Sprats  is  sivenpence  a  dish ; 

An'  if  a  bit  nice  cod  ye  wish. 
Fifteen  shillins  buys  the  fish  in  Asstrilly,  0 1 

Few  wives  thor's  te  be  seen  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 
What  thor  is  thor  a'  serene  in  Asstrilly,  O  ! 
Thor  beer  hes  a  nesty  tack ; 
Coals  is  'ighteen  shillins  a  sack. 
An'  ye  get  them  varry  black  in  Asstrilly,  O  I 

Sma'  beer's  ten  shillins  a  quairt  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 
Besides,  it's  soor  an'  tairt  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Six  shillins  a  three  pund  brick ; 

Butter's  half-a-croon  a  lick ; 
'Sides  they  nivver  gie  ye  tick  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Spoken. — O  Lord !  O  dear  !  aw  wish  aw  was  safe  hyem  wonce 
mair  I  When  aw  com  to  this  cursed  country,  aw'd  plenty  ov  ivveiy- 
thing :  plenty  o*  munny,  plenty  o'  claes ;  noo  aw's  nowt  but  rags. 
Aw'd  myek  a  poor  moothful  for  a  wild  beast,  unless  he's  fond  o' 
rags  an'  byens,  for  thor's  ne  flesh  on  mine.  What  a  fiiil  aw  was 
te  leeve  canny  Newcassel  te  cum  an'  hunt  for  gowld!     O  Lord! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  405 

O  dear  !  'steed  o'  me  huntin'  for  gowld,  they've  hunted  me  frae  one 
pla<%  tiv  anuther,  till  aw  heh  ne  place  but  this  one,  an'  it's  warse 
than  ne  place.  What  wi'  bushmen,  blackies,  convicts,  Indians, 
rattle-snakes,  boa  constructors,  wolves,  an'  sic  like  human  creatures, 
aw've  had  ne  peace  since  aw  left  England.  Just  'mi^ne  bein' 
tossed  aboot  on  the  ocean,  an'  then  te  be  hunted  like  a  kangaroo  ! 
Aw  had  a  hut.  Fat  Hannah,  Jimmy,  an'  me  happened  te  lie  doon 
to  rest  worbyens,  when  aw  smelled  fire.  Oot  aw  popped,  and  there 
was  black  divils  shootin'  ootside.  They  stole  maw  things ;  cut  off 
wi'  Fat  Hannah  (ne  bargain  !)  Then  they  walked  off  wi'  me  for 
supper,  but  aw've  run  for'd  ;  an'  here  aw've  been  wanderin'  aboot 
five  or  six  days  amangst  thorns,  till  aw  hevin't  a  stitch  o'  claes  left 
on  me  back,  nor  ne  grub  in  me  belly.  Aw  myed  the  last  meal  o' 
maw  hat,  an'  aw  felt  it  sair  on  me  stomack.  But  it  sarves  me  reet 
to  cum  oot  here,  for  te  loss  me  money  and  then  te  loss  maw  claes. 
O  Lord  !  aw'U  loss  me  senses  next !  Aw  wish  aw  was  safe  back  te 
canny  Newcassel,  if  aw  cud  oney  get  oot  o'  this  purgatory  spot. 

Aw'll  return  a  rooind  man  frae  Asstrilly,  O  ! 
Get  on,  whey  ne  man  can  in  Asstrilly,  O ! 

Noo  here  aw  groan  an'  pine, 

Aw*s  diddled  up  se  fine — 
O  welcum,  Coaly  Tyne,  frae  Asstrilly,  O  ! 

COBTAN.  Authm'i  E^iUm. 


THE   CULLERCOATS   FISH-LASS. 

,  Tune—"  Lilie's  a  Lady." 

Aw's  a  Cullercoats  fish-lass,  se  cozy  an'  free, 
Browt  up  in  a  cottage  close  on  by  the  sea ; 
An*  aw  sell  fine  fresh  fish  ti  poor  an'  ti  rich — 
Will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy  maw  fresh  fish  ? 

Spoken. — Fine  codlin's,  hinny ;  cheaper  for  hyem  consumption 
thin  butcher  meat.  There's  fine  mackerel.  Come,  Mistor,  ye 
shall  hae  them  at  yor  awn  price,  but  the  sea's  up.  Aw's  sure,  fish 
just  noo's  as  bad  to  catch  iz  husbands ;  and  a  greet  deal  warse  ti 
selL 

{Sings.)    Will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy  my  fresh  fish  ? 

{Imitate  cries. )    D'ye  want  a — n — y  fish  ? 


4o6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Byeth  barefoot  and  barelegged  aw  trudge  mony  a  week, 
Wi'  a  creel  on  mee  back  an'  a  bloom  on  mee  cheek ; 
AVll  supply  ye  wi*  flat  fish,  fine  skyet,  or  fresh  ling. 
And  sometimes  pennywilks,  crabs,  an'  lobsters  aw  bring. 
Will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy  ?  etc 

Aw  work  hard  for  mee  livin',  frev  a  frind  aw  ne'er  begs, 
An'  aw  huff  the  young  gents  when  they  peep  at  my  legs ; 
Aw's  hilthy  an'  hansom,  quite  willin'  and  strong, 
To  toil  for  my  livin',  cryin'  fish  the  day  long. 

Spoken, — That's  what  aw  cawl  fishin'  for  a  livin*.  But  tawkin' 
aboot  fish,  thor's  as  queer  fish  on  land  as  there's  in  the  sea — 
Gladstone,  Tom  Sayers,  and  Blondin — aw  cawl  them  star-fish,  that 
baits  the  public  ti  sum  tuin.  Folks  that  neglects  to  buy  the 
Illustrated  Tyneside  Songs^  aw  consider  them  flat-fish.  Mackev's 
men,  they're  dry  fish ;  ye  can  tell  by  their  gills.  Sailors,  they  re 
salt  fish,  that  shud  elways  keep  a  wether  eye  on  land-sharks. 
Volunteers,  they're  fresh  nsh,  who,  with  wor  sowlgers  and  sailors, 
myek  up  wor  sole  defenders.  As  for  me,  with  yor  kind  favours, 
aw'd  be  like  a  fish  oot  o'  wetter — aye,  whei  I  Aw's  a  maiden  fish 
oot  iv  her  teens  in  sairch  ov  a  husband  to  myek  me  comfortable. 
Aw  want  ti  teyk  moorins  for  life  in  the  roads  an'  channels  o' 
matrimony. 

Will  ye  buy,  will  ye  buy  ?  etc. 

GORYAN.  Authof't  Manuscript^  12^^ 


BOBBY  THE  BOXER. 

Tune— "Pat's  Curiosity  Sbopu" 
Aboot  "  Fistiana  "  an'  fightin'  skull-bruizers  may  blether 

an'  crack, 
Aw's  the  lad  the  P.R.  can  enlighten — man,  aw've  walloped 

the  yell  o'  the  pack ; 
Tom  Paddock,  aw  suin  sent  him  muzy,  Tipton  Slasher 

aw  knocked  out  o'  time. 
And   Bendy  aw  doubled  up  mazy;  smash!  nyen  can 

touch  me  in  my  prime. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  407 

Chorus. 

On  me  thou  mun  place  greet  reliance,  for  boxin*  thou'U  say 

aw's  a  cure, 
De  ye  think  thit  aw*s  not  up  ti  science  ?    Howay  cot !  aw*s 

yor  man  for  the  Moor. 

Wiv  the  bowld  Johnny  Wawker   aw've  won,   tee,   his 

backers  they  hoyed  up  the  sponge ; 
Bob  Travers,  the  Blacky,  awVe  dune,  tee,  wiv  a  fine 

upper  cut  an'  a  lunge ; 
The  fighters  ti  me  aw  cums  fleein,  they  aw  ken  me  morit 

an'  worth, 

Aw  trained  Ren  wicks.  Bill  Cleghorn,  and  Heenan,  an' 

a'  the  best  men  i'  the  North. 

Chorus. 

Jim  Mace  an'  Tom  Sayers  may  pass  muster,  byeth  gud 

men  we  a'  mun  agree. 
But  for  a'  their  greet  battles  an'  bluster,  they've  byeth 

had  to  forfeit  to  me ; 
Harry  Powlson  and  Cobley,  maw  kitten,  aw've  hammered 

them  black  i'  the  face, 
Dan  Thomas  and  Jones's  fine  hittin*  wi'  this  Chicken  wis 

awl  oot  o'  place. 

Chorus. 

Aw   worry  the  pollis  i'  dozens,  ti   beat  me  they  try  a' 

they  can, 
But  since  aw  mugged  Inspector  Cousins,  they  swear  aw's 

the  devil's  awn  man ; 
Hoots !  fightin'  to  me's  nobbit  pastime,  aw's  elways  first 

in  for  a  pelt, 

So  Mace  aw  mun  fight  for  the  last  time,  then  swagger 

aboot  wiv  a  belt. 

Chorus. 


4o8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Wi*  Jim  Ward  awVe  had  murry  meetins,  but  then  iv  a 

jovial  way, 
Their  music  an'  toddy-care  meetins  aw .  drives  the  blue 

divels  away ; 
Ti  Langham's  aw  oft  pay  a  visit,  he's  a  decent  aud  covey 

is  Nat, 
Gosh,  his  wife  telled  me  when  he  hooked  it  to  walk  in  an' 

hing  up  me  hat ! 

Chorus. 

In  Newbold's  grand  pictor  awm  stuck  up  wiv  a'  the 

greet  boxers  aroond. 
There  aw  stand  wi  mee  eyes  shut  to  luik  up  at  the  fight 

for  the  four  hundred  pounds  ; 
Lads,  there's  not  a  gud  fighter  amang  them,  it's  boonce 

and  mock  courage  they've  got, 
Nobbit  giz  a  gud  blaw  oot  at  Mackey's,  sowl!   aw'U 

perish  the  yell  o'  the  lot. 

Chorus. 

Like  Tom  Sayers,  aw'U  suin  gan  oot  starrin'  for  a  five- 
pun  note  ivery  set-to, 

Gosh,   cab!    aw's  the    genus  for   sparrin',    Bobby  the 
Boxer's  real  Tyneside  true  blue; 

Aw  defeated  bowld  Crawley  an'  Crockett,  an'  vanquished 
wi'  ease  Jarry  Noon, 

An'  aw've  a  challenge  just  now  in  maw  pocket  ti  fight 
wi'  the  man  i'  the  moon. 

Chores. 

But  noo  aw'U  away  ti  me  trainin',  aw'U  suin  be  i'  fine 

trim  agyen, 
Aboot  three  or  fower  styen  aw  want  gainin',  then  aw'U 

strip  wi'  the  brightest  o'  men ; 
So  ta  ta,  ye  bowld  sportin'  fellows,  the  time  aw  prepare 

for  the  strife, 
When  aw  knock  oot  the  puff  o'  King's  bellows,  what  a 

worry  there'll  be  for  Be/^s  Life, 

Chorus. 
CORTAN.  Auth(»>t  Mamucript,  1862. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  409 

WARKWORTH   FEAST. 

TONB— "Morpeth  Jail." 

Sum  folks  may  jaw  'boot  a  fine  breeze, 
Praise  Warkwith's  shores  an'  hikey  seas  ; 
Praise  steem-boat  trips  an'  caller  air, 
Or  spend  a  day  devoid  o'  care. 
They  may  tell  o'  wondrous  things  they  see, 
Sic  as  cassels,  an'  rooins,  an'  lots  o'  spree ; 
'Boot  monks  an'  marmaids  dein'  queer  feats, 
An'  rabbits  dancin'  polkas  on  the  Coquet  at  neets. 

But,  lads,  aw've  got  a  different  tyel, 
For  aw  wonce  had  a  trip  doon  there  me-sel : 
'Twas  a  ruffish  mom — the  wind  nor-east — 
When  forst  aw  had  a  trip  te  Warkwith  Feast 

Abord  ov  a  steamer  aw  cruiked  maw  heugh, 
An'  things  at  the  Kee  went  square  eneuflf; 
So  we  got  under  way ;  but  we  haddent  gyen  far, 
When  an  aud  wife  cries,  "  Wor  on  the  Bar  !  " 
"  O,  marcy  me  ! "  cries  Jimmy  Bell, 
"  Maw  belly's  sair — aw's  quite  unwell  I  " 
Then  bowkins  o'  boiley  went  fleein'  aboot. 
An*  a  lump  o'  chowed  tripe  catched  me  reet  on  the 
snoot 

So  if  ye  winnit  believe  maw  tyels, 
Just  tyek  a  trip  doon  there  yorsels,  etc 

Half  duzzy  aw  staggered  alang  the  boat, 

When  a  chep  tossed  a  lump  o'  fat  doon  me  throat 

Lord !  says  aw,  thou's  dyun  maw  job  ! 

But  says  he,  **  Ye  fyul,  it'ell  tyest  yor  gob  I  ' 


4IO  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

Then  a'  the  things  aw'd  eatin  last  'eer, 
Pegs,  grosers,  reed  herrins,  an'  yell,  did  appear ; 
Eh,  man,  hoo  aw  trimmeled  as  aw  stuck  tiv  a  post, 
Goshcab  !  aw'd  dyun  fine  te  play  Hamlick's  ghost ! 

So  if  ye  winnit,  etc 


Sic  rushin',  an'  crushing  an'  cryin'  for  drops ; 

Sic  rattlin'  o'  buckets,  an'  usin'  o'  mops ; 

Sic  pityful  fyeces,  an'  cries  o'  distress, 

Wi'  screamin'  an'  shootin',  an'  spoilin'  o'  dress. 

Aw  wes  creepin*  alang  as  quiet  as  a  moose, 

Te  try  an'  find  the  little  hoose ; 

Aw  fell  ower  two  aud  wives,  an'  rowled  on  the  deck, 

An'  nigh  as  a  tutcher  broke  maw  neck. 

So  if  ye  winnit,  etc. 

At  last  we  landed  safe  ashore, 
Reet  glad  wes  aw  wi'  monny  a  score  ; 
But  syun  maw  wonders  they  increas'd, 
When  aw  see'd  three  stalls  at  Warkwith  Feast. 
Nowt  wes  there  yen's  heart  te  cheer, 
But  a  lot  o'  awful  bitter  beer : 
'Twad  puzzen  rats — oh,  maw  poor  tripes  ! 
Aw's  sartin  'twad  gi'en  a  brass  cuddy  the  gripes. 

So  if  ye  winnit,  etc. 

Noo,  a  bit  ov  advice  might  be  wholesome,  I  think, 
When  ye  gan  plishure  trips,  tyek  yor  meat  an'  yor 

drink ; 
For  thor's  nivvor  ne  plishure  where  thor's  nowt  te 

eat, 
If  yor  gyepin'  at  cassels  frae  morn  till  neet 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  4" 

Lifetime's  a  trip,  an'  ivvery  man 
Mun  battle  throo  the  best  way  he  can. 
So  excuse  maw  sang ;  if  ye  doot  the  least, 
Ye  can  gan  next  'eer  te  Warkwith  Feast. 

So  if  ye  winnit,  etc. 
CORTAN.  Auih(yr*8  Edition. 


THE    KIPPER»D   HERRIN*. 

'Boot  pitmen  an'  keelmen  thou's  heard  some  queer  jokes, 
What  wi'  blunders,  mistyeks,  an'  thor  queer  funny  spokes, 
For  when  we  get  a  drop  o'  beer  we're  a'  full  o'  glee ; 
Lads!  we  myek  mony  a  blunder  when  we  get  on  the 

spree. 

Singing  fal  the  dall,  lall,  etc 

Noo  aw'll  tell  ye  a  trick  we  yence  played  on  Jim  Farrins, 
Thit  yen  day  bowt  a  cask  o'  the  best  kipper'd  herrins, 
Te  eat  tiv  his  coffee,  his  taties,  and  breed, 
Determined  a'  winter  te  hev  a  cheap  feed. 

Reet  fal,  etc. 

He  tuik  fower  greet  big  uns  yen  neet  doon  the  pit, 
An'  he  waddent  let  yen  doon  belaw  tyest  a  bit ; 
So  a  pennorth  o'  Jalup  we  put  iv  his  bottle. 
An',  lads !  hoo  we  laffed  iz  it  went  doon  his  throttle. 

Chorus. 

He  hewed  half-an-hour  tiv  he  felt  summic  ache. 
Then  he  put  doon  his  hands  for  te  baud  on  the  brake, 
Cryin'  oot — **  Geordy  Cairns,  run  away,  thou's  maw  cuzen, 
An'  bring  uz  a  docter,  for  aw've  swallow'd  some  puzzin." 

Chorus. 


412  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Noo,  the  bit  trapper  laddies  they  laflTd  fit  te  borst, 
An'  menshun'd  what  myed  the  poor  man  bad  at  forst ; 
But  he  says — "  Haud  yor  gobs,  give  ower  yor  leein\ 
Aw's  speechless  a'ready,  aw's  sartin  aw's  deein'. 

Chorus. 

"  Aw's  deein',  aw's  deein',  aw's  off,  Geordy  Cairns, 
Protect  when  aw's  gyen  maw  poor  wife  an'  bairns ; 
Keep  a'  maw  pit  claes,  cum  draw  thaw  lugs  near. 
An'  hear  maw  last  words,  for  aw've  supped  maw  last  beer. 

Chorus. 

"  Tell  wor  keeker  aw  deed  wiv  a  pain  i'  maw  booils, 
Cawsed  wi'  eatin'  some  harrin'  aw  bowt  frae  Jack  Snooils; 
Tell  wor  preacher  next  Sunday  te  pray  for  maw  sole^ 
Tell  wor  owners  and  viewers  aw'll  howk  ne  mair  coal. 

Chorus. 

"  Tyek  maw  picks  tiv  aud  limpey,  tell  him  aw's  gyen, 
An'  come  te  maw  funeral  wi'  cloaks  ivery  yen ; 
Tyek  maw  grandfethur's  watch,  keep  that  for  theesell, 
Aw's  gannin' — ta,  ta,  Geordy — ^te  Heaven  or  te  H— 11!" 

Chorus. 
GORVAN.  Author't  Mcmuseript,  1862. 


DEETH  O'  BILLY  PURVIS. 

WUliam  Parvis  (better  known  throughout  the  North  as  ''BUly  ParrU") 
was  born  in  Auchindinny,  near  Edinburgh,  but  was  brought  to  Newcastle 
by  his  parents  at  an  early  age.  After  leaving  school  he  was  apprenticed  to 
John  Chapman,  joiner,  Bigg  Market.  From  an  early  age  he  showed  a 
decided  inclination  for  the  stage,  and  became  a  "  call  boy  "  at  the  Theatre 
Boyal,  Newcastle,  while  it  was  under  the  management  of  Stephen  Kemble. 
After  some  coquetting  with  the  muse  as  an  amateur,  and  seyeral  peram- 
bnlations  in  the  surrounding  districts,  as  a  coi^urer,  a  clown,  and  a  per- 
former on  the  Northumberland  bagpipes  (on  which  he  excelled),  he  finally 
established  himself  as  proprietor  of  a  travelling  theatre  about  1818.  With 
his  portable  theatre  he  for  many  years  travelled  throughout  the  North  of 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


413 


BILLY  PURVIS  AS  CLOWN  AT  HIS  VICTORIA  THEATRE. 


414  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

England  and  Scotland,  attending  the  Yarious  fairs,  races,  etc,  until  he 
became  a  familiar  feature  at  each  place.  Daring  the  summer  months, 
when  the  Theatre  Boyal  was  closed,  being  a  freeman  of  Newcastle,  he 
generally  obtained  leave  to  make  a  lengthened  stay  in  the  town ;  and  often 
brought  with  him  a  superior  company  of  performers,  several  of  whom  have 
since  won  a  high  rank  in  their  profession.  At  Newcastle  Baces  he  was  in 
his  glory.  Dressed  in  his  now  familiar  clown's  dress,  and  standing  on  the 
outside  stage  of  his  theatre,  he  would  shout  to  the  pitmen  thronging 
round—"  Are  ye  cummin'  in  te  see  wor  show,  Geordy  ?  Ay,  it's  clivor,  'tis 
cUTor!  If  ye  dinnet  like  te  cum  ower  the  stage,  ye  can  get  in  by  Billy's 
backside  I  (pointing  to  the  door  at  the  back).  Only  a  penny  for  trappers, 
an'  tuppence  for  wappers!  Ay,  it's  clivor,  'tis  clivor!"  With  such  like 
sallies  he  enlivened  the  proceedings  on  the  outside  stag  e  between  the  dances, 
and  generally  succeeded  in  doing  a  large  business.  His  life  was  a 
chequered  one.  Theatrical  speculations  are  generally  uncertain,  and 
Billy  had  his  share  of  its  ups  and  downs.  Despite  his  wandering  life, 
Newcastle  was  always  his  home ;  and  for  nearly  sixty-six  years  he  resided 
in  the  same  house  in  the  Close,  where  he  brought  up  his  family  in  a  most 
respectable  manner.  He  died,  while  at  Hartlepool  with  his  theatre,  on  the 
16th  of  December  1853,  in  his  seventy-third  year. 

Shortly  after  his  death,  the  Messrs.  Sangers,  on  visiting  Hartlepqpl  with 
their  circus,  gave  a  benefit  for  the  purpose  of  raising  funds  to  erect  a 
tombstone  over  his  grave.  A  good  sum  was  thus  obtained,  and  a  neat  stone 
now  tells  his  last  resting-place. 

Tune—"  Jenny  Jones." 

AuD  Billy's  gyen  deed  noo,  frae  worldly  cares  freed  noo, 

Ne  mair  sports  he'll  heed  noo  on  Wear  or  Tyneside: 
Still  his  nyem  leeves  i'  story,  Tyne  lads  was  his  glory, 

For  when  he  amused  them  his  heart  beat  wi'  pride. 
But  he's  cut  off  at  last  noo,  his  days  they  are  past  noo, 

Ne  mair,  poor  aud  man,  his  bundle  hill  steal:* 
That  bundle^  for  pastime,  he's  stole  for  the  last  time. 

For  Deeth's  corked  him  off  te  the  land  o'  the  leaL 


Chorus. 

Aud  Billy's  gyen  deed  noo,  frae  worldly  cares  freed  noo, 
For  Deeth's  corked  him  off  te  the  land  o*  the  leal. 

*  '* Billy  Stole  the  Bundle"— a  piece  he  often  played,  in  which  he  was 
constantly  interrupted  in  his  attempts  to  steal  a  bundle  lying  at  the  comer 
of  the  stage. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  415 

Ne  mair  tyels  ye*ll  tell,  oh,  maw  canny  aud  fellow ! 
Hoo  yeVe  swalleyed  up  crab-fish,  an'  locked  up  men's 
jaws ; 
Ne  mair  thou'll  dance  neatly,  or  play  your  pipes  sweetly. 

Nor  perform  Ifocus-Focus,  that  gained  sic  applause  ; 
For  we'll  see  ye  ne  mair,  man,  at  hoppin'  or  fair,  man, 

Stand  up  i'  yor  glory  'mang  actors  ootside  : 
For  that  tyrant,  King  Deeth,  man,  hes  stopt  wor  cloon's 
breath,  man. 
And  closed  noo  for  iver  poor  Billy's  backside, 

Aud  Billy's  gyen,  etc. 

Ne  mair  at  wor  Races,  friend  Billy,  thou'll  grace  us, 

Nor  call  Geordies  in  yor  fine  show  to  admire ; 
For,  oh  !  'twas  his  boast  then,  fine  dramas  an'  ghosts 
then, 
Wi'  pantomime  plays  full  o'  reed  an'  blue  fire. 
What  troubles  through  life,  man,  what  cares  an'  what 
strife,  man, 
He  had  te  amuse  us — byeth  aud  folks  an'  young  : 
Oh  !  aw  think  wiv  emoshun,  an  tears  of  devoshun, 
On  the  days  when  aw  first  lisped  his  nyem  wi'  maw 
tongue ! 

Spoken, — Yis,  them  was  the  days  that  we  can  nivor  forget — wor 
skyul  days.  We  had  ne  humbuggin'  pollis  then  ;  nobbit  canny  aud 
watchmen,  that  yen  might  heh  knocked  doon  wiv  a  pipe-stopple. 
We  had  ne  railways  in  Billy's  youthful  days;  an'  times  was  far 
better  than  they  are  noo.  Aw  reckolect  when  Billy  was  an  actor, 
aboot  thirty  eers  since— them  was  maw  happy  days — aw  wad  beg, 
borrow,  or  steal  to  get  a  luik  at  aud  Billy's  backside.  Poor  canny 
aud  fellow !  he  used  te  be  king  o'  the  Spital.  Them  was  maw  youthful 
days,  an'  monny  a  yen's  beside  me.  Aw've  seen  me  gawn  about  wi' 
maw  shirt-tail  stickin'  oot  that  far  behint  that  aw've  used  it  for  a 
pocket-hankisher ;  an'  as  for  shoes,  the  oney  pair  aw  had  on  my  feet 
was  the  pair  the  cobbler  had  away  mendin' !  But  what  did  aw  care 
aboot  shoes  ?  aw  had  big  toes  like  styens  !  Oh  !  what  music  aw 
fund  i'  the  bells  o'  St.  Nicholas',  when  the  Easter  hallidays  myed 


4i6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

thor  appearance !  Hoo  leet  was  maw  yoothful  heart ! — ne  stain  was 
there  to  mar  maw  happiness  I  Wi'  what  plishure  aw  booled  maw 
pycste  eg^  on  the  green !  That  green's  ne  mair ;  but,  like  wor 
favourite  cloon  an'  Northumbrians  jester,  gyen  for  ivver.  Where's 
a'  his  funny  sayin's,  that  set  a'  the  Geordies  in  a  roar?  They  are 
gyen  ;  but  Billy  'ill  nivver  be  forgettin*. 

Aud  Billy's  gyen,  etc. 

But,  oh !  aw'll  remember  the  sixteenth  of  December, 

In  the  eer  '53,  died  wor  aud  king  o'  Tyne ; 
An'  left  us  in  mournin'  withoot  ony  warnin', 

The  frinds  o'  his  yooth,  an'  the  days  o'  langsyne. 
But  the  frind  we  luv  best  noo,  his  byens  cannit  rest  noo, 

So,  Newcassel  folks,  think  o'  these  words  o'  mine ; 
Let's  hev  him  laid  doon  then,  i'  wor  canny  toon  then, 

Else  his  ghost  will  be  wanderin'  at  neets  on  the  Tyne. 

Aud  Billy's  gyen,  etc 
CORVAN.  Author's  Edition. 


THE   GREET   BULL-DOG   O'    SHIELDS. 

Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  gunboat  BuU-dog  lying  at  Shields,  shortly 
after  the  termination  of  the  Russian  War. 

Tune—"  Hokey  Pokey." 

Wor  Dick  an'  me,  last  Curstmis  day, 
Tuik  i'  wor  heeds  te  gan  away. 
Resolved  te  spend  a  yell  week's  pay 

Amang  the  fokes  o'  Sheels,  man. 
At  Sandget  end  we  had  some  yell 
Alang  wi'  Matt  and  Skipper  Bell, 
Then  doon  te  Sheels  a'  hands  did  speel, 
r  Skipper  Johnson's  bran  new  keel. 
'Twas  there  aw  hard  young  Geordy  Carr, 
That  kens  se  much  aboot  the  Czar, 
Say,  *'  What  d'ye  think's  come  frae  the  war, 

But  a  greet  Bull-dog  at  Sheels,  man  ? 
Fall  de  dall,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  417 

Says  aw  thou's  leein  fond  aw's  sure, 

Yor  idees  mun  be  varry  poor, 

Thou  wants  to  put  on  Tommy  Moor, 

Wi'  yor  greet  Bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 
What,  a  bull-dog  swalley  Rooshin  bears. 
That's  nobbit  lees,  cum  speak  for  fairs. 
He  says  then  lissen  ti'  what  comes — 
He  fired  het  snawballs  at  thor  bums, 
He  peppered  them  all  at  Bum  my  Soond, 
An'  laid  thor  batteries  wi'  the  groond ; 
That  varry  Bull-dog  may  now  be  foond 

Lyin'  in  Peggy's  Hole  i'  Sheels,  man. 

Give  ow'r  says  aw,  wi'  voice  se  gruff. 
Or  suen,  by  gox,  aw  may  ye  hufl^ 
Wi'  fiery  snawballs  me  ti  stuff 

An'  yor  greet  Bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 
Think  weel,  maw  man,  wi'  whe  ye  play. 
The  fuil  he  laff 'd  and  quick  did  say. 
But  mair  than  that,  the  dog  lies  reet 
Chocked  full  o'  guns  and  men  complete ; 
He  tuik  Charley  Napier,  tars  and  all, 
Ti  Bumray  Soond  wi'  Captain  Hall, 
And  feyred  them  shells  that  made  them  squall. 

Did  this  greet  Bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 

He  nipt  thor  tails  and  myed  them  shoot. 
An'  just  like  badgers  drawed  them  oot. 
He  worried  thor  thropples  wiv  his  snoot. 

Did  this  greet  Bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 
He  fired  them  bullets  het  and  thick, 
Sayin'  there's  some  pills,  aud  Mister  Nick ; 
He  myed  them  scamper  duce'd  quick, 
An'  levelled  ivery  steyn  an'  brick, 
27 


4i8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

He  myed  their  nasty  tallow  run, 
Then  wagg'd  his  tail  an'  barked  like  fun, 
An*  cam  ti  the  Tyne  when  aw  was  duin, 
Did  this  greet  Bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 

Says  aw,  thou's  stuffin  me,  maw  man, 
But  when  aw  lands  aw's  sure  ti  gan 
An'  find  this  Bull-dog  iv  aw  can. 

That's  myekin  sic  wark  at  Sheels,  man. 
So  when  aw  landed  on  the  kee, 
Away  aw  gans  quite  full  o'  glee, 
Ti  try  and  find  this  Bull-dog  breed, 
But  hang  a  Bull-dog  there  aw  se'd, 
So  aw  axed  a  sailor  stannin  there, 
If  he  saw  a  bull-dog  ony  where, 

He  gyeped  an'  glower'd  an'  gave  a  blair. 

Spoken, — An'  let  flee  a  chow  o*  baccy  iz  big  iz  a  turmit— soaw 
sets  Nettle  on  tiv  him  (that's  maw  terrier),  iv  he  was  a  Bull-dog 
Nettle  maniged  him.  As  for  me,  aw  trotted,  cas  there  was  a  dona 
bull-dogs  i'  nee  time,  an'  nivor  stopt  tiv  aw  went  bump  agyen  the 
wooden  dolly  —aw  thowt  it  was  J  arrow.  Wi'  that  aw  heers  the 
sailors  bawl  oot — ^hie,   shipmate,  ahoy !  shipmate,  the  deevil  says 

aw 

{Sings)  D'ye  think  we're  fuils  o'  Sheels,  man. 

Sair  vexed,  begox  1  aw  kept  gawn  back, 
Determined  Skipper  Carr  ti  smack, 
And  let  him  see  that  aw  cud  snack 

Wiv  ony  bull-dog  o'  Sheels,  man. 
But,  hinny  marrows,  guess  maw  surprise. 
When  aw  twigs  a  steamboat  sic  a  size, 
Men  an'  guns  aw  did  disarn, 
Wiv  B  double  LL  bull-dog  on  her  starn, 
Aw  seed  her  bonny  colours  fly  in', 
Wi'  sowlgers  an'  sailors  exercisin', 
And  sure  enyuf  the  Bull-dog  wis  lyin' 

I'  Peggy's  Hole  in  Sheels,  man. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  419 

Noo,  may  Sheels  prosper,  while  the  sea 
Beats  on  her  shores  so  wild  and  free, 
May  they  niver  lack  prosperity 

Nor  manly  hearts  i'  Sheels,  man ; 
May  blissins  crown  each  happy  home, 
Wor  sailors,  tee,  where'er  they  roam, 
May  we  ever  on  old  England's  shore 
Boast  British  Bull-dogs  evermore. 
Aw  wish  success  tiv  aw  that's  here, 
May  ye  nivor  want  good  health  or  cheer, — 
Smash  !  aw  hope  ye'll  live  for  mony  a  year, 

Wi'  greet  Bull-dogs  o'  Sheels,  man. 

CORVAN.  AxMwi'i  Manuteript,  1862. 


THE    FISHERMEHT   HUHTG   THE    MOHTKET,    O! 

'*  The  Fishermen  hung  the  Monkey,  O ! "  These  words  are  the  greatest 
insnlt  yoa  can  offer  to  the  Hartlepool  fishermen.  It  is  supposed  when 
Napoleon  the  Great  threatened  to  invade  England  the  fishermen  were  loyal 
and  patriotic,  and  ever  on  the  look-out  for  spies.  A  vessel  having  been 
wrecked  about  this  time,  aU  on  board  perished  with  the  exception*  of  a 
monkey,  which  was  seised  by  the  fishermen  for  a  French  spy,  and  hung 
because  he  could  not  or  would  not  speak  English.  —Awthor's  NoU, 

Tune— "The  Tinker's  Weddhig." 

In  former  times,  'mid  war  an'  strife, 
When  French  invashin  threatened  life, 
An'  all  was  arm'd  te  the  knife, 

The  Fishermen  hung  the  Monkey,  O ! 
The  Fishermen,  wi'  courage  high, 
Seized  the  Monkey  for  a  spy. 
Hang  him  says  yen,  says  another  he'll  die ; 

They  did,  an'  they  hung  the  Monkey,  O ! 

Chorus. 
(To  sympathise  with  the  unfortunate  Monkey,  altogether. ) 

Dooram,  dooram,  dooram,  da,  etc. 


420  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

They  tried  ivery  means  te  myek  him  speak, 
They  tortor'd  the  Monkey  tiv  he  loud  did  squeak ; 
Says  yen  that's  French,  says  anuther  it*s  Greek, 

For  the  Fishermen  then  gat  drunkey,  0 1 
He's  all  ower  hair  sum  cheps  did  cry, 
E'en  up  te  summic  cute  an'  sly ; 
Wiv  a  cod's  heed  then  they  closed  an  eye. 

Afore  they  hung  the  Monkey,  O ! 

spoken. — Ladies  an'  cheps,  a  chorus  this  time  to  mark  our  disap- 
probashin  o'  the  Pugnaeshis  Fiflhermen  for  closin'  the  ogle  ov  the 
unfortunate  Monkey. 

Dooram,  etc. 

Some  the  Monkey's  fate  they  did  bewail, 
For  all  the  speechless /&r^  had  his  tail  (tale). 
He'd  been  better  off  i'  Durham  jail, 

For  the  Monkey  wis  tornin  funkey,  O ! 
They  said  he  myed  some  curose  mugs, 
When  they  shaved  his  head  an'  cut  off  his  lugs, 
Sayin'  that's  the  game  for  French  humbugs. 

Afore  they  hung  the  Monkey,  O ! 

Spoken, — ^Chorus  in  considerashin  of  the  removal  and  total  aoni- 
hilashin  of  the  Monkey's  auricular  organ  by  all  who  have  an  ear  for 
gorilla  sensashins. 

Dooram,  etc. 

Hammer  his  ribs,  the  thunerin  thief. 
Pummel  his  pyet  weel  wi'  yor  neef. 
He's  landed  here  for  nobbit  grie^ 

He's  aud  Napoleon's  Uncky,  O  ! 
Thus  to  the  Monkey  all  hands  behaved. 
Cut  off  his  whiskers  one  chep  raved ; 
Another  bawled  oot  he's  never  been  shaved, 

Sojthey  commenced  to  scrape  the  Monkey,  0! 

Chorus, 
(After  the  style  of  **  Lather  and  shave  'em.") 

Dooram,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  421 

Now  let  us  hope  that  ever  at  sea 
We'll  still  maintain  sovereignty, 
May  France  and  England  long  agree, 

An'  nivor  at  each  other  get  funkey,  O ! 
As  regards  poor  Pug  aw've  had  my  say, 
His  times  they've  past  for  mony  a  day, 
But  in  Harlepool,  noo,  thou'll  hear  lads  say — 

Spoken, — Aw  say,  Mistor,  mother  says  it,  she  tailed  me  te  ax  ye, 
te  tell  me  te  tell  her ;  if  ye  tell  me, — aw  say,  Mistor,  can  ye  tell 
us — 

(Sings)— WcA  hung  the  Monkey,  O  ? 

Dooram,  etc. 
GORTAN.  A'\jiXkxn*%  Manuteript,  18G2. 


THE    COMET;   OR,    THE   SKIPPER'S   FRIGHT. 

Written  on  the  appearance  of  the  Great  Comet,  1868. 

TUNB— "  PoUy  Parker,  O." 

Marrows,  aw's  pinin  fast  away,  aw's  freetin  ivery  day, 
Aboot  this  awful  danger  noo  impendin,  O ! 
Aw's  shakin  a'  te  bits,  wor  aud  wife  she's  tyekin  fits, 
Cawse  the  nibors  say  the  world's  upon  an  endin,  O ! 

Says  wor  preacher  t'other  day,  noo  a'  ye  weak  sowls  pray ; 
An'  te  drop  a*  worldly  care  he  did  beseech  us,  O  ! 
Says  he,  this  mighty  orth,  wiv  all  int's  but  little  worth. 
If  a  fiery  thing  like  a  comet  chanced  to  reach  us,  0 1 

Aboot  Stronomists  he  bawled,  then  ower  the  reckinin 

bawled, 
Te  tell  hoo  lang  a  time  we  had  te  bide  here,  O ! 
Says  he,  sometime  i'  June,  wiv  a  tail,  it  will  drop  doon; 
Then  a'  the  world  i'  mystery  suin  mun  glide  here,  0 1 


422  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Thinks  aw,  begum  that's  queer,  wor  preacher  he's  nee 

leer, 
He's  always  on  the  reet  side  when  he's  speakin,  O ! 
So  aw'U  sell  off  byeth  maw  keels,  and  tyek  a  ship  at  Sheets; 
For  a  spot  upon  the  new  world  aw'U  gan  seekin,  O ! 

But  first  awll  chawk  a  score  ahint  the  Brown  Jug  door, 
For  it's  little  use  o'  passin  when  life's  uncertain,  O ! 
Like  Robson,  Bates,  and  Pawl,  lads  1  the  kelter  in  aw'U 

hawl, 
Then  for  flight  like  a'  the  swindlers  aw'U  be  startin,  O! 

Noo,  when  aw  cum  te  think,  aw'd  better  spend  maw  chink, 
Amang  me  Tyneside  cronies,  true  and  hearty,  O ! 
For  if  we  a'  mun  dee,  thou  knaws  as  weel  as  me. 
The  rich  amang  the  poor  mun  join  the  party,  O ! 

Then  flow  on  wor  Coaly  Tide,  spreadin  wealth  on  ivery 

side, 
•Flow  on,  bright  stream,  wi'  joy  te  croon  maw  giver,  0 ! 
That  he  may  smile  on  thee  for  all  eternity, 
The  light  ov  peace  and  harmony  for  iver,  0 1 

OORTAN.  ulutAor'f  Manuscript,  1862. 


THE   FIRE   OHT   THE   KEE. 

The  Explosion  of  October  6th,  1854,  which  took  its  rise  from  a  fire  in 
Gateshead,  was  perhaps  the  greatest  calamity  that  ever  happened  in  the 
North  of  England. 

Tune—**  Wor  Jocker." 
Oh  !   hae  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy,  oh  I   hae  ye  seen  wor 

Jimmy  ? 
Oh !  hae  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy  ?  for  the  lad's  gyen  on  the 

spree. 
He's  pawn'd  his  coat  an'  troosers,  he  gans  on  as  be 

chooses. 
He  can  wallop  a'  the  bruisers  an'  greet  bullies  on  the 

Kee. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  423 

Chorus, 

Oh  !  hae  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy,  oh  !  hae  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy  ? 
Tell  me,  maw  canny  hinny,  for  the  lad's  gycn  on  the  spree. 

His  nose  is  neat  an*  canny,  he's  a  model  of  a  mannie, 
An'  the  pictor  o'  wor  Fanny,  oh,   the  nasty   drukken 

sow. 
Aw'll  yark  his  byens  wi'  skelpin,  aw'll  set  the  yelp  a 

yelpin, 
Presarve  us  I  there's  ne  helpin  byestin  laddies  now. 

Oh,  hae  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy,  etc. 

He  hes  a  bull-dog  wiv  him,  folks  dorsent  say  owt  tiv 

him, 
A  good  heart  beats  within  him,  for  he  knocks  the  poUis 

doon; 
He  hes  twe  nice  black  eyes,  tee,  an'  a  mouth  for  eatin 

pies,  tee ; 
Folks  say  he's  not  ower  wise,  tee,  an'  call  the  lad  a 

cloon. 

Spoken,  — Aw  wish  aw  could  lay  hands  on  him ;  he  went  to  seek  wark 
this  morning — Wark  !  he's  been  seekin  wark  this  fourteen  years  an* 
niver  gettin  a  job  yet — But  that  fire  on  the  Kee  ruined  the  lad's 
mind ;  a  gyeble  end  iv  a  hoose  fell  on  his  head — He's  been  crack'd 
iver  since.  Marcy,  what  a  cutty  fosty,  but  aw'll  gie  ye  an  account 
on't  cfter  the  style  ov  the  "Deeth  ov  Nelson." 

Tune—"  'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay." 

It  was  a  fearful  crash,  old  buildings  they  went  smash, 

'Twas  never  so  before ; 
The  haunts  of  **  auld  lang  syne "  burnt  doon  on  Coaly 
Tyne, 

Laying  waste  the  desolate  shore  : 
For  oh  I  it  was  a  fearful  sight,  and  many  a  home  was 
lost  that  night, 


424  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

For  death's  grim  visitation  brought  ruin  and  devastation, 
And  as  from  'mid  the  flames  they  hie, 
Mercy  !  save  us  1  hundreds  cry — 

O I  Firemen,  do  your  duty  ! 

O  !  Firemen,  do  your  duty  ! 

Tune— "Descriptive  Chant." 

Hurrying  to  and  fro  countless  thousands  might  be  seen, 
Emerging  after  hairbreadth  'scapes  from   ruins  where 

danger  just  had  been  ; 
The  soldiers  in  solemn  silence  guard  the  dangerous  way, 
And  firemen  willing  point  the  hose  to  where  gaiety  dwelt 

but  yesterday. 
The  populace  rushed  forth  half-dressed  in  day  or  night 

attire, 
Like    maniacs    with    maddened     brain,    from    death's 

devouring  fire. 

Chorus, 

For  oh  !  the  flames,  Vesuvius-like,  they  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Laying  desolate  waste  the  spot  where  once  had  been  Newcastle  Kee. 

Now  many  serio-comic  scenes  were  enacted  where  poor 

people  did  dwell, 
For  goods  and   chattels  from   mysterious  cribs  came 

tumbling  down  pellmell. 
Aw  saw  one  poor  deevil,  mevies  just  gettin  oot  o'  bed, 
Hop  varry  quick  to  one  side  iz  a  wash-han'  basin,  a  kyel 

pot,  and  a  yetlin'  fell  a-top  iv  his  head. 
'Twas  fearful  to  see  the  poor  aud  wives  in  narrow  chares 

and  lanes 
Picking  up  their  bits  o'  things,  exposing  life,  aw's  sure 

they  spared  ne  pains. 

Chorus. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  425 

Aw  say,  Pally !    thraw  the  bed  oot  the  window,  niver 

mind  the  stocks, 
Seize  Ned's  Sunday  britches  aw  bowt  last  week,  but  niver 

mind  the  box. 
Marcy  !  the  floor's  geen  way, — noo  whe  wid  iver  think 
That  decent  folks  gan  te  bed  'boot  ten  o'clock  shud  be 

see  close  upon  deeth's  brink  ? 

Search  for  Tommy's  fust  in  claes,  aw  cannot  see  for  smoke, 

Luik  sharp,  ye   platter-fyeced  bunter,  or   else,  begum, 

aw'U  choke. 

Chorus. 

Search  for  the  bairn's  cradle,  it's  a  claes-basket,  niver 

mind,  shove  it  to  the  door. 
Let  the  auld  clock  stand  agyen  the  wall,  it's  time  it  went 

'cas  it  waddent  gan  before  ; 
A  German  for  a  shillin  a  week  clagged  it  up  agyen  the 

wall, 
He's  got  nowt  yit,  so  faith  his  tick  aw  think'll  suin  be 

Hckin  small. 
They   say   Ralphy    L — tie's   broke    his  legs,   but  that 

myeks  little  matter, 
Cawse  a  glass  o'  brandy'll  put  him  reet,  wiv  a  bottle  o* 

soda  watter. 

Chorus. 

Pally,  hinny,  rush  i'  the  crood  an'  shoot,  for  see  the 

smoke  an  low  gets  dense, 
And  luik  for  Jimmy,  maw  canny  hinny,  for  the  laddie 

hez  ne  sense ; 
But  there's  a  crood  o'  men  there — Mister,  can  aw  claim 

yor  attention? 
Aw've  lost   maw  darlin   son,  an'  what  he's  like  aw'U 

mention — 


426  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

He's  nee  scholar,  bless  the  laddie  1  but  he  smokes  an' 

chows, 
He*s  parshall  ti  military  movements,  espeshley  Sangate 

rows; 
He's  gat  his  milHshor  claes  on,  thou'U  ken  him  iv  a  crack, 
Besides  sum  stripes  for  good  behavor,  but  they  put  them 

on  his  back. 
His  appearance  commands  respect — hae  ye  seen  him 

gannin  by  ? 

The  skin's  off  his  knockles  wi'  fightin',  an  he  sports  a 

lairge  black  eye  I 

Chorus. 
CORTAN.  AiUhoT^s  Manuscript,  1861 


CHAMBERS    ASTD   IJITHITE. 

The  above  most  memorable  race  took  place  on  the  Tyne,  April  19th,  1850, 
between  Thomas  White,  of  London,  and  Robert  Chambers,  of  Newcastle. 
The  latter  fonled  a  keel  after  rowing  about  half  a  mile ;  this  accident 
allowed  White  to  obtain  a  lead  of  about  one  hundred  yards,  but  Chamben 
gamely  followed,  and  caught  him  near  Armstrong's  factory,  where  be 
passed  the  Cockney  and  defeated  him  very  easUy.  This,  the  most  wonder- 
ful performance  on  any  river,  stamped  *' Honest  Bob"  as  the  greatest 
oarsman  of  the  age.— ^ote,  1872  Edition. 

Tune— "Trab,  trab." 

The  Tyne  wi'  fame  is  ringin'  on  heroes  old  and  young, 
Fresh  lawrels  daily  bringin*,  but  noo  awl  men  hez  sung 
In  praise  o'  honest  Chambers,  ov  Tyneside  men  the 

pride, 
Who  defeated  White  ov  London  for  one  hundred  pund 

aside. 

CAorus, 

Singin'  pull  away,  pull  away,  pull  away,  boys. 

Pull  away,  boys,  se  cliver ; 
Pull  away,  pull  away,  pull  away,  boys, 

Chambers  for  iver ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  427 

They're  off,  they're  ofl^  the  cry  is,  then  cheers  suin  rend 

the  air, 
Like  leetnin'  they  pass  by  us,  the  game  an'  plucky  pair ; 
Greek  meets  Greek,  then  faster  an*  faster  grows  the  pace. 
Gan  on,  Chambers  I  gan  on.  White  I  may  the  best  man 

win  the  race. 

Singin*  pull  away,  etc. 

Stroke  for  stroke  contendin,  they  sweep  on  wi'  the  tide, 

Fortune  seems  impendin  the  victor  te  decide ; 

At  last  the  Cockney  losin'  strength,  the  fowlin  gam'  did 

steal. 
He  leaves  his  wetter  ivery  length,  an'  runs  Chambers  iv 

a  keeL 

Spoken, — What  a  bulla  baloo  !  Hoo  the  Cockney  speeled  away  ; 
ivery  yen  thowt  the  race  was  ower.  Some  said  it  was  a  deed 
robbery,  others  a  worry,  an'  wawked  hyem  before  the  finish  o'  the 
race.  There  was  a  chep  stannin'  aside  me  wiv  his  hands  iv  his 
pockets — aw'm  sartin  thor  wis  nowt  else  in — luikin'  on  the  river 
wiv  a  feyce  like  a  fiddle-stick.  He  sung  the  following  lament,  efter 
the  style  ov  **  There's  nac  Luck  "  :— 

Tune— "Nae  Luck  aboot  the  Hoose." 
Ten  lengths  aheed !     Fareweel,  bedsteed !    maw  achin' 

byens  nee  mair 
On  thou  mun  rowl  \  no,  this  poor  sowl  mun  rest  on  deep 

despair. 
Wor  Nannie,  tee,  she'll  curse  an'  flee,  an'  belt  me  like  a 

Tork, 
For  aw've  lost  me  money,  time,  an'  spree,  an'  mebbies 

lost  maw  work. 

Chorus, 

For  oh  !  dismay  upon  that  day  in  omist  did  begin, 

On  iveiy  feyce  a  chep  might  trace — {Spoken)  Whe*s  forst — Bob  ? 

{Sinjs^s)  Oh  1  the  Cockney's  sure  te  win. 


428  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Says  one  poor  sowl  awVe  sell'd  my  pigs,  my  clock,  my 

drawers,  an*  bed, 
An'  doon  te  Walker  aw  mun  wawk,  when  aw  might  a 

rode  i'stead. 
Gox !  there's  wor  Jim  an'  a'  the  crews  pawned  ivery 

stitch  o*  claes. 
An'  they  say  thor's  two  cheps  sell'd  thor  wives,  the  six 

te  fower  te  raise. 

For  oh,  dismay,  etc. 

Spoken, — Comin'  doon  efter  awl  wis  ower,  aw  meets  one  i'  wor 
cheps,  an  Irishman ;  they  cawld  him  Patrick,  but  aw  cawld  him 
Mick  for  shortness.  He  wadent  wait  for  the  finish,  altho'  he 
backed  Bob ;  so  aw  hailed  him,  "  Hie,  Mick,  whe's  forst  ?  "  '*  Go 
to  blazes  I  "  says  he.  **  Nonsense,  Mick ;  whe's  forst  ?  "  **  Och, 
sure,"  says  he,  "  the  Londin  man  was  forst  half-way  before  the 
race  was  quarther  over."  *'  Had  on,  Mick,  that's  a  bull.  Did  ye 
lay  owt  on  tiv  him — aw  mean  Bob?"  "  By  my  sowl,  I  did  !  an* 
I'd  like  to  lay  this  lump  ov  a  stick  on  his  dhirty  cocoa-nut.  The 
next  time  I  speculate  on  floatin'  praporty  may  I  be  sthruck  wid  a 
button  on  my  upper  lip  as  big  as  a  clock  face."  '*  But  Chambers 
is  forst  ! "  says  aw.  *'  Arrah  !  de  ye  mane  to  say  that  ?  "  says  he. 
"Didn't  aw  tell  ye  he*d  win  afore  iver  he  started?"  "  Hurroo! 
more  power !  fire  away ! " 

Chorus, 
Pull  away,  pull  away,  pull  away,  boys. 

Pall  away,  boys,  se  cliver ; 
Pull  away,  pull  away,  pull  away,  boys. 
Chambers  for  iver  1 
CORVAN.  Author^s  Manuscript,  1862. 


THE  DEETH  O'  CUCKOO  JACK. 

John  Wilson  (better  known  by  the  more  familiar  cognomen  of  "  Gockoo 
Jack,"  which  he  derived  from  his  father,  who  made  "Cackoo"  dockaX 
noted  for  his  skill  in  recovering  the  bodies  of  the  drowned,  died  December 
2nd,  1860,  aged  68. 

First  Air—"  Chant," 
In  wor  celebrated  metropolis  o'  the  north,  Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne, 
A  scuUorsman  leev'd,  ca'd  Cuckoo  Jack,  a  genus  o'  the 
grapplin  line. 


TYNESJDE  SONGS.  429 

The  soorce  o'  Coaly  Tyne  an'  all  its  curose  channels 

well  he  knew, 
So  local  fame  suin  crooned  the  nyem  o'  famous  aud 

"  Cuckoo." 
His  skill  was  greet  in  bringing  up  the  deed,  still  what 

mair  odd  is, 
Tis  said  he  little  cared  for  sowls,  so  he  but  got  the 

bodies ; 
But  noo  aw'U  end  this  little  rhyme,  to  chant  his  dyin' 

strain, 
Confident  that  aud  Cuckoo's  like  we'll  niver  see  again. 

Second  Air—**  Poor  Mary  Anne." 
November  winds  blaw  cawd,  maw  hinny ! 

Deeth  follows  on  mee  track  \ 
The  fall'n  snaws  will  shrood  me  hinny, 
Thou's  loosin'  Cuckoo  Jack. 
Ta,  ta,  ti  pay ;  ta,  ta,  ti  penshin ;  maw  ill  deeds,  nibors, 

niver  mention. 
But  elways  speak  wi'   gud    intenshin   'boot  poor  aud 
Cuckoo  Jack. 

Third  Air—**  Keel  Row." 
Fareweel  tiv  a'  me  cronies,  Keeside  and  Sandgate  Jonies, 
For  aikin  ivery  bone  is,  i'  this  aud  skin  o'  mine. 
Deed  bodies  frae  the  river  aw've  often  tyun  oot  cliver, 
Maw  equal  ther  wes  niver  for  grapplin  Coaly  Tyne. 

Fourth  Air—**  Down  among  the  Dead  Men." 
Luika  here,  luika  here,  doon  belaw,  doon  belaw, 
Pull  away,  lads,  pull  away,  lads,  awVe  huiked  him — 

(less  jaw !) 
This  chep  myeks  a  hundred  and  siventy-nine 
Deed  bodies  aw've  fund  in  the  Coaly  Tyne. 


430  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

AVs  gannin  noo,  so  frinds,  good-bye — 

Doon  amang  the  scullormen,  doon  amang  the  scuUor- 

men, 
Doon,  doon,  doon,  doon,  doon  amang  the  scuUormen 

Let  Cuckoo  lie. 
Aw  mun  rest  wi'  the  rest  that  aw  fund  for  my  fee, 
An'  aw  hope  that  aud  Nick  winnet  grapple  for  me ; 
Let  maw  eppytaff  be,  **  Here  lies  on  his  back 
The  chep  that  fund  the  droon'd  men,  Cuckoo  Jack." 

Aw's  gannin  noo,  etc. 
CORTAN.  Auikor't  Mamueriptt  1862. 


ISrOR   TYNESIDE   CHAMPIONS. 

TUNB— "BiUyNatB." 

The  Cockneys  say  uz  keelmen  cheps  hez  nowther  sense 

nor  larnin'. 
An'  chaff  aboot  wor  tawk,  the  fuils ;  but,  faix,  they've  got 

a  warn  in' ; 
They  thowt  wor  brains  wis  mixed  wi'  coals,  but  noo  a 

change  that  odd  is, 
Alang  wi'  coals  we  send  up  men  that  licks  the  Cockney 

bodies. 
Brave  Harry  Clasper  aVU  nyem  first  amang  wor  stars 

that  shine^  man. 
Lads !  here's  the  stroke  that  famis  myed  wor  canny  coaly 

Tyne,  man. 
{Imiiate  Harry  Clasper  in  position.) 

Chorus. 

TUNB—"  BlUy  Patterson." 

An'  aw'll  lay  maw  money  doon,  wi'  reet  gud  heart  and  will, 

Te  back  the  sons  o'  coaly  Tyne, — huzza  for  Tyneside  still  t 

May  Chambers  lang  his  laurels  keep,  wor  champion  o'the  world,  man ; 

His  bonny  rowin'  adds  fresh  fame  whene'er  his  flag's  unfurl'd,  man. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  431 

Of  runners,  tee,  we've  got  the  tips, — Tyne  bangs  the 

world  for  pacin', 
Gox !  White  and  Rowan,  champion  peds,  bangs  a'  the 

lot  for  racin' ; 
When  little  White  means  running  lads,  he's  shaped  in 

fine  condishin, 
He  dodg'd  te  get  the  start  like  this» — ^see  graceful  in 

position. 
{Imitate  the  start. )  Chorus  as  above. 

TUNB— "  Chant." 

When  pay-week  comes,  wor  collier  lads  for  the  toon  they 

a*  repair. 
Then  ower  the  moor,  an'  roond  the  coorse,  ye'U  fynd 

them  boolin'  there ; 
Hail,  rain,  or  blaw,  'mang  sleet  or  snaw,  ye'll  fynd  wor 

boolin'  men 
Watchin'  the  trig,  aw  moves  the  twig,  howe  I  let's  hev 

her  here  agyen. 

Saint,  wor  famis  champion,  with  his  bold  eye  keen  and 

clear. 
Like  leetnin'  sends  oot  mighty  thraws,  the  best  o'  men 

scarce  near ; 
Hollo  !  "  Pies  all  hot ! "  upon  the  spot,  ther're  suin  put 

oot  o'  seet ; 
**Some  mair  gravy,*'  cries  oot  yen;  "aw  say,  mistor,  d'ye 

mean  te  say  that's  meat  ? 

It's  mair  like  deed  pussey-cat " — war  the  bool  there — less 

gob! 
Six  te  fower  on  Broon — hie,  men !  six  te  fower  on  Broon 

agyen  the  Snob. 
War  the  bool  there,  war  the  bool  there,  Harry  Wardle's 

myed  a  throw ; 
An'  when  he  hoyed  his  bool  away  he  stood  just  so — 
(Imitate position,)  Chorus  as  above. 


432  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Tune—"  Bob  and  Joan." 
Wor  champion  quoit  players  here   thor    match    ye'll 

seldom  meet  with, 
For  ony  length  ye  like,  ye'll  fynd  men  te  compete  with, 
For  quoits  we've  famis  been  since  Julius  Seasor  landed ; 
Man,  for  generations  doon  the  gam's  been  duly  handed. 
McGregor  plays  weel,  Lambert  weel  can  fling  her, 
But  Harle  shapes  like  this  when  puttin  on  a  ringer. 
{Position,) 

Chorus, 
An'  aw'U  lay  maw  money  doon,  wi'  reet  gud  heart  and  will, 
Te  back  the  sons  o'  coaly  Tyne, — huzza  for  Tyneside  still ! 
GOBYAN.  Autlwf9  Manuscript,  1862. 


THE   QUEEN   HAS   SENT   A   LETTER; 

OR,  THE   HARTLEY   CALAMITY. 

The  falling  of  the  large  beam  in  Hartley  Colliery,  on  the  16th  Januaiy 
1862,  closed  up  the  shaft,  in  consequence  of  which  204  men  and  boys  lost 
their  lives. 

Tune—"  No  Irish  need  Apply." 

Oh  !  bless  the  Queen  of  England,  who  sympathy  doth 

show, 
Toward  our  stricken  widows  amid  their  grief  and  woe ; 
Old  England  never  had  her  like,  nor  never  will  again. 
Then  bless  good  Queen  Victoria,  ye  loyal-hearted  men. 
She  sent  a  letter  stating — "  I  share  your  sorrows  here,*' 
To  soothe  the  aching  hearts  of  all  and  dry  the  widow's 

tear. 

Above  two  hundred  miners  are  numbered  with  the  dead, 
Whose  wives  and  children  ne'er  shall  want  their  bit  of 

daily  bread ; 
And  while  death's  shadow  overhangs  the  miner's  cot 

with  gloom, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  433 

Let  us  calm  the  widow's  heaving  breast  for  those  laid  in 

the  tomb ;  < 

And  ye  that  round  your  glowing  fires  "life's  comforts 

daily  share, 
Think  of  the  helpless  orphans  and  widows  in  despair. 

We  have  heroes  from  the  Redan  and  Ihkerman  as  well, 
Whose  deeds  of  daring  on  the  field  a  nation's  thanks 

can  tell ; 
But  did  they  face  the  deadly  stythe,  where  scarce  a 

single  breath 
Held  life  to  face  eternity  to  rescue  life  or  death ! 
Show  me  the  page  in  history  where  deeds  heroic  shine 
More  bright  than  our  Northumbrian  men,  the  heroes  of 

the  mine. 

The  collier's  welfare,  as  he  toils,  more  interest  might 

command 
Among  the  wealthy  owners  and  rulers  of  the  land. 
Are  they  like  beasts  of  burthen,  as  Roebuck  once  did 

rave, 
Will  government  in  future  strive  the  collier's  life  to  save  ? 
Why  should  the  worn-out  collier  amid  his  abject  gloom 
Eke  out  the  life  his  Maker  spared  to  share  the  pauper's 

doom  ? 

God  speed  the  hardy  collier,  and  Coulson's  gallant  band. 
Who  braved  the  perils  of  the  shaft  with  willing  heart 

and  hand ; 
And  ye  that  add  to  store  the  hive  and  feed  the  fatherless. 
May  He  that  watches  o'er  all  things  your  earthly  pros- 
pects bless. 
The  weeping  and  the  wailing  of  widows  let  us  end. 
And  with  our  Queen  let  all  men  see  we  are  the  widow's 
friend. 

28 


434  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

The  sailor  on  the  stormy  sea  life's  perils  often  share, 
Our  soldiers  'mid  the  battle's  strife  what  man  can  do 

they  dare ; 
Yet  both  have  got  a  chance  for  life,  but  ah !  the  miner's 

doom, 
'Twas  sad  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  death  closed  in  the  living 

tomb. 
Then  man  to  man,  with  heart  and  hand,  let  us  still  help 

each  other, 
With  generous  impulse  to  relieve  a  sister  or  a  brother. 

Oh  I  gather  round,  ye  generous  band,  whose  bounty 
caused  a  smile 

To  'Hume  the  face  of  dark  despair  throughout  old  Eng- 
land's isle. 

Ye  have  ta'en  the  gloom  from  sorrow  where  rays  of  love 
will  fall 

On  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  who  pray  "  God  bless 
you  all!" 

For  the  Queen  has  sent  a  letter,  tho'  she  mourns  a 
husband  dear, 

To  soothe  the  aching  hearts  of  all  and  dry  the  widow's 
tear. 

CORVAN.  A%Mwi*6  Uanuneri^  1862. 


THE   QUEEN'S    ITISIT    TO    CHERBOURG. 

Tune—"  The  Sly  Old  Fox.* 

Now  Louis  Napoleon,  by-the-bye, — Tol  lol,  etc. 

With  great  success  a  game  did  try, — Tol  lol,  etc. 

Our  gracious  Queen,  admired  by  all, 

Forgot  herself,  and  deigned  to  call 

With  an  august  assembly  got  up  for  a  stall. 

Ri  tol  de  dol  lol,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  435 

No  Other  crowned  heads  did  he  invite, — Tol  lol,  eta 
His  game  being  to  gammon  John  Bull  at  the  sight, — 

Tol  lol,  etc. 
For  ages  past  Kings,  one  by  one, 
And  Emperors  toiled,  being  bent  upon 
Showing  up  Britain  as  well  as  Vauben. — Tol  lol,  etc. 

TuwB— "  Spider  and  the  Fly." 

"Will  you  come  into  my  Cherbourg?*'  sly  Louis  he  did 

say — 
That  is,  he  telegraphed,  or  else  sent  word  some  other 

way; 
"Mind,   bring  Field-Marshal  Albert — we'll  receive  all 

with  tclat — 
Your  Majesty  and  Ministers,  so  Victoria,  bonswa^ 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you  come  in,  British 

Queefi?" 

Tune—"  Far,  far  upon  the  Sea." 

All  arrangements  being  made  for  this  regal  masquerade, 

O'er  the  bright  blue  waters  nobly  on  we  go. 
With,  our  noble  Channel  Fleet,  well  manned,  and  fit  to 
meet 
A  friend  upon  the  ocean,  or  a  foe. 
Twas  thus  they  left  our  shores,  where  a  British  lion  roars 

Far,  far  above  the  thunder  of  the  seas, 
Where  Neptune's  briny  throng  in  triumph  bears  along 
Old  England's  flag,  that  ever  braves  the  battle  and  the 
breeze. 

Will  you  come  into,  etc. 

TUNH—"  Jonathan  Brown.'* 

Now  a  very  true  story  Fm  going  to  tell. 

Well  founded  on  fact,  and  you  all  know  it  well : 

While  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert  sailed  along  in  their 

yacht, 
Albert  says,  "Vat's  his  game,  Vic — vat  can  he  be  at?" 

With  his  durable  dum  deary,  etc. 


436  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

"  Don't  speak'so  loud,  dear  Aly  if  yoii  please, 
For  MoUykojff's  trying  to  cop  every  sneeze." 
Now  the  guns  commenced  firing,  they  landed,  and  then 
Napoleon  seized  Viccy^  paying,  "Velcome,  mine  frien." 

With  his  dumble  dnm  deary,  etc 

"  Dere's  my  maritime  wonder,*'  in  their  ears  he  did  bawl, 
"And  dis  is  my  new  naval  arsenal;" 
Then  he  showed  them  all  round  this  monstrous  plan, 
And  about  our  defences  to  talk  he  began. 

With  his  dumble  dam  deary,  etc. 

"You  very  mush  back  in  England,"  said  he. 
"But  we  ne'er  turn'd  our  baqks  yet,"  said  Viccy,  with  glee. 
"  Dis  is  very  large  gun,  Mrs.  Albert,  you  see." 
"  Yes  I  but  I've  larger  in  Woolwich,  so  it's  no  treat  to  me."" 
With  your  dumble  dum  deary,  etc. 

"  With  my  fleet  in  my  harbour  I'm  unequalled,  no  doubt, 
And  should  war  be  proclaimed  I  could  soon  fit  them  out"" 
**  Ho,  ho !  that's  your  game !"  then  the  white  of  his  eye 
Turned  round  as  the  Queen  said,  "  You^d  better  not  try'' 
With  your  dumble  dum  deary,  etc 

"  My  friends  were  not  pleased  with  your  queer  British 

laws; 
And  I,  too,  thought  Barnard*  all  but  in  my  claws. 
Chop  de  heads  ojff  such  men."    Says  the  Queen,  "-4A 

mon  dieUf 
If  we  harbour  assassins,  we  once  harboured  you." 

With  your  dumble  dum  deary,  etc 

*  Barnard,  .a  French  refugee,  tried  in  London  for  being  an  acoomplioe  of 
Orsini  in  the  attempt  on  the  Emperor  Napoleon's  life ;  he  waa  acquitted. 


TYNESIDE  SOUGS.  437 

"  Then  let  u^  be  friends,  Vic ;  for,  when  once  unfurled, 
Our  flags,  still  united,  can  conquer  the  world ; 
I  adore  Allpion's  Isle^—may  ill  ne'er  beset  it." 
Says  Vic,  "5i7  did-^our  uncle:  he  tried  hard  for  to  get  it." 

With  his  dumble  dum  deary,  etc. 

May  our  Queen  take  a  hint  fronv  this  Emperor's  boast, 
And  strengthen  old  England,  as  needs  round  the  coast ; 
For  if  we  wish  to  have  peace,  I  dare  venture  to  say, 
Be  ready  for  war,  lads-^that's  the  true  and  best  way. 

TONB— "Lucy  NeaL" 

Ye  loyal  hearts  in  Briton's  Isle,  who  ever  true  have  been 
To  honour's  cause  and  England's  laws,  now  shout  **God 

save  the  Queen ! " 
And  may  her  Majesty  and  those  connected  with  the  State 
Look  a  little  more  at  home  before  it  is  too  late. 
Prepare  our  wooden  walls — ^prepare  our  wooden  walls ; 
We  must  complete  our  Channel  Fleet — 'tis  threatening 

danger  calls. 
Britannia,  rouse  thy  slumbering  lion,  and  let  all  nations 

t  know 
We  are  prepared  for  peace  or  war— to  meet  a  friend  or 

foe. 
Let  no'vile  hypocrite  assume  that  Britpns  dread  to  meet 
Napoleon  or  his  Cherbourg  forts,  while  floats  oui:  Channel 

Fleet 

Spoken, — And  while  we  enjoy  peace  and  good- will  with  our 
neighbours  on  the  opposite  side. of. the  Channel,  let  us-at  the  same 
time,  with  manly  hearts  and  feelings  of  patriotic  zeal,  sing — 

"Rule  Britannia;"— i^Vitf/^, 

COEVAN.  ^■"  ''    Author't  MantueHpttl8e2, 


438  TYNESJDE  SONGS. 

STAGE-STRUCK   KEELMAN. 

TUNB— "  Bob  and  Joan.* 

AVs  Jimmy  Julius  Hannibal  Caesar, 

A  genius  born  for  shootin* ; 
Aw  can  recite  Hamlick  and  King  Dick, 

Man,  aVs  the  lad  for  spootin\ 

Spoken, — Besides,  aw's  an  awther.  Aw  wrote  a  play  entitled 
**  The  Flash  o'  Thunder ;  or.  The  Desolate  Tree  by  the  Roadside, 
an'  the  Lonely  Man  o'  the  Lonely  MiU  o'  the  Blasted  Heath,  an'  the 
Fower-eyed  Murderer.**  It's  in  fowerteen  acts  land  a  half.  The 
music's  a'  'ranged  by  Frederick  Jimmy  Apollo  Lumphead  for  nine 
gugaws.     Aw'll  recite  a  dark  passage  oot  on't,  as  a  specimen. 

Scene  1st.— A  Coal  Pit — Blue  Mountains  in  the  distance  (well 
say  the  mountains  is  in  America). 

'Twas  a  dark  neet— a  varry  dark  neet ;  the  sun  peeped  oot  before 
the  skies ;  the  wind  fell  in  fearful  torrents ;  the  cloods  fell  te  the 
arth ;  and  the  cuddies  turned  thor  backs  on  the  comin'  storm,  an' 
wi'  thor  melodious  noise  gov  a  tarrific  he  ha  I  he  ha !  he  ha ! 
'Twas  then  aw  porsued  maw  way  bi  the  Blasted  Heath — medytatin', 
codgetatin',  and  silly  quisin',  when  sumthing  seized  me — a  caud 
swet  com  ower  me  sleeved  waistket  Aw  fell  doon  insensible  ;  an* 
when  aw  recuvered,  aw  observed  the  Fower-eyed  Murderer  gazin* 
upon  me.  Aw  seized  him  an'  cast  him  forth  inte  the  boilin'  het 
caud  watter.  At  that  excitin'  moment  aw  flew  towards  the  Aud 
Abbey.  Hush  1  what  was  that  ?  Hark  !  I  see  a  voice  !  No,  no, 
'tis  the  wind  whistlin'  the  air  1  In  this  tent  I'll  pitch  my  field ! 
O  let  me  behold  the  green  fields  o'  Sandgate — the  blue  mountains 
of  Gyetshead  and  Jarrow — the  Tripe  Market,  where  youthftil  fiancy 
guided  maw  three-happence  a  week  pocket-brass  1  Egstacyl  A 
shooer  o'  black  puddins  thickens  maw  imaginashun  1  L^ht  lights  \ 
Richard's  himself  agyen  I 

For  I'm  Jimmy,  etc. 

Play-acting's  maw  delight, 

Aw's  called  the  Sandgate  Spooter; 
Besides,  the  plays  aw  write 

Myeks  me  an  oot-an'-ooter. 
Love  scenes,  an'  murders  tee, 

Aw  acts  them  up  te  natur ; 
The  cheps  upon  the  Kee  says 

Aw'll  turn  a  real  first-rater. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  439 

Spoken,— Yes^  aw've  anuther  play  entitled  "The  Two  Thick- 
headed Bruthers ;  or,  the  Life  and  Adventures  of  Three  Fardins' 
Worth  o'  Backey ;  or,  the  Keel  Bully's  Ghost."  Thor's  a*  kinds  o' 
characters  in't :  aw've  ghosts,  blue  fire,  reed  fire,  scufters,  doddle 
hunters,  organ  weavers,  cuiks,  an'  fower  comic  cheps.  Here's  a 
speech  a  bobby  myeks  te  one  o*  the  cuiks : — "  Celestial,  beautiful, 
divine  creature  1  star  of  my  fancy  1  staff  of  my  existence  1  lantern  of 
my  hope  !  let  me  stand  up  and  adore  thee  for  ever  on  my  knees  I 
Oh,  ye  crabs  and  fishes  1  let  me  spout  me  blues  1  Let  me  gaze  upon 
thee  !  O  horrible  agony  t  Thy  lovely  features — that  turnip  nose 
— them  saucer  eyes — ^thy  red  luxuriant  hair — thajt  figure — thy 
quarter's  wages — ^let  me^  clutch  thee  ! "  Make  way  there  !  'tis  the 
king  who  calls ! 

For  I'm  Jimmy,  etc. 

My  talent  will  be  seen, 

When  actin'  aw  begin,  sir ; 
For  awll  play  before  the  Queen 

Wi'  Charles  Kean  at  Windsor ; 
Aw's  sure  te  cut  him  oot. 

He'll  heh  nd  chance  wi'  me,  sir, 
For  when  she  heers  me  spoot, 

Thor's  nyen  like  me  will  please  her. 

Spoken. — Aw  just  think  she  sees  me  in  that  scene  in  Hamlick, 
where  the  ghost  cums — **  Angels  an*  ministers  of  grease  confend  us ! 
Be  thou  sum  sporits  of  earth  or  cobbler  damned ;  bring  ye  hares 
firae  Ravensworth  for  me  or  thee  to  sell;  thou  comest  in  such  a 
drunken  state,  aw'U  toss  thee  for  a  pint  o'  fowerpenny  1  He's 
waggin'  on  me ;  he  wants  te  play  at  skittles  at  the  Crystal  Palace  ! 
Gan  on — aw'U  follow  thee." 

For  I'm  Jimmy,  etc. 

COBVAN.  Author^i  EditUnK 


THE   SOOP   KITCHIW. 

TUNB— "Lilla's  a  Lady." 

The  soop  kitchin's  open — ^then  cheer,  Christians,  cheer ! 
What  glorious  news  for  poor  starvin'  sowls  here ! 
The  soop  kitchin's  open  for  a'  sorts  in  need ; 
So  rush  in  wi'  yor  tickets — ^ye'U  get  a  gud  feed. 


440  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

*  Chorus, 

t  O  fine,  het  steem  soop !    O  bliss  that  steem  soop ! 

Aw  likes  maw  drop  o'  soop ! 

It's  myed  oot  o'  beef  hofifs,  fine  barley,  an'  peas ; 
Smokin'  het,  it's  dilishus  te  sup  at  yen's  ease ; 
tt's  gud  for  the  rich,  an'  not  bad  for  the  poor; 
Gox  I  empty  kite  grumlers  it's  sartin  te  cure. 

Spoken* — ^Drop  that  spoon,  spooney  1  D'ye  want  te  myek  maw 
spoon  the  bone  o'  contenshun,  eh?  Bring  thischep  a  ladle, 
mistress,  an'  a  basin.  Next  the  bottom,  he  wants  sum  thick. 
What  a  wite  that  soop's  tyekin  frae  maw  mind  I  Begox !  it's  nin 
inte  the  channels  o'  maw  corporation;  an'  now  aw  feel  like  an 
alderman  efter  a  gud  feed !  It's  a  fine  institushin ;  it  suits  maw 
constitushin ;  an'  tir  onny  poor  sowl  in  a  state  o'  destitushin  it's  a 
charitable  contribushin.  Sum  people's  born  wi'  silver  spoons  i'  thor 
gobs,  but  it  strikes  me  mine's  been  a  basin  o'  soop.  They  enjoy  the 
luxeries  o'  this  world;  A — whey,  nivTer  mind — just  gi'e  me  the 
sweet  soond  o'  spoons  an'  basins.  That's  the  music  that  bids  me 
discorse  !    It  fills  me  wi'  delight  I    Thor's  nowt  can  lick't. 

Tune— "Merry  Haymakers." 

Then  a  song  an'  a  cheer  for  the  rich  spreed  o'  steem 

O'  the  soop  floatin'  roond  us  on  high; 
For  the  givers  an'  the  makers,  the  tickets  an'  the  Quakers, 

An'  subscribers  that  niwer  tip  shy. 
We  blaw  oot  wor  bags  on  the  cheep  iwery  day. 

While  happy  as  kings  there  we  mess ; 
Gox !  us  poor  starved  sowls  niwer  heed  the  wind  that 
howls. 

For  close  roond  the  tyebles  we  press. 

TuNB—"  Cameron  Men." 

Roond  tyebel  and  benches  the  bullies  they  stick, 

A'  cled  in  thor  feedin'  array; 
Sum  coolin';het  soop,  uthers  fishin*  foi-  thick, 

Uthers  Waititf  thor  torns  i'  dismay. 


TYNESIDB  SONGS.  441. 

Then  we  heir  the  spoons  rattlin*,  ratfhn*,  rattlin', 

We  hear  them  agyen  an'  agyen ; 
Thor  knockin'  thor  basons  an"  brattlin', 

'Tis  the  voice  o' the  brave  Sandgit  men. 

Bob  Johnson  cries,  "  How !  becrike,  men,  what's  that  ?  " 
Wiv  his  spoon  raised  up  high  for  te  view ; 

"  Begum !  it's  a  rat,  or  a  greet  lump  o'  fat " — 
Says  Ranter,  "  It's  mebbies  sum  stew  I " 

Then  we  hear  the  spoons  rattlin',  rattlin',  rattlin', 

Ye  hear  them  agyen  an*  agyen ; 
"Shuv  the  salt  roond  1 "  aw  hear  sum  chaps  prattlin', 

'Tis  the  voice  o'  the  brave  Keeside  men. 

The  Paddies  flock  in  wi'  the  rest  iv  a  trice, 

Then  doon  to  thor  basins  they  stoop : 
Says  Mick,  "  It's  cock  turtle ! "    Says  Barney,  "  It's  nice ! 

Made  from  raal  Irish  bulls — O  what  soop ! " 

spoken, — "Long  life  t'  the  soop  kitchin!"  says  Mick.  "An* 
hi  wen  be  his  bed  thit  invinted  it  1 '  says  Barney.  "  What's  this?" 
says  Mick.  "  Och  I  it's  only  a  bone.  Be  jabers  I  I  thought  it  was 
a  lump  of  lane  bafe.     Some  moor,  misthress  ! " 

Then  ye  hear  the  spoons  rattlin',  rattlin',  rattlin', 

Once  mair  ye  hear  them  agyen ; 
Ye  hear  them  prattlin',  prattlin',  prattling- 

'Tis  the  voice  o'  the  Callaghan  men. 

The  Sandies,  frae  Scotland,  they  join  i'  the  group, 

Sweerin'  oatmeal's  oot-dune  wi*  sic  stuff. 
As  wi'  gud  Heelin'  stamocks  they  swalley  the  soup 

In  thor  wames,  till  they  scarcely  can  puff.     . 

5^^>&^«.-^" It's  capital  stuff,  Sandy;  and  vera  economical."  "A 
<:apital  iremalrk,'*  says  Watty.  .    .    '  ' 


44a 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Then  ye  hear  the  spoons  rattlin',  rattlin',  rattlin', 

Ye  hear  them  agyen  and  agyen ; 
Ye  hear  them  prattlin'  an'  prattling 

'Tis  the  voice  o*  the  Cameron  men. 

CORYAN.  Authot's  Edition, 


THE  HIGH  LEYBL  BRIDGE,  NEWCASTLE-UPON-TTNE.     LENGTH,  1337  FEET. 
HEIGHT,  112  FEET.     OPENED  AUGUST  16TH,  1&&9. 


THE   HIGH   LEITEL  AN'   THE   AUD   BRIDGE. 

A  COMIC  IMAGINARY  DIALOGUE. 

Tune-"  rd  be  a  Butterfly." 
Won  caud  winter's  neet,  man,  the  leetnin'  was  flashin*, 
And  the  wind  through  the  High  Level  Bridge  loud 
did  squeel ; 
The  neet  was  pick-dark,  an'  the  waves  they  were  dashin', 

Man,  we'd  sair  tues  amang  us  to  manage  wor  keel. 
But  amang  a'  the  thunder  what  myed  wor  lads  wonder, 
Wis  the  High  Level  Bridge  to  the  Aud  Bridge  bawl  out— 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  443 

Tune-"  Marble  Halls." 

**  O I  ye  crazy  Aud  Bridge,  ye'll  suin  be  puU'd  down, 

An'  yor  styens  in  the  river  be  hurled ; 
Yor  nee  ornament,  noo,  but  disgracin'  wor  toon, 

Luk  at  me — aw's  the  pride  o'  the  world. 
Hoo  noble  am  I,  reachin'  up  ti  the  sky, 

Lukin'  down  on  a  humbug  belaw ; 
There's  yor  blynd  men  an'  cadgers  stoppin'  folks  passin'by. 

An'  yor  Piperget  wives  wi'  thor  jaw." 

Spoken, — An'  a  tidy  lot  o'  gob  they  hev ;  just  gie  them  an  aud 
button  for  a  happorth  o'  mince  tripe,  an*  ye'U  get  some  tongue  into 
the  bargain.  But,  tawkin'  o'  the  row  tween  the  two  Bridges. 
Goggle-eyed  Tommy  heard  them  fightin'  aside  Lemington ;  and 
when  aw  gat  aside  the  Meadows  aw  hears  the  High  Level  say  ti  the 
Aud  Bridge — **  Yor  neebody,  poor  aud  fellow."  Just  at  that  time, 
Jack  Gilroy  says  ti  the  High  Level — **  Shut  up,  lang  legs."  That 
nerved  the  Aud  Bridge ;  he  showed  iight,  an'  walked  into  the  High 
Level  in  the  foUowin'  style  : — 

Tune—"  Fine  Old  English  Gentleman.** 

**Shut  up,  shut  up  yor  skinny  jaws,"  the  Aud  Bridge 

then  did  shoot ; 
"For  if  thou's   yung,  Mistor  High  Level  Bridge,  just 

mind  what  thou's  aboot. 
An'  dinnet  wag  yor  jaws  ower.  fast,  like  the  men  o' 

modern  days ; 
Just  tyek  advice  fra  a  poor  aud  bridge,  an'  drop  off  a' 

self-praise. 

Chorus. 
**  But  mind  yor  locomotive  things,  an'  let  an  aud  bridge  be. 

"  Wor  Cassel  Garth,  where  snips  an'  snobs  wi*  maid  an* 

frinds  did  mee^ 
YeVe  caused  to  be  pulled  doon,  ye  knaw,  and  banish'd 

oot  o'  seet 
Luk  doon  on  me,  lang  sparrow  shanks,  ye  half-bred, 

mean  young  pup, 
If  ye  thraw  yor  engines  doon  on  me,  aw*!!  thraw  some 

aud  keels  up. 

But  mind,  etc. 


444  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

*•  Before  iver  ye  wpr  thout  on,  man,  awVe  stood  here  i' 

maw  pride, 
An*  lettin  fokes  wawk  ower  me  'tween  the  Bottle  Bank 

and  Side; 

Besides  ye  charge  a  happenhy,  yor  level's  dearly  bowt, 

Man,  aw  stand  maw  grund  es  weel  as  thou,  an'  let  fokes 

ower  for  nowt. 

But  mind,  etc. 

V  When  aw  wis  young  we  had  ne  jajls  or  bastiles  i'  the 

toon. 
Nor  poUis  wi'  thor  greet  big  staffs,  ti  knock  a  poor  sowl 

doon; 
But  noo  the  mairch  of  intellect  an'  scientific  ways, 
Hez  tyen  away  wor  good  aud  times — we  sigh  for  better 

days." 

Spoken,— ^'Tyto^  off  tawkin*  about  sighin',"  says  Jack.  "  Shut 
up,"  says  Ralphy  L — tie  on  the  top  o'  the  Mansion  House,  "or  aw'll 
wawk  ye  byeth  oflf  ti  the  kitty. "  There  wad  hae  been  manslawter  if  it 
hadA't  been  for  Ralphy ;  but  the  Aud  Bridge  kend  him ;  they'd 
gyen  to  the  Jubilee  Skeul  together  when  they  war  lads.  Says  the 
Aud  Bridge,  "What  are  ye  gari  ti'  hev?"  "Oh,"  says  Ralphy, 
"  a  bottle  o'  soda  watter  an'  half  a  glass  o'  brandy  in't"  'Twas  an 
awful  dark  neet,  aw  mind ;  that  dark  we  cuddent  see  what  we  war 
tawkin'  about.  Howsever,  we  byeth  escaped,  an'  away  we  went 
singin' — 

Weel  may  the  keel  row,  etc 


CAT-GUT   JIM,  THE   FIDDLER. 

TuNB— "  And  sae  vffl  we  yet." 

Aw'm  Cat-^ut  Jim,  the  fiddler,  a  man  o'  greet  reiioon,    . 
Aw  play  te  myek  me  livin,  lads,  in  country  an'^  i'  toon; 
Tiv  ivery  fair  an'  iy^ry  feast  wi'  maw  fiddle  zSff  repair : 
Gox  I  where  thor's  ony  fun  or  sport  thoii's  sure  te  fynd 
..   me  there. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  445 

Chorus,  :        •» 

For  aw  drive  away  dull  care,  aw  drive  away  dull  care. 
So  pattoilise  poor  Cat-gut  Jim  when  ye've  ony  cash  te  spare.; 

Aw'll  play  ye  ony  tuen,  ye, like,  aw'll  play  ye  "Cheer, 

boys,  cheer,*'     •        . 
Or  te  try  an'  keep  yor  spirits  up,  aw'll  play  the  "  Drop 

o'Beer," 
The  "  Deevil  amang  the  Tailors,"  "  Peggy  Pickin  doon 

the  Shore," 
The  "  Lass  that  loves  a  Sailor,"  an*  mony  a  dozen  more. 

For  aw  drive  away,  etc. 

Aw  play  "Mary  Blane,"  an'  "Lucy  Neal,"  wi'  "Poor 

old  Uncle  Ned," 
"  O !  Nanny,  wilt  thou  gang  wi*  me,"  "  Scots  wha  hae 

wi' Wallace  bled  ^'; 
Aw  play  "McCloud's"  reel  beautiful^  "What  are  ye 

gawn  te  stand?" 
The  "Keel  Row,"  shaken  a'  te  rags  o'er  thfa  happy, 

unhappy  land. 

Spoken. — Ony  thing,  frev  an  elephant's  trunk  tiv  a  lucifer  match- 
box. Uz  street  fiddlers  fynds  times  queer  just  noo — customers  bad 
te  fynd— but  iv  a*  the  customers  aw  meet  gie  me  the  sailors,  them's 
the  boys ! — the  bulwarks  ov  owld  England.  Aw*m  a  sailor ;  ye 
can  see  by  the  cut  o'  me  jib.  Aw  sarved  me  time  to  be  a  ship- 
owner aboard  o'  the  Dredger — what  a  gnn-boat  the  Dredges  'id 
myek — when  they  run  short  o'  cannon-balls  they  cud  fire  ooal- 
skuttles  at  the  enemy.  An*  then  they're  always  weel  supplied  wi' 
Newcastle  amonishen — clarts.  Aw  knaw  a  vast  aboot  the  sea»  but 
the  next  time  aw  gan  it'll  be  iv  a  cab.  Yes,  aw'U  hev  a  luik  at  it. 
Still,  aw'm  fond  o'  sailors;  when  aw  sees  yen  aw  generally  play 
"  Far  upon  the  Sea."  {Play  the  tune  named  here.)  When  aw  see 
an  Irishman — them's  the  boys,  Hatre  genus  /«^«— they'll  gie  ye 
tuppence  if  they  hevent  a  fardin'  i'  thor  pockets.  Aw  generally 
play  them  the  "  Exile  of  Erin"  an'  "  Patrick's  Day."  One's  full 
o'  human  nater,  an'  the  other's  full  o'  shillalahs  an'  life  porsarvers— 
them's  the  things  for  layin  a  foundation  for  stickin  plaister.  (Plays 
the  airs  mentioned.)  When  aw  see  a  Scotchman  aw  play  "  Auld 
Robin  Gray  "  on  the  bagpipes,  efter  the  style  o'  Sir  Colin  Campbell, 


446 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


**  Ye  Deil's  Buckie."  (Play  here,)  But  when  aw  join  the  fishwives 
— ^them's  the  boys  I — aw  play  sthem  "  Pop  goes  the  Weasel,"  efter 
the  style  o*  Sir  Walter  Railly  when  he  tossed  a  chow  o'  baccy  at 
Queen  Elizabeth.     (Plays.) 

Chorus, 

For  aw  drive  away  dull  care,  aw  drive  away  dull  care. 

So  patronise  poor  Cat-gut  Jim  when  yeVe  ony  cash  te  spare. 

CORVAN.  Avihoi'a  Manuscript,  1862. 


GEORGE   RIDLEY 

Was  a  native  of  Gateshead,  in  which  town  he  was  bom  on 
the  loth  of  February  1835.  At  the  early  age  of  eight  years 
our  future  rhymer  was  sent  to  Oakwellgate  Colliery  as  a 

trapper-boy.  After  but  a  brief 
stay  at  Oakwellgate,  he  went 
to  the  Goose  Pit,  or,  accord- 
ing to  its  more  familiar  name, 
"  The  Gyuess."  There  he  re- 
mained ten  years.  He  next 
went  to  Messrs.  Hawks,  Craw- 
shay,  &  Co.,  as  a  waggon- 
rider,  and  remained  there  about 
three  years ;  an  accident,  which 
nearly  terminated  fatally, 
bringing  his  connection  mih 
that  firm  to  an  abrupt  termina- 
tion. 
k.^.  -       While  riding,  as  usual,  his 

i  .       ^^^  1   train  of  waggons   down  the 

t^^ ^Jll^       _^      J    incline  (upon  which  his  duties 

principally  lay),  by  some  break- 
age or  mishap,  the  waggons  became  unmanageable,  and, 
being  no  longer  under  control,  rushed  at  a  great  speed  down 
the  incline.  To  save  himself  as  much  as  possible  from  the 
danger  threatening,  George  jumped  from  his  stand  on  the 
runaway  waggons,  but,  in  doing  so,  he  unfortunately  got 
himself  severely  crushed  and  injured. 

For  a  long  time  he  lay,  incapable  of  work  ;  and  when  at 
length  he  began  to  recover,  it  was  only  to  find  his  strength 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


AA1 


so  shattered  that  anything  like  regular  work  he  was  totally 
unfitted  for.  Being  thus  forced  to  seek  a  new  means  of 
earning  a  livelihood,  he  fell  back  upon  his  powers  as  a 
singer,  more  especially  of  Irish  comic  and  old  Tyneside 
songs  (in  which  he  excelled);  and  thus  was  forced  by 
accident  into  the  path  which  afterwards  led  him  to 
such  a  widespread  popularity  in  the  North.  His  first 
professional  engagement  was  at 
the  Grainger  Music  Hall,  where 
he  brought  out  his  first  local 
song,  "Joey  Jones."  This,  with 
the  humour  with  which  he  in- 
vested it,  and  the  local  popu- 
larity of  the  subject  (Joey 
Jones  having  just  then  won 
the  Northumberland  Plate), 
was  a  great  success.  At  the 
Wheat-sheaf  Music  Hall  (now 
the  Oxford),  his  next  en- 
gagement, he  was  equally  suc- 
cessful ;  and,  when  engaged  at 
the  Tyne  Concert  Hall  (at  that 
time  just  opened  by  Mr. 
Stanley),  he  produced  perhaps 
his  greatest  success,  "Johnny 
Luik-Up  the  Bellman."  The 
subject  of  this  song  being  so 
well  known,  and  George,  imitat- 
ing his  peculiarities,  and  dress- 
ing in  character,  his  success 
was  unbounded.  It  is  needless 
to  detail  his  engagements  at 
the  various  concert  halls  in  the  Ridley  as  "The  Bobby  Cure." 
North.  Everywhere  he  was  a  (The  cut  which  he  had  on  his  penny 
favourite.     Cheap   qditions   of  Song  Books.) 

his  songs  were  printed,  and  had  a  large  sale  ;  "The  Bobby 
Cure"  (said  to  be  a  hit  at  a  member  of  the  police  force) 
and  "Johnny  Luik-Up"  being  especial  favourites,  the 
children  singing  them  as  they  ran  about  the  streets. 

In  the  midst  of  this  success,  after  a  short  public  career 
of  about  five  years,  his  health  began  seriously  to  fail.  He 
had  never  properly  cast  off  the  deadly  effects  of  the  accident 
at  Messrs.  Hawks',  the  severe  crushing  he  had  received  on 
that  occasion  undoubtedly  being  the  cause  of  his  illness, 


448 


TYNESWE  SONGS. 


which  rapidly  began  to  assume  a  dangerous  appearance. 
After  a  brief  struggle  of  little  more  than  three  months,  he 
died   at  his  residence  in  Grahamsley  Street,   Gateshead, 

on  Friday,  September  9tb, 
1864,  aged  30  years.  On 
the  Sunday  following,  he  was 
buried  at  St  Edmund's  Ceme- 
tery, a  large  number  of  his 
friends  and  admirers  fol- 
lowing his  remains  to  the 
grave. 

As  a  song-writer  it  cannot 
be  said  that  his  productions 
have  the  literary  merit  of  the 
older  Tyneside  writers;  but, 
considering  under  what  dis- 
advantages he  wrote,  his  pre- 
mature death,  and  how  httle 
fitted  his  early  life  was  to 
foster  literary  inclinations,  his 
songs  are  exceedingly  good. 
And  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  they  were  written  for  his 
own  purposes  as  a  concert 
.  hall  singer,  and  there  they  did 
sing.  At  the  present  time- 
eight  years  after  his  death— 
at  social  meetings  and  private 
parties,  where  his  songs  are 
often  sung,  they  never  fail  to 
please.  As  a  public  singer 
he  was  highly  gifted;  he 
possessed  a  fine  voice,  and, 
having  great  powers  of 
mimicry,  he  swayed  his 
audience  at  will ;  and  there 
is  little  doubt,  if  he  had  not 
fallen  at  the  opening,  as  it 
were,  of  his  career,  he  would 
have  left  a  still  more  indel- 
ible mark  as  a  Tyneside  song- 

RiDLET  AS  "Johnny  Luik-Up."    writer. 

Sketch  firom  1872  EdUiofL 

Joe  Wilson,  whose  acrostics  on  so  many  of  his  contem- 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  449 

poraries  have  already  appeared,  did  not  forget  Ridley.  In 
the  following  he  touches  upon  Ridley's  successes,  and  regrets 
his  early  death. 

ACROSTIC. 

R  eady  wes  he  wi'  the  •*  Bobby  Cure," 
I  n  Stanley's  Hall,  te  myek  secure 
D  elight  tiv  a'  the  patrons  there, 
L  iked  be  them  a', — but  noo,  ne  mair 
E  nlivenin  strains  frae  him  ye'll  hear, 
Y  e'U  knaw  ne  mair  poor  Geordy's  cheer. 


Photofi^phed  by  P.  M.  Laws. 


JOEY   JOKTES. 

Joey  Jones  won  the  Northumberland  Plate  at  the  Newcastle  Summer 
Meeting,  1861.  His  winning  was  a  great  surprise  to  the  public  generally, 
but  a  more  popular  victory  could  not  have  been  achieved,  bis  owners  being 
well-known  local  sportsmen,  who  landed  a  great  stake. 

Tune—"  Pat  of  Mullingar." 

Aw'm  gan  te  sing  te  ye  a  sang, 

If  ye'll  but  list  te  me. 
Aw  divent  intend  te  keep  ye  lang. 

An'  that  ye'll  plainly  see  ; 
It*s  all  aboot  young  Joey  Jones, 

He  wun  the  Northumberland  Plate, 
He  was  bred  at  Deckham  Hall, 

Just  up  throo  the  gate. 

Chorus, 
For  he  jogs  along,  he  canter'd  along, 

He  lick'd  them  all  se  fine  ; 
He  was  bred  at  Gateshead^ 
He's  the  pride  o'  Coaly  Tyne. 
29 


450  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Joey  ran  at  the  Spring  meetin', 

He  was  beaten  by  the  Jim, 
An'  Hadlow,  that  belangs  Gaylad, 

Said  Joey  wasn't  game ; 
So  they  sent  him  off  te  Richmond, 

They  knew  he  wasn't  right, 
Then  Watson  fetched  him  here, 

An'  gov  them  a  regular  Yorkshire  bite. 

Noo  when  the  horses  started. 

An'  was  comin'  past  the  stand, 
Sum  shooted  oot  for  Peggy  Taft, 

An*  sum  for  Underhand ; 
An'  when  they  reached  the  top  o'  the  hill, 

Doyle  heard  Tom  Aldcroft  say, 
"  Aw  dare  lay  a  fiver  that 

Aw  win  the  plate  the  day ! " 

Comin'  roond  the  Morpeth  turn, 

Joey  keepin'  up  his  fame, 
Says  Doyle  te  Tommy  Aldcroft — 

•* Noo  what's  yor  little  game?" 
Says  Aldcroft — "  Aw  mean  te  win 

The  plate  this  varry  day  ! " 
"Yes,  but,"  says  Doyle,  "  it's  Joey  Jones, 

A  fiver  aw  will  lay  ! " 

Number  eleven  was  puttin  up, 

The  people  stood  amazed, 
Fobert  he  luiked  varry  white. 

An'  Jackson  almost  crazed ; 
Little  Osborne  luik'd  for  his  Wildman, 

An'  Sharpe  for  Volatile, 
Doefoot  got  a  nasty  kick. 

An'  Joey  wun  in  style. 

Ridley.  Authm't  Manutcript,  1882. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  451 

BLAYDOW    RACES. 

Tune— "Brighton." 

Aw  went  to  Blaydon  Races,  'twas  on  the  ninth  of  Joon, 
Eileen   hundred  an'   sixty-two,    on   a  summer's    efter- 

noon ; 
Aw   tyuk   the  'bus  frae  Balmbra's,  an'   she  wis  heavy 

laden, 
Away  we  went  alang  CoUingwood  Street,  that's  on  the 

road  to  Blaydon. 

Chorus. 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin', 

We  pass'd  the  foaks  upon  the  road  just  as  they  wor  stannin* ; 
Thor  wes  lots  o'  lads  an'  lasses  there,  all  wi'  smiling  faces, 
Gawn  alang  the  Scotswood  Road,  to  see  the  Blaydon  Races. 

We    flew    past  Airmstrang's   factory,    and   up  to    the 

"Robin  Adair," 
Just  gannin  doon  te  the  railway  bridge,  the  'bus  wheel 

flew  off  there. 
The  lasses  lost  their  crinolines  off,  an'  the  veils  that  hide 

their  faces. 
An'  aw  got  two  black  eyes  an'  a  broken  nose  in  gan  te 

Blaydon  Races. 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin',  etc. 

When  we  gat  the  wheel  put  on  away  we  went  agyen, 

But  them  that  had  their  noses  broke,  they  cam   back 

ower  hyem ; 

Sum  went  to  the  dispensary,  an'  uthers  to  Doctor  Gibbs, 

An'  sum  sought  out  the  Infirmary  to  mend  their  broken 

ribs. 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin',  etc. 


452  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Noo  when  we  gat   to   Paradise  thor  wes  bonny  gam 

begun  ; 
Thor  wes  fower-and-twenty  on  the  'bus,  man,  hoo  they 

danced  an'  sung ; 
They  called  on  me  to  sing  a  sang,  aw  sung  them  "  Paddy 

Fagan," 

Aw  danced  a  jig  an'  swung  my  twig  that  day  aw  went  to 

Blaydon. 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin',  etc 

We  flew  across  the  Chain  Bridge  reet  into  Blaydon  toon, 
The  bellman  he  was  callin'  there — they  call  him  Jackey 

Brown ; 
Aw  saw  him  talkin'  to  sum  cheps,   an'   them  he  was 

pursuadin' 
To    gan    an'    see     Geordy    Ridley's     concert    in   the 

Mechanics'  Hall  at  Blaydon. 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin',  etc 

The  rain  it  poor'd  aw  the  day,  an*  myed  the  groons 

quite  muddy, 
Cofify  Johnny  had  a  white  hat  on — they  war  shootin' 

"Whe  stole  the  cuddy." 
There  wes  spice  stalls  an'  munkey  shows,  an'  aud  wives 

selling  ciders. 
An'  a  chep  wiv  a  happeny  roond  aboot  shootin'  "Now, 

me  boys,  for  riders." 

O  lads,  ye  shud  only  seen  us  gannin',  etc 
Ridley.  AxUhor^a  Manuscript^  1882. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  453 

CHAMBERS. 

Bobert  Chambers,  Champion  Sculler  of  the  World,  bom  at  St.  Anthony's, 
on  the  Tyne,  June  14, 1831 ;  died  at  St  Anthony's,  Jane  4, 1868,  aged  thirty- 
seven  years. 

Tune—*'  The  whole  hog  or  none." 

Now,  lads,  ye've  heerd  ov  Chambers, 

He's  bet  the  Asstrilyen  Green, 
For  pullin  a  skiff  there  is  ne  doot 

He's  the  best  ther's  Ivor  been. 
He  has  regular  locomotiv'  speed, 

He's  upright,  honest,  and  true, 
Wheniver  he  pulls  wiv  a  pair  ov  sculls 

Aw  puts  on  ivory  screw. 

Chorus, 
Oh,  ye  Cockneys  all, 

Ye  mun  think't  very  funny, 
For  Bob  he  gans  an'  licks  ye  all, 

An'  collars  a'  yor  money  ; 
Wheniver  he  rows,  he  always  goes 

The  whole  hog  or  none. 

Bob  struggled  hard  fra  been  a  bairn, 

'Fore  he  got  to  what  hee's  now, 
He  puddl'd  iv  Walker  Rowlin'  Mill, 

But  he's  puU'd  heessel  safe  throu' ; 
An'  aw  hope  each  job  he  tyeks  in  hand 

Hee'l  always  hev  fair  play. 
An*  think  a  number  one^that  is — 

Never  give  a  chance  away. 

Oh,  ye  Cockneys  all,  etc 

When  Bob  and  Greeney  pulled  thor  match. 

Green  went  away  in  style, 
He  tuik  the  lead  of  Bob  at  forst 

Till  they  got  abyun  a  mile. 


454  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

But  Harry  gov  Bob  the  office  then, 

Saying  aw'l  lay  ten  to  ite, 
The  Reporter  of  the  "Chronicle"  said 

That  Greeney  then  turned  white. 

Oh,  ye  Cockneys  all,  etc. 

Now  Bob's  licked  Green  and  Kelly  byeth, 

An'  White  an'  Everson  laid  law, 
An'  Cooper  he  put  Mackey  on, 

And  stopped  the  Cockney's  craw. 
This  Green  wad  fain  row  Bob  agyen. 

But  aud  Harry  he  wants  a  bigger  stake, 
They  munna  think  to  catch  him  asleep 

For  he's  always  wide  awake. 

Oh,  ye  Cockneys  all,  etc 

Tyek  Bob  all  in  all,  as  Shakespere  says. 

We'll  ne'er  see  his  like  agyen. 
He  waddant  de  an  unjust  thing 

To  hurt  poor  working  men ; 
Win  if  he  can,  it  is  his  plan. 

So  get  yor  money  on, 
For  whenivor  he  shows  he  always  goes 

The  whole  hog  or  none. 

Oh,  ye  Cockneys  all,  etc 
Ridley.  Axithjor'»  Manuscript,  1862. 


THE    SHEELS    LASS    FOR    ME. 

Tune—"  The  whole  hog  or  none." 

The  uthor  day  we  went  to  Tinmuth, 
Some  mair  young  cheps  and  me, 

An'  the  first  place  that  we  called  in 
Was  the  '*  Cottage  by  the  Sea." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  455 

There  was  a  young  lass  sitting, 

They  called  her  "  Nancy  Till," 
She  was  axin'  **  Aud  Bob  Ridley  " 

To  gan  and  hev  a  gill. 

Chorus, 
Oh,  ye  lasses  all,  the  truth  aw'll  tell  ye,  hinny, 
Tyneside's  the  place  where  the  lasses  are  se  bonny, 

An'  if  ever  aw  get  married, 

There's  a  Sheels  lass  for  me. 

Now  in  cum  **  Billy  Pattison  " 

Alang  wf  "  Minnie  Clyde," 
He  said,  just  "Wait  for  the  Waggon," 

An'  yell  all  get  a  ride. 
Then  in  cum  "  Annie  Laurie  " 

Alang  wi'  "  Robin  Grey"  ; 
The  "Jolly  Waggoner"  brought  in  "Doran's 
Ass," 

To  tyek  the  waggon  away. 

Ob,  ye  lasses  all,  etc. 

Then  in  comes  "  Peter  Gray" 

Wi'  "  Rosalie,  the  Prairee  Flower," 
An'  the  "  Young  Man  from  the  Country  " 

Alang  wi'  the  "Perfect  Cure." 
Next  in  comes  "  Nelly  Gray," 

She  was  singin'  "Dixe/s  Land," 
And  "  Widow  Machree  "  was  cryin' 

Oh !  "Tis  hard  to  give  the  hand." 

Oh,  ye  lasses  all,  etc. 

Then  in  cum  the  "Artful  Dodger," 
He  was  on  the  *'  Low  Backed  Car," 

He  was  gan  ti  "  Limerick  Races," 
Wi'  "PatofMullingar." 


456  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  in  comes  **  Gentle  Annie,*' 
She  was  singin'  "Ole  King  Cole/' 

"  Pat  Murphy  "  he  was  there  too, 
Just  come  from  the  "  Old  Bog  Hole." 

Oh,  ye  lasses  all,  etc 

The  "Young  Man  from  the  Country" 

Was  sittin'  on  the  floor, 
He  said  if  he'd  a  "  Ragged  Coat " 

He'd  "  Ask  for  nothing  more." 
"  There  is  a  Flower  that  bloometh,'* 

Tis  the  "Last  Rose  of  Summer"; 
"Ben  Bolt"  cried  from  the  "Old  Arm  Chair," 

"What's  a'  the  steer,  kimmer?" 

Oh,  ye  lasses  all,  etc 

The  next  aw  saw  "  John  Barleycorn," 

He  was  there  wi'  "  Nelly  Bly," 
She  sung  ''My  own,  my  guiding  star," 

And  "  No  Irish  need  apply." 
Now  it  was  "  So  early  in  the  morning," 

That  we  heard  the  "  Postman's  Knock," 
Then  we  all  sung  **  God  save  the  Queen," 

An'  the  company  up  was  broke. 

Oh,  ye  lasses  all,  etc 
RiDLBT.  Author's  Mantueript,  1862. 


THE   BOBBY   CURE. 

TuNB— "  The  Perfect  Care.* 

O,  LADS,  aw've  turned  a  bobby  noo, 

And  disn't  maw  dress  luk  neat ; 
AVve  a  greet  moosetash  abuve  me  gob, 

And  aw'm  on  the  Gyetshead  beat. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  457 

Noo  all  the  jobs  thor  is  aVve  tried, 

But  nyen  aw  can  endure, 
So  noo  aw've  joined  the  Gyetshead  force, 

And  the  kids  call  me  the  cure. 

Aw  mind  the  first  neet  that  aw  was  on, 

It  was  doon  in  Pipergate, 
An  Irish  row  had  started  there, 

Thinks  aw,  aw'll  knaw  mee  fate. 
Aw  rushes  doon  an'  collars  one. 

We  fell  in  a  common  sewer  \ 
As  aw  crawled  oot  the  kids  did  shoot, 

"Just  twig  poor  Bobby  the  cure." 

The  next  neet  aw  was  at  the  Bottle  Bank, 

Aw  was  on  for  a  reglar  spree ; 
There  aw  fell  in  win  a  nice  young  lass. 

She  went  inte  the  Goat  wi'  me. 
Noo  each  of  us  hez  a  glass  o'  rum,    ' 

At  her  expense,  yor  sure ; 
She  was  a  married  wife,  and  her  man  pop'd  in, 

An'  he  mug'd  poor  Bobby  the  cjure. 

Aw  huiked  it  off  win  a  sheepish  lurk. 

And  her  man  reported  me ;  \ 

The  inspector  com'  an'  says,  **  Noo,  Bobby, 

This  wark  it  winna  dee ! "  ) 

Aw  was  taken  before  the  committee, 

And  was  heavy  fined,  aw's  sure ; 
And  still  when  aw's  on  the  Oakwellgate  beat, 

The  kids  call  me  the  cure. 

The  next  neet  aw  was  on  the  Windmill  Hills, 

Forget  it  aw  niver  shall ;  / 

They  war  smashin'  the  windows  there  like  fun,  ^ 

And  pushin'  doon  the  wall. 


■J 


458  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Aw  tuik  ten  te  the  stashon  hoose, 

Withoot  ony  help,  aw'm  sure  ; 
Aw  got  these  two  stripes  upon  maw  coat, 

And  they  still  call  me  the  cure. 

A  bobby's  the  canniest  job  in  the  world, 

He  gets  all  his  drink  for  nowt  j 
Aw'm  what  they  call  drill-sarjant  noo, 

Maw  claes  are  ready  bowt. 
So  noo  aw've  teird  ye  all  maw  tricks, 

Ye'll  pity  me,  aw'm  sure, 
And  niver  call  me  when  aw's  on  maw  beat, 

And  says  there  gans  the  cure. 

Ridley.  Avihof'g  Manuscript,  1862. 

JOHMHTY   LUIK-UP! 

When  this  popular  song  was  written,  the  subject  of  it,  John  Higgins,  was, 
and  at  the  present  time,  1873,  still  is,  town  crier  or  bellman.  As  a  man  he 
is  much  respected,  and  carries  on,  in  addition  to  his  official  duties  as  bell- 
man, an  extensive  business  as  house  agent.  Like  many  others,  he  has  his 
peculiarities,  which,  to  our  local  caricaturist  (wanting  a  subject),  were  too 
tempting  to  be  resisted.    The  song  was  "  a  paJpable  hit."— (ivote  1872.) 

Tune— "Sally,  come  up." 

Thor  was  a  bit  laddie  lost  the  tuther  day. 
And  doon  the  Kee  he'd  stray'd  away; 
The  muther  was  cryin'  hard,  they  say. 

So  she  fund  cot  Johnny  the  bellman. 
Says  she,  **  Gan  roond  the  toon, 
Aw'll  gie  ye  half-a-croon, 
For  if  he's  not  fund  it'll  be  maw  ruin — 

Wor  Jimmy  he'll  surely  kill  me  !  " 

Chorus. 
Johnny  luik-up  !  Johnny  luik-doon  ! 
Johnny  gans  wandrin  roond  the  toon  ;  | 

He'll  find  yor  kid  for  half-a-croon,  ! 

Will  Johnny  luik-up,  the  bellman. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


461 


Johnny's  a  chep  that'll  not  tyek  a  job,  ■ 

Unless  he's  sure  that  he'll  get  a  bob ; 
An'  when  he  shoots  he  twists  hee's  gob, 

There's  nyen  can  shoot  like  Johnny. 
Noo  the  lads  they  de  him  scoff,  .^c. 

He  hes  such  a  nesty  cough ; 
Aw  doot  sum  fine  day  he'll  pop  off, 

An'  then  we'll  loss  poor  Johnny. 

Before  he  started  te  ring  the  bell 

He  used  te  gan  wi'  young  lambs  te  sell ; 

He  was  a  candy  man,  as  aw  hear  tell, 

Noo  a  perfect  cure  is  Johnny. 
An'  he  used  te  sell  claes  pins. 
An'  sumtimes  bairns*  rings, 
An'  a  lottery  bag  he  used  te  hev — 

Mair  blanks  then  owt  had  Johnny. 

In  these  days  he  was  a  regular  brick, 
When  he  seld  munkeys  up  the  stick, 
An'  candy  for  the  bairns  te  lick, 

A  tin  trumpet  then  had  Johnny. 
Ye  shud  only  seen  him  blaw. 
He  fairly  bangs  them  a'. 
It's  like  a  cochin-china's  craw ; 

An'  sic  a  beak  hes  Johnny. 

Sum  thowt  Johnny  was  rang  iv  his  mind, 
When  he  used  te  gan  wi'  scissors  te  grind  ; 
For  hard  wark  he  was  niver  inclin'd, 

For  it  niver  agreed  wi'  Johnny. 
Aw've  seen  him  on  a  winter's  day. 

When  he's  been  shullin'  snaw  away  / 

Frae  shopkeepers'  doors,  he'd  lick  a  score —  \ 

The  soup-kitchen  prop  is  Johnny. 


4S&  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

^oo  aw  propose  when  Johnny  dies 
hat  they  tyek  oot  one  of  his  eyes, 
Ltt'  put  it  inte  cock-eyed  Tom  that  sells  the  pies, 

Then  we'll  niver  loss  seet  o'  Johnny. 
So,  lads,  gie  yor  lasses  a  treat 
Te  this  place  sum  uther  neet ; 
Aw'U  gie  ye  the  Bobby  on  his  beat, 

An'  the  life  o'  Johnny  the  bellman. 

Ridley.  Authov'g  Maniueript,  1862, 


JOHN    SPENCER. 

A  well-known  character  in  Newcastle,  extremely  partial  to  changes.  In 
his  time  he  has  played  many  parts,  some  of  which  are  correctly  referred  to 
in  the  song.  Perhaps  the  line  in  which  he  most  delights  is  doorman  at 
some  travelling  exhibition ;  there,  standing  outside,  with  fluent  tongae  and 
an  unfailing  ready  wit,  which  is  none  the  less  attractive  through  being 
occasionally  wild  and  grotesque,  he  always  gathers  a  large  audience  while 
he  describes  the  wonders  within. 

Tune—"  Hamlet" 
Maw  nyem  it  is  Jack  Spencer, 

Aw  hawk  aboot  the  toon ; 
Aw  try  to  keep  yor  sporrits  up, 

When  ye  are  lettin'  them  gan  doon. 
Aw'm  not  like  the  priests  that  preach, 

An'  tells  ye  hoo  te  get  te  heaven ; 
Aw  patter  hard  yor  hearts  te  cheer, 

An'  get  me-sel  an  honest  livin'. 

Spoken, — Back  combs,  side  combs,  ear-rings,  breast  pins,  steel 
pens. 

Chorus, 
Cock-a-doodle-dow,  cock-a-doodle-doodle, 
Cock-a-doodle-dow,  cock-a-doodle-doodle. 

Aw  used  te  try  the  peep-show  dodge, 

But  that  suin  turned  oot  stale ; 
And  then  a  quack  doctor  aw  turn'd. 

The  flats  aw  used  te  nail 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  461 

But  one  day  a  bobby  he  nail'd  me 

For  stannin*  i'  the  street, 
And  te  the  Manors  he  tuik  me  up, 

And  kept  me  there  all  neet. 

Cock-a-doodle-dow,  etc. 

Aw  gets  oot  the  next  mornin\ 

An'  gans  up  te  Clayton  Street ; 
Aw  caird  inte  Young's,  the  sign  o'  the  Ciock^ 

An'  maw  box  was  there  all  reet ! 
The  servant  lass  she  says  te  me — 

**  Aw  say,  John,  d'ye  want  a  wife  ?  " 
"No!  no  !"  says  aw,  "d'ye  think  aw'm  fond. 

Or  tired  of  raaw  life  ?  " 

Cock-a-doodle-dow,  etc. 

Aw  used  te  follow  a  nice  young  lass, 

She  leev'd  up  Westgate  Hill, 
Aw  used  te  take  her  ower  the  moor 

To  see  the  rifles  drill. 
Oft  te  Tynemouth,  on  her  Sunday  out, 

Aw've  seen  us  byeth  sail  doon  the  Tyne, 
We'd  up  agyen  wi'  the  eight  train, 

And  gett  her  in  tiv  her  place  at  nine. 

Cock-a-doodle-dow,  etc. 
Ridley.  Author's  Manugcript,  1862. 


THE   STEPHEIVTSOIVr   MOKTUMEI&T. 

Tune— "John  Barleycorn." 

George  Stephenson  was  as  great  a  man 

As  any  in  the  North ; 
Ye'U  find  his  Moniment  stannin'  now 

In  a  place  it's  near  the  Forth. 


462  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

He  was  a  poor  body's  bairn, 

And  he  used  to  drive  a  gin, 
An'  at  neets  he'd  mend  the  nebors'  shoes 

His  daily  bread  to  win. 

Chorus, 
Three  cheers  for  Stephenson, 

George  and  Robert  Stephenson, 
Long  may  their  names  be  heard 

On  the  banks  of  Coaly  Tyne. 

George  once  got  a  Fireman's  job, 

He  had  fourteen  shiUing  a-week; 
An'  next  he  got  a  Brakesman's  job. 

He  then  for  a  wife  did  seek. 
He  married  one  Fanny  Henderson, 

Love  joined  them  hand  in  hand, 
An'  Robert  he  was  ther  only  son. 

The  cleverest  in  the  land. 

Three  cheers,  etc 

Ye  shud  oney  see  thor  little  thatch  hoose. 

Aside  Wylam  waggon-way. 
The  walls  were  plastered  up  wi'  clarts, 

An'  the  flors  war  nowt  but  clay. 
There  was  three  glass  panes  for  windows. 

An'  the  rest  war  myed  o'  wood ; 
Now  there  stands  a  forst-rate  beeldin' 

Where  the  aud  thatch  hoose  once  stood. 
Three  cheers,  etc 

The  first  locomotive  that  he  myed, 
The  " Rocket"  she  was  ca'd. 

He  said  she'd  run  ten  miles  an  hour. 
The  folks  thowt  he'd  gyen  mad 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  463 

These  days  there  was  ne  iron  rails, 

The  waggon-ways  were  wood, 
He  said  she'd  run  as  hard  agyen, 

And  they  said  she  never  could. 

Three  cheers,  etc. 

Now  George  he  suen  left  Newburn, 

For  he  knew  he  was  reet  clivor ; 
He  shifted  doon  to  Willington  Quay, 

That's  ten  miles  doon  the  river. 
He  invented  a  steam  ballast  crane. 

Which  got  him  a  gud  nyem ; 
The  aud  ballast  crane  is  stannin'  yet, 

At  least  aw'm  told  the  syem. 

Three  cheers,  etc. 

Now  ye  see  how  clivor  a  man  may  be, 

Tho'  he's  brought  up  very  poor. 
And  Robert  he  was  as  clivor  a  man 

As  Tyneside  bred,  aw'm  sure. 
Now,  think  on  what  aw've  telled  ye,  lads, 

An'  always  try  to  shine 
Like  George  and  Robert  Stephenson, 

Wor  two  stars  o*  the  Tyne. 

Three  cheers,  etc, 
BiDLBT.  AMithor'g  Manuscript^  1862, 


464 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


JAMES    REWCASTLE, 

One  of  the  old  band  -  of  temperance  workers  who  some 

sixty  years  ago  welcomed  the 
movement  into  Newcastle. 
A  native,  he  was  to  trade  a 
printer,  and  combined  with  that 
the  business  of  bookselling. 
At  his  shop  in  Dean  Street  he 
.  published  the  Temperance 
Advocate^  one  of  the  earliest 
of  temperance  publications. 
When  Paxton  Hood  began 
to  enliven  temperance  meet- 
ings with  his  melodies,  '*  As  I 
'woke  one  morning,"  "It  was  in 
.  dark  December,"  and  others, 
Rewcastle  saw  the  wisdom  of 
,  the  step,  and  so  to  speak 
I  localised  them  by  writing 
"Jackey  and  Jenny,"  etc.,  etc, 
Fenwick  Pickup,  another  old 
I  temperance  worker,  singing 
,  them  with  great  effect.  To- 
wards the  latter  part  of  his 
life  he  retiredfrom  bookselling, 
and  accepted  a  responsible 
office  in  the  Newcastle  Cor- 
poration. He  died  October 
4th,  1867,  in  his  66th  year, 
and  is  buried  at  St.  John's 
Cemetery  (opened  1857,  on 
the  closing  of  St.  John's  Churchyard).  His  songs  and 
recitations  do  not  appear  ever  to  have  been  issued  in  a 
collected  form. 


ST.  JOHN  S  AND  YICARAOE. 


JACKET  AND   JEKTKIT. 

Tune—*'  Come,  fle,  let  us  a'  to  the  Bridal.' 

As  Jackey  an'  Jenny  sat  gobbin 

About  the  fine  things  i'  thor  hoose — 

Says  Jenny,  **By  keepin'  teetotal, 
It's  myed  us  byeth  cantie  an'  crouse. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  465 

When  ye  used  te  gan  on  the  fuddle, 
We  then  went  byeth  hungry  an'  bare, 

But  since  ye  hev  joined  the  teetotal, 
We  noo  hev  eneuf  an'  te  spare. 

**  When  ye  used  te  gan  on  the  fuddle,  etc. 

**  Wor  hoose  is  weel  stock'd  an*  weel  furnish'd 

Wi'  dressors,  an  tyebles,  an'  chairs — 
We've  pots,  pans,  an*  kettles,  an*  dishes, 

And  a*  sorts  o'  crockery  wares ; 
We've  byeth  bed  an*  beddin'  i'  plenty. 

And  we  hev  gud  claes  te  wor  back — 
Wor  cupboard  is  noo  niver  empty, 

Thor's  nowt  really  gud  that  we  lack. 

Chorus. 

"  The  bairns  are  byeth  healthy  an*  hearty, 

And  blythsome  as  blythsome  can  be ; 
It  myeks  me  heart  joyful  te  see  them. 

For  they  are  the  pride  o*  maw  e*e. 
Aw  try  te  keep  a*  things  se  canny, 

Te  myek  ye  a'  happy  at  hyem — 
An*  what  wi*  wor  curtains  an'  carpets, 

Thor's  nowt  i*  the  hoose  like  the  syem. 

Chorus. 

**  Noo,  Jackey,  aw'U  tell  ye  a  secret. 

And  myek  me-sel  sure  ov  a  treat — 
Aw  wish  te  gan  up  tiv  the  concerts 
That's  held  on  the  Seturday  neet. 
Aw'U  dress  i'  maw  best  bib  an*  tucker, 

An'  ye  mun  put  on  yor  best  claes ; 
We*ll  show  them  hoo  nicely  teetotal 
Has  mended  and  better'd  wor  ways.'* 

Chorus. 
Bewcastle.  Broadsheet j  cibout  1800. 

30 


466  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

EDWARD   ELLIOTT. 

In  1862,  when  the  first  edition  of  this  work  was  coming  out 
in  penny  numbers,  Edward  Elliott,  of  Earsdon,  left  two 
songs  for  publication.  They  appeared  at  his  request  with 
his  initials  only,  E.  E.  Both  songs  were  new,  and  related 
to  events  of  the  day.  The  wit  and  humour  of  their  author 
appeared  in  each,  and  they  became  popular.  The  writer, 
Edward  Elliott,  was  a  noted  man  in  his  day  :  in  early  life  a 
victim  to  drink,  he  contrived  to  master  the  passion,  and 
throwing  himself  with  ardour  into  the  temperance  cause, 
soon  became  noted  as  one  of  its  best  advocates.  At  New- 
castle he  often  spoke,  and  there  his  drollery  and  wit  made 
him  always  welcome.  His  early  drinking  days  had  left  him 
with  plenty  of  material  for  the  platform  in  the  shape  of  stories^ 
and  these  he  told  with  great  effect.  In  one,  with  pathos 
and  humour,  he  depicted  the  drunkard's  home,  and  by  a 
happy  turn  showed  its  poverty  by  describing  the  mice 
sitting  in  the  pantry  with  the  tears  in  their  eyes.  Mr. 
H  alii  well,  in  the  Weekly  Chronicle^  has  an  interesting 
sketch  of  him.  He  tells  of  Mr.  Taylor,  the  eminent 
engineer,  once  meeting  Elliott  and  asking  him  '*why  he 
became  a  teetotaller,"  with  Ned^s  answer — 

*' Aa've  h'ard  it  said  there's  a  certain  quantity  of  drink  brewed 
for  ewory  man,  and  a'am  sure  aa've  drunk  ma  share  laog  since." 

*'  If  Yorick  could  *set  the  table  in  a  roar,'  Edward  Elliott  could 
set  the  hall  in  a  ferment  when  on  a  platform  ;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  the  meeting  was  sometimes  almost  broken  up  with  irrepressible 
laughter.  He  never  attempted  to  refine  his  mother  tongue,  knowing 
fill!  well  that  any  attempt  of  the  kind  would  only  spoil  the 
diamond." 

He  died  April  29th,  1867,  in  his  sixty-seventh  year,  and 
lies  in  Earsdon  Churchyard. 


THE   SHEEP-KILLIHT'   DOG. 

In  Octob«r  1862  considerable  alarm  was  felt  by  the  farmers  near  North 
Shields,  on  discovering  morning  after  morning  that  several  of  their  sheep 
had  been  worried  and  left  dead  in  the  fields.  Sospicion  fell  on  seTeral  poor 
dogs,  but,  although  closely  watched,  the  offence  coald  not  bebrooght  home 
to  them.  One  dog  was  chased  (on  suspicion)  all  the  way  from  Shields  to  his 
master's  house  in  Percy  Street.    The  offender  is  still  at  liberty.— ^ote,  1882. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  aI^-j 

Hae  ye  heard  o'  the  dog  that's  been  killin'  the  sheep, 
How  he  baffled  the  watchers,  and  gae  them  the  slip? 
Sum  says  it's  ne  dog,  but  the  ghost  ov  a  glutton, 
That  when  upon  earth  had  a  Strang  tyest  for  mutton. 

He's  a  bloodthirsty  villin, 

We'll  hunt  him  and  kill  him, 

And  send  his  skin  up  te  Newcastle  museem. 

Sum  says  it's  a  wolf  just  cum  doon  frae  the  hills, 
To  tyest  a'  the  flesh  meat  they  hev  aboot  Sheels ; 
Jack  Proctor  declares  that  he  saw  the  beest  runnin, 
An'  sweers  'twas  the  deevil  or  else  'twas  a  yungin. 

Chorus. 

Sum  says  it's  a  beest  that  nebody  can  tyem, 
A  laffin  High  Anna  aw  think  is  the  nyem  ; 
What  iver  it  be,  deevil,  ghost,  or  wild  beest, 
It's  clear  it  delights  on  gud  mutton  te  feast. 

Chorus. 

He  beats  the  bowld  rifles,  the  pollis  an'  aw, 
They  sweer  sic  a  beest  in  thor  lives  they  neer  saw ; 
He  prowls  oot  at  neets  an'  thor  shanks  he  suin  cracks, 
An'  leeves  them  caud  deed  on  the  broad  o'  thor  backs. 

Chorus. 

Byeth  aud  wives  an'  yungins  wi'  greef  the  tyel  lairns. 
And  feer  the  greet  beest  shud  fall  foul  o'  the  bairns ; 
The  perambulators  they  darn't  set  oot. 
For  feer  they  fall  in  wiv  the  sheep-killin'  brute. 

Chorus. 

We've  h'ard  of  hobgoblin,  a  witch,  an'  a  warlock. 
But  surely  he's  givin  the  butchers  pilgarlick. 
Noo  for  the  reward  aw  wad  heh  ye  te  strive, 
And  bring  him  te  Sheels  either  deed  or  alive. 

Chorus. 
Elliott.  A\jAhor*9  Manuscript,  1862. 


468  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

WHITUEY   CAMP. 

Written   on  the  occasion  of  the  Felling  Artillery  Corps  camping   on 
Whitley  Sands,  September  1862. 

Hae  ye  been  doon  at  Whitley  Sands 

Ti  see  the  warriors  campin'  ? 
It's  worth  your  while  ti  gan  an  see 

The  Sangit  lions  rampin'. 
They're  just  as  feerce  as  untyem'd  goats, 

An'  all  liked  sowlgers  dress'd  ; 
They've  a  bunch  ov  hair  upon  their  jaws 

Just  like  a  yowle/s  nest. 

Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc 

Their  little  huts,  like  sugar-loaves, 

All  pointin'  to  the  sky ; 
And  woe  betide  the  enemy 

If  he  gans  ower  nigh. 
In  the  inside  the  warrior  rests 

Upon  his  rusty  spear ; 
He  luiks  as  if  he  was  distressed 

Wi'  backey  and  wi'  beer. 

Whack,  etc 

They  talk  they  want  ti  hae  them  used 

Ti  stand  all  kinds  o'  wether, 
The  whins  and  bents  and  Strang  sea  air 

Will  tan  their  hides  like  lether. 
The  enemy  may  fire  away, 

An'  try  their  utmost  skill, 
Nee  shot  '11  pierce  their  hardened  frames, 

They'll  stand  invincible. 

Whack,  etc 

The  neet  was  dark  when  Tommy  Todd 
Was  as  th'  sentry  walkin', 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  469 

An  outlandish  beast  he  thowt  he  saw 

Amang  the  tents  was  stalkin'. 
In  th'  Queen's  nyeto,  he  cries  "  Whe's  there  ?" 

He  ne'er  tyuk  time  to  study — 

Off  went  his  rifle  wiv  a  crack 

At  Andrew  Drummond's  cuddy. 

Whack,  etc. 

The  poor  beast  ran,  an'  gav  a  yell, 

Tommy  dropt  on  th'  green  ; 
'Twas  said  when  he  got  up  agyen 

He  wasn't  ower  clean. 
At  last  the  grand  review  cum  on, 

Ther  surely  was  sum  fun 
Ti  see  the  warriors  fight  the  fish 

Wi'  Willy  Armstrang's  gun. 

Whack,  etc 

The  greet  guns  roar'd,  the  fire  flew, 

It  was  a  grand  display ; 
The  sea-gulls  scream'd  an'  flapped  their  wings, 

An'  flew  far  nor'  away. 
The  greet  round-shot  went  plish-for-plash 

Inti  the  tortured  deep ; 

They  myed  the  crabs  and  lobsters  hop, 

An'  the  fish  cud  get  nee  sleep. 

Whack,  etc. 

Jacky  Scott,  the  poUisman, 

Wiv  a  fyece  byeth  black  and  cloody, 

He  sweers  that  nyen  shall  do  them  rang, 
Nee  man  shall  hurt  a  noody. 

Oh  !  they're  the  cream  ov  Britain's  bowl, 
Them,  ne  uther  troop  surpasses — 

In  the  canteen  their  valour's  seen 

Amang  the  pots  and  glasses. 

Whack,  etc. 


470 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


The  French  may  brag  ov  body-guards, 

An'  crack  aboot  ther  warrin' ; 
Giv  our  campin'  lads  but  Willy's  gun, 

They'll  put  them  oflF  their  sparrin'. 
Aw  think  we  aw  may  safely  say 

Ne  mair  we'll  be  neglected  ; 

But  wi  sutch  guns  and  valient  men 

Wor  shores  are  weel  protected. 

Whack,  etc. 
Elliott.  Author's  Manuscript,  1862. 


MICHAEL   BEISSOSr. 

Amongst  the  members  of  the  **  Stars  of  Friendship"  (referred  to  in 
the  notice  of  W.  Armstrong:)  was  the  late  Michael  Benson,  about  the 

oldest  master  printer 
in  the  town.  At  the 
anniversary  dinner,  on 
Christmas  Day,  1828, 
he  delivered  the  fol- 
lowing poetical  address, 
which  was  generally  ad- 
mitted to  be  the  best 
of  the  evening.  At  the 
same  meeting,  J.  Sel- 
kirk, also  a  printer, 
and  afterwards  editor 
of  the  Bristol  Mercury , 
delivered  a  poetical 
address  on  the  same 
subject  — "  Friendship." 
—Note,  1872. 

At  the  <*  Head  of  the 
Side  "  was  a  house  much 
frequented  by  the  local 
poets  of  the  day.  The 
Northern  John  BuU 
gives  a  mock  report  of 
one  of  their  meetings 
(possibly  a  meeting  of 
the  "  Ck>rinthian  So- 
ciety"), and  burlesques 
the  proceedings,  evi- 
dently    pointing     out 

Head  of  "  The  Side"  (showing  the  Pant)  f^^'^l  ""^  ?J'^*''  ^ 

about  1830.  two  of  the  members. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  47 1 

THE   BIRTH   OF   FRIENDSHIP'S    STAR. 

When  sleep  its  magic  o'er  me  flung, 

Methought  I  scanned  the  sky, 
And  looked  for  some  enchanting  Star, 

But  none  could  I  espy. 

And  still  I  gazed,  but  wherefore  so  ? 

None  blessed  my  aching  sight ! 
All  dark — all  cheerless  was  the  scene — 

All  gloomy  was  the  night. 

I  sighed  to  think  that  I  should  be 

Denied  by  Stars  their  aid ; 
But  soon  those  bitter  murmurings 

In  transport  were  allayed. 

For  quick  I  saw  a  dazzling  light 

That  shed  its  rays  on  earth, 
And  seemed  to  fly  the  very  power 

Which  first  had.  given  it  birth. 

To  me  it  seemed  an  exile,  driven 

From  heavenly  counsels  far ; 
At  distance,  too,  from  all  its  kin. 

To  shine  a  lonely  Star. 

But  soon  another  claimed  regard — 

And  still  another  yet ; 
And  skies  that  late  were  darkly  clad 

By  orbs  were  quite  beset. 

And  then,  methought,  such  concord  rose 

As  ne'er  had  struck  mine  ear ; 
While,  silent,  I  enraptured  sat, 

Such  heavenly  strains  to  hear. 


472  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

And  angels  sung,  and  bright  stars  shone- 
Nought  woke  their  joys  to  mar ; 

And  as  the  sound  in  distance  fell, 
It  spoke  of  "  Friendship's  Star ! " 


Yes !  ^^ Friendship'^  was  the  leading  theme 

That  burst  from  every  lip ; 
And,  as  they  sung,  they  oft  the  wine 

With  god-like  mirth  would  sip ! 

But  morning  broke  the  lovely  charm — 

All — all  had  vanished  far ! 
Except,  indeed,  an  only  one. 

The  beauteous  Morning  Star. 


I  grieved  to  think  ** 'twas  but  a  dream," 
And  loud  my  bosom  heaved ; 

But  earth  had  caught  the  heavenly  chords 
That  lips  of  angels  breathed ! 


j 
And  "  Stars  "  adorn  our  native  earth,  j 

Whose  rays  seem  quite  divine ; 
While  round  me  now,  in  social  mirth,  j 

The  **  Stars  of  Friendship  "  shine. 


And  may  you  e'er  in  Friendship  live, 
Till  Death's  sad  parting  knell ; 

Possessing  then  an  endless  place 
Where  "Stars  of  Glory"  dwell! 

BENSON.  Avithor'a  Copy,  1828» 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


473 


JOE  lariLSON. 

From  an  autobiographic  sketch  of  Joe  Wilson,  which  he 
published  at  the  request,  as  he  tells,  of  a  few  old  friends,  we 
extract  the  following,  as  furnishing,  in  the  most  interesting 
manner,  the  leading  events  in  the  life  of  this  most  popular 
Tyneside  bard : — 

"  Me  father  wes  a  joiner  an'  cabinet  myeker,  an'  me  muther  a  straw 
bonnit  mye- 
ker, an*  byeth 
natives  o*  the 
canny  aud  toon 
o'  Newcassil. 
Aw  wes  born  on 
the  29th  o'  Nov- 
embor  1 841,  at 
the  end  o' 
Stowl  Street ; 
but  twenty  min- 
nits  efter  aw  had 
myed  me  forst 
ippeerince,  te 
the  stonishment 
o*  neybors,  Wor 
Tom  showed  his 
fyece,  te  dispute 
wi'  me  whe  shud 
be  the  *pet  o' 
the  family,' — an* 
he  sweers  he  is 
te  this  day,  becas 
he^ s  the  yungist  I 
"Atfowerteen 
aw  went  te  be  a 
printer.  Sang- 
writin'  had  lang 
been  me  hobby, 
an'  at  sivinteen 
me  forst  bcuk 
was  published. 
Since  that  time 
it's  been  me  aim 
te  hev  a  place  i' 
the  hearts  o'  the 

T)meside  people  wi*  writin'  bits  o*  hyemly  sangs  aw  think  they'll 
sing.  At  twenty-one  aw  started  business  for  me-sel  as  a  printer ;  and 
at  twenty-two  aw  myed  me  forst  success  i'  publishing,  wi*  *  Wor 


474 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Geordy*s  Accoont  o*  the  Greet  Boat  Race  atwixt  Chambers  an' 
Green;*  an*  next  aw  browt  oot  me  forst  number  o*  Tyneside  Sangs, 
Later  on  i*  the  syem  eer   aw  wrote  *Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad 


JOE  WILSON  Ix\   "  QEOBDY,  BAUD  THE  BAIBN.' 

cum,*   throo   seein*  me  bruther-in-law  nursin*  the  bairn  the  time 
me  sister  wes  oot,  nivor  dreamin'  at  that  time  it  wad  turn  oot  the 
'hit*  it  did. 
***The    Row  upon    the    Stairs,*    *The  Gallowgate   Lad,'  an' 


TVNESIDE  SONGS.  475 

*Dinnet  clash  the  Door,'  wes  me  next  successes  ;  the  last  one  (me 
muther  bein'  the  subject)  nearly  lickin*  *  Geordy,  haud  the  Bairn.' 

•*  Me  forst  perfessional  ingagemint  wes  at  Pelton,  i'  December 
1864 ;  me  second  at  the  Oxford  Music  Hall ;  an'  me  thord  at  the 
Tyne  Concert  Hall,  Newcassil.  Since  then  awVe  been  i'  nearly 
ivry  toon  i'  the  North,  an',  aw's  happy  te  say,  wi'  the  syem  success 
aw*ve  had  i'  me  native  place." 

Joe  Wilson's  Autobiography  only  comes  down  to  1867. 
Two  years  later  he  married ;  and  although  he  still  continued 
singing  his  songs  as  successfully  as  ever  at  the  various 
concert  halls  in  the  North,  yet  the  travelling  from  place  to 
place,  and  the  absence  from  home  it  necessarily  caused, 
made  it  less  agreeable  now  than  before.  This  feeling 
strengthened  with  time,  till,  in  the  year  187 1,  he  settled  in 
his  native  town  as  landlord  of  the  Adelaide  Hotel. 

Joe's  career  as  a  landlord,  was  short.  After  little  more 
than  a  year  he  gave  it  up,  and  started  his  concert  life  again. 
Never  robust,  his  health  began  to  fail,  and  after  a  lingering 
illness  he  died  at  his  residence,  Railway  Street,  in  his 
thirty-third  year. 

Beyond  all  comparison  Joe  Wilson  has  been  the  most  suc- 
cessful of  Tyneside  song-writers.  His  wish  to  have  a  place 
in  the  hearts  of  the  Tyneside  people  by  writing  homely 
songs  they  would  sing  has  been  amply  gratified.  His  name 
throughout  the  North  is  a  household  word ;  and  far  beyond 
the  North,  in  distant  lands,  wherever  North  countrymen  are 
settled,  there  his  songs  are  prized;  their  truthfulness  to 
Tyneside  life  vividly  recalling  the  old  home  far  away.  The 
songs  of  the  older  local  writers  generally  relate  to  particular 
occurrences,  eccentric  characters,  and  the  like;  Joe  Wilson, 
while  not  neglecting  these,  has  gone  further,  and  has  pre- 
sented to  us  pictures  of  the  everyday  life  of  the  great  mass 
of  the  working  classes  of  Tyneside.  "  The  Row  upon  the 
Stairs,"  "  Geordy,  haud  the  Bairn,"  "  Dinnet  clash  the  Door," 
"We'll  nivor  invite  them  te  tea  ony  mair,**  etc,  are  truly 
photographs  in  verse  of  Tyneside  working-class  life,  and  so 
faithful  is  the  delineation,  that  they  only,  the  subjects  of  his 
pictures,  can  fully  appreciate  their  truth  and  accuracy. 
Although  now  the  author  of  hundreds  of  songs,  his  later 
efforts  show  no  falling  off.  "  The  Time  me  Fethur  wes  bad," 
**  Be  kind  te  me  Dowtor,"  etc,  only  strengthen  and  increase 
a  reputation  that  must  ever  remain  one  of  the  brightest  in 
the  annals  of  Tyneside  song. 

The  above,  to  which  a  little  has  been  added,  appeared  in 


476  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

the  1872  edition  of  this  collection.  For  a  fuller  life  of 
Wilson  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  new  collected  edition  of 
his  works  (1890).  Of  that  edition,  it  may  be  added,  it  has 
been  noticed  most  favourably  by  the  highest  literary  papers 
of  the  day — The  AthencBum^  Literary  Worlds  The  Spectator^ 
The  Saturday  Review^  and  others. 


AW   WISH   YOR   MUTHER   WAD    CUM; 

OR,  WOR   GEORDY'S  NOTIONS  ABOOT  MEN  NURSIN'  BAIRNS. 

Tune—"  The  Whasslin'  Theef ." 

"  Cum,  Geordy,  baud  the  bairn, 

Aw's  sure  aw'U  not  stop  lang ; 
Aw*d  tyek  the  jewel  mesel, 

But  really  aw's  not  Strang. 
Thor's  floor  and  coals  te  get, 

The  boose-turns  thor  not  deun  : 
So  baud  the  bairn  for  fairs, 

YeVe  often  deund  for  fun  ! '' 

Then  Geordy  held  the  bairn. 

But  sair  agyen  his  will; 
The  poor  bit  thing  wes  gud, 

But  Geordy  had  ne  skill : 
He  haddint  its  muther's  ways. 

He  sat  both  stiff  an'  num; 
Before  five  minutes  wes  past 

He  wish'd  its  muther  wad  cum. 

His  wife  had  scarcely  gyen, 

The  bairn  began  te  squall, — 
Wi'  hikin't  up  an'  doon, 

He'd  let  the  poor  thing  fall. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  477 

It  waddent  baud  its  tung, 

Tho'  sum  aud  teun  he'd  hum, — 
'*  Jack  an'  Jill  went  up  a  hill — 

Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad  cum  !  " 

"What  weary  toil,"  says  he, 

"  This  nursin'  bairns  mun  be ; 
A  bit  on't's  weel  eneuf — 

Aye,  quite  eneuf  for  me. 
Te  keep  a  cryin*  bairn. 

It  may  be  grand  te  sum ; 
A  day's  wark's  not  as  bad — 

Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad  cum  ! 

"  Men  seldum  give  a  thowt 

Te  what  thor  wives  indure : 
Aw  thowt  she'd  nowt  te  de 

But  clean  the  hoose,  aw's  sure ; 
Or  myek  me  dinner  an*  tea — 

(It's  startin*  te  chow  its  thumb : 
The  poor  thing  wants  its  tit — 

Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad  cum  ! ) 

**  What  a  selfish  world  is  this ! 

Thor's  nowt  mair  se  than  man  : 
He  laffs  at  wummin's  toil, 

And  winnet  nurse  his  awn — 
(It's  startin'  te  cry  agyen  : 

Aw  see  tuts  throo  its  gum  ; 
Maw  little  bit  pet,  dinnet  fret — 

Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad  cum ! ) 

**  But  kindness  dis  a  vast; 

It's  ne  use  getting  vext : 
It  winnet  please  the  bairn. 

Or  ease  a  mind  perplext. 


478  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

At  last,  it's  gyen  te  sleep, 

Me  wife  '11  not  say  aw*s  num ; 

She'll  think  aw's  a  real  gud  nurse — 
Aw  wish  yor  muther  wad  cum  !  " 

Joe  Wilson.  AutJior^ti  Copy,  1863. 


DISTBTET   CLASH   THE    DOOR. 

Tune—"  Tramp,  tramp." 

Oh,  dinnet  clash  the  door ! 

Aw've  tell'd  ye  that  before, 
Can  ye  not  let  yor  muther  hev  a  rest  ? 

Ye  knaw  she's  turnin'  aud, 

An'  for  eers  she's  been  se  bad, 
That  she  cannet  bear  such  noises  i'  the  least. 

Chorus. 
Then,  oh  lass,  dinnet  clash  the  door  se, 
Yor  yung  an'  yor  as  thowtless  as  can  be  ; 
But  yor  muther's  turnin*  aud, 
An*  ye  knaw  she's  varry  bad, 
An'  she  dissent  like  te  hear  ye  clash  th'  door. 

Just  see  yor  muther  there, 

Sittin'  feeble  i'  the  chair. 
It's  ^uief  that  she  wants  te  myek  her  weel ; 

She's  been  yor  nurse  throo  life, 

Been  yor  guide  i'  peace  an!  strife, 
An'  her  comfort  ye  shud  study  an'  shud  feel. 

She  once  wes  yung  an'  Strang, 

But  bad  hilth  'ill  put  folks  rang. 
An'  she  cannet  bear  the  noise  that  once  she  cud. 

She's  narvis  as  can  be, 

An'  whativor  else  ye  de, 
Ye  shud  study  what  ye  think  'ill  de  her  gud. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  479 

So  dinnet  clash  the  door, 
Or  myek  ony  idle  stor, 
For  the  stor  'ill  only  cause  yor  muther  pain  ; 
As  quiet  as  can  be 
De  yor  wark,  an'  let  her  see 
That  ye'll  nivor  give  her  causes  te  complain. 
Joe  Wilson.  AMAhov't  Copy^  1864. 


BE   KIND   TE   ME    DOWTOR. 

Tune-  "Die  an  Auld  Maid." 

One  neet  Jack  Thompsin  sat  beside 

His  canny  sweetheart's  fethur ; 
"  We'll  hev  a  crack,^  the  aud  man  said, 

"  Since  here  we've  met  tegither ; 
Ye've  gyen  wi'  Mary  two  eers  noo, 

An'  what  aw'm  gawn  te  menshun 
Is — aw  hope  that  yor  gawn  wiv  her 

Wi'  myest  hon'rible  intenshun. 

Ckyrus, 
*•  For  oh,  Johnny,  a  canny  lass  is  she, 
An*  aw  hope  ye'U  be  kind  te  me  dowtor. 

"  She  may  be  kind  o'  flighty  :  that's 

A  fault  wi'  a'  yung  lasses ; 
She  may  be  kind  a  tawky  on 

Myest  ivrything  that  passes ; 
But  if  she  wes  ony  uther  way 

She  waddent  be  a  wummin  : 
An'  gox !  she's  like  her  muther,  an' 

Her  muther  is  a  rum  un  I 

For  oh,  Johnny,  etc. 


48o  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

"  Aw  hope  she'll  be  as  happy  as 

Her  muther's  been  wi'  me,  lad ; 
Tho'  sumtimes  we  fall  oot  a  bit, 

We  varry  seun  agree,  lad : 
For  te  leeve  as  jolly  as  can  be, 

Byeth  her  an*  me's  determined ; 
An*  when  we  hev  a  row  or  two, 

We  nivvor  see  ne  harm  in*t! 

For  oh,  Johnny,  etc 

"  Ye'U  treat  wor  Mary  weel,  me  lad. 

An'  always  be  kind  tiv  her ; 
Ye*ll  nivvor  rue  yor  bargain — no, 

Aw*s  certain  that  ye'll  nivvor  ! 
She  can  de  the  hoose  torns  clivvor, 

Just  as  clivvor  as  her  muther ; 
An*  for  sewin*,  knittin*,  darnin*,  whey 

Thor  issen't  such  anuther ! 

For  oh,  Johnny,  etc. 

"  We'll  help  ye  ivery  way  we  can 

Te  set  the  hoose  up  decent : 
The  fethur  bed  an*  ite-day  clock 

'111  not  be  a  bed  prisint ; 
An*  when  ye*ve  bairns  we*ll  help  ye  tee, 

At  borth,  or  deeth,  or  krissnin ; — 
But  noo,  aw*d  better  baud  me  tung, 

For  fear  sumbody*s  lissnin  !  '* 

For  oh,  Johnny,  etc 
Joe  Wilson.  Authoi's  Manxucript^  1869. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  481 

THE   TIME   THAT    ME   FETHUR   ISTES   BAD. 

Tune—"  Cam  hyem  te  yor  cbilder  an'  me." 

Thor  wes  grief  i'  the  hoose  all  aroond, 

An*  the  neybors  luckt  in  passin'  by, 
An*  they'd  whisper,  "Hoo  is  he  the  day?  " 

Then  hing  doon  thor  heeds  wiv  a  sigh ; 
An*  they'd  speak  te  me  muther  se  kind, 

Tho'  whativer  they  said  myed  her  sad ; 
An'  she'd  moan  real  heart  broke  tiv  her-sel, 

A'  the  time  that  me  fethur  wes  bad. 

As  me  fethur  lay  ill  iv  his  bed, 

As  helpless  as  helpless  can  be, 
Man,  it  myed  me  heart  ache  when  he  tried 

Te  smile  at  wor  Johnny  an'  me. 
For  he  always  wes  fond  ov  his  bairns, 

An'  aw  mind  Johnny  said,  **  Get  up,  dad  ! " 
For  the  poor  little  fellow  felt  lost, 

A'  the  time  that  me  fethur  wes  bad. 

Then  me  fethur  wad  say,  "  Me  gud  lass," 

Te  me  poor  muther  at  his  bedside, 
•*  Lass,  aw  hevin't  been  half  kind  te  ye  " — 

"  Yis  ye  hev ! "  she  wad  sob  as  she  cried. 
Then  he'd  call  me  t'  him,  an*  he'd  say, 

"  Ye'll  be  kind  te  yor  muther,  me  lad ;  " 
For  he  knew  that  his  day  wes  drawin'  nigh, 

Tho'  we  nivor  thowt  he  wes  se  bad. 

Then  me  muther  wad  sit  up  a'  neet, 
An'  she'd  nivor  lie  doon  throo  the  day; 

But  wad  spend  ivry  moment  she  cud 
I'  the  room  where  me  poor  fethur  lay : 
31 


48a  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Till  the  blow  com  at  last,  an'  it  fell 

On  wor  hearts,  when  he  lay  still  an'  ca'd ; 

An'  tho'  eers  pass,  aw'm  sad  when  aw  think 
O'  the  days  when  me  fethur  wes  bad. 

Joe  Wilson.  Author's  Manuscript,  1809, 

RALPH   BLACKETT 

In  many  respects  resembles  the  unfortunate  Selkirk.  For 
some  years  upon  the  Quay  occupying  a  high  position  (this, 
it  may  be  added,  he  had  won  hy  industry  and  ability^ 
after  a  time  reverses  came  upon  him,  and  his  position  on 
the  Quav  was  lost  As  a  young  man  he  had  written  many 
beautiful  hymns,  and  had  published  a  small  poetical  work  of 
a  sacred  character.  This  poetical  gift  in  the  latter  part  of 
his  life  he  turned  to  account  in  another  way,  Chater^s 
Almanack  and  Annual  finding  in  him  a  regular  contributor. 
John  Taylor,  another  of  Chater's  band,  writes  of  him — **  His 
first  dialect  song  was  *Jimm/s  Deeth,' a  Weekly  Chronicle 
prize  song,  which  was  sung  at  the  Tyne  Theatre  pantomime. 
Reserved  to  strangers,  he  was  kind  and  genial  to  those  with 
whom  he  was  intimate.  Prolific  with  his  pen,  he  was 
yet  refined  in  all  his  ideas.  He  died  at  Middlesbrough, 
December  29th,  1877,  in  his  forty-seventh  year." 


JIMMY'S   DEETH. 

Jimmy  Wright  deed  se  suddin.  Mall  thowt  it  but  reet 
To  send  to  the  krooner  that  varry  syem  neet ; 
So  she  sent  up  te  Hoyle,  an'  accordin'  te  laws 
He  order'd  post  mortim  te  find  oot  the  caws. 

Syuen  a  doctor  was  browt,  and  wivoot  much  aboot. 
He  rowFd  up  his  sleeves  an'  had  Jim  open'd  oot ; 
But  all  that  he  fund,  an'  as  deed  as  a  nail, 
Was  a  small  "eelea"  wiv  a  queer  brocken  tail. 

Now  Hoyle  was  sair  puzzled,  an'  scratched  his  awd  heed, 
Furst  lyuked  at  the  joory,  then  lyuk'd  at  the  deed; 
Swore  the  witnesses  byeth — for  thur  only  was  two, 
Poor  Mally,  Jim's  wife,  an'  his  marrow,  Billoo. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  483 

Billoo  was  furst  call'd  for,  an'  said  "Lyuk  ye  heer, 
When  Jim,  like  his  marrows,  drunk  nowt  else  but  beer, 
He  was  reet  as  a  trippet,  an'  riddy  for  owt, 
But  tyekin*  te  wettor,  he  syuen  went  te  nowt. 

"  Aw  mind  wee!  one  mornin',  when  aw  cum  te  think, 
The  Whittle  Dean  stuff  had  a  queer  sort  o*  stink; 
Jim,  tyekin*  a  drink,  said,  *Hoo  strange  aw  dee  feel, 
Begox  !  aw  beleev  that  aw've  swally'd  an  eel.' 

"An*  ivvor  since  then  aw've  notes'd  he  pined; 
Oft  tyun  wi'  the  gripes,  hoo  he  twitch'd  an'  he  twined; 
He  gorned  at  the  wettor,  se  seldim  'twas  sweet. 
An'  tyuk  on  te  porter,  but  niwor  gat  reet." 

Poor  Mally  blair'd  loodly,  an'  swor  "A'  was  troo 
Wat  had  been  browt  forrid  bi  Billy  Billoo; 
But  aw  knaw  'twas  a  Sunday,  ye  awl  may  dippend. 
That  Jim  gat  the  clincher  that  hyesten'd  his  end. 

"We  wor  gawn  up  be  Rye  Hill,  just  like  other  folk, 
And  byeth  fund  the  stink  o'  the  nasty  gas  smoke; 
Poor  Jim  held  his  breeth  an'  clapp'd  his  hand  so, 
Turn'd  as  bloo  as  gas-leet,  an'  nobbit  sayed  *  Oh  !'" 

The  krooner  then,  in  a  few  words,  summ'd  all  up  : 
"The  furst  caws,  nee  doot,  is  the  wettor  we  sup; 
The  eel  mevvies  lowp'd  wi'  the  tyest  o'  the  smoke, 
And  that  was  the  way  that  his  tailey  gat  broke." 

The  joory  just  whispor'd,  an'  haddin't  lang  sat, 
'Twas  varry  syuen  knawn  when  a  vardick  they  gat, 
For  the  foreman  cough'd  twice,  an'  said,  when  he  spoke : 
"The  Whittle  Dene  wettor  an'  nasty  gas  smoke  1 " 


484 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 
MORAL. 


Noo,  all  ye  Newcassellors,  mind  what  ye  drink, 
An*  weer  resporators  te  keep  oot  the  stink ; 
Or  "eeleas"  and  sulfor  ye'U  find  is  nee  joke, 
Frev  Whittle  Dene  wettor  an'  nasty  gas  smoke. 

Blackett.  "  Weekiy  Chrmiele,"  1870. 


12iriLLIAM    HENDERSON   DA12irSOBr 

Was  by  trade  a  bookbinder,  and  carried  on  his  business  for 
some  years  at  St.  Nicholas'  Churchyard,  in  the  old  work- 
shop of  Thomas  Bewick,  the  wood  engraver.     Always  a 

keen  lover  of  Tyneside  songs, 
y  -gin    1862,    when     Stephenson's 

monument  was  inaugurated,  he 
wrote  a  song  on  the  occasion, 
which  was  very  successful  In 
the  same  year  he  was  con- 
nected with,  and  had  much  to 
do  in  bringing  out,  the  first 
edition  of  this  song  book, 
writing  many  of  the  notes  on 
the  old  songs ;  this  his  wide 
local  knowledge  enabled  him 
to  do  effectively.  For  some 
time  he  wrote  a  local  letter  for 
the  Newcastle  Guardian,  The 
training  he  got  there  came  in 
useful  later  on,  when,  on  the 
death  of  J.  P.  Robson,  he  suc- 
ceeded him  in  writing  the  local 
letter  ("The  Retoirt  Keelman'')  for  the  Advertiser.  Dawson 
was  a  free  and  easy  writer,  and  while  still  carrying  on  his 
bookbinding,  contributed  "Walks  round  Old  Newcastle,** 
and  being  "  native  and  to  the  manner  born,''  he  filled  them 
with  interesting  references.  He  contributed  also  "The 
Local  Poets  of  Newcastle,"  an  interesting  series  of  articles, 
biographical  and  critical,  and  a  quantity  of  stories,  songs, 
and  poems.  He  died  on  January  25th,  1879,  ^^  his  52nd 
year,  and  was  interred  at  St  John's  Cemetery,  Elswick. 


TYNESIDE  SONG'S.  485 

THE   PITMAN'S   TICKOR   AN*   THE    WAG-AT- 
THE-WA'. 

Tune—"  Barbara  Allen.'* 

WoR  Tommy  was  crissind,  an'  weel  aw  remembor 

We  tuik  worsels  off  for  Newcassel  toon ; 
'Twis  in  the  blithe  munth  iv  bonny  Septembor, 

Not  varry  lang  'fore  wor  bindin'  cam  roon. 
The  wifey  cried  oot  for  new  shawl  an'  bonnit, 

The  bairns  an'  the  laddies  they  wanted  new  claes ; 
An'  wor  awdist  lass,  Jinny,  the  slee  witchin*  donnit ! 

Had  coaxed  her  aud  minnie  te  buy  her  new  stays. 

We  gat  te  the  toon,  and  gat  wor  brass  ettled, 

An'  then  a'  the  bairnies  war  ower  the  muin 
It  the  easy  bit  way  that  thor  hashes  was  settled, 

An'  glad  te  git  drest  in  new  duds  varry  suin. 
They  tuik  thor  ways  hyem,  an'  aw  wandered  iboot, 

Tyekin  stock  iv  the  sects  on  a  Settorday  neet ; 
For  aw  wis  ditermined,  'fore  the  toon  aw  went  oot, 

Hyem  for  me-sel  te  tyek  sum  fine  treet 

Aw  suin  spied  a  chep  thit  wis  sellin'  a  tickor, 

Thit  he  boastid  wad  beet  a'  the  clocks  i'  the  toon ; 
Is  he  nobbit  axed  for'd  what  aw'd  hev  spent  ippon  likor, 

Aw  suin  struck  a  bargain,  an'  munny  laid  doon. 
Aw  tuik  her  oflf  hyem,  an'  hung  her  up  bi  the  wanjl, 

'Side  the  wag-at-the-wa'  thit  had  hung  se  lang  there  ; 
But  the  crazy  awd  thing  'side  it  wad  scairce  gan  it  awl — 

Tickor  bet  Waggy  kwite  oot  o*  time,  aw  diclaire  1 

Says  aw,  "  Thoo  aud  lump,  what  myeks  thoo  se  feulish 
Te  let  a  bit  thing  like  that  beat  thee  noo  ? 

Did  aw  ivor  think  aw  had  owt  hawf  se  cuUish, 
Is  onny  sic  hoyt  hawf  is  lazy  is  thoo?" 


486  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Aw  tuik  up  the  hammer,  an'  levil'd  her  law,  man, 
'Spite  o'  what  wifey  an'  bairnies  cud  say ; 

Aw  stuck  te  the  tickor  thit  aw  varry  weel  naw,  man, 
Aw  kin  elwis  dippend  te  gan  thorteen  oors  i'  the  day. 

Dawson.  Authm's  Manuscript,  1862. 


The  Stephenson  Monument,  inangarated  October  2nd,  1862.  In  New- 
castle and  Gateshead  there  was  a  general  suspension  of  basinoss  in  honour 
of  the  occasion. 

THE   PITMAHT'S   ITISIT   TO   STEPHEHTSOHT'S 

MOmiMEBTT.        ^         ,,^„     .   ^ 
TUNB— "  TaUygnp.* 

Oh  !  wor  pit  wes  laid  in,  and  we  had  nowt  te  de, 
Says  aw  te  Tom  Hoggers,  "  Let*s  off  te  Newcassel; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  487 

Thor's  fine  things  te  de — the  toon's  all  astir ; 

Newcassel,  they  say,  'ill  be  quite  in  a  bussel 
For  Stephenson's  Monument's  gawn  te  be  shown 

By  fine  lords,  and  gents  tee,  and  nobbies ; 
A  greet  lairge  purcession's  te  mairch  throo  the  toon  ; 
Goxl  the  noration  'ill  myek  sum  fine  wark  for  the 
bobbies. 

Rite  fal  the  dal  lal. 

We'd  scarce  gettin  te  toon  when  the  music  struck  up, 

An'  St.  Nicholas's  bells  wor  set  ringin' ; 
The  folks  in  greet  croods  war  a'  flockin'  aboot. 

The  patters  war  threshin*  away  at  the  singin'. 
Says  Tommy  te  me,  "Lefs  see  what  we'll  de, 

We'll  strike  off  te  the  place  in  a  minnit ; 
For  if  we  stay  here  till  the  purcession  gets  clear. 

Smash !  we'll  not  heh  the  least  chance  te  get  in  it." 

We  got  te  the  Spital  by  drivin'  amain. 

An'  knockin'  the  folks  on  one  side,  man : 
A  dandified  fellow  he  lifted  his  cane. 

An'  thretten'd  te  pummel  maw  hide,  man ; 
But  aw  up  wi'  itie  fut,  an'  aw  gov  him  a  fiing, 

That  suen  myed  the  dandy  a  sloggers. 
For  amang  a'  the  lads  from  Bill  Quay  te  Tyne  Main 

Thor's  nyen   can    cum  up  te  Jack  Slack  or  Tom 
Hoggers. 

Te  hev  a  gud  luik  we  suen  moonted  a  styen, 

When  we  heerd  the  purcession  wes  cummin' ; 
An'  feyks !  but  the  music  suen  myed  the  folks  run, 

An'  sairly  sum  heeds  got  a  bummin' : 
For  the  folks  they  cam  runnin'  like  waves  o'  the  sea. 

Sum  one  way  an'  sum  tiv  anuther ; 
A  dandy  yung  buck  got  a  rap  on  the  scaup, 

An'  one  went  reet  off  in  a  swuther. 


488  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

An'  faiks  I  but  the  seet  it  suen  dazed  me,  aw's  sure, 

Te  see  the  greet  croods  o*  folks  mairchin'  se  fine ; 
Wor  fitters  an'  viewers  in  greet  numbers  war  there, 

An'  enginemen  an'  workmen,  the  pride  o*  the  Tyne. 
But  the  volunteer  riflers  frightened  us  a', 

When  they  went  past  where  Tom  an'  me  stud ; 
An'  queerly  dressed  fellows  war  there  cummin'  thick. 

Besides,  tee,  the  men  o'  bowld  Robin  Hood. 

An'  when  the  purcession  got  up  te  the  styen, 

A  chep  began  for  te  rowl  up  a  cloot  \ 
A  gentleman  nob  gat  reet  up  aloft — 

The  people  aroond  set  up  a  greet  shoot ; 
An'  aw  wes  the  forst  the  figger  te  spy, 

An'  aw  said  at  wonce  it  wes  Geordie  the  daddy ; 
But  aw  thowt  te  mesel  when  they  played  "  God  save  the 
Queen," 

Aw  wad  weel  heh  liked  for  te  hear  the  "  Pit  Laddie.'* 

Ah,  man !  but  the  monument  itsel  it  luiks  grand, 

Te  see  the  canny  aud  fellow  up  there ; 
An'  te  hear  a'  the  fine  things  the  gentleman  said, 

It  varry  near  myed  maw  heart  for  te  blair. 
An'  a  wee  trapper  lad  wes  stuck  in  a  corner, 

An'  monny  mair  figgers  se  fine. 
An'  aw  said  lang  might  it  stand  here  te  Stephenson's  glory. 

The  wee  trapper  laddie,  the  pride  o'  the  Tyne ! 

When  the  fray  wes  a'  ower  Tom  an'  me  had  a  gill. 

An'  loodly  the  haverils  war  tawkin' : 
They  said  sic  a  seet  they'd  ne'er  seen  afore, 

Sic  heeps  o'  fine  folks  thor  wes  walkin'. 
Says  aw,  "Tommy,  man,  let's  tyek  wor  ways  hyem, 

An'  tell  te  wor  awn  folks  the  story ; 
For  pit  lads  far  an'  near,  frae  the  Tyne  te  the  Wear, 

Lang  may  they  rejoice  in  aud  Stephenson's  glory. 

Dawson.  AvJthm'i  MantucHpt,  18&2, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


489 


JACK'S   larOODEHT   LEG. 


John  Stephenson,  better 
knoMm  as  Wood -Legged 
Jack,  died  October  15, 
1862,  whilst  in  the  act  of 
eating  a  morsel  of  food, 
which  he  had  from  two 
men  in  the  White  House, 
Pilgrim  Street.  Many 
carriers  then  frequented 
Pilgrim  Street,  and  Jack 
picked  up  a  living  going 
messages  for  them.  The 
following  whimsical  fancy 
was  written  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  on  hearing  that 
it  was  intended  to  raffle  his 
Pilgrim  Street  Gate  before  its  removal  (1802).    woq^en  leg. 

Tune—"  Wonderful  Tallygrip." 

'TwAS  in  the  White  House  some  queer  cheps  did  fore- 
gether, 

One  Seturday  neet  when  they  war  on  the  spree, 
An'  frae  what  aw  cud  hear  'mang  the  noise  and  the 
blether, 

There  wis  somethin'  wonderful  they  had  for  ti  see. 
A  duzen  or  mair  war  set  at  a  tyeble. 

The  head  o'  the  company  was  stuck  on  a  keg ; 
A  cheppy  tuik  kelter  as  fast's  he  was  yeble, 

There  war  gan  for  ti  raffle  aud  Jack's  wooden  leg. 

Aw  joined  in  the  set  when  aw  herd  what  the  gam  was, 

An'  blithely  aw  tyebled  maw  brass  in  a  crack. 
For  i'  maw  young  days  when  aw  was  a  laddie 

Weel  aw  was  liked  bi'  aud  wooden-legged  Jack. 
An'  sair,  sair  did  aw  greeve  when  aw  herd  ov  his  end, 
man, 

How  for  a  bite  the  puir  chep  had  ti  beg  ; 
He  oft  had  sair  wark  for  ti  myek  a  bit  fend,  man. 

An'  noo  they  wad  raffle  his  aud  wooden  leg. 


490  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

When  the  nyems  war  a'  reckin'd,  there  wis  a  hundred  duzen 

Ov  fellows  determined  ti  try  at  thor  luck ; 
The  gam  wis  begun  bi  Bill  Bowden's  greet  cuzen, 

Whe  cawd  us  the  cheps  for  showing  British  pluck. 
He  thrawed  fifteen,  which  was  considered  a  wunder, 

Another  got  five  for  ti  hang  on  his  peg ; 
But  Bill  Thompson,   the  trimmer,    gar*d  Bill's  cuzen 
knock  under, 

For  he  thrawed  eighteen  for  Jack's  wooden  leg. 

Aw  gat  up  the  dice  an'  them  aw  did  rattle, 

For  aw  felt  sartin  and  sure  for  ti  win ; 
Aw  thowt  with  the  best  aw  wad  gie  them  gud  battle, 

For  the  leg  ti  gan  past  me  wad  be  a  greet  sin. 
Aw  thowt  o'  the  times  when  aw'd  see  him  stot  bi  me 

Beside  the  Black  House  on  his  aud  wooden  peg ; 
Aw'd  gien  him  a  hawpenny  when  he  cam  nigh  me, 

Ti  help  for  drink  for  his  aud  wooden  leg. 

Hurrah  I  noo,  me  lads,  awVe  thrawn  the  two  duzen, 

Come,  try  an'  beat  that  thraw  if  ye  can ; 
Muckle-gobbed  Mat  he  thrawed  three-an'-twenty, 

But  Bowdy-kites  Billy's  thraw  showed  him  a  man ; 
For  he  took  up  the  dice,  an'  he  garr'd  them  a'  jingle, 

He  thrawed  four-an'-twenty  alang  wi*  Daft  Peg. 
The  three  on  us  paddled,  but  aw  gaw  them  a  tingle, 

For  aw  tuik  off  the  prize  o'  Jack's  wooden  leg. 

Aw  ga'd  ti  the  cheps  that  they  caw  Anty  Quarks^ 

That  i'  wor  aud  Cassel  myek  sic  a  gran  seet ; 
It's  placed  'mang  the  steyns,  and  the  greet  nicky  nackies^ 

And  for  fowerpence  ye  may  see'd  ony  haliday  neet. 
At  thor  varry  last  meeting  me  sair  they  did  flatter. 

An'  famed  Dr.  Bruce,  tee,  said  he  would  beg 
That  they  ask  Robert  White  for  ti  tyek  up  the  matter. 

An'  gie  them  the  History  o'  Jack's  Wooden  Leg. 

Dawson.  A\Ahaf%  JfantMcript,  1862. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  491 

JOHN   KELDAY   SMITH. 

The  Monthly  Chronicle  gives  the  following  brief  notice  of 
this  writer: — "Mr.  J.  K.  Smith,  bellhanger,  died  on  the  12th 
of  June  1889,  at  his  residence,  Temperance  Row,  Shieldfield, 
in  his  54th  year.  He  was  a  native  of  Orkney,  but  had  lived 
in  Newcastle  almost  since  his  infancy.  As  a  writer  of  local 
songs,  he  showed  his  versatility  in  the  composition  of  pieces 
for  Chater's  comic  publication.  Ward's  Almanack,  and  the 
Weekly  Chronicle,  Besides  this,  he  was  the  writer  of  a  prize 
song  on  the  Gateshead  Working  Men's  Club,  and  the  author 
of  a  prize  essay  on  working  men's  clubs." 

To  this  we  may  add  the  first  and  two  last  verses  from  one 
of  his  latest  and  best  songs,  *' Whereivvor  hae  they  gyen?" 
it  happily  hits  off  the  changes  made  by  a  few  years'  absence 
from  the  old  town. 

WHEREIVVOR  HAE  THEY  GYEN? 

Tune—"  Perhaps  she's  on  the  Bailway." 
Aw*M  a  nativ  ov  Newkassil,  but  aw've  been  se  lang  away, 
Aw  divvint  see  the  fyeces  that  aw  met  wiv  ivvory  day  ; 
Aw  miss  the  weel-knawn  voices  in  the  burly  lokil  tung  ; 
Aw  nivvor  hear  a  single  stave  ov  what  me  muther  sung. 
Thor's  been  such  deeths  an*  weddins,  an'  changes  gud  an'  bad. 
Aw  cannit  finnd  the  foaks  aw  knew  when  just  a  Tyneside  lad ; 
Aw  had  sum  aunts  an*  cuzzins  that  war  scattor'd  awl  aboot, 
Aw've  been  ippon  the  hunt  awl  day  an'  cannit  finnd  them  cot. 

CAortM. 
Wherei  vvor  hae  they  gyen  ?    Where! vvor  can  they  be  ? 
Aw've  sowt  them  in  the  Tuthill. Stairs — aw've  sowt  them  on  the  Kee; 
Aw've  been  throo  lanes  an'  allevs,  an'  wandor'd  up  an'  doon. 
They're  owther  deed  an'  barried,  or  gyen  an'  left  the  toon. 

It's  just  the  syem  wi'  public  men  whichivvor  way  aw  torn, 
Aw  hevvint  met  a  singil  yen  frae  Elsick  te  the  "  Born  "  ; 
Aw  clapp'd  me  hands  for  Larkin,  the  speaker  ov  the  north, 
Aw  shootid  oot  te  Johnny  Fife,  "  the  battle  of  the  Forth." 
Aw've  shaken  hands  wi'  Chambors — ^we  awl  liked  **  Honest  Bob," 
An'  said  te  Cockney  boasters — he's  the  man  te  shut  yor  gob ; 
**  Hand  away,  Harrie,"  for  Olaspor  wonse  yewsed  te  be  the  cry. 
An'  ''Gan  on,  Benforth,  hinny,    when  he  myed  the  paddles  fly. 

Wherei  vvor  hae  they  gyen?  etc. 
Bobby  Allan,  an*  Rewcassil — ^the  payntor.  Tommy  Carr, 
Were  elwis  in  the  front  te  fight  a  stoot  teetotal  war ; 
Wor  lokil  bard  in  Robson,  Joe  Wilson  wiv  his  rliymes, 
Hes  cheer'd  the  harts  ov  Tvneside  men  when  far  in  distant  climes. 
An'  monny  mair  aw  yewsed  te  knaw  tiv  uther  lands  hev  gyen. 
The  awd  'uns  thit  held  langist  oot  hev  dropt  oflf  yen  biv  yen ; 
Thor's  nyen  te  sav  "  Noo,  ninney,  Jack,  hoo  are  ye  gettin'  on  ? " 
They've  melted  like  the  wintor's  snaw  the  sun  hes  shone  ippon. 

Whereivvor  hae  they  gyen?  etc. 
£mith.  AMlhor9  Copyy  1886. 


492  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

THE   FORST   OM   OBTT   YE   HAD. 

Tune—"  When  the  kyo  comes  hame." 

There's  a  happy  time  in  awl  wor  lives,  a  plishur  in  the 

past, 
When  we  wor  stannin/^rj/  at  skyul,  instead  of  being  Azj// 
When  ye  went  reet  ayheed,  an'  beaten  ivvory  lad — 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  ov  the  forst  ov  owt  ye  had  ? 

Chorus, 
The /orsi  ov  owt  ye  had,  the /orsi  ov  owt  ye  had ; 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  ov  the /orsf  ov  owt  ye  had? 

ynien/orsf  ye  had  te  gan  te  wark,  ye  thowt  yorsel  a  man,. 
And  bowldly  left  yor  cosy  bed,  and  tyuk  yor  brickfist- 

can; 
When  ye  gat  yor  forst  week's  brass,  and  tyuk  it  te  yor 

dad- 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  ov  the  forst  pay  that  ye  had? 

When  ye  dressed  yor-sel  in  Sunday  claes,  te  figgor  roond 

the  toon, 
And  cut  a  high  toon  swagger,  bi  wandering  up  an'  doon  > 
Te  fit  ye  like  a  swell,  an'  myek  the  lasses  mad — 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  av  the  forst  watch  that  ye 

had? 

And  when  ye  met  wi'  bonnie  Poll,  when  gawn  up  Jesmond 

Dene, 
Ye  thowt  she  was  the  finest  lass  that  iwor  yit  was  seen ; 
Ye  gat  a  gud-neet  kiss,  that  myed  yor  heart  feel  glad — 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  ov  the  forst  lass  that  ye  had? 

When  sattled  doon  in  married  life,  yor  bliss  wis  not 

complete. 
Ye  wished  a  little  Toddles  for  te  play  aroond  yor  feet ; 
Ye  tyuk  it  as  it  cam,  if  owther  lass  or  lad — 
Can  ye  e'er  forget  the  plishur  ov  the  forst  bairn  that  ye 

had? 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  493 

We  get  see  yewsed  te  awl  wor  joys,  thor's  nowt  ayboot 

them  new, 
They  cum  see  nattoral  in  thor  turn,  we  think  it  is  wor 

due; 
But  when  they  blissed  us  forst,  we  felt  supremely  glad — 
Can  you  e'er  forget  the  plishur  of  the  forst  of  owt  ye  had  ? 

SviTH.  Authm'9  Copy*  1S86. 


MATTHEW   DRYDEN. 

The  following  letter,  which  appeared  in  the  Daily  Chronicle, 
March  8th,  1890,  gives  a  fair  account  of  this  writer  : — 

"  While  yoar  columns  day  after  day  of  late  have  been  recording 
the  fall  first  of  one  '  Man  of  Mark '  and  then  of  another,  and 
recording  also  their  struggles  from  comparative  poverty  to  opulence, 
perhaps  a  little  space  might  be  spared  for  one  who,  unnoticed, 
except  in  your  obituary  columns,  has  just  fallen,  and,  unlike  those 
whose  careers  you  have  recorded,  has  fallen  as  poor  at  the  end  of 
his  fight  with  fortune  as  at  the  beginning.  Matthew  Dryden, 
author  of  'Perseveer;  or,  the  Nine  Hours  Movement,*  died  a  few 
days  ago,  after  a  lingering  illness,  at  his  residence,  Herbert  Street, 
in  his  forty-sixth  year,  leaving  a  widow  and  six  children.  He  was 
born  at  Belford,  where  his  father  occupied  a  fair  position,  having 
an  interest  in  some  colliery  about  that  part.  While  but  a  little  way 
into  his  teens,  by  his  father's  sudden  death,  Dryden,  young  as  he 
was,  had  to  set  to  and  fight  the  battle  of  life.  Like  many  others 
so  engaged,  he  came  to  Newcastle,  and,  obtaining  employment  at 
Sir  >^  Armstrong's,  remained  there  until  his  death.  In  1871  the 
great  nine  hours  strike  occurred,  and  Dryden  came  out  with  the 
rest  At  once  he  set  himself  to  work  for  the  cause.  He  was  a 
good  singer — ^local,  Irish,  and  sentimental  being  alike  to  him.  He 
did  all  well,  excelling  in  Joe  Wilson's  songs.  He  organised 
concerts  for  the  benefit  of  the  strike  funds,  and  for  these  concerts 
wrote  his  popular  song,  *  Perseveer  ;  or,  the  Nine  Hours  Movement.' 
Perhaps  its  literary  merit  is  not  great,  but  it  suited  his  audience, 
and  the  strike  funds  benefited.  Another  of  his  songs  on  '  Elliott, 
the  Pegswood  sculler,'  was  also  popular.  At  the  end  of  the  strike 
he  returned  to  Armstrong's,  and  at  the  time  of  his  death  had  been 
about  thirty  years  in  the  service  of  the  firm.  His  '  Perseveer '  in  all 
probability  wiU  live  as  a  memento  of  the  great  nine  hours  strike. 
That  movement,  in  its  day  considered  almost  revolutionary,  is  now, 
so  quickly  times  are  changing,  almost  out  of  date  by  the  rising  of 
the  newer  eight  hours  agitation." 


494  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

PERSEVEER : 

OR,   THE  NINE  OORS   MOVEMINT. 

Tune—"  Nelly  Ray." 

Yen  Munday  neet  aw  went  oot  just  te  hev  a  walk, 
When  aw  met  a  chep  frae  Sunderland,  an'  we  got  on 

te  tawk; 
He  says,   "Wor  workin  clivvor  noo,  an'  likely  for  te 

thrive, 
We've  got  the  Nine  Oors  Movemint  noo,  an'  we  drop 

wor  work  at  five." 

Chorus, 
Perseveer !  Perseveer  !  awl  ye  that's  sittin'  here  ! 
Perseveer  !  Perseveer  1  they've  gettin*t  on  the  Wear  ! 
Ye  men  upon  the  banks  o'  Tyne,  aw  think  thor's  little  fear, 
But  ye'U  get  the  Nine  Oors  Movemint  if  ye  only  perseveer  f 

Says  aw,  "  Me  man,  aw  think  yor  reet  biv  aw  that  aw 

can  reed ; 
But  mind  ye  myed  a  gallant  fite  before  ye  did  succeed. 
Se  tell  yor  mates  at  Sunderland,  when  ye  gan  ower  hyem. 
That  wor  lads  aboot  Newcassel  thor  gawn  te   de  the 

syem ! " 

Perseveer,  etc. 

He  says,  "  Yor  tawkin  like  a  man,  for  aw  really  think 

it's  time : 
If  the  movemint  pays  upon  the  Wear  it'll  pay  upon  the 

Tyne; 
Yor  workin  men   they've  been   lang  famed,  aw  hope 

they'll  keep  thor  nyem : 
They  helpt  us  ower  at  Sunderland,  so  we'll  help  thero 

back  agyen ! " 

Perseveer,  etc 

Noo,  strikes  are  what  aw  diwent  like,  but  if  they'll  not 

agrees 
We'll  heh  te  be  like  Sunderland,  an'  close  wor  factories, 

tee; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


495 


The  maistors  then'U  start  te  fret,  and  own  'it  they  were 

rang; 
It's  then  they'll  see  they  cannot  de  withoot  the  workin 

man. 

Perseveer,  etc. 

Aw  myek  nee  doot  wor  maistors  think  they'll  just  de 

what  they  like, 
For  they  knaw  it  hurts  a  workin  man  when  he  hes  te 

cum  te  strike ; 
But  if  we  prove  as  true  as  steel  wor  maistors  will  be  fast, 
Thor  contracts  mun  be  finished,  so  they  will  give  in  at 
last 

Perseveer,  etc. 
Drtden.  Author's  Copy,  1871. 


JAMES    HORSLEY. 

Amongst  the  brightest  of  recent  Tyneside  song-writers 
James  Horsley  must  be  classed.  His  songs  and  poems  have 
just  been  collected  and  published  in  a  popular  form.  In  that 
edition  his  life,  written  by  his 
friend  Mr.  Hastings,  appears ;  to 
that  interesting  sketch  the  reader 
is  referred,  as  here  all  that  can  be 
given  is  a  brief  summary.  Belong- 
ing Alnwick,  left  an  orphan  in 
Newcastle  at  an  early  age,  when 
little  more  than  a  child  he  had 
to  begin  the  battle  of  life.  This 
he  fought  as  a  stable  boy,  cabin 
boy,  anything  that  promised  a 
livelihood.  About  his  stable 
boy  days  he  used  to  tell — mis- 
timed and  worn-out  he  has  at 
times  fallen  asleep  on  the  horse's 
back,  and  so  been  landed  at  the 
stables  in  the  Haymarket. 

Outgrowing  his  adverse  cir- 
cumstances, as  a  young  man  he  was  for  a  time  with  Robert 
Ward,  connected  with  his  Advertiser  2j\6.  Directory^  finally 


496  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

engaginf^  with  Mr.  Andrew  Reid,  where  he  continued  until 
his  death,  Reid's  Railway  Guide,  known  all  over  the  North, 
being  his  special  line. 

When,  a  little  over  twenty,  he  wrote  his  first  song,  a 
whimsical  fancy,  "Geordy's  Dream;  or,  the  Sun  and  the 
Muen,"  for  twenty-five  years  that  was  his  only  song,  as  he  was 
nearly  fifty  before  he  tried  again.  The  second  start  knew  no 
pause.  With  a  free  and  fluent  pen  he  continued  writing  until 
the  last.  Jesmond  was  his  favourite  theme :  singing  its 
praises  he  never  tired.  Perhaps  in  the  following  he  is  at  his 
best:— 

JESMOND. 

I  would  the  gift  were  mine  in  words  to  sing, 
The  beauty  born  of  thee  in  early  spring ; 
Still  more  in  summer  would  I  long  for  power 
To  chant  the  birth  of  every  opening  flower  ; 
How  blooming  hawthorn  with  laburnum  vies 
In  oflfering  incense  to  the  grateful  skies ; 
How  rhododendrons  with  their  "  purpling  "  hue 
Seem  jealous  of  the  heavens'  translucent  blue ; 
How  autumn's  foliage  in  russet  brown 
Makes  autumn's  sun  blush  red  as  he  goes  down  ; 
How  limpid  ripples  on  thy  purling  stream 
Smile  shining  dimples  in  the  moon's  pale  beam ; 
How  rich  profusion  every  sense  rewards, 
Made  still  more  rapturous  by  songs  of  birds. 
Much  more  thou  hast  that  man  hath  kindly  given, 
Which  makes  thee  seem  a  paradise  from  heaven. 

Auihof'9  Fo2ttm«,  1891. 

Away  from  his  favoured  Jesmond,  his  lines  "  To  the  Angel 
of  Death  "  possibly  are  his  finest — 

TO  THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH. 

0 !  death,  come  softly  to  my  side. 
And  whisper  low  thy  dread  command ; 

When  I  no  longer  here  may  bide. 
Then  take  me  gently  by  the  hand. 

If  thou  must  come,  0  !  then  be  kind, 

And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 

Come  not  in  wrath  nor  in  the  storm, 

Nor  in  the  pestilence  nor  war, 
But  rather  in  thy  softer  form. 

Of  gentle  swoon,  or  slumber's  car. 
If  thou  must  come,  0  !  then  be  kind. 
And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  497 

Come  not  in  treachery  nor  hate, 

Nor  take  nie  in  some  deed  of  sin, 
But  lead  me  to  thy  pathless  gate 

In  love,  and  bid  me  enter  in. 
If  thou  must  come,  O  !  then  be  kind, 
^nd  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 

Come  clothed  in  mercy,  come  in  peace, 
While  friends  and  loved  ones  round  me  mourn. 

Whose  voices  may,  as  life  doth  cease, 
Accompany  rae  to  yonder  bourne. 

If  thou  must  come,  O  !  then  be  kind, 

And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 

Come  when  the  flowers  are  blooming  fair. 

In  autumn  or  in  budding  spring, 
When  nature's  perfume  fills  the  air. 

And  birds  my  requiem  sweetly  sing. 
If  thou  must  come,  0  !  then  be  kind. 
And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 

I  fear  thee,  yet  I  seek  thee.  Death, 
Thy  wakeless  sleep  a  rest  doth  bring  ; 

May  faith  and  prayer  in  my  last  breath 
Disarm  thee  of  thy  bitter  sting. 

If  thou  must  come,  0  1  then  be  kind, 

And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 
February,  1886. 

0  !  come  not  when  the  driven  snow 

Lies  thick  beneath  the  mourners'  feet ; 
It  seems  so  cold  to  be  laid  low 

Beneath  a  wintry  winding  sheet. 
If  thou  must  come,  0  !  then  be  kind, 
And  think  of  them  I  leave  behind. 

Aiilhov^a  Volume^  1891. 
The  last  verse  was  an  addition,  made  not  long  before 
his  death ;  its  prayer  was  not  to  be  granted.  Snow  fell 
heavily  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  at  the  funeral  lay 
so  thick  that  a  way  had  to  be  cut  to  the  grave.  Not  for 
long  at  least  was  one  to  be  left  behind.  Mrs.  Horsley  died 
six  months  later  (September  1891),  and  was  laid  beside  him 
in  St.  Andrew's  Cemetery.  Mr.  Horsley's  portrait  is  from  a 
photo  by  P.  M.  Laws. 

SHE'S    SUMBODDY'S    BAIRHT. 

One  dark,  dorty  neet,  as  aw  myed  me  way  hyem, 

Aw  passed  a  bit  lassie  se  bonny ; 
She  belanged  tiv  a  class  that  aw'm  frightened  to  nyem, 

An'  aw  grieve  that  wor  toon  hes  se  monny. 
32 


498  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

She'd  dress'd  hersel'  up  in  extravagant  style, 

Wi'  satins  an'  laces  upon  her ; 
As  she  passed  me  her  fyece  had  a  strange  sort  o'  smile, 

That  glifT'd  me,  it  did,  on  me  honour. 

Aw  thowt,  noo,  that's  samboddy's  bairn. 

Aw  wis  struck  bi  her  youth  an'  her  bonny  white  skin. 

An'  the  bloom  on  her  cheek  tho'  'twas  painted, 
As  it  flash'd  on  me  mind,  them's  the  trappins  o'  sin. 

Oh,  aw  felt,  ay,  as  if  aw  cud  fainted. 
Aw  saw  bi  her  walk,  an'  her  heed  toss'd  se  high, 

An'  her  airtful-like  manner  se  winnin', 
Bi  her  ower-dressed  style,  an'  the  glance  ov  her  eye. 

That  she*d  myed,  oh,  that  awful  beginnin' ; 

An'  aw  thowt,  noo,  she's  sumboddy's  bairn. 

Oh,  lasses,  remember  yor  feythers  at  hyem. 

An'  yor  muthers,  whe's  hearts  ye  are  breakin'. 
An'  the  bruthors  an'  sisters  yor  bringin*  te  shyera. 

An'  the  awful-like  future  yor  myekin' ; 
Divvent  hanker  for  plissure  nor  dresses  se  fine, 

Nor  be  tempted  bi  fashin  an'  beauty  ; 
Think  twice  ere  ye  start  on  that  dreadful  decline 

That  leads  ye  fre'  virtue  and  duty. 

Remember,  yor  sumboddy's  bairn. 

Ye  lads  that  a  muther  hes  fondled  an'  nurs'd, 

That  hes  sisters  that's  gentle  an'  pure, 
Nivver  lead  a  young  lass  in  the  way  that's  accurs'd, 

Nivver  breathe  in  her  ear  what's  impure. 
Reyther  try  to  protect  her  fre'  danger  an'  harm, 

And  if  wrang'd,  see  the  injured  one  righted ; 
For  life  hes  been  robb'd  of  its  loveliest  charm, 

When  a  woman's  fair  fame  hes  been  blighted. 

For  mind,  she  wis  sumboddy's  bairn. 
HORSLBT.  Authm'i  Copy,  1886. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  499 

THE   CHIISESE   SAILORS   IKT   NEWCASTLE, 

In  1881,  at  Armstrong's,  a  war  vessel  was  built  for  the  Chinese  Govem- 
ment,  and  some  hundreds  of  Chinese  sailors  came  to  Newcastle  as  her  crew. 
The  song  describes  them  as  seen  in  the  streets. 

John  Chinaman  hes  cum  te  spy 

Wor  canny  Northern  toon, 
Wi*  flattened  fyece,  an*  funny  eye, 

An'  skin  ov  olive  broon, 
An'  stumpy  feet,  an'  lang  pig-tails. 

An'  claes  o'  clooty  blue, 
Alang  wor  street  he  slawly  trails, 

Just  like  a  live  yule  doa 

Chorus, 
John  Chinaman,  John  Chinaman, 

What  hev  ye  cum  te  see? 
What  de  ye  think  o'  wor  toon  lads  ? 

Hoo  de  ye  like  wor  Quay  ? 

Hev  ye  been  to  the  Market  yit, 

Wor  cabbages  te  see. 
Or  "  get  a  puddin*  nice  an'  het," 

Or  hev  a  cup  o'  tea  ? 
Or  hev  ye  been  te  th'  cutler's  there 

Te  get  yor-sel  a  knife. 
Or  stroll'd  th'  length  o'  filly  fair 

To  choose  yor-sel  a  wife? 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 

Or  hev  ye  had  a  swagger  doon 

By  Mosley  Street  at  neet. 
An'  watched  them  myek  th'  bonny  meun 

Wiv  Swan's  Electric  Leet  ? 
Or  hev  ye  been  te  Laws's  place, 

An'  smiled  yor  biggest  laff, 
An'  let  yor  pigtail  hing  wi'  grace, 

Te  get  yor  photygraff  ? 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 


500  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Or  hev  ye  been  te  Barkas's 

The  bicycles  te  try, 
An*  show'd  th'  Quayside  marquises, 

Like  them  yor  rethor  "  fly'*  ? 
Or  hev  ye  been  te  see  th*  shops 

Te  spend  yor  English  tin, 
An'  as  th*  money  frae  ye  drops, 

Suspect  yor  tyek*n  in  ? 

John  Chinaman,  etc 

Or  hev  ye  had  a  ridy-pide 

Inside  a  Tramway  Car, 
Wi*  grinnin'  fyeuls  at  every  side 

A*  wunderia*  what  ye  are  ? 
Or  hev  ye  bowt  a  big  ci-ga*, 

An'  tried  to  myek  it  leet, 
An'  gyen  an'  deun  the  La-di-da, 

Alang  by  Grainger  Street  ? 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 

Then  trail  alang,  John  Chinaman, 

Amang  the  crood  ov  bairns, 
An'  touchy  tyesty  all  ye  can, 

For  that's  th'  way  one  lairns ; 
But,  mind,  beware  o*  cheeky  lass, 

An*  whisky,  John,  and  beer, 
For  if  ye  tyek  an  extra  glass. 

Oh,  John,  'twill  cost  ye  dear  I 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 

If  ye  shud  tyek  a  drop  ower  much. 

An*  it  gets  in  yor  eye, 
An*  ye  get  i*  wor  bobby's  clutch, 

My  sangs,  he'll  myek  ye  cry — 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  501 

He'll  tyek  ye  up  before  the  "  chief," 

An'  though  yor  skin  be  broon, 
An'  ye  be  neither  rogue  nor  thief, 

He'll  fine  ye  haaf-a-croon. 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 

But  ye'll  hev  seen,  John  Chinaman, 

Barbarious  English  cheps 
Disgrace  the  varry  nyem  ov  men, 

Th'  blackguard  jackanyeps ! 
Should  ony  drucken  cuddy,  John, 

Dar  smite  ye  in  the  gob, 
We'll  let  ye  break  a  saucer,  John, 

An'  fine  him  forty  bob. 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 

John  Chinaman,  John  Chinaman, 

Dressed  in  yor  suit  ov  blue, 
YeVe  cum  te  see  John  Englishman, 

An'  axee-how-he-doo. 
Yor  welcome  here,  John  Chinaman, 

Te  buy  yor  guns  an'  ships, 
An'  if  ye  bring  yor  munny,  John, 

Ye'll  find  us  jolly  chips. 

John  Chinaman,  etc. 
HOBSLET.  Authoi's  Manuscript,  1881. 


GEORGE   CHARLTON   BARROSI, 

Born  at  Gateshead,  began  his  career  on  the  Quay  as  a  clerk 
with  his  relative,  Ralph  Blackett  (a  Tyneside  writer  before 
referred  to).  A  mimic  and  elocutionist,  like  many  so  gifted, 
when  young  he  fancied  the  sta^e,but  his  career  as  an  actor  was 


502 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


brief;  he  soon  returned  to  Newcastle,  where  his  dramatic 
abilities  made  him  a  great  favourite.  A  commercial  traveller 
with  a  wide  circle  of  friends,  for  social  gatherings  he  was 
much  sought  after.  As  an  entertainer  he  was  versatile ; 
Scottish  and  Tyneside  being  his  favourite  lines,  in  these  his 
stories  were  endless.  In  his  prime,  with  apparently  many 
years  of  life  before  him,  he  was  suddenly  struck  down.  For 
an  abscess  in  the  head    he  underwent   an    operation ;   it 

was  successfully 
performed,  but 
after  a  few  dajrs 
he  took  an  un- 
favourable turn, 
and  after  a  brief 
illness,  died  at 
North  Shields 
on  June  i6th, 
1891,  in  his  45th 
year,  and  was 
buried  at  Pres- 
ton Cemetery. 

The  Rev.  H. 
Vian  William, 
Congregational 
minister,  in  re- 
ferring to  his 
death  said: 
"  His  life  was 
marked  by 
many  fine  traits, 
but  most  notice- 
able was  his 
Photo.  Auty  &  Ruddock,  Tynemouth.     bubbling  cheer- 

fulness— an  animated  sunbeam,  which  brightened  everybody 
and  every  place.  His  (Mr.  William's)  life  during  the  last 
eighteen  months  had  had  its  sorrows,  and  many  a  time  Mr. 
Barron  ministered  to  him  some  of  this  genial  cheerfulness, 
and,  as  an  act  of  gratitude,  he  would  like  to  plant  a  flower 
on  his  grave."  The  general  feeling  at  Mr.  Barron's  untimely 
death  was  shown  by  the  way  the  subscription  for  his  widow 
was  taken  up,  about  £^00  being  raised  in  a  short  time. 

Apparently  the  only  piece  Mr.  Barron  wrote  was  "Bill 
Smith  at  Waterloo."  Amongst  the  stories  he  told,  many 
no  doubt  would  be  touched  up  by  him,  but  in  localising 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  503 

(assisted  by  his  friend  Mr.  Spence)  an  American  story  into 
**  Bill  Smith  at  Waterloo,"  and  making  its  hero  a  Tyneside 
man,  he  did  his  best. 


BILL  SMITH  AT  THE  BATTLE  OF  ISTATERLOO. 

The  following  story  is  told  to  illustrate  the  prejudices  of  human 
nature  in  general,  and  Tynesiders  in  particular.  You  possibly  never 
met  a  man  yet,  from  even  the  most  remote  village,  but  who  would 
in  a  few  minutes'  conversation  assure  you  that  it  was  the  most 
ivonderful  place  in  the  world  for  something  or  other. 

A  Scotsman  might  entertain  a  Tynesider  for  a  month,  take  him 
up  the  Clyde  and  show  him  the  latest  wonders  in  machinery,  etc. ; 
yet  it  is  ten  to  one  that  after  examining  it  he  would  exclaim,  "  It's 
varry  canny,  but  ye  shud  see  the  Tyne." 

That  we  have  prejudices  I  could  give  many  proofs,  but  one  will 
suffice.  I  remember  well  the  late  senior  member  for  Newcastle  (Mr. 
Joseph  Cowen)  delivering  his  first  speech  as  a  candidate  for  Parlia- 
ment, giving  as  a  reason,  among  many  others,  of  his  fitness  to 
represent  his  native  town,  that  he  not  only  spoke  the  language,  but 
••  shared  the  prejudices  of  the  people." 

Two  Newcastle  workmen  go  to  London,  one  of  whom  had  been 
there  before,  so  of  course  he  was  to  be  guide,  friend,  and  philo- 
sopher of  the  other  who  had  never  been.  When  they  arrived  at 
King's  Cross  Station,  after  eleven  hours'  journey  in  one  of  those 
"  cheap  trips,"  the  one  who  had  never  travelled  before,  stretching 
himself  on  the  platform,  said — 

"  By  gox,  Geordy,  it's  dry  wark  this  travellin',  and  yon's  a  public- 
hoose  open  ;  let's  hev  a  drink." 

**Noo,  Jack,  thoo'll  hae  to  be  guided  be  me.  If  thoo  gans  in 
there,  aw  diwent  knaw  what  thoo  may  get;  thoo  might  get 
p^oisoned,  where  if  thoo  waits  till  we  get  into  the  next  street,  aboot 
six  doors  doon,  thor's  a  hoose  there  kept  by  a  reel  Newcassel  chep ; 
they  cawl  him  Bill  Smith,  and  he  hes  a  cupple  of  pot  lads,  and  thor 
Newcassel  cheps  tee,  an*  we'll  get  a  drop  of  reel  Newcassel  mild, 
and  mair  than  that,  he's  a  reel  clivvor  chep  this  Bill  Smith ;  he's 
been  oot  at  the  Peninsula,  kens  Wellin'ton  and  awl  them  cheps, 
an'  if  he's  i'  the  humour,  he'll  give  us  a  erand  crack." 

**  How-way,  then,  for  aw's  varry  dry. 

{Smithes  house  supposed  to  be  reached,) 

"•  Let's  hae  two  pints  o'  mild.     Is  Bill  Smith  in,  mistor  ?** 

**  Ay  ;  he's  in  ahint  there." 

**  Whie,  tell  him  Geordy  Taylor's  heer  frae  Cramlington,  and  a 
friend  of  his.     {Smith  supposed  to  enter, )     Hoo  are  ye.  Smith  ?  " 

**  Oh,  varry  canny  ;  hoo's  yor-sel'  ?  " 

**  Wye,  aw  cannot  complain.  Here's  a  mate  o'  mine  aw've 
browt  up  for  the  first  time ;  an',  man,  Bill,  he  wes  gannin'  intiv  that 


504  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

hooM  at  the  corner  to  get  a  drink,  when  aw  telled  him  te  wait  till 
we  gat  doon  heer,  and  we'd  get  a  drop  o'  gud  stuff ;  and  mair  then 
that,  aw  wes  tellin'  him  what  a  clivvor  chep  thoo  was  ;  that  thoo'd 
been  oot  at  the  Peninsula,  and  kenned  Wellin'ton  and  awl  them 
cheps,  and  if  thoo  wes  in  the  humour  thoo'd  give  us  a  grand  crack." 

**  That's  just  where  thoo  myed  the  mistake,  Taylor.  When  a 
man's  dyun  the  things  aw've  dyun  it  dissent  dee  for  him  te  tawk 
aboot  hees-sel." 

**  Whie,  we  knaw  that  weel  eneugh;  but  he's  nivvor  been  heer 
afore ;  giv  him  a  stave. " 

**  Weel,  he's  nivvor  been  heer  afore,  as  yee  say,  or  aw  waddent  be 
on.  But  thor's  an  awd  corcumstance  struck  me  this  morning  when 
aw  wes  shewin  mesel,  if  thoo  dissent  mind  aw'U  tell  him  that. 

HOW  WATERLOO  WAS  WON. 

**  Ye  knaw  when  aw  wes  oot  at  the  sowlgerin',  aw  wes 
up  syun  one  mornin' — whie,  aw  wes  up  syun  ivvery 
morn  in'  for  the  metter  of  that — when  whe  shud  aw  meet 
but  Wellin'ton. 

"Direc'ly  he  seed  me  he  says,  'What  cheer,  there, 
Smith  ;  hoo's  things  lukin  ?  ' 

**  *  Oh,  varry  canny,'  aw  says,  and  with  that  he  pulls 
oot  a  flask  of  French  brandy  he  had  on  him. 

"  He  always  had  a  flask  of  nice  brandy  on  him  had 
Wellin'ton,  just  wi'  the  reet  quantity  of  wetter  in, 
neither  ower  much  or  ower  little.  We  wor  just  hevvin  a 
nip  there,  when  awl  of  a  suddint  he  torns  roond  te  me 
and  says,  *  What's  yon  on  the  top  of  the  hill  there. 
Smith?' 

"  Says  aw,  *  Begox,  thor  Frenchmen.' 

"  *  Whie,  we  mun  hae  them  shifted' 

**  *  Shifted !  we'll  blow'd  sharp  shift  them  ! ' 

"  *  Haud  on  noo,  Smith,  baud  on.  When  ye  gan  tiv  a 
job  of  that  kind  ye  tyek  ower  few  men.  Ye'U  be  hap- 
pinin  something  sum  day.  Noo,  divvent  ye  gan  wi  less 
than  twenty-five  Newcassel  cheps  tiv  a  job  o'  that  kind.' 

"Aw  went  doon  te  wor  cheps;  they  wor  awl  stannin 
iv  a  heep.  Aw  says,  *  Did  ye  see  them  Frenchmen,  lads, 
on  the  top  o'  the  hill  this  mornin? ' 

"  *  Hoo  many  wad  there  be  o'  them  ?  ' 

"  *Oh,  aw  dar  say  thor'd  be  fower  hundred.' 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  505 

"'Ay.' 

"Ay,  and  annuther  chep  thowt  thor'd  be  fower 
hundred. 

*'  'Whie,'  aw  says,  *  hoo  mony  of  hus  Newcassel  cheps 
wilt  tyek  te  shift  that  lot?  Wellin'ton  thinks  twenty- 
five.     It's  ower  monny,  isn't  it  ?  ' 

*'  *  Ay!  far  ower  monny;  ti  duzzen's  plenty.' 

<<  'Wye,  we'll  tyek  fifteen,  just  to  humour  him  a  bit.' 

**  So  away  we  went  tappy-lappy  down  the  lonnin,  awl 
iv  a  raw,  just  te  rayek  wor-sels  lyuk  as  big  as  possible, 
when,  just  turnin  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  whe  shud  aw 
see  but  Napoleon — hees  awn  sel,  mind — on  a  lily-white 
horse,  and  a  greet  big  telescope  iv  his  hand.  When  he 
sees  me  cummin  he  torned  pale  as  deeth,  and  efter  he 
gat  hes  breeth  he  says — 

*'  'Where  ye  gawn  te,  Smith?  * 

"Aw  says,  'Aw's  just  gawn  te  shift  yon  Frenchmen 
yonder.' 

"  He  says,  *  Haud  on  noo,  Smith,  baud  on.  Are  ye 
reely  gawn  te  shift  them,  or  ar  ye  only  gawn  te  jossell 
them  a  bit  ?  ' 

"  Thor's  ne  jossellin'  aboot  it  noo,  Napoleon ;  they'll 
hev  te  be  shifted,  'cas  Wellin'ton  says  se. ' 

"He  torned  his  horse  aroond  and  run  up  the  bank, 
and  says  tiv  his  men,  *  Back  ye  gan,  ma  lads,  back  ye 
gan ;  for  beer's  Bill  Smith  and  fifteen  Newcassel  cheps 
cum  te  shift  ye,  and  ye  hevvent  a  happorth  o'  chance ! ' 

"  But  aw  divvent  like  te  tawk  about  me-sel,  Taylor ; 
mine's  half  a  rum." 

Barron.  Author's  Maniueriptf  1891. 


JOHN   TAYLOR. 

"Died  at  Dunston  on  the  24th  Sept.,  aged  51,  John  Taylor. 
Interment  at  Dunston  churchyard."  The  above  announce- 
ment appeared  just  as  this  volume  was  finishing  at  the  press. 
It  told  that  another  of  the  old  contributors  of  1872  was  gone, 
and  that  from  the  writers  of  the  present  another  name  had 
to  be  taken  and  placed  upon  the  ever-increasing  roll  of  the 
writers  of  the  past.    John  Taylor  began  life  as  a  clerk  at  the 


506 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Central  Station.     His  father  was  an  old  North-Eastern  man 
— the  first  man  who  printed  the  now  familiar  railway  ticket, 

being  selected  by  the  patentee 
to  work  his  machine.  His  son, 
after  being  some  years  at  the 
Central,  finding  promotion  slow, 
thought  of  making  a  short  cut 
to  fortune.  He  left  the  railway 
company  and  became  traveller 
for  a  large  brewery.  Like  many 
other  short  cuts  this,  in  time,  he 
found  had  its  drawbacks,  and 
possibly  the  slower  progress  of 
the  railway  might  in  the  end 
have  been  better.  Besides  the 
two  songs  in  this  collection,  he 
wrote  many  for  Chater's  and 
Ward's  Almanacks,  being  a 
prize-taker  at  each.  Like  Corvan, 
he  was  versatile,  painting  he  was 
clever  at,  and  the  wood  engravings  of  Blind  Willy,  Captain 
Starkey,  Billy  Purvis,  J.  P.  Robson,  and  Geordy  Black  in 
this  volume  are  by  him.  It  was  to  him  Joe  Wilson  said, 
"Jack,  ye  can  write  a  sang  aboot  as  weel  as  me,  but  yor 
sangs  divn't  sing,  an'  mine  dis."  This  was  said  at  the 
"Adelaide"  in  Joe's  landlord  days,  when  "Jack"  was  a 
regular  caller.  Dunston,  where  he  lies,  and  where  he  was 
born,  is  just  outside  of  Gateshead. 


HARRY   CLASPER    AND    HIS   TESTIMONIAL. 

Henry  Clasper,  famous  in  Tyneside  annals  as  "  Harry  Clasper,"  was  born 
at  Dunston-on-the-Tyne,  in  the  year  1812.  While  yonng  his  parents  removed 
to  Jarrow,  and  there  yonng  Harry  was  sent  to  work  in  the  pits.  After  a 
time  he  returned  to  Dunston  and  worked  as  a  cinder  burner  at  the  Garsfield 
coke  ovens;  and  later  on,  when  abont  twenty  years  of  age,  he  became  a 
wherryman  for  the  same  firm.  From  this  period  his  aquatic  career  may 
be  said  to  have  commenced.  At  this  time  racing  boats  were  heavy  and 
unshapely,  and  the  mechanical  genius  of  young  Harry  was  at  once  directed 
to  their  improvement,  and  such  genius  and  perseverance  did  he  bring  to  his 
favourite  pursuit  that  it  is  a  question  whether  his  fame  as  an  oarsman,  or 
his  renown  as  the  inventor  of  the  modem  racing  boat  is  the  greatest.  One 
of  his  earliest  attempts  at  boat  building  was  the  Fiw  Brothertf  which 
he  built  at  nights,  after  his  day's  work  was  done.  In  this  boat,  so  appro* 
priately  named— the  crew  consisting  of  Harry,  William,  Robert,  Edward, 
and  a  younger  Clasper  as  coxswain— he  for  years  was  victorious  at  the 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  507 

aanual  gida  tm  the  Tyne,  commonly  known  as  Barge  Thursday.  On 
December  18, 1844,  his  victorious  career  was  interrupted,  he  being  defeated 
by  B.  Coombes  in  a  skiff  race  on  the  T^e  for  £180 ;  but  in  the  year  follow- 
ing, with  his  brothers  William  and  Robert,  and  his  unde,  Edward  Hawks, 
he  won  the  champion  prize  of  £100,  and  for  the  first  time  the  Championship 
of  the  World  was  wrested  from  the  Thames,  one  of  the  defeated  crews 
being  Robert  Coombes,  J.  Phelps,  T.  Goodman,  T.  Coombes,  and  D. 
Coombes  (ooz.).  On  the  29th  September  he  defeated  Thomas  Carroll  on  the 
Mersey,  and  on  November  26  defeated  W.  Pocock  on  the  Tyne,  each  match 
being  for  £200.  Early  in  the  following  year,  1846,  he  was  defeated  on  the 
Tyne  by  Robert  Newell  in  a  match  for  £200.  In  1848,  in  the  celebrated 
St.  Agneif  he  and  his  brothers  with  J.  Wilkinson  again  won  the  champion 
prize  on  the  Thames.  On  the  Tyne,  in  a  match  for  £100,  on  the  first  day  of 
1863,  he  with  his  brothers  were  defeated  by  the  celebrated  Elswick  Crew— 
viz.,  Oliver,  Bruce,  Winship,  and  Spoor;  these  four,  known  as  the  Elswick 
Crew,  were  famous  in  the  North,  and  in  1864  won  the  champion  prize  on 
the  Thamea  On  July  22, 1858,  Harry  won  the  Championship  of  Scotland, 
defeating  Robert  Campbell  on  the  Clyde  in  a  match  for  £200,  and  again 
defeated  him  on  October  6th,  in  another  match  for  £200,  on  Loch  Lomond ; 
but  on  November  9th,  1868,  he  was  beaten  by  Thomas  White,  on  the 
Thames,  in  a  match  for  £200.  The  races  mentioned  are  but  a  few  of  his 
principal  ones ;  he  was  engaged  in  several  afterwards,  but  age  began  to  tell 
upon  him,  and  meeting  younger  men  success  did  not  crown  his  efforts,  not- 
withstanding his  great  abilities  as  stroke  in  four-oared  craft,  in  which  he 
was  generally  victorious.  In  1861  an  influential  committee  of  gentlemen 
combined  to  raise  a  testimonial  to  him  (to  which  the  song  refers).  Mr.  T. 
Pringle,  in  a  speech  on  the  occasion,  said — '*  the  London  watermen  at  first 
laughed  at  his  boat,  but  after  the  race  they  quickly  copied  it,  and  now  the 
lines  of  Harry's  skiff  have  been  adopted  to  sea-going  clipper  ships  and  screw 
steamers."  The  result  of  their  efforts  was  that  a  handsome  sum  was  raised, 
and  a  house  in  Scotswood  Road  was  presented  to  him,  where  he  carried  on 
business  as  a  licensed  victualler ;  eventually  he  left  it  and  removed  to  the 
Tunnel  Inn,  North  8fhore,  where  on  Tuesday,  July  12,  1870,  he  died  of 
congestion  of  the  brain,  after  a  few  days'  illness,  aged  58  years.  On  the 
Sunday  following,  July  17,  he  was  buried  in  Whickham  churchyard,  an 
immense  concourse  of  people  gathering  to  witness  the  funeral,  upwards  of 
100,000  being  present  at  the  various  parts  of  the  way.  The  funeral  proces- 
sion (which  went  part  of  the  way  by  water),  was  three  hours  in  reaching 
Whickham,  where  in  the  presence  of  a  great  assemblage  the  body  was  laid 
with  those  of  various  members  of  the  Clasper  family. — (Notey  1872.) 

Time's  tried  a',  they  say,  and  they're  not  se  far  rang, 
Noo  she's  myed  a  tyuf  trial,  she's  tested  him  lang — 
Aw  meen  Harry  Clasper,  that  weel  chorised  nyem, 
For  aw'm  sure  there's  nee  body  can  coupl'd  wi'  sh'em. 

Faithful  aud  Harry — plucky  as  ever, 

The  still  blooming  posey  iv  wor  coaly  river. 


So8  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Time's  tried  a*  her  dodges,  and  says  he's  a'  square, 
Byeth  in  mind  and  in  body — he's  sound  iverywhere; 
Nee  better  man  iver  tyuek  haud  iv  an  oar, 
Nor  can  she  fynd  fault  wiv  him  when  he's  ashore. 

Faultless  aud  Harry,  etc 

Tyek  him  a'  in  a',  as  wise  Shakespeare  says 
.  (AwVe  clean  forgot  where — it's  in  one  of  his  plays), 
Ye'll  not  find  his  equal  in  Tyems  or  in  Tyne, 
For  in  life  or  in  death  Harry  Clasper  '11  shine. 

Matchless  aud  Harry,  etc. 

While  larrels  are  still  hingin'  thick  roond  his  brow. 
He's  tyen  iv  his  head  for  to  bid  ye  adieu ; 
He  thinks  of  the  young  uns  that's  fond  iv  the  skull, 
And  te  ge  them  a  chance  he's  nee  mair  gan  te  pull. 

Thoughtful  aud  Harry,  etc. 

For  the  honours  he's  brought  to  wor  canny  Tyne, 
Folks  talk  aboot  givin'  him  something  that's  fine — 
A  smart  testimonial — an'  aw  think  it's  but  fair, 
For  whe  can  ye  think  that  deserves  a  one  mair  ? 

Canny  aud  Harry,  etc. 

Noo,  luk  what  he's  dyun  i'  the  boat-rowin'  way, 
What  fine  skiffs  he's  myed — ay,  the  best  i'  the  day ; 
An'  luk  what  a  man  he's  trained  intiv  his  place, — 
De  ye  think  there's  a  chep  dur  row  Chambers  a  race  ? 

Wonderful  aud  Harry,  etc. 

Let's  a'  try  wor  best,  noo,  and  see  if  we  can 
Raise  somethin'  to  say  that  we  think  him  a  man, 
That's  chep  iv  respect :  if  to  this  ye  agree. 
To  show  ye  are  willin'  join  in  chorus  wi'  me. 

Worthy  aud  Harry,  etc 

If  we  divn't  behave  weel  tiv  him,  ye  see, 

His  ghost,  when  he's  deed,  'ill  be  seen  frae  the  kee 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  509 

In  a  skiff,  'side  the  bridge,  'bout  twelve  iv'ry  neet, 
Till  the  mornin'  cock  craws,  then  he'll  row  oot  iv  seet. 
Spirited  Harry,  the  pride  iv  wor  river, 
Yor  name  it  will  flourish  when  ye're  gyen  for  iver. 
Taylor.  Author's  Manuscript,  1862. 


THE    FLAY    CRAW;    OR,    PEE    DEE'S    MISHAP. 

Tune—"  Warkworth  Feast." 

Just  as  the  darkness  o'  the  neet 
Began  te  hide  a'  things  frae  seet, 
The  Skinners'  Burn  a  keel  went  past, 
Wi'  sails  stritched  wide,  an'  bendin'  mast. 
Strite  as  a  craw  she  myed  her  way, 
An'  a'  the  keelmen  thowt  that  they 
Frae  Leminton  wad  not  be  lang, 
An'  blist  the  wind  that  blew  se  Strang. 

Rite  fal,  etc. 
But  gud  luck  niver  hes  much  last ; 
The  Meedis  Hoose  they'd  just  gyen  past, 
When  round  aboot,  te  thor  dismay, 
The  wind  it  crept — then  slunk  away. 
As  oney  keelmen  can,  they  swore, 
An'  cursed  what  they  praised  just  afore ; 
One  nipt  the  poor  Pee  Dee's  bit  neck, 
Anuther  kicked  him  'cross  the  deck. 

Rite  fal,  etc 
'Twas  noo  pitch  dark ;  an'  still  thor  lay 
Two  gud  lang  mile  te  gan  :  so  they 
A'  lowered  huik  wi'  little  glee, 
An'  myed  the  Pee  Dee  tyek  one,  tee. 
But  suen,  poor  sowl !  his  huik  gat  fast 
(Mind,  game  he  was — ay,  te  the  last) ; 
He  pulled  an'  twisted,  till  the  keel 
Left  huik  behint — an'  lad  as  weel ! 

Rite  fal,  etc. 


510  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

They  niver  missed  him  till  close  hyem, 
Then  shooted  ov  him  biv  his  nyem. 
Ne  answer  com ;  they  sowt  aboot, 
But  gyen  he  was,  withoot  a  doot 
The  skipper  shuk  his  heed,  an'  said, 
"  The  yung  imp's  drooned,  aw's  very  flaid ; 
O'  fault  wor  clear :  aw'm  shure  he  had 
An  angel's  life  wi'  huz,  poor  lad." 

Rite  fal,  etc. 

'Twas  summer  time,  an'  suen  the  morn 
Broke  on  the  Pee  Dee,  a'  forlorn  ; 
But  sowlger-like,  tho'  deed  almost, 
The  poor  lad  stuck  true  tiv  his  post. 
He  watched  the  shore  wi'  watery  eye 
For  folks  that  might  be  passin'  by. 
At  last  wi'  joy  a  man  he  spied, 
Wi'  sumthin'  hugg'd  close  tiv  his  side. 

Rite  fal,  etc. 

This  chep  (it  turned  out)  tell'd  had  been 
That  sum  big  bords  had  there  been  seen ; 
So,  wiv  his  gun,  he  sowt  the  spot, 
For  fond  was  Clarky  iv  a  shot. 
An'  hopeful  was  he  'boot  his  luck. 
Till  he  saw  the  Pee  Dee  on  the  huik ; 
Then,  "  Gox ! "  he  cried,  "  for  me  te  trick. 
They've  stuck  that  fiay-craw  on  the  stick ! 

Rite  fal,  etc. 

"  But  dash,  they'll  get  thor  rags  ne  mair ; 
Te  blaw  them  doon  aw'U  tyek  gud  care ! " 
He  aimed  and  pulled — gud  luck,  a  snap — 
Just  then  the  laddie  waved  his  cap, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  5 1 1 

An*  shooted,  "  Hey  I  hey  I  canny  man ! 
Be  sharp  an'  save  us  if  ye  can  : 
Aw'm  nearly  deed — aw'm  stiflf  an'  sair  I " — 
But  lang  the  chep  stud  gyepin'  there. 

Rite  fal,  etc. 

When  a'  his  ghostly  doots  were  gyen, 
An'  he  saw  the  lad  was  flesh  an'  byen, 
Sharp  as  he  cud,  a  boat  he  sowt, 
An'  suen  ashore  Pee  Dee  he  browt. 
As  weel  he  might,  the  lad  was  pleased 
Beyond  a'  boonds  at  bein'  released. 
He  thenked  the  chep,  se  timely  sent, 
An',  wiv  his  huik,  oflf  hyem  he  went. 

Rite  fal,  etc. 
Taylor.  A'uXhxn'i  Manmcriptt  1872. 

This  finishes  the  selection  from  the  dialect  poets  of  the 
past ;  many  more  might  have  been  included  had  space 
permitted ;  two,  Dunbar  and  Cresswell,  may  be  mentioned. 
William  Dunbar,  of  Wardley  Colliery,  died  young,  being 
only  twenty-one  at  the  time  of  his  death,  February  23rcl, 
1874.  The  following  extracts  show  that  a  writer  of  much 
promise  fell  in  him  : — 

GBORDY'S  PAY. 
MaU  Johnson  last  Friday  i'  wor  hoose  wis  sittin\ 

When  somehow  or  other  we  got  on  te  talk 
Aboot  the  bad  pays,  an'  we  talk'd  aboot  qaittin', 
Becaws  they  wor  syun  gan  te  force  us  te  walk. 
When  Mall  puts  hor  word  in,  an'  says,  "Diwent  say  nowt, 

If  ye  war  1'  maw  place  ye  might  talk  that  way  ; 
Te  sum  that  we  deal  wi'  this  time  aw  can  pay  nowt, 
For  twenty-tive  bob  is  wor  Geordy's  pay. 

CAonw— Fal  de  la,  etc. 
Noo  Mally  when  talkin'  she  keeps  her  tung  gannin', 
Ye'd  sweer  that  she's  not  gawn  te  stop  ony  mair  ; 
When  once  she  gets  started  she  keeps  ye  all  stannin', 

She'll  not  even  let  ye  chime  in  here  an'  there. 
The  syem  way  last  Friday  she  set  away  fleein', 

Aboot  her  affairs  she  kept  rattlin'  away ; 
She  tell'd  us  awl  things  that  she  intended  dein', 
An'  hoo  she  wad  mannish  wi'  Geordy's  pay. 


512  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

NOWT  SE  QUEER  AS  FOAKS. 

Aw  wundor  sum's  se  fond  te  think  that  money  myeks  the  man, 
It  dis  for  outside  wrappin',  but  much  farther  cannot  gan  ; 
Aw  wundor  hoo  lang  some  wad  live  if  money  wad  buy  life, 
Aw  wundor  if  they'd  like  te  see  the  "  Last  Day  "  end  the  strife ; 
Aw  wundor  what  myeks  woman-folk  se  fond  o'  tawkin  clash, 
Aw  wundor  some  fyuls  hes  the  cheek  te  try  an'  cut  a  dash, 
Aw  wundor  what  gud  baccy  dis,  an'  hoo  se  mony  smokes  ; 
But  then  aw  needn't  wundor  when  thor's  nowt  se  queer  as  foaks. 

Chorus. 
Eigh  sittin'  by  the  fireside  crakin'  bits  o'  jokes, 
Aw've  heerd  me  awd  gran'fetbor  say  "  Thor's  nowt  se  queer  as  foaks." 

In  the  year  of  his  death,  1874,  a  collection  of  his  songs, 
recitations,  etc.,  appeared. 

Marshall  Cresswell,  of  Dudley  Colliery,  one  of  Chater's 
gold  medallists,  published  in  1876  a  collection  of  his  songs, 
and  with  them  an  interesting  autobiographic  sketch.  He 
died  in  1889. 

"  Morpeth  Lodgings,"  his  prize  song,  is  supposed  to  be 
told  by  a  "  drunk  and  disorderly "  who,  unable  to  pay  his 
fine,  had  to  do  his  fourteen  days. 

MORPETH    LODGINGS. 

Aw  cam  oot  fra  the  yellhouse,  an'  lost  byeth  frinds  an'  feet, 
An'  knaw'd  nowt  till  a  boy  i'  l>loo  picked  me  up  i'  the  street ; 
But  for  the  help  he  gov  us  a  bit  papor  browt  te  say. 
He  wad  meet  me  at  the  Moot-hall  Coort  upon  a  sartin  day. 

'Twas  then  aw  thowt  o*  Morpeth. 

Aw  went  just  'caws  aw  cuddint  help't,  was  tell'd  aw  had  te  pay 
A  fine  0'  one  pund  two  an'  ten,  but  diddint  knaw  the  way  ; 
What  for  bicaws  ?  aw  haddint  it,  when  te  maw  greet  amaze. 
They  paid  me  fare  te  Morpeth,  and  me  fare  for  fowerteen  days. 
Begims  !  aw  thowt  o'  Morpeth. 

They  sowt  us  oot  a  change  0'  claes,  se  kind  like  is  thor  way, 
Tiv  a'  the  guests  they  there  invite  is  lent  a  suit  o'  gray, 
Wiv  a  pair  0'  handsem  stockins  ov  a'  cullors,  black  te  white. 
One  shoe  a  half  a  mile  over  lang,  an'  the  tuthor  full  as  tile. 
Oh  dear,  aw  think  o'  Morpeth, 
Wi'  ne  idea  o'  Morpeth  ; 
Aw  nivvor  fancied  Morpeth, 
Nor  a  fortneet's  wark  for  nowt. 


•^>4<^ 


Second    Division. 
LIVING    WBITEBS. 


ROWLAND    HARRISON. 

Rowland  Harrison  was  born  in  King  William  Street, 
Gateshead,  23rd  June,  1841.  He  first  came  into  public 
notice  as  an  author  and  comic  singer  when  about  23  years  of 
age,  appearing  at  the  Victoria 
Music  Hall,  Newcastle.  The 
engagement  proving  a  success, 
others  followed  in  quick  suc- 
cession ;  amongst  which  might 
be  mentioned,  the  Oxford  Music 
Hall,  Newcastle;  theAlhambra, 
South  Shields ;  and  the  Wear 
Music  Hall,  Sunderland ;  also 
at  Stockton,  Darlington,  Glas- 
gow, etc  The  following  extract 
from  a  local  paper  will  show  the 
•estimation  in  which  he  is  held 
as  a  popular  singer  : — 

"  Mr.  Harrison's  occasional 
visits  to  the  *  Wear'  are  much 
appreciated,  as  was  proved  by 
the  hearty  manner  in  which  he 

was  received  on  making  his  appearance  last  evening.  He 
sang,  in  his  own  peculiar  and  pleasing  manner,  *  The  Coal 
Cartman  ;  or,  Tm  going  down  the  Hill,'  in  which  he  dis- 
played a  great  deal  of  pathetic  power  ;  *The  Drum  Major,' 
and  *The  Lass  I  met  at  Shields,'  in  which  his  rich  and 
peculiar  humour  found  full  vent ;  and  *  The  Death  of 
Renforth,'  in  the  course  of  which  the  sympathies  of  the 
audience  were  frequently  manifested.  Mr.  Harrison  was 
listened  to  with  p^reat  pleasure,  and  was  apparently  looked 
upon  as  an  old  friend." 

33 


514 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


His  leading  characteristic  may  be  best  defined  in  one 
word — "broad  humour."  The  facial  expression,  attitudes, 
and  alternations  of  voice  impart  such  reality  to  the  character 
he  portrays,  that  his  performances  may,  with  truth,  be  said 


HARRISON  AS  "  GEORDY  BLACK." 

to  be  inimitable.  The  secret  of  his  entertainments  being  sa 
apparently  well  studied  may  arise  from  the  fact,  that  whilst 
all  the  songs  he  sings  are  original,  the  music  to  them  has 
been  composed  by  himself. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  515 

The  above  appeared  in  our  1872  edition.  Time,  which 
has  played  havoc  with  so  many  since  then,  has  spared 
Rowley  (as  he  is  familiarly  called).  Since  1872  he  has 
written  many  songs  and  played  many  parts.  Landlord  of 
the  "  Geordy  Black,"  Gateshead,  The  Commercial  Hotel  at 
Winlaton,  manager  of  concert  balls  of  his  own  at  various 
places ;  and  at  Newcastle,  at  the  Temperance  Festival  on  the 
Moor  he  has  had  a  large  marquee  devoted  to  singing  and 
entertainments.  The  old  concert  halls,  "The  Victoria," 
"  The  Oxford,"  "The  Tyne,"  are  gone,  but  at  "The  People's 
Palace"  and  "The  Empire"  he  still  delights  his  Newcastle 
admirers.  The  old  band,  "Ridley,"  "  Corvan,''  and  "Wilson," 
all  died  young.  Harrison,  who  was  contemporary  with  them, 
survives,  a  link  connecting  the  past  with  the  present. 


GEORDY   BLACK. 

Maw  nyem  is  Geordy  Black,  aw'm  gettin'  varry  awd, 

AwVe  hewed  tons  o'  coals  i*  maw  time ; 
An'  when  aw  was  yung,  aw  cud  either  put  or  hew — 

Oot  o'  uther  lads  aw  always  tyuk  the  shine. 
Aw'm  gannin'  doon  the  hill — aw  cannet  use  the  pick. 

The  maister  hes  pity  on  aud  bones  ; 
Aw'm  noo  on  the  bank;  aw  pass  maw  time  away 

Amang  the  bits  o*  lads  wi'  pickin'  oot  the  stones. 

Chortis, 

Maw  nyem  is  Geordy  Black, — in  maw  time  awVe  been  a  crack, 
Aw've  worked  byeth  i'  the  Gyuss  an'  i'  the  Betty ; 

An'  the  coals  upon  the  Tyne  oot  o'  uthers  tyek  the  shine, 
An*  we  lick  them  a*  for  iron  doon  at  Hawks's. 


Si6  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

When  aw  was  a  baim,  carried  on  my  fethur's  back, 

He  wad  tyek  me  away  te  the  pit ; 
An'  gettin'  T  the  cage,  an'  gannin'  doon  belaw, 

'Twas  eneuf  te  myek  a  yungster  tyek  a  fit. 
Te  sit  an'  keep  a  door,  'midst  darkness  an'  gloom, 

Ay,  monny  an  'oor  be  me-sel ; 
An'  hear  the  awful  shots  that  rummel'd  throo  the  pit. 

An'  lumps  o'  roondy  coal  cum  doon  pell-melL 

AVll  bid  ye  a'  gud  neet,  it's  nearly  time  te  lowse ; 

Aw  shure  aw've  tried  te  please  ye  ivery  one. 
Yung  lads  that's  here  the  neet,  mind  de  the  thing  that's 
reet — 

In  this  world  that's  the  way  te  get  on. 
But  here's  success  to  trade,  byeth  on  the  Wear  an'  Tyne ! 

Aw  dinnet  like  te  see  places  slack ; 
For  if  wor  pit  lies  idle,  ne  coal  cums  te  day, 

It  greeves  the  heart  o'  poor  Geordy  BlacL 

Harrison.  Authot't  Copy,  1872. 


JACK   SIMPSOIST'S   BAIRIST. 

Jack  Simpson's  bairn  cried  one  neet. 

An'  Jack  cud  git  ne  sleep ; 
The  wife  she  wander'd  oot  o'  bed. 

An'  sighed  reet  hard  an'  deep. 
She  be'sh'd  an*  ba'd  the  bairn, 

To  soothe  its  little  grief; 
An'  then  she  said,  "Wey,  Jack,  ye  knaa, 

It's  cuttin'  its  bit  teeth  I " 

Chorus. 
Jack  says :  *'  Oh  dear  1  M^ill  mornin'  cum, 

That  aw  may  git  te  wark  1 
Aw'd  syuner  work  than  lie  i'  bed, 

Wide-wakeni'thedarkl" 


TYNESIDE  solves.  517 

Jack  says :  "  Noo,  Bess,  just  baud  yor  tung, 

The  bairn's  two  eer  awd ; 
Ye  a'ways  say  it  is  its  teetb ; 

It's  ye  tbat  myeks  *im  bad. 
Whativvor  he  shud  cry  for. 

Ye  give  'im — what  a  farce ! 
I'steed  o'  mendin'  wor  forst  born, 

Why,  Bess,  ye  myek  'im  warse  I  *' 

Bess  torn'd  aroond,  an'  then  she  said : 

"  Jack,  patience  ye  heh  nyen  ; 
The  bairn  he  wad  be  far  warse, 

If  aw  let  him  alyen. 
Aw'd  bettor  walk  aboot  the  floor, 

For  then  he  finds  relief; 
He  works  sair  on  aboot  his  mooth, 

A'm  shure  it  is  his  teeth ! " 

Jack  laid  his  heed  doon  i'  the  bed, 

An'  then  he  fell  asleep ; 
He  thowt  he  saw  his  bairn  an'  wife, 

An'  sairly  she  did  weep 
Te  think  the  fethur  was  se  cross  ; 

That  vishun  myed  Jack  start ; 
For  Jack  had  sworn  before  the  priest 

Te  tyek  her  tiv  his  heart. 

That  mornin',  efter  Jack  got  up, 

He  torn'd  another  leaf; 
He  smiled  at  Bess,  an'  kiss'd  the  bairn 

That  had  te  get  its  teeth. 
Bess  a'ways  tried  to  please  her  man 

As  they  went  on  throo  life, 

An'  that  shud  be  the  duty 

Of  ivv'ry  man's  gud  wife. 
Harrison.  Author's  Manu8criptt  IBI2. 


5i8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

HEH   YE   SEEN   12irOR   CUDDY? 

"George  Guthrie,  the  author  of  many  clever  Tyneside  songs,  was  bom  in 
Newcastle,  1842 ;  but  in  his  youth  leaving  the  town,  he  has  principally  been 
employed  at  Wallsend  and  Sunderland  as  a  blacksmith.  His  writhigs 
possess  considerable  merit,  and  are  much  admired." 

This  note  was  written  by  Joe  Wilson  for  the  1872  edition.  For  that 
edition  Joe  set  nearly  all  the  type,  and  introduced  Guthrie's  song,  thus 
showing  the  estimation  in  which  he  held  it  Mr.  Guthrie  is  still  following 
his  occupation  as  a  blacksmith,  down  the  river. 

TUNK— "  The  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands." 

One  neet,  when  gannin  te  the  toon, 
Aw  met  a  wife  called  awd  Bess  Broon, 
Wiv  a  raggy  shawl  an*  durty  goon, 

Sayin*  "  Heh  ye  seen  wor  Cuddy?  " 
Her  fyece  was  flush'd  wi*  pashun  reed, 
Her  hair  hung  lowse  aboot  her  heed  ; 
Half  flaid  aw  was  when  her  aw  seed. 
Aw  thowt  it  she  was  mad  indeed. 
She  says,  **  Noo,  Billy,  ye  mun  gan 
Wi*  me,  or  else  ye  are  ne  man ; 
For  find  this  beest  aw  niver  can — 

AwVe  gyen  an*  lost  wor  Cuddy !  " 

Chorui, 

Fal  the  dal,  the  dal,  the  da, 

Fal  the  dal,  the  dal,  the  da, 

Fal  the  dal,  the  dal,  the  da, 

O,  heh  ye  seen  wor  Cuddy  ? 

**  What  culler  is  yor  Cuddy,  Bess  ? 
Aboot  that  beest  aw  heh  ne  guess, 
Maw  heed  swims  roond  in  dizziness, 
When  aw  think  aboot  yor  Cuddy ! 
Is  he  broon  ?  or  is  he  grey  ? 
When  did  ye  loss  him,  d'ye  say  ? 
Or,  how  d'ye  knaw  he's  cum'd  this  way  ? 
Thor's  uther  roads  the  beest  might  stray. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  519 

What  towl-gate  did  yor  Cuddy  pass  ? 
Ye  knaw  doon  here  thor  is  ne  grass ; 
It  myeks  ye  luik  a  stupid  lass, 
Te  cum  here  te  seek  yor  Cuddy  ! " 

Fal  the  dal,  etc. 

"  He's  ginger  heckled,  Bill,  ye  knaw, 
An'  weers  his  hair  reet  roond  his  jaw, 
An'  a  greet  big  tuft  his  chin  belaw, 

Maw  drunken  ginger  Cuddy ! 
He's  been  a  trimmer  mony  a  'eer, 
An'  a  reglar  wet  'un  for  his  beer. 
Ye  knaw  as  weel  as  me  it's  here, 
Cud  Broon,  the  trimmer,  Bill,  aw  feer. 
They  get  thor  munny  paid  th'  neet. 
Ye  knaw  yorsel  it's  owt  but  reet, 
Aw  cannot  get  a  bit  te  eet 

For  that  nasty,  drunken  Cuddy !  " 

Fal  the  dal,  etc. 
Guthrie.  AUan*8  Colleetion,  1872. 


AVS   lariSH   PAY    FRIDAY   BTAD   CUM. 

The  author,  a  Northumbrian  miner,  is  celebrated  as  the  winner  of  seyeral 
prizes  for  local  compositions.— ^ot«,  1872.  "Pay  Friday"  won  the  prize  in 
the  WeMy  Chronicle  competition  of  1870.  To  this  competition  Joe  Wilson 
sent  "  Wor  Oeordy's  Local  Hist'ry."  It  missed  the  prize,  but  got  honourable 
mention.    Mr.  Anderson  still  follows  his  occupation  of  a  miner  at  Elswick. 

TUNB— "  Aw  wish  yor  Muther  wad  cum." 

'TwAS  last  pay  Friday  efterneun  aw  went  an'  drew  my 

pay. 

And,  like  a  fyeul,  unto  the  skeul  aw  surely  bent  maw 

way; 
Aw  suen  lost  all  my  money,  and  aw  stood  till  aw  was 

numb, 
Then  away  aw  went  hyem,  and  wish'd  te  mysel  that  next 

pay  Friday  wad  cum. 


S20  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

When  aw  went  hyera  an'  teld  my  wife,  she  nearly  broke 

her  heart ; 
She  says,  ''Maw  lad,  such  wark  as  this  is  sure  te  myek 

us  part ; 
Aw  wadn't  cared  if  thou'd  cum'd  drunk  wi'  Strang  beer, 

whisky,  or  rum  ; 
Aw  wad  tyen  the  rest,  and  dyen  my  best  till  another  pay 

Friday  wad  cum. 

Then  she  sobbed  an'  sigh'd,  and  the  bairns  all  cried,  and 

aw  was  varry  bad  ; 
A  confused  house,  and  a  woman's  abuse,  is  enough  to 

drive  a  man  mad  ; 
Aw  knew  varry  weel  what  caus'd  it  all,  so  aw  sat  as  if  aw 

was  dumb. 
To  speak  aw  was  fiaid,  so  nought  aw  said,  but  aw  wish'd 

pay  Friday  wad  cum. 

The  grocer,  and  butcher,  and  shoemaker  tee,  they  all 

cam'  smilin'  in, 
But  what  was  maw  poor  wife  to  dee  but  tell  them  she 

had  ne  tin  ? 
Their  smiles  was  all  torn'd  into  frowns,  it  nearly  struck 

them  dumb ) 
And  when  they  went  oot,  aw  couldn't  say  nought,  but 

aw  wish'd  pay  Friday  wad  cum. 

On  Saturday  morn,  to  be  oot  o'  the  way,  aw  took  mysel 

off  to  the  town. 
But  hevvin'  ne  brass  to  set  me  in,  had  to  wander  up  and 

down; 
Aw  met  mony  a  ken'd  feyce  in  the  street,  but  they  all 

appeared  to  be  dumb. 
And  all  the  way  hyem  aw  sang  te  mysel,  aw  wish  pay 

Friday  wad  cum. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  S^i 

On  Sunday  morn,  when  aw  got  up, — the  sun  se  bright 

did  shine, 
There  was  nought  provided  in  the  house  to  break  wor 

fast,  or  dine ; 
The  bairns  was  crying  oot  for  broth  and  a  greet  marrow- 

byen  made  some ;  , 

They  myed  the  house  ring  wi'  tryin'  to  sing,  aw  wish  pay 

Friday  wad  cum. 

On  Monday  morn  the  miller  cam'  in,  my  wife  began  to 

cry, 
He  said  if  he  couldn't  get  his  tin,  he  wad  surely  stop  the 

supply  1 
AVs  proud  to  remark  that  aw  was  at  wark,  and  oot  o' 

the  way  o'  the  hum, 
And  all  the  whole  day  aw  was  singing  away,  aw  wish  pay 

Friday  wad  cum. 

We  had  nought  to  eat,  neither  taties  nor  meat,  and  the 

bairns  was  crying  for  breed. 
My  wife  was  freetin'  away  her  life,  and  aw  wished  that  aw 

was  deed; 
My  bran  new  suit  had  to  gan  up  the  spoot,  it*s  a  regular 

practice  wi'  some, 
But  not  a  good  plan  for  a  hard-working  man, — so  aw 

wish  pay  Friday  wad  cum. 

But  next  pay  Friday,  aw*ll  lay  my  life,  aw'U  not  be  such 

a  fyeul. 
Aw*]]  tyek  my  pay  strite  hyem  to  my  wife,  i'stead  of 

gannin  to  skeul, 
Aw*!!  treat  mysel  wiv  a  glass  of  good  yell,  and  my  wife 

wiv  a  good  glass  of  rum, 

And  aw'll  give  her  the  rest,  to  manage  her  best,  so  aw 

wish  pay  Friday  wad  cum. 
Anderson.  Avihot'i  Copy,  1872. 


522  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

CUDDY   BTILLY'S    DEETH. 

Joshua  L  Bagnall,  one  of  the  spirited  proprietors  of  the  Oxford  Music 
Hall,  some  years  ago  published  a  small  volume  of  Tyneside  songs.  Sevend 
in  the  collection  became  popular.  Since  he  undertook  the  managem«it  of 
the  *'  Oxford  "  (which  he  has  raised  to  a  high  state  of  popularity),  he  seems 
to  haye  confined  his  efforts  solely  to  the  Christmas  pantomimes  produced 
at  that  hall,  which  are  understood  to  be  from  his  pen.— i^of«,  1872. 

The  " Oxford"  is  closed,  and  hajs  been  for  years  (except  as  a  free  and 
easy),  but  Mr.  Bagnall  is  still  to  the  fore  as  landlord  of  "  The  Gannon," 
Low  FelL  About  local  songs,  he  appears  to  have  written  none  for  many 
years. 

Nog,  Cuddy  Willy's  deed  an'  gyen, 

Aw's  sure  yell  a'  be  sorry ; 
He  was  as  hard  as  ony  styen, 

An'  a'ways  was  se  merry. 
His  creels  he  used  te  cowp  se  fast, 

Till  he  was  nearly  silly ; 
But  deeth  hes  tyun  him  off  at  last, 

Poor,  harmless  Cuddy  Willy ! 

A  fiddle  Willy  a'ways  had, 

He  used  te  play  se  bonny ; 
For  fiddlin'  Willy  was  the  lad— 

An'  what  was  varry  funny, 
A  bit  o'  wood,  tied  up  wi'  twine. 

Wad  please  a  Sandgate  filly, 
A  tune  he  then  wad  play  se  fine. 

Wad  diver  Cuddy  Willy  I 

The  blagaird  lads  upon  the  Kee, 

They  used  te  treat  him  cruel : 
They'd  trip  him  oot  just  for  a  spree, 

An'  hurt  me  canny  jeweL 
But,  man  alive  !  aw've  seen  him  rowl 

Till  he  was  soft  as  jilly. 
An'  get  up  a'  reet,  upon  my  sowl ! 

Wad  bonny  Cuddy  Willy  I 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  ^2^ 

A  crust  o*  breed,  an'  drink  o'  beer, 

If  he  cud  oney  get,  man ; 
An'  if  he  gat  ne  better  cheer, 

He  niwer  used  te  fret,  man. 
A  bite  o*  tripe,  or  bacon  raw — 

Stuff  that  wad  nearly  kill  'e— 
He'd  eat  up  crabs,  an*  shells,  an'  a', 

Wad  bonny  Cuddy  Willy. 


The  fishwives  a'  poor  Billy  knew, 

They  a*  ca'd  him  thor  pet,  man  ; 
O*  wilks  they  wad  gie  him  a  few. 

Or  a  share  or  two  o'  skyet,  man. 
Poor  Bill  was  niwer  at  a  loss 

Te  fill  his  hungry  belly ; 
He'd  drink  aud  milk  at  Sandgate  cross. 

Wad  canny  Cuddy  Willy 


In  jail  Will  offen  used  te  be 

For  sleepin'  'mang  the  cinders, 
Or  bein'  drunk  upon  the  Kee, 

An'  smashin'  folks's  winders ; 
Or  lyin'  doon  amang  the  durt 

Till  he  was  ca'd  an'  chilly ; 
But  still  he  did  the  folks  ne  hurt,- 

Poor,  canny  Cuddy  Willy  I 


But  iverythifig  cums  tiv  an  end, 
An*  so  did  bonny  Will,  man  : 

Ne  mair  happy  days  he'll  spend  ; 
He  noo  is  lyin'  still,  man. 


524  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

He  niwer  did  ne  body  harm, 

For  a'  he  was  se  silly ; 
The  toon  seems  noo  te  want  a  charm 

Since  it  lost  poor  Cuddy  Willy ! 

Baonall.  "  Song%  of  the,  Tyn^r  1850. 

William  Madachlan,  better  known  as  "  Caddy  ^HUy,"  was  a  well-known 
eccentric  of  Newcastle.  For  years  he  wandered  the  streets  without  hat  or 
shoes,  and  in  clothes  of  the  scantiest  and  most  tattered  description.  He 
contrived  to  live  by  frequenting  pablic-honses,  and  by  playing  his  fiddle  in 
the  streets.  His  fiddle  was  a  cariosity,  made  by  himself :  it  was  simply  a 
flat  piece  of  wood,  on  which  he  tied  a  few  pieces  of  string.  He  was  ad- 
dicted to  drink ;  and  his  death  was  caused  by  some  parties  most  shamefolly, 
at  a  pnblic-hoase,  giring  him  brandy  as  long  as  he  would  drink  it.  The 
result  was,  he  drank  to  such  an  excess  that  he  died  from  the  effects.  His 
death  took  place  September  27th,  1847. 


THE   TYKTE   EXILE'S   LAMENT. 

Mr.  Crawhall,  in  his  qoaintly  illustrated  "Beuk  o*  Newcassel  Sangs  by 
deceased  writers,"  includes  *'  The  Tyne  Exile's  Lament."  Eyerything,  it  is 
said,  comes  to  the  man  that  waits,  but  in  this  instance  Mr.  Crawfaall 
has  not  waited  long  enough :  the  writer  is  still  aUye. 

Tune— "Banks  o'  the  Dee." 
I  SIT  by  the  side  of  the  broad  rolling  river, 

That  sparkles  along  on  its  way  to  the  sea ; 
But  my  thoughts  fly  again  o'er  the  wide  heaving  main 

To  the  home  of  my  childhood  so  happy  and  free ; 
The  sun  with  rare  splendour  may  brighten  each  scene. 

All  nature  in  hues  the  most  gorgeous  may  shine, 
But  all  is  in  vain  the  fond  wish  to  restrain, 

I  wish  I  were  again  on  the  Banks  of  the  Tyne. 

How  clearly  before  me  again  each  bright  scene 

^0f  my  childhood  appears  to  my  sad  longing  eye, 
The  wild  rugged  banks  where  so  often  I've  played, 
And  listened  the  river  roll  murmuring  by ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  525 

Though  brighter  the  river  that  rolls  at  my  feet, 
And  fairer  the  banks  where  I  sadly  recline, 

All,  all,  I'd  resign  for  the  bleak  hills  of  mine. 
Oh !  I  wish  I  were  again  on  the  Banks  of  the  Tyne. 

Oh  fortune  I  befriend  me,  oh  !  list  to  the  prayer  - 

Of  the  exile  who  mourns  on  a  far  foreign  shore. 
If  here  I  must  die  'neath  the  fierce  blazing  sky. 

And  the  home  of  my  youth  I  must  never  see  more ; 
Take  me  far,  far  from  here  in  my  still  narrow  bier. 

And  lay  me  where  lie  all  the  past  race  of  mine, 
With  them  would  I  lie  where  the  river  rolls  by, 

On  the  banks  dearly  loved  of  my  own  native  Tyne. 
Anonymous.  AutJior^s  Manuscript^  1862. 


THE    BOBBIES   AKT'    THE   DOGS. 

In  1860  the  police  had  orders  to  secure  all  stray  dogs.  To  assist  them  in 
this  rather  difficult  operation  each  policeman  had  a  stick,  with  a  wire  noose 
at  the  end.  The  dogs,  if  not  claimed  within  a  given  time,  were  destroyed. 
Much  amusement  was  caused  by  the  respective  dodging  of  the  dogs  and  the 
bobbies— the  one  to  catch,  and  the  other  not  to  be  caught. 

Tune— "Aud  Gappy." 
Since  the  days  o'  "Aiid  Cappy  "  thor's  not  been  sic  stor, 
In  Newcassel  thor  niver  was  sic  like  before  ; 
The  poor  dogs  are  howlin'  an*  madly  rush  by, 
An'  Bobbies,  like  leetnin*,  start  off  in  full  cry. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby  1  after  him,  Bobby  ! 
Dog  hunting's  the  game — tallio !  tallio ! 

Noo,  the  cause  of  a'  this  is  wor  Council's  fine  plan, 
That  a'  dogs  strowlin'  lowse  to  the  station  mun  gan  ; 
An'  te  catch  them  se  cliver  each  Bob  hes  a  stick, 
Wiv  a  wire  at  the  end  for  to  gie  them  a  click. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc 


526  TYNES2DE  SONGS. 

One  day,  beside  Mackey's,  a  Bobby  luk'd  sly, 
On  a  lost  lukin'  bull-dog  he'd  just  clapt  his  eye  : 
Thinks  he,  YeVe  ne  maister,  yor  case  is  a'  reet, 
Yor  byuk'd  for  a  borth  at  the  Manors  this  neet. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc. 

So  he  edged  te  the  dog,  myed  a  cast  wiv  his  stick, 
But  his  aim  wasn't  gud,  or  the  dog  wes  ower  quick ; 
For  the  dog  sav'd  his  neck,  catch'd  the  wire  iv  his  jaw, 
An*  then  tugged  it  amain,  an'  the  Bobby  an'  a'. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc. 

Noo,  the  end  of  the  sport  was,  the  wire,  wiv  a  crack, 
Snapt  in  two,  an'  the  Bobby  went  flat  on  his  back ; 
But  he  up  in  a  rage,  on  the  dog  myed  a  spring, 
An'  he  color'd  him  fast  as  the  bairns  did  sing. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc. 


Wi'  the  dog  in  his  airms,  he  thowt  a'  was  won. 

When  a  Pitman  came  runnin' — ''What  hes   maw  dog 

duen? 
He's  an  aud  un — near  blind — an'  he  quietly  foUis  " — 
Shouts  X21,  "  He's  resisted  the  pollis  I " 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc 

"  An'  wise  was  the  beest,  so  ye'd  best  let  him  be ; 
Maw  nyem's  on  his  coUor — aw  pay  for  him,  tee, 
Ye've  had  eneuf  sport,  noo,  se  let  the  dog  gan ; " — 
An'  the  Bobby,  bein'  wise,  thowt  it  was  the  best  plan. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS, 


527 


A'  ye  that  hes  dogs,  noo,  ye'd  better  luk  oot ; 
Beware  hoo  ye  let  them  gan  strowlin'  aboot. 
Dog  hunting's  the  gam'  noo  all  ower  the  toon, 
An'  X2J  laffs  when  he  grabbs  yor  half-crown. 

There's  a  dog,  Bobby,  etc. 
Anonymous.  Auth(yi'8  ManuaeripU  1862. 


ROBERT   CHAMBERS. 


Robert  Chambers,  the  renowned  aquatic  champion  of  the 
Tyne  and  Thames,  whose  sterling  mtegrity  won  for  him 
the  happy  distinction  of  "Honest  Bob,"  was  bom  at  St 
Anthony's,  on  the  14th  of  June  1831.  His  earlier  years  were 
spent  at  Hawks's,  in 
whose  extensive  iron- 
works on  the  Tyne  he 
worked  his  way  up  until 
he  reached  the  position 
of  a  puddler.  Having  a 
fancy  for  the  water,  and 
delighting  in  rowing,  he 
attracted  the  attention  of 
Harry  Clasper,  who  saw, 
in  his  well-built,  strong, 
and  muscular  form,  the 
elements  of  a  first-class 
oarsman ;  he  standing 
about  five  feet  ten  inches, 
and  in  rowing  generally 
weighed  about  ii>| 
stones.  His  after  career, 
under  the  guidance  of 
Clasper,  was  unparal- 
leled. He  rowed  in  loi  races,  winning  89  times ;  he 
started  45  times  in  skiffs,  and  won  34  times ;  he  took  part 
in  45  four-oared  races,  and  won  40 ;  he  rowed  in  19  pair 
contests,  and  won  15.  For  six  years  he  held  the  champion- 
ship of  the  Thames,  and  was  the  first  Tyneside  oarsman  that 


528  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

ever  won  the  proud  title  of  the  "  Champion  of  the  World/ 
Early  in  1868  his  health  began  to  fail;  consumption,  induced 
probably  by  the  incessant  training  he  underwent  for  his 
various  matches,  attacked  him,  and,  after  a  brief  illness,  he 
died  at  St  Anthony's  on  the  4th  of  June  1868,.  in  his  thirty- 
seventh  year. 


BOB   CHAMBERS. 

Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  great  Hcullers'  race  for  the  championship 
of  the  world,  between  Robert  Chambers,  of  Newcastle,  and  Richard 
A.  W.  Oreen,  of  Australia,  June  16th,  1863.  Chambers  won  easily  by  a 
quarter  of  a  mile. 

TuNit— "  Kiss  me  quick  and  go." 

Aw  left  Bill  Blakey's  late  last  neet, 

An'  weary  wandered  hyem. 
Fair  tired  at  last  te  hear  the  noise, 

The  cry  was  still  the  syem — 
It's  two  te  one  aw'll  lay  on  Bob, 

Wor  Tyneside  lad  for  iver. 
He's  champion  o'  the  saucy  Tyems 

And  Tyneside's  Coaly  River. 

Chorus — It's  two  te  one,  etc. 


When  hyem  aw  reached  aw  off  te  bed, 

An'  funny  though  'twad  seem, 
Nee  suener  doon  aw'd  laid  me  heed 

Then  aw'd  this  queerish^  dream : 
Aw  thowt  aw  stood  in  London  toon, 

Wi'  thoosands  croodin'  near. 
And  Bob  and  Green  were  in  their  skiffs, 

When  oot  a  chep  bawls  clear — 

It's  two  te  one,  etc 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  529 

The  start  was  myed,  away  they  went, 
Byeth  strove  wi'  might  and  main, 

But  Greeny,  lad,  had  little  chance, 
For  Bob  began  te  gain  ; 

And  as  he  pulled  his  famous  stroke. 
The  Cockneys  a'  luk'd  queer. 

But  uz  Tynesiders  cheered  him  on, 

An'  shooted  far  near — 

It's  two  te  one,  etc 

The  race  went  on,  Green  struggled  game ; 

But,  hoots,  it  waddent  dee. 
The  Princess  Alexandra 

Through  the  watter  fair  did  flee ; 
And  Bob  cam*  in  the  winner. 

As  he's  always  dyun  before. 
And  as  wor  lads  haul'd  in  the  brass, 

We  one  and  all  did  roar — 

It's  two  te  one,  etc. 

Now  half  the  world  they've  travell'd  ower 

Te  lay  wor  Tyneside  law. 
The  'tother  half  they  now  may  try. 

And  still  we'll  keep  the  craw. 
Aw  says  aw'U  lay  me  brass  on  Bob, 

And  work  the  winnin'  seam. 
Just  then  aw  wakened  wiv  a  start. 

And  fund  'twas  all  a  dream. 

But  still  aw'll  lay  me  brass  on  Bob,  etc. 
Anontmous.  Author's  Manuteript,  1863. 


34 


530 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


RICHARD   OLIITER   HESLOP, 

Who  is  widely  known  in  connection  with  "  Northumberland 
Words,"  appears  here  as  a  writer  of  Tyneside  Songs  and 
Readings.    These — probably  thrown  off  as  a  relaxation  from 

the  labours  of 
his  greater  work 
— have  become 
popular,  and  for 
some  time  have 
been  out  of  print. 
"Northumber- 
land Words,"  Mr. 
Heslop's  work, 
which  week  by 
week  for  years 
has  been  appear- 
ing in  the  Chron- 
icle, has  been  hap- 
pily described  as 
^  "  monumental 
work."  It  must 
have  been  to  its 
author  a  work 
entailing  toil  and 
application  of  no 
ordinary  kind, 
only  possible, 
perhaps,  as  "  a 
labour  of  love." 
This  literary 
work  Mr.  Heslop 
has  contrived  to 
findtime  for,  while 
carrying  on  a 
From  a  Photo  by  James  Bacon.  j^^g^  business  as 

an  iron  merchant;  business  and  literary  work  combined 
must  have  made  him  a  busy  man.  A  native  of  Newcastle, 
an  old  Grammar  School  boy,  Mr.  Heslop  was  born  on  March 
14th,  1842.  In  the  prime  of  life,  with  his  great  work  half 
accomplished,  there  seems  every  probability  of  his  carrying 
it  successfully  through,  and  so  completing  his  dictionary  of 
Northumberland  words,  past  and  present. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  531 

HOWDOBT   FOR   JARROW. 

TUNB— "  Chapter  of  Donkeys." 

O,  YE  taak  aboot  travels  an'  voyages  far, 
But  thor's  few  beats  the  trip  fre*  the  toon  te  the  bar, 
As  ye  gan  doon  te  Tinmuth  ye'U  hear  the  chep  shoot, — 
**  Here's  Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! 

Chorus, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot !  " 

When  yen  hes  been  doon  bi'  the  side  o'  the  Tyne, 
An'  seen  all  the  smoke  an'  the  chimlies  se  fine, 
There's  mony  a  voice  that  is  welcome  nee  doot, 
But  the  bonniest  soond  that  Aa  knaa  is  "  Loup  oot ! 
Howdon  for  Jarfow,  Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot  1 " 

Sin'  Aa  knew  the  banks  o'  wor  aan  bonny  river, 
There's  been  changes gawn  on,  an' there's  noo  mair  nor iver; 
But  the  finest  ov  aa',  barrin'  change  o'  the  wind, 
Is  when  the  soft  voice  caalls,  an'  then  ye  aal  find, 

*•  Ye  mun  change  here  for  Jarrow,  Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdow  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! " 

There's  chemicals,  copper,  coals,  clarts,  coke,  an'  stone. 
Iron  ships,  wooden  tugs,  salt,  an'  sawdust,  an'  bone. 
Manure,  an'  steam  ingins,  bar  iron,  an'  vitr'ol, 
Grunstans  an'  puddlers  (Aa  like  to  be  litt'ral), 

At  Howdon  for  Jarrow.     Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! 

Besides,  on  wor  river  we  hev  the  big  dredgers 

That  howks  oot  the  muck,  man,  Aa's  sure  we're  nee 

fiedgers, 
An'  then  the  greet  hopper  works  like  a  wheelbarrow — 
Ye'll  see'd  if  ye  come  doon  te  Howdon  for  Jarrow. 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! 


532  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Aa  yence  wis  at  London,  and  h'ard  a  chep  shoot, 
"  Yor  tickets  I"    Aa  "  Howdon  for  Jarrow ! "  caaled  oot; 
He  leuked  se  teun  back  that,  ses  Aa  le  me  marrow, 
"Here's  a  chep,  mun,  that  dissent  knaa  Howdon  for 
Jarrow ! " 

HowdoD  for  Jarrow,  Howdon  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! 

Thor's  Jack  Scott,  the  puddler  (just  hear  what  a  caaker), 
Uphads  that  there  surely  is  nee  place  like  Waaker; 
But  AaVe  elways  thowt,  for't's  the  place  Aa  hev  grow'd  in, 
Yen  may  range  thro'  the  world,  but  thor's  nee  place 
like  Howdon  1 

Howdon  for  Jarrow,  Howdbn  for  Jarrow, 
Howdon  for  Jarrow,  maa  hinnies  loup  oot ! 
Heslop.  Auihoj't  Edition,  1879. 


NElSrCASTLE   TOOBT   NEE   MAIR. 

Dr.  Ernest  WilberforoOt  the  first  Bishop  of  Newcastle,  consecrated  St. 
James'  Day,  1882. 

Tune—"  Nee  good  lock  aboot  the  hoose." 

Wiv  aal  the  "  toon  improvement "  hash, 

New  fangles  yit  they'll  fish  up; 
So  noo  they've  fund,  wi'  aal  thor  clash, 

The  Toon  mun  he'  a  Bishop. 
They  say  he'll  he'  te  weer  white  goons, 

An'  laan  sleeves,  leuk  ye  there  I 
But  when  he  comes  they  say  the  Toon's 

Newcastle  Toon  nee  mair  1 

Ckorus. 

,  We  like  the  soon'  o'  "Canny  Toon." 

We  like  wor  aad  Toon  sair ; 

Bat  iwerything  is  upside  doon, 

Newcastle  Toon  nee  mair ! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  533 

Aad  Nichol's  chorch,  an'  steeple  tee> 

The  clock  feyce,  an'  the  Beadrel, 
They've  set  the  heyl  consarn  agee, 

An  caal  it  noo  "cathedral." 
That'll  be  a  Dean  an'  Chapter  seun, 

Te  put  the  job  aal  square, 
We'll  not  dar  say,  when  aal  is  deun, 

Newcastle  Toon  nee  mair ! 

Chorus. 
Hoo  can  the  Bishop  he'  the  flum 

Te  caal  the  pleyce  a  City  ? 
The  Toon's  been  Toon  afore  he  cum ; 

Te  change  it  mair's  the  pity ! 
He  mevvies  thinks  wor  nowt  but  cloons, 

An'  he'  nee  wit  te  spare, 
But  what's  the  odds  ?  for  O,  wor  Toon's 

Newcastle  Toon  nee  mair ! 

Chorus. 
"Maa  fellow  Toonsmen,"  noo  fareweel, 

Maa  heed  is  teum,  nee  wit  is  in, 
Thor's  nowther  sense,  nor  mense,  nor  feel 

In  ••  Hum — maa  fellow  citizen  !  " 
For  aa  this  fancy  change  o'  soon' 

Aa  waddent  hev  a  care. 
But,  O  me  lads,  it's  wae !  the  Toon, 

The  canny  Toon's  nee  mair !  Chorus. 

Heslop.  Broaditheet,  1882. 

A  TOiar  FOR  NOiarT. 

Oh,  wor  cargo  we'd  got  oot,  away  doon  at  Whitehill  Spoot; 
But  the  wind  an'  tide  wis  both  on  them  contrairy,  O ! 
An'  it  seemed  we'd  hae  te  lie  till  the  tide  wis  comin'  high, 
So  the  keel  we  moored,  an'  leuked  aboot  se  wary,  O. 

Chorus, 
So  the  keel  we  moored,  etc. 


534  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Just  then,  te  wor  delight,  a  tugboat  hove  i'  sight, 
An'  backed  astarn  close  by  where  we  wor  stannin',  O. 
Ses  aa,  noo  aa'l  accost  hor !  so  aa  hailed,  '^  Hey,  Mistor 

Forster, 
Wad  ye  gie's  a  tow  as  far  up  as  wo'r  gannin',  O  ?  " 

Then  the  tugboat-maistor  tomed,  an'  he  leuked,  an'  kinda 

gorned, 
Ses  he,  "  Hoo  dis  thoo  knaa  they  caal  me  Forster,  O  ?  " 
"  Man,"  ses  aa,  "  yor  dad  afore  wis  a  chep  aa  did  adore, 
An'  yo'r  just  like  him,  maa  canny  Mistor  Forster,  O." 

Iv  a  frindly  kind  o'  way,  aa  got  a  tow  that  day ; 

An'  off  we  set,  wi'  nowt  at  aal  te  cost  hor,  O. 

Aa  bargaint  wivoot  doot,  as  aa  past  wor  towlin'  oot, 

"  At  the  Mushroom  hoy  hor  off,  please  Mistor  Forster,  O." 

So  we  cam'  up  spankin'  fine,  an'  past  aal  on  the  Tyne — 

Sic  a  tow  for  nowt  aa  waddent  then  he  lost  hor,  O. 

An'  we  just  hed  past  The  Geuse,  an'  aa  thowt  o'  gettin' 

lowse ; 
So,  ses  aa,  "Just  hoy  hor  off,  please  Mistor  Forster,  O." 

Wi'  the  tiller  'tween  his  legs,  just  like  twee  wooden  pegs. 
He  nivvor  torned,  but  oney  went  the  faster,  O. 
Aa  shoots  oot,  "Here  we  are,  yor  gannin'  ower  far; 
Aa  telt  ye  'twas  the  Mushroom,  Mistor  Forster,  O ! " 

What  wis  deein  noo  wis  clear,  so  aa  couldn't  help  but 

sweer. 
"  Yo'r  a  bad  'un,  yo'r  as  bad  as  ony  coster,  O ! 
An'  so  wis  yor  aad  dad — ^gosh,  he  wis  just  as  bad ! 
Where  the  smash,  man,  are  ye  towin's  te,  ye  Forster,  O  ?  " 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  535 

But  it  aal  wis  o'  nee  use,  owther  sweerin'  or  abuse; 
For  a  joke  there  Forster  steud  as  deef  as  dummy,  O ; 
An'  he  waddent  hOy  us  free  till  past  Newcastle  Quay, 
So,  thinks  aa,  a  tow  for  nowt  is  sometimes  rummy,  O ! 

Heslop.  "  NeweoiOe  WeeJdy  ChnmUiU;*  1882. 


THE   SINGIK'-HINNEY. 

Tune—"  The  One-Horse  Shay." 

Sit  doon,  noo,  man  alive  I 

Te  tell  ye  aa'U  contrive 
O'  the  finest  thing  the  worl'  hes  ivver  gin  ye,  O. 

It's  not  fine  claes  nor  drink. 

Nor  owt  'at  ye  can  think, 
Can  had  a  cannle  up  ti  singin'-hinney,  O. 

Sing  hi,  the  Puddin'  Chare  an*  Elwick's  lonnin',  O! 

Newcassel's  fame  'ill  bide 

Lang  as  its  coaly  tide ; 
But  it  winnet  rest  on  what  makes  sic  a  shinney,  O. 

The  pride  o'  a'  the  North 

Is  'cas  it  forst  ga'  berth 
To  the  greetest  charm  o'  life — a  singin'-hinney,  O. 
Sing  hi,  the  Spital  Tongues  an'  Javel  Groupe,  hi  O! 

Fre  the  day  we  forst  draa  breeth 

To  the  day  'at  brings  wor  deeth, 
Fre  the  forst  day  ony  on  us  ken'd  wor  minnie,  O, 

We  gan  on  step  bi  step. 

An'  each  gaady  day  is  kep, 
Wiv  a  cheer  'at's  elways  crooned  wi'  singin'-hinney  O  ! 
Sing  hi,  for  Denton  Chare  an'  the  Big  Markit,  O  ! 


536  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Wor  weddin'  feast  wis  spreed 

Wi'  menseful  meat  an*  breed, 
An'  iwerything  wis  theer  for  kith  an*  kin,  ye  O  1 

As  aa  sat  doon  wi'  me  bride, 

Aa  wad  say  aa  felt  a  pride 
Te  hear  them  praise  her  aan-made  singin'-hinney,  O. 
Sing  hi,  the  Bottle  Bank,  an'  the  Team-Gut,  hi  O! 


The  day  the  bairn  wis  born 

Wis  a  snaay  New  Ear's  morn ; 
Se  caad  yee'd  scarsly  feel  yorsel'  or  fin',  ye  O ! 

But  we  put  the  gordle  on 
*     The  rousin'  fire  upon. 
An'  we  whistled  as  we  baked  wor  singin'-hinney,  O. 

Sing  hi,  the  Dog-Lowp  Stairs  an' the  Darn  Cruck,  hi  O ! 

At  christnen,  tee,  se  fine. 

Another  wife  an'  mine 
Gans  oot  an'  takes  the  bairn,  see  spick  an'  spinney,  O. 

Wi'  spice  cake  an'  wi'  salt, 

The  forst  they  met  te  halt, 
An'  gar  him  stan'  an'  tyest  wor  singin'-hinney,  O. 

Sing  hi,  the  Friars'  Geuse  an'  the  Aad-Faad,  hi  O ! 

An'  se  on,  day  bi  day. 
As  we  trudge  alang  life's  way, 
We've  troubles  roond — ^like  stoor — eneuf  te  blin'  ye,  O! 
But  whiles  thor  comes  a  stop. 
An'  wor  tools  we  then  can  drop, 
Te  gan  hyem,  lads,  an'  hev  a  singin'-hinny,  O. 

Sing  hi,  the  Close,  Waal-Knowl,  an'  the  Cut  Bank, 
hiO! 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  537 

An'  when  we  can  enjoy, 

Amang  wor  hivvey  'ploy, 
A  day  'at  brings  huz  not  a  single  whinney,  O ; 

Let's  elwis  drop  wor  cares, 

An'  set  worsels,  for  fairs, 
Te  celebrate  it  wiv  a  singin'-hinney,  0 1 

Sing  hi,  the  Mushroom,  Forth,  an'  Heed  o'  Side,  hi  0 1 

Heslop.  "  Newcastle  Weekly  ChrmUU,"  1885. 


THE     TYKESIDE   CHORUS. 

Hadaway,  Harry !     Hadaway,  Harry ! 

Them  wis  the  days  on  wor  canny  aad  Tyne  ! 
Clasper  afore  him  could  iv  very  thing  carry, 
Back'd  bi  the  cheer  'at  we  hard  lang  sin  syne. 
Hadaway,  Harry,  lad  !     Hadaway,  Harry ! 

Pull,  like  a  good  'un,  through  storm  or  through 
shine. 
Gan  on,  wor  canny  lad — Hadaway,  Harry ! 
Come  te  the  front  for  the  sake  iv  aad  Tyne. 

Where's  like  Tyneside  cheps  for  warkin  or  owt  ? 

Buffin  away,  heart  an'  sowl  like  te  teer ; 
Hewin'  or  puddlin',  thor  beaten  bi  nowt, 
Their owerword's  still  "How  there,  lads,  what  cheer  ?" 
Hadaway,  Harry,  lad — Hadaway,  Harry ! 

Afloat  or  ashore,  or  doon  the  coal  mine ; 
Gan  on,  maa  canny  lads,  Hadaway,  Harry ! 
Teuf  'uns  for  wark  is  the  lads  iv  aad  Tyne ! 

Doon  the  black  pit  shaft  thor's  brave  lads  at  wark ; 

Doon  dunny  Tyneside  the  fornaces  lowe ; 
Workers  is  busy,  through  dayleet  an'  dark, 

Singin',  me  hearties,  though  tired  they  may  grow. 


538  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Hadaway,  Harry,  lads,  Hadaway,  Harry  I 
Cheery,  me  marrows,  an'  niwor  a  whine ; 

Gan  on,  maa  canny  lads,  Hadaway,  Harry ! 
Gan  like  th*  aad  'un  for  pride  o'  the  Tyne. 

'Way  ower  the  seas  wor  Tyneside  lads  afloat, 

Brave  as  thor  fethors,  still  fight  wi'  the  storm. 
Nee  paril  flays  them  ;  thor  prood  o'  thor  boat. 
An'  marrily  cheer  as  they  show  the  aad  form. 
Hadaway,  Harry,  lads,  Hadaway,  Harry ! 

Still  te  the  fore ;  let  yor  hearts  niwor  crine. 
Gan  on,  maa  canny  lads,  Hadaway,  Harry ! 
Where  is  thor  braver  nor  crews  fre  the  Tyne  ? 

So,  noo,  canny  cheps,  let's  niwor  forget, 

r  life's  course  reet  on,  come  good  or  bad  luck, 
Whativvor  we  dee,  wor  motto  be  yet, 

Like  aad  Harry  Clasper,  the  pictur  o'  pluck — 
Hadaway,  Harry,  lad,  Hadaway,  Harry ! 

Pull  like  a  good  'un,  through  storm  or  through 
shine, 
Gan  on,  wor  canny  lad,  Hadaway,  Harry  I 
Come  to  the  front  for  the  sake  iv  aad  Tyne. 

Heslop.  • '  NeuKOsOe  Weekly  ChronieUe,"  1886. 


HIS    OTHER   EYE. 

I  MET  him  on  board  a  steamboat  There  was  a 
comical  look  about  his  face  which  struck  me,  and  I  was 
glad  to  find  an  empty  seat  alongside  him,  where  I  quietly 
sat  down.  He  was  filling  a  broken  and  blackened  cutty 
pipe  with  some  tobacco,  which  seemed  to  need  a  deal  of 
work  before  it  could  be  got  ready.  It  was  carefully  cut 
up  with  a  jack-knife ;  then  it  was  rubbed  in  the  palms  of 
his  hands ;  and  finally  it  was  thrust  home  with  the  fore- 
finger.    He  looked  all  the  time  as  if  he  were  talking 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  539 

inwardly  without  knowing  it,  and  yet  were  fully  busied 
with  the  work  on  hand  The  face  betokened  a  mind 
wandering  in  dreamy  thoughtland,  whilst  the  eye — his 
own  eye — stared  with  a  sternly  fixed  purpose  upon  the 
pipe.  Here  was  the  face  of  a  philosopher,  but  with  it 
an  absurd  intenseness  which  gave  the  comical  look  I 
first  noticed  in  him. 

His  other  eye  was  covered  with  a  leather  patch — the 
same  patch  which  gives  the  evil  look  to  the  comrade  of 
the  idle  apprentice  in  Hogarth.  A  small  half-round 
patch  of  black,  covering  a  sightless  socket,  and  held  on 
by  two  straps  passing  aslant  round  the  head. 

His  face  otherwise  was  like  that  of  a  canny  man,  and, 
as  I  had  expected,  he  soon  saluted  me  by  saying,  '*  It's 
been  a  fine  day,  Mister ! "  This  led  on  to  further  talk 
between  us,  and  the  man's  confidence  grew  when  he 
found  he  had  a  ready  listener.  So  it  became  easy  to 
lead  him  on  to  speak  of  his  own  history. 

I  found  that  my  friend  had  been  a  pitman ;  that  whilst 
at  work  in  the  Billybottom  Pit  he  had  had  an  eye 
destroyed.  The  accident  caused  him  great  suffering  and 
laid  him  up  for  months.  Thus  his  means  were  clean 
gone,  and  his  handicraft  became  an  impossible  thing  for 
him  hereafter.  Besides  this,  the  horror  of  the  wolf  at 
the  door  was  aggravated  by  the  unsightly  look  of  the 
face  with  the  lost  eye.  His  pressing  need,  however, 
soon  stirred  him  in  a  new  effort  to  "  pick  up  a  canny  bit 
living,"  and  in  this  his  mates  helped  him  in  their  best 
ways.  Amongst  other  devices  they  clubbed  together 
funds  to  buy  him  an  artificial  eye,  and  this  done,  he  was 
told  to  go  to  a  certain  shop  in  Newcastle  to  get  his  new 
eye  fitted  in. 

"  Wey,"  said  he,  continuing,  "  Aa  gets  the  eye  putten 
in,  an'  the  chep  i'  the  shop  haads  up  a  leukin'  glass.  Aa 
wondered  at  forst  whe's  portrait  it  wes  he  wis  haddin'  up. 
True  as  Aa's  a  leevin'  man,  Aa  duddent  ken  mesel,  but 
Aa  kinda  cam  forrad  a  bit,  an'  begox,  ses  Aa,  ifs  me. 
Man,  but  that's  cliwor  noo,  ses  Aa — ^twee  as  good  eyes 
as  ivver  man  had  iv  his  heed!     Forst  Aa  keeked  this 


540  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

way,  then  Aa  keeked  that  way,  then  Aa  torn'd  half 
roond  an'  tries  to  keek  ower  me  showlder.  Aa  saa 
mesel  i*  the  glass  aa  wayses,  fore  ways,  side  ways,  hint 
ways.  They  wor  that  beyth  alike,  them  twee  eyes,  'at 
ye  waddent  he'  kenned  yen  fre  the  tother.  Then  Aa 
leuks  strait  forenenst  us,  an'  Aa  covers  up  me  good  aad 
eye  wi'  the  flat  o'  me  hand,  an'  Aa  glowers  hard  at  the 
man  wi'  the  new  eye  'at  he'd  putten  in ;  but,  man  alive ! 
Aa  fund  'at  when  Aa  shut  up  me  good  aad  blinker  Aa 
could  see  nowt  w'  the  new  yen.  That's  a  queer  'un,  ses 
Aa.  So  Aa  oppened  me  gud  eye  ageyn  an'  Aa  could  see 
mesel  i'  the  glass  leukin  clivvor,  an'  reet  as  owt.  Beyth 
eyes  leuked  the  yen  better  nor  the  tother.  Ses  Aa, 
mum  !  ses  Aa,  had  on  a  bit.  She  mebbe  oney  wants  to 
be  wrout  a  bit,  so  Aa  sayed  nee  mair  but  cam  oot  an' 
gans  up  Grey  Street. 

**  Aa  med  strait  ower  to  the  bonny  shop  set  oot  wi' 
picturs  an'  potographs  an'  cum  close  up  to  the  window, 
lays  the  flat  hand  ower  me  good  eye  ageyn  an'  tried  to 
keek  wi'  the  new  yen.  Nee  use,  hoosivver,  Aa  wis 
blinnd  as  a  bat.  Thinks  Aaa,  it's  owther  he  hesn't 
getten  her  reet  put  in  or  she's  nobbut  a  dummy  eye  he's 
putten  on  to  me.  Ye  see  Aa'd  niwer  bowt  a  thing  o' 
the  kind  afore,  an'  nee  wonder  then  if  Aa  wis  teun  in. 

"We'll  gi'd  a  fair  try,  though,  thinks  Aa,  an'  away 
ower  the  street  Aa  gans — cuttin'  an'  lowpin'  i'  front  o' 
the  horses  like  a  geuse  nicked  i'  the  heed — till  Aa  comes 
to  the  shop  that  hes  the  big  clock  abeun  the  door,  an'  aa 
the  watches  an*  clocks  an'  greet  plates  an'  dishes  nowt 
but  solid  gowld.  (Hinnies,  what  a  things  is  i'  that  shop !) 
Noo,  ses  Aa,  for  me  new  peeper ! — an'  Aa  made  a  paas. 
Gosh  cab !  ses  Aa,  when  Aa'd  shutten  up  me  aad  goggle 
an'  put  all  my  full  seet  on  to  the  new  eye — ^Aa's  just  i' 
the  dark  as  ivver.  She  mun  be  a  bad'n  this  new  blinker 
— Aa  canna  see  nowt  wid.  An'  just  when  the  leet 
flashed  as  Aa  oppened  me  good  eye  ageyn,  it  cam  ower 
me  'at  the  man  hed  played  ofl"  on  me  a  second-hand  eye 
oot  o'  a  blamed  waax  work.  Aa'll  gan  reet  back  an'  hev 
her  swapped  for  a  good  yen. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  541 

*'  So  Aa  comes  back  to  the  man,  an'  waaks  strait  up 
to  where  he  steud  ahint  his  coonter. 

"'Thor's  summat  wrang  aboot  this  eye  yeVe  putten 
in,'  ses  Aa;  'an'  Aa  mun  tell  ye  *at  Aa  notished  it  afore 
Aa  went  oot  forst,  but  Aa  thout  it  mun  be  'at  Aa  wasn't 
reet  hanted  wid,  and  hadn't  getten  the  way  on't  When 
Aa  fund  'at  wiv  aal  me  gornin'  and  glowerin'  Aa  wis  still 
blinnd  o'  yen  eye,  ses  Aa  to  mesel',  it  mun  be  wrang 
putten  in ;  but  efter  seein'  me  feyce  deflected  iv  a  shop 
window,  ses  Aa,  smash,  man,  ses  Aa,  it's  the  eye  oot  o' 
an  aad  waaxwork.  Ye  see,  Aa's  plain-spoken  wi'  ye,  sor, 
'cas  ye  leuk  like  a  canny  chep  (ses  Aa  ti  the  shopman). 
But  ye  see,  Aa  mun  he'd  swapped  for  a  good  yen,  'cas 
Aa  can  see  nee  mair  wid  nor  nowt.' 

"  That  chep  stared  at  me  as  if  he'd  been  struck  aal  iv  a 
heap.  Then  he  sets  his  sel  back — still  glowerin'  at  me 
— as  if  he  wis  teun  bad  iv  a  suddent — an'  then  he  laft  an' 
laft  till  Aa  gat  reed  i'  th'  feyce.  But  as  he  wis  a  plisent 
chep,  he  torned  aal  at  yence  quite  kind  like,  and  ses — 

" '  As  it's  artificial,  you  cannot  expect  to  see  with  it.' 

**  *  Yartifeecial,'  ses  Aa;  *Aa  thowt  it  wis  glass— ony- 
way  ye'U  he'  to  fix  in  yen  'at  Aa  can  see  wi' — 'cas  this  is 
nee  use.  Aa  might  as  tight  deun  wivoot  an  eye  as  hev 
what  ye  caal  a  yartifeecial' 

**  *Stay  till  I  show  you,'  ses  the  shopman.  *  Now,  sir, 
I  remove  your  eye — ^look  at  yourself  in  the  glass.  I 
replace  your  eye — ^look  now  at  your  personal  appear- 
ance.'   There  he  haads  up  the  glass  ageyn. 

"  '  At  meparsona/  appearance^  ses  Aa ;  *  dee  ye  mean 
at  me  yartifeecial  ?  * 

"  They've  fine  names  for  aa  things  nooadays,  as  the  pig 
sayed  when  he  corled  his  narrative.  An'  so  this  pattent 
side  leet  'at  Aa  getten'  put  inte  me  heed's  like  the  rest 
Me  glass  eye,  Begox  1  Aa  wis  made  up  aboot  gettin't 
when  Aa  forst  com'  in  to  get  fitted  on.  But  noo, 
hinnies,  ay,  Aa  did  feel  a  prood  man  yenoo  to  taak  aboot 
me  yartifeecial  or  me  parsonal  appearance.  Aa  might 
see  through'd  or  Aa  might  not  see  through'd ;  me  blinnd 
blinker  might  be  blinnd  as  blazes ;  nivvor  mind,  Aa'd 


542  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

getten  a  j^az-Z/j^^^Tii/— a  parsonal  appearance.  Glass  eye, 
Becrikes !     Diwent  taak  to  me ! 

"  At  that  time  Aa  knew  nee  mair  nor  Aa's  tellin'  ye. 
An'  hoo  mony  men  is  thor  'at  dissent  yen  time  or  other 
get  thor  heed  tomed  wi'  dandy  words  ?  Aa  mind  when 
they'd  getten  the  brass  clubbed  'n  bowt  the  cork  leg  for 
Jackey  Humble — Jackey  elways  caad  it  *  the  yartifeecial 
limb.'  He  waddent  hear  tell  o'  *cork  leg.'  Aa  fund  oot 
then  'at  the  chep  i'  the  shop'd  been  putten't  on  to  him  tee, 

"  But  Aa's  forgettin'.  When  Aa  cum  heym  sic  a  stoor 
wis  on.  Aa  lifted  the  sneck  an'  waaked  reet  in,  sits 
doon,  thraws  me  heed  weel  back,  leuks  strait  inte  the 
wife's  feyce,  an*  ses  Aa — *Noo,  hinney,  what  dis  thoo 
think  o'  me  new  parsonal  appearance  ? ' 

"  *  Wey,  lad,'  ses  she,  *  thoo  leuks  as  brisk  as  a  lop  an' 
mair  nor  ten  'eers  young'r  wi'  tha  new  glass  eye.' 

**  *  Me  yartifeecial,'  ses  Aa,  drawin'  mesel  up,  *  or  me 
parsonal  appearance,  if  thoo  likes,  but  ye  munna  caa'd  a 
glass  eye.' 

*•  *  Aa  canna  get  ma  mooth  roond  thor  fine  words,'  ses 
she;  *but,  nivvor  mind,  lad,  thoo's  browt  a  new  leet  inte  the 
hoose,  an' here's  the  bairns  aa'sittin'  up  waitin'  for  thor  dad.' 

"  Sec  a  dance  them  bairns  led  thor  fethor  that  neet  \ 
thor  wis  nee  getten'  them  te  bed.  They  wad  he'd  in, 
an'  they  wad  he'd  oot,  an'  they  wad  see'd  foreside,  an' 
they  wad  see'd  backside,  an'  little  Bobby  wanted  to 
touch't,  but,  ses  Aa,  *  Hands  ofl^'  ses  Aa',  an'  a  shoved 
it  in  tiv  its  pleyce  ageyn,  quick. 

"  *0h,  fethor,  thoo's  squintin' !'  ses  Bobby. 

"  *  Aa'll  yark  tha  hide,  thoo  young  brat,  thoo.'  An'  Aa 
myeks  a  dab  at  the  bit  imp,  and  clears  aa  oflf  te  bed  iv 
a  jiffey.' 

"  Sure  eneuff  Aa  hed  shoved  it  in  aal'  askew,  an'  when 
Aa  tomed  roond  te  the  wife  she  sniggered  an'  laft,  an' 
as  Aa  wis  iv  a  kind  o'  a  tift,  Aa  ses,  *  Aa  cum  past  folk 
bi'  the  hundreds  i*  Newcastle  the  day,  but  thoo's  the 
forst  'at's  laft  at  me  parsonal  appearance ! ' 

"*  Diwent  be  vext,  hinney,'  ses  she,  'sit  thee  ways 
doon  and  he'  thee  pipe.' 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  543 

"  *  It's  aal  me  eye  ! '  ses  Aa,  an'  Aa  fund  Aa  wis  getten 
grumpy,  but  Aa  cruicked  me  houghs  on  the  cracket,  an' 
the  bit  blast  o'  baccy  gat  me  inte  better  fettle  agyen. 

"  By-m-by,  Aa'd  getten  canny  inte  the  hant  o'  weerin' 
me  new  blinker,  an'  Aa  hadded  up  me  heed,  when  the 
mates  com  by  wiv  a  *  How  there ! '  and  Aa  gis  them  a 
*  What  cheer,  there  ? '  wiv  a  air  'at  could  oney  be  putten' 
on  biv  a  chep  wiv  a  parsonal  appearance.  But  nivver 
mind  that !  Them  bairns  o'  mine's  hemps ;  tho'r  fair 
deevils  wiv  thor  skylarking,  an'  yen  neet  we'd  tusseled 
an'  larked  till  Aa  wis  sair  wi'  laffin*  an'  tewed  to  deed  wi' 
them  climmin  aboot.  Aa  wis  glad  when  the  wife  puts 
the  supper  breed  on  the  teyble,  an'  Aa  teuk  the  chance 
to  sit  doon  on  me  hunkers  to  leet  me  pipe.  Just  as  Aa 
puts  me  heed  doon,  Odsmash !  oot  drops  me  pattent 
goggle.  Flap  doon  it  wdnt  on  the  hearth  steyn,  an' 
cracked  aal  to  bits.  Aa've  getten  mony  a  gliff  i'  maa 
lifetime,  but  nivver  owt  like  this.  A  caad  sweet  wis 
ower  me  heyl  body,  an'  aa  felt  like  a  lifelike  corp.  That 
put  me  pipe  oot,  Aa  can  tell  ye.  But  nivver  mind  that ! 
Doon  Aa  gans  on  me  marrow  byens,  an'  picks  up  ivvery 
bit,  an'  lays  them  oot  on  a  newspaper.  The  fine  new 
eye  wis  nowt  noo  but  a  heap  o'  bits  o'  boodies.  The 
wife  skriked  oot  an'  myest  teuk  a  fit  at  sic  a  mishap. 
Noo  or  nivver ;  Aa  mun  play  the  man,  hoosiwer,  when 
Aa  fund  she  wis  warse  putten  aboot  nor  me,  an',  ses  Aa 
— *  Hoots,  hinney !  Had  thee  gob.  Aa  can  sewer/|/  dee 
wi'  me  game  eye  as  she  is.  Efter  aal,  Aa  nivver  could 
see  nee  better  wi'  this  pattent  eye.' 

"  *  It's  thee  parsonal  appearance  'at's  brokken',  ses  the 
wife,  an'  she  fair  blaired  and  cried  agyen. 

"'See'st  tha,  hinney,'  ses  Aa,  *Aa  he'd  aal  gethered 
up  i'  the  paper  here,  an'  Aal  seun  get  her  fettled.' 

"  Neist  mornin'  Aa  gans  to  the  cobbler  an'  gets  a  bit  o' 
his  waax,  waps't  up,  an'  puts't  i'  me  pocket,  an'  that  varra 
neet  Aa  sweeted  ower  them  bits  o'  boodies  till  Aa  gets 
them  aal  clagged  t'gither  agyen  wi'  the  cobbler's  waax. 
It  teuk  oors  te  dee  efter  the  bairns  wis  abed,  but  Aa  dud 
it,  an'  when  Aa  puts't  in  agyen  nfeebody  wad  knaan  nowt. 


544  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

"  This  wis  aal  weel  eneuf ;  but  a  few  neets  efter  this, 
when  Aa  com  in  Aa  could  see  'at  the  wife  wis  wrowt  sair 
— what  wi'  mindin'  the  bit  shop  'at  we  hed,  and  hevin'  te 
bake  mair  breed  for  the  shop  than  common  that  day, 
forby  hevin'  a  lairge  brewing  o'  pop  to  watch,  not  to 
speak  o'  them  hemps  o'  bairns  gaan  oot  an'  in,  and 
besides  the  babby  nivver  oot  o'  her  airm  wi'  the  bits  o' 
tuttles  fashn't  But  niwer  mind  that  1  Aa'd  puttin  the  bit 
horse  an'  cairt  in,  coonted  ower  the  brass  'at  Aa'd  tyen 
tha'  day,  getten  me  bit  bait— an'  Aa  tyecks  had  o'  the 
bairn  oot  o'  the  wife's  airms  an'  claps  mesel  doon  bi'  the 
fireside.  Aa  mun  he'  sitten  rether  close  up  te  the  fire — 
cuddlin'  and  crooin'  ower  the  bairn,  but  Aa  niwer  knaas 
till  oot  drops  me  yartifeecial,  bit  bi'  bit  The  waax  hed 
melted. 

*'* Smash,  man!'  ses  Aa,  'she's  deun  noo.'  Aa  puts 
the  bairn  doon  quietly  i'  the  credle  an'  scrafiies  amang 
the  cinders  till  Aa'd  getten  howcked  oot  yen  an'  another 
o'  the  bits.  What  a  seet !  The  bits  wis  aal  clagged  wi' 
the  soft  waax,  an'  stuck  wi'  cinders  an*  dort.  Aa  wis  just 
gaan  te  hoy  them  inte  the  fire  when  the  biggest  bit  tomed 
ower  i'  me  hand  It  wis  the  star  o'  me  aan  eye !  It 
leuked  me  strait  i'  the  feyce  as  much  as  to  say — 'Aa 
isn't  like  the  stang  o'  an  aad  tenth  'at  ye  wad  burn — ^Aa's 
pairt  o'  yorsel.'  Aa  thowt  it  leuked  xttX  through  me  an' 
kend  mair  aboot  me  nor  Aa  kend  mesel.  Aa  knaa  what 
conscience  is,  an',  man  alive !  that  glazy  bit  o'  boody  wis 
me  conscience.     It  wis  mesel  leukin  at  mesel. 

"  Neyn  o'  yor  cobbler's  waax  nee  mair.  Aal  buy  a  stick 
o'  reed  sealin'  waax,  an'  fettle  her  fair  this  time.  An'  so 
Aadid! 

**  Ye  see  Aa've  getten  a  leather  patch  o'  me  eye  yenoo, 
but  Aa  hev  me  other  eye  i'  me  pocket  wapped  up  i' 
shammy  leather.  It's  here !  Aa  he'  to  be  varry  canny 
wid.  O'  war  days  Aa  put  on  me  leather  patch  an'  keeps 
me  yartifeecial  i'  me  pocket.  O'  Sundays  an'  o'  boat- 
race  days  Aa  puts  me  pattent  keeker  iv  her  pleyce,  an' 
then,  man,  ye  should  see  me  parsonal  appearance.  Ye 
waddent  knaa  me  wi'  me  other  eye,^' 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


545 


JOHN   ATLAIdTIC   STEPHENSON. 

Born  in  "Mid-Atlantic"  on  Waterloo  Day,  1829, 
Mr.  Stephenson  owes  his  second  Christian  name  to 
that  circumstance. 
His  father — well 
known  some  seventy 
years  ago  in  the  chem- 
ical trade  on  the  Tyne 
— was  on  his  way  to 
India  as  superinten- 
dent in  the  service  of 
the  East  India  Com- 
pany when  his  ocean 
child  was  born.  Mrs. 
Stephenson  belonged 
an  old  Newcastle 
family,  being  a  daugh- 
ter of  Dr.  Brummell, 
famous  in  local  song. 
Many  are  the  allu- 
sions to  him.  Blind 
Willy,  so  often  re- 
ferred to  in  this  vol- 
ume, in  one  of  his 
songs  used  to  sing — 

'*  Dr.    Brummell  upon  ll| 
the  Sandhill,  W^ 

He  Kov  Sir  Maffa  a 
pilL" 

And  it  is  about  Dr. 
Brummell,  Oliver,  in 
his  famous  song, 
"  Newcastle  Props," 
thus  writes  (Blind  Willy  supposed  to  be  singing) — 

**  0  weel  aw  like  te  hear  him  sing 
'Bout  young  Sir  Matt  and  Dr.  Brummell." 

After  some  twelve  years  in  India  Mr.  Stephenson  returned 
to  Tyneside.  His  son  in  due  course  went  to  business. 
Beginning  at  Sowerb/s  Glass  Works,  Gateshead,  he  now 
occupies  the  responsible  post  of  representative  of  John 
Rogerson  and  Co.    Possessing  artistic  and  literary  tastes, 

35 


THE  SANDHILL. 


546 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Mr.  Stephenson  has  been  a  member  of 
from    its    beginning,    and    at    present 


the  Bewick  Club 
holds  the  office 
of  hon.  treasurer.  The  annual 
exhibition  finds  him  as  an  ama- 
teur regularly  contributing.  His 
pictures,  mostly  water-colours, 
are  scenes  of  rural  beauty,  farm- 
houses, half-ruined  cottages,  etc, 
and  bits  of  old  Newcastle  ;  some 
secured  just  before  their  de- 
struction. At  the  conversaziones 
of  the  club  Mr.  Stephenson's 
humour,  mimicry,  and  elocu- 
tionary powers  make  him  a 
great  favourite.  He  delights 
in  the  local,  Tyneside,  Wear- 
side,  and  other  North-country 
dialects  being  alike  to  him. 
For  charitable  and  other  purposes  he  is  much  in  request, 
and  there  giving  in  Tyneside  some  of  his  racy  pieces  which 
follow,  he  never  fails  to  please. 


Photo  by  Bulman,  Gateshead. 


HA12irKS'S   MEN   AT   THE   BATTLE   OF 
UTATERLOO. 

Man,  aa  fell  in  wi*  Ned  White  the  other  day.  Ye 
knaa  Ned  and  other  twenty-fower  o'  Haaks's  cheps  went 
out  te  the  Peninsular  War,  where  Wellin'ton  was,  ye 
knaa.  Se,  as  we  wor  hevin'  a  gill  tegithor,  aa  says  te 
him,  "  Ned,  d'ye  mind  when  ye  wor  in  the  Peninsular 
War?"  "Aa  should  think  aa  de,"  says  he.  "  Did  ye 
ever  faall  in  wi'  Wellington  ?  "  says  aa.  "  Wellington  I  '* 
says  he;  "  wey,  man,  aa  knaa'd  him.     Wey,  just  the  day 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  547 

afore  the  Battle  o'  Watterloo  he  sent  for  me.  '  Ned,'  he 
says,  *  tyek  yor  twenty-fower  cheps,'  he  says,  '  an  gan  up 
and  shift  them  Frenchmen  pflf  the  top  o'  yon  hill*  *  Aal 
reet,'  says  aa,  *  but  it  winnit  tyek  all  the  twenty-fower,' 
aa  says.  'Ah,  but  it's  Napolean's  crack  regiment,'  he 
says;  *ye'd  bettor  tyek  plenty.*  *Aal  reet,'  aa  says, 
'  we'll  suen  shift  them.'  So  doon  aa  cums  te  the  lads, 
an*  aa  says — *  Noo,  ma  lads,  Wellin'ton  wants  us  te  shift 
yon  Frenchmen  off  the  top  of  yon  hill.'  *  Heor,  Bob 
Scott,  come  here;  hoo  mony  Frenchmen  are  ther  up 
yondor  ? '  '  Aboot  fower  hundred,*  he  says.  *  Hoo 
mony  on  us  will  it  tyek  te  shift  them.  Bob  ? '  *  Oh,  ten,' 
says  Bob.  *  Wey,  we'll  tyek  fourteen,'  aa  says,  *  just  te 
humour  the  aad  chap.'  *  Aal  reet,'  they  says.  So  off 
we  set  at  the  double  alang  the  loiinen ;  but  just  as  we 
turned  the  corner  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  whee  should  we 
meet  but  Bonnipart  hees-sel  on  a  lily-white  horse,  wiv  a 
cocked  hat  on.     *  Where  are  ye  off  te,  Ned  ? '  says  he, 

*  Wey,  te  shift  yon  Frenchmen  off  yon  hill ! '  *  Whaat ! ' 
he  says;    'wey,  that's  maa  crack  regiment,'    he  says. 

*  Nivor  mind  that,'  aa  says ;  *  Wellin'ton  says  we  hev  te 
shift  them,  and  shifted  they'll  be  noo !'  •  Get  away,  man, 
ye're  coddin,'  says  he.  '  Ne  coddin'  aboot  it,'  aa  says  ; 
'cum  by! '  'Haud  on,  then/  he  says;  and  he  gallops 
reet  up  the  hill  on  his  lily-white  horse,  and  shoots  oot, 

*  Gan  back,  ma  lads,  gan  back !  Heor's  Ned  White  frae 
Haaks's  and  fourteen  of  his  cheps  comin'  up  te  shift  ye. 
Ye  hevvent  a  happorth  of  chance ! '  Did  aa  ivvor  see 
Wellin'ton  ?     Wey,  man,  ye  should  think  shyem ! '' 

J.  A.  Stephenson.     .  AvihM'%  Copy,  1890. 


A   TOUT   FOR   NOHTT. 

A  TYNESIDE  STORY. 

A  WELL-KNOWN  Steamboat  man  named  Forster,  belong- 
ing to  the  Tyne,  was  about  to  proceed  up  the  river  to 
Newcastle  from  Jarrow  in  his  tug-boat,  when  he  was 
accosted  by  an  impecunious  keelman,  who  wanted  a 
tow  up  to  the  Mushroom  "  for  nowt."      "•  Mr.  Forster, 


548  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

hinney  I "  he  shouted,  '*  give  us  a  tow,  hinney ; 
give  us  a  tow  up  to  the  Mushroom,  hinney!"  "How 
do  you.  know  my  name's  Forster  I "  "  Oh,  aw  knaw 
yor  nyem's  Forster,  hinney.  I've  knawn  ye  awU  yor 
life.  I  knew  your  fether  afore  ye.  He  was  a  canny 
chep,  yor  fether.  He  was  particlar  fond  o'  me,  yor 
fether  was.  Give  us  a  tow,  hinney  1 "  "  Well,  fling  us 
yor  rope."  "  There  ye  are,  hinney.  Yor  the  model  o' 
yor  fether,  hinney ;  the  model  o'  yor  fether.  Fling  us 
off  at  the  Mushroom,  hinney ! — ^at  the  Mushroom  !  Aye ! 
yor  the  model  o'  yor  fether."  So  Forster  made  the  tow 
rope  fast,  and  began  to  steam  up  the  river.  Now 
Forster  was  rather  fond  of  a  practical  joke,  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  one  not  to  fling  the  rope  ofif 
at  the  Mushroom,  but  to  tow  him  up  to  the  bridge, 
about  a  mile  higher  up.  So,  on  approaching  the  Mush- 
room, the  keelman  sang  out,  "Now,  Mr.  Forster,  hinney, 
fling  hor  off",  hinney,  fling  hor  off."  Forster  took  no 
notice.  *'  Fling  the  rope  off*,  hinney ;  fling  the  rope  off*. 
Here's  the  Mushroom."  Forster  steered  steadily  on. 
•*  Fling  the  rope,  Forster.  Why,  man,  fling  the  rope 
off.  Why  I  ye  mun  be  a  bad  'un.  Ye  are  a  bad  'un. 
Ye  always  war  a  bad  'un ;  and  yor  fether  was  a  bad  'un 
afore  ye." 

J.  A.  STEi*HENSON.  Authon's  UanwcTxpt,  1891. 


A   RECOLLECTION   OF  XED   CORITAN. 

Patter  given  by  Ned  in  '*  Heh  ye  seen  wor  Jimmy  ?  " 
An  early  version  of  "  The  Fire  on  the  Kee." 

Oh,  hinnies,  what  iver  is  aw  gannin  to  de  with  that  lad 
o'  mine  ?  His  gawn  to  ha'  maw  life — aw's  sure  he  is ; 
it's  wor  Jimmy  aw  mean,  ha*  ye  seen  owt  on  him  ?  He's 
an  awful  lad.  Wark!  he'll  work  nyen.  He's  been 
gannin  oot  every  day  for  the  last  six  months  te  seek  a 
job,  and  niver  getten  one  yet — not  likely — while  I 
keep  him,  he  knaws  better,  hinney.  Now,  his  fether 
wes  a  man,  his  fether  was.  If  ye  had  only  seen  his 
fether  cummin  alang  the  quayside  iv  a  Sunday  mornin 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  549 

wiv  his  white  hat  and  his  wooden  leg,  and  a  blue  han- 
kitcher  round  his  neck ;  he  was  the  varry  spittin  immige 
o*  the  Duke  o'  Wellinton  —  umph-m,  about  the  small 
o'  the  back,  hinney.  Oh  dear  me,  when  aw  think  o'  his 
fether  it  reminds  me  of  wor  early  days,  when  he  used  te 
cum  sweetheartin  me,  in  the  spring-time  o'  the  year, 
when  the  cock  robbin  and  the  kiity  wren  and  the  moudy 
warp  all  joined  together  in  a  grand  chorus  o'  delight — 
umph-m,  it  was  lovely.  He  used  to  take  roe  to  Jesmond, 
down  by  the  green  water  pool,  him  walkin  on  in  front 
and  me  behint,  an'  aw  didn't  like  that,  ye  knaw,  and  aw 
wad  say,  "Give  ower  lettin  me  a-be,*'  and  then  he  put 
his  airm  round  me  waist,  and,  oh,  such  things  he  wad 
say  tiv  us !  He  once  said  'at  aw  was  varry  like  Mary 
Queen  o'  Scots — umph-m,  about  the  back  o'  the  neck, 
hinney !  But  he's  deed  and  gyen  now,  hinney,  and  these 
lovely  times  is  ower ;  but  aw've  still  getten  his  wooden  leg 
hinging  aback  o'  the  door  as  a  mementer  of  the  dear 
departed.  Things  is  changed  now,  hinney.  Aw  heh  te 
gan  oot  washing  five  days  a  week,  eighteenpence  a  day  an' 
me  meat — little  enough,  aw  think.  If  it  wasent  for  a 
little  drop  o'  gin  aw  get  wi'  a  little  drop  of  watter — not 
ower  much  watter,  ye  knaw,  for  it  niver  did  agree  with 
me — ^aw  divent  knaw  what  aw  wad  de. 

Weell,  hinney,  whe  de  ye  think  aw  seed  the  uther  day  ? 
Aw  was  cummin  doon  the  Groat  Market,  and  aw  just 

popped  into  H I's  kitchen — aw  beg  yor  pardin,  hinney, 

but  ye  knaw  where  aw  mean — where  they  keep  the  poker 
chain'd  up  for  fear  they  knock  one  another  on  the  heed 
wi'd,  ye  knaw ;  and  aw'd  just  gettin  a  half  o'  gin  when 
whe  should  cum  in  but  Hillar  Thompson — Geordy 
Thompson,  ye  knaw,  but  they  call  him  Hillar ;  he  was 
brother  te  Billy  Thompson— ye  knawed  Billy — they  byeth 
used  te  be  wi'  Billy  Purvis,  ye  knaw.  Hillar's  just  aboot 
the  height  of  six  pennorth  of  copper,  ye  knaw,  and 
always  drunk — aw  believe  he  was  born  drunk,  aw  niver 
saw  him  sober  i'  maw  life.  He  just  gans  aboot  spootin' 
for  beer — spungin',  ye  knaw;  so  when  he  came  in  a 
chep    says,    "Let's    hev  a  recitation,    Hillar."      Why, 


5SO  TYNESWE  SONGS. 

that's  just  what  he  cum  in  for,  de  ye  see  ?  so  he  gets  on 
te  the  table  and  starts, 

**  A  chieftaia  to  the  highlands  bound," 
and  then  he  stopped.      "Aw  knaw  what  he  wants," 
says  thechep;  "fetch  him  a  quart  o'  beer,  misses/*    And 
she  did,  and  Hillar  slockened  it  off,  hinney,  ay,  to  the 
last  gasp,  and  then  he  started  off  afresh. 

*'A  chieftain  to  the  highlands  bound 
Cried,  boatman  do  not  tarry, 
An*  1*11  give  thee  a  silver  pound  *' — 

him  give  onybody  a  silver  pund,  he  niver  gov  onybody 
a  copper  fardin  iv  his  life — niver  I — 

**  To  row  me  o'er  the  ferry. 

Ob,  who  is  this  wad  cross  Lochgyle — 
This  dark,  this  stormy  water? 

Oh,  Tm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  Isle,"— 

him   the  chief  of  Ulva's    Isle!     Why,   his  father  and 
mother  selled  apples  and  pears  in  Denton  Chare — 
"  And  this  Lord  Ullin*s  daughter. 
And  fast  before  her  father's  men, 

We  two  have  fled  together ; 
Oh,  should  they  meet  us  in  the  glen. 
My  blood  would  stain  the  heather." 

His  blood  stain  the  heather !  Why,  his  blood  was  nowt 
but  beer ;  and  just  then,  ye  knaw,  he  stepped  back  on  the 
table,  te  give  a  bit  elocution  tiv  his  words — de  ye  see? 
when  he  went  reet  ower  intiv  a  basket  of  eggs  and  biscuits 
belangin'  tiv  an  au'd  wife,  and  myed  a  bonny  smash. 
"  Whe's  gawn  te  pay  for  these  ?  "  says  the  wife.  *  *  Haud  yor 
gob,"  says  Hillar;  **aw'll  eat  them  all  when  we're  deun." 
From  J.  A.  Stephenson's  Manutcripti  1891. 


THE    POSTPONED   GOOSE. 

A  WEARSIDB  STORY. 

An  idle,  loafing,  lazy  sailor,  belonging  to  the  port  of 
Sunderland,  one  of  those  fellows  who  never  would  work 
while  he  had  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  or  as  he  termed  it, 
"A  shot  in  his  locker,"  was  lounging  about  the  Pottery 
Bank,  at  the  foot  of  the  High  Street     He  had  been  out 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  551 

of  a  ship  for  three  months,  and  was  very  hard  up. 
Meeting  one  of  his  mates,  a  rather  crusty  old  salt,  he 
sang  out,  "  Luik  hiar,  man,  Gowdy,  what's  aw  gawn  te 
de;  aVse  bine  out  iv  a  ship  for  three  munths,  and  aw 
heven't  a  shot  i'  the  locker,  eh  ? "  **  Why,  get  a  ship, 
man !  get  a  ship ! "  "  Why,  ye  knaw  varry  wiel  there's 
ne  ships  in."  "Why,  the  Mary  Jane's  in,  and  they  want 
a  cuik."  "  A  cuik !  Why,  ye  knaw  varry  wiel  aw  canna 
cuik  nean."  "Get  away,  man,  onybody  can  cuik;  had 
away  and  tell  the  maister  ye  can  cuik,  and  ye'll  get  the 
job."  So  the  fellow  went  and  applied  to  the  captain  for 
the  job.  "What  can  you  cook?"  asked  the  captain. 
"  Cuik,  mister,  cuik  owt — cuik  owt,  mister."  So  he  was 
engaged  as  cook.  The  first  thing  he  had  to  do  was  to 
boil  some  rice  for  the  men.  "  My  eye,  aw'se  glad  aw'se 
getten  sec  a  easy  job  as  that;  onny  body  can  boil  a  bit 
o'  rice."  So  he  got  a  bucketful  of  rice  and  put  it  into 
the  copper,  filled  it  up  with  water,  and  set  the  fire  away. 
Soon  the  water  began  to  boil  and  the  rice  to  swell,  a 
thing  he  had  not  calculated  upon,  and  presently  to  rise 
up  to  the  rim  of  the  copper.  "  Dear  me,  aw  wunder 
what's  the  metter  wi'  that  rice."  It  boiled  over,  so  he 
got  a  bucket  and  threw  a  bucketful  overboard;  but  it 
came  up  again,  away  went  another  bucketful,  and  then 
another,  still  it  came  up ;  then  he  got  a  piece  string  and 
tied  on  the  lid,  but  it  burst  it  away.  Then  he  gave  it  up 
and  shouted  out,  "  Some  o'  you  fellows  hes  been 
puttin  some  marcary  i'  that  rice;  aw  put  one  bucket- 
ful in  and  aw'se  thrawn  three  bucketfuls  out,  and  its 
bigger  than  iver."  Well,  he  expected  dismissal  for  this, 
but  it  seems  never  to  have  come  to  the  captain's  ears. 
The  next  day  the  captain  expected  some  gentlemen  to 
dinner  in  the  cabin,  and  had  provided  a  beautiful  goose 
for  their  entertainment,  but  they  sent  word  to  say  they 
could  not  come  that  day,  so  the  dinner  had  to  be  put  off. 
The  captain  then  went  to  the  cook  and  said,  "  Cook, 
postpone  that  goose,  and  do  me  a  steak."  "  Pospone 
the  geuse  I  "  said  the  cook.  "  Yes,  postpone  the  goose," 
said  the  captain.     "  Aal  reet,  mister,  hit  el  be  riddy — 


552  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

what  time,  mister?"  "Xhree  o'clock,"  answered  the 
captain.  "Aal  reet,  mister;"  and  the  captain  went  on 
shore,  leaving  the  poor  perplexed  cook  standing  scratch- 
ing his  head.  "  Aw  wunder  how  they  de  pospone  a 
geuse,":  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Hire,  carpenter, 
come  hire,  mun.  De  ye  knaw  how  te  pospone  a 
geuse?"  "Pospone  a  geuse,  man!  Why,  ye'll  spoil 
the  thing.  Roast  it,  man;  roast  it."  "No,  no,"  said 
the  cook,  "onybody  can  roast  a  geuse,  but  the  maister 
wants  it  posponed,  and  posponed  it  il  heh  te  be." 
"  Why,  aw  niver  heard  tell  o'  such  a  thing ;  but  yonder's 
Billy  Whimple  gean  intiv  yon  public-house  on  the  quay. 
Had  away ;  give  him  a  glass  o'  rum,  and  ax  him  ;  he'll 
tell  ye,  he's  been  a  ceuk  aal  his  life." 

So  away  went  the  cook^  and  followed  Billy  into  the 
public-house.  "Hev  a  glass  o'  rum.  Bill?"  asked  the 
cook.  "Ay,  aw  diven't  care  if  aw  de,"  answered  the 
thirsty  Billy.  "Tow  glesses  o'  rum,  misses."  "Billy, 
des  thou  icnaw  how  te  pospone  a  geuse?"  "Why, 
man,"  said  Billy,  "onybody  can  pospone  a  geuse." 
"Ay,  how  de  ye  de'd?"  asked  the  cook.  "Why," 
answered  Billy,  "ye  knaw  ye  get  a  geuse,  and  ye  plote 
it,  an'  ye  clean  it,  and  then  put  it  intiv  a  canvas  bag, 
and  lay'd  doon  on  the  deck  and  hammer'd  wiv  a  hand- 
spike for  half  a  our ;  then  ye  put  it  intiv  the  copper  wi* 
some  wetter  and  onions  and  pepper  and  salt,  and  sarve 
it  iv  a  tureen — that's  the  way  te  pospone  a  geuse!" 
"  My  eye,  Billy,  aw'se  glad  aw'se  sein  ye.  Hev  anuther 
glass  o'  rum.  Bill." 

So  cook  went  on  board  again  and  did  as  the  man 
had  told  him,  and  when  the  captain  returned  at  three 
o'clock. he  put  the  tureen  and  a  steak  before  him. 

"What's  in  the  tureen,  cook?"  asked  the  captain. 
**  That's  the  posponed  geuse,  mister,"  answered  the 
cook.  He  was  presently  ejected  from  the  cabin,  his 
exit  being  accelerated  by  the  captain's  boot 

Well,  he  was.  sure  of  the  bag  this  time,  but  the  next 
morning  the  gentlemen  sent  word  they  were  coming 
that  day,  so  the  captain  went  to  the  cook  and  said,  "Now, 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  553 

here's  a  fine  job  you  have  made.  The  gentlemen  are 
coming  to  dinner  to-day,  and  there's  nothing  for  them." 

"  There's  the  haar,  mister,  there's  the  haar."  "  Oh, 
I  forgot  the  hare,"  said  the  captain.  "  Now,  let  me 
have  that  hare  properly  roasted  this  time."  "  Aal  reet, 
mister ;  hit'U  be  aal  reet  this  time.  What  time,  mister?  " 
"Three  o'clock,"  said  the  captain.  "Aal  reet,  mister; 
hit'll  be  aal  reet." 

Well,  three  o'clock  came,  the  table  was  laid,  the 
guests  arrived— everything  was  in  readiness — but  the 
hare.  The  captain  at  length  told  the  cabin  boy  to  go 
to  the  galley  and  see  why  the  cook  did  not  bring  the 
hare.  He  returned  and  said,  "  He'll  nut  speak  tiv  us, 
sir.  He  hes  the  galley  door  locked,  an'  he  winnet 
speak  tiv  us."  "Confound  the  fellow,"  roared  the 
captain.  "  Go  and  tell  him  if  he  does  not  bring  it  here  at 
once  I'll  kick  him  overboard." 

Then  the  unfortunate  cook  came  slowly  down  the 
cabin  stairs,  his  hands  covered  with  fur  and  blood. 

"  Is  that  hare  not  ready?  "  shouted  the  captain.  "  No, 
sir ;  hit'll  nut  be  riddy  te-morn  at  this  time.  Aw'se  been 
ploatin'  that  blowed  thing  since  nine  o'clock  this  mornin', 
and  hit's  nut  haaf  dune  yet"  This  time  he  "got  the 
bag  for  fairs." 

J.  A.  Stbphenson.  Authot^t  Mamucript,  1891. 

ADAM    AND    EVE. 

A  WEARSIDE  STORY, 

Many  years  ago  two  very  fine  pictures,  representing 
Adam  and  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden — "  The  Tempta- 
tion" and  "The  Expulsion  from  Eden" — painted  by 
Dubouffe,  were  exhibited  in  the  Victoria  Rooms,  in 
Grey  Street,  Newcastle,  and  also  at  and  about  the  same 
time  at  the  Athenseum  in  Fawcett  Street,  Sunderland. 
While  at  the  latter  place  two  Sunderland  pilots  meeting 
at  the  corner  of  High  Street,  one  said  to  the  other, 
"  Where  ye  gawn  tee,  Gwordy  ?  "  "  Why,  te  the  Thinium 
te  see  the  picters."  "Ay,  are  they  wuth  owt  ?  "  "  Why," 
answered  the  other,   "they  say  they're  cliver,  and  it's 


554  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

nobbit  sixpence  te  gan  in."  "  Why,  blow !  it's  nobbit  the 
price  iv  a  quart — ^aw'U  gan  wi*  ye !  "  So  they  went  and  saw 
them,  and  on  coming  out,  one  said  to  the  other,  ''What 
de  ye  think  iv  yon,  Gwordy?"  **My  eye!  yon*s  a  fine 
woman,"  says  Gwordy,  **but  what's  it  awl  aboot?" 
"Why,  Adam  and  Eve,"  said  the  other.  "  Ye'v  hierd 
tell  iv  Adam  and  Eve?"  "Why,  yes,"  said  Gwordy, 
scratching  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  I  hev  hierd  tell  iv 
Adam  and  Eve,  but  I've  forgetten  whe  tha  ware." 
**  Why,"  said  the  other,  "  Adam  was  the  fust  man — but 
ha'way  doon  te  the  Grace  Darlin'  and  we'll  hev  a  quart, 
an  aw'll  tell  ye  all  aboot  it."-  So  away  they  went  and 
had  the  quart  in.  "Now  then  aboot  these  picters," 
said  Gwordy.  **  Why,"  answered  the  other,  "  Adam  was 
the  fust  man,  and  Eve  was  the  fust  woman,  and  they 
war  put  intiv  a  greet  big  gaaden — ay,  a  big  *un — aboot 
as  big  as  fra  hier  te  Ryhope.  An'  this  gaaden  was  full 
iv  all  manner  iv  fruit  trees  and  vegatables — apple  trees 
and  peir  trees  and  peiches  and  grosers,  and  tormuts  and 
carrots  and  taties,  and  rubab  and  leiks,  and  iverything. 
An'  ye  knaw  they  had  parfec  liberty  te  eat  ony  iv  these 
fruit  or  vegatables,  except  the  apples  off  a  cartain  tree. 
They  hadn't  te  eat  ony  iv  them,  ye  knaw,  or  they  wad 
get  kicked  oot.  Se  one  day  Adam  gits  up  frev  his 
brikwest,  and  he  says,  *Eve,'  he  says,  •aw'm  gawn 
doon  te  the  summer-hoose  te  hev  a  smoke,'  he  says, 
*  an'  ye'd  better  get  on  yor  apron  an'  yor  straw  hat  an' 
gan  doon  te  the  tormit  bed  an'  gether  sum  tormits  an' 
leiks  for  the  broth ;  but  mind,'  he  says,  *  divent  ye  gan 
nigh  yon  tree,'  he  says.  So  away  he  went  te  hev  his 
smoke ;  an'  Eve  put  on  her  apron — aw'se  warn'd  it  wis 
te  carry  the  tormits  an'  leiks  in — an'  her  straw  hat,  an' 
doon  she  went  te  the  tormit  bed ;  but  ye  knaw  she  had 
te  gan  reet  bye  yon  tree.  An'  ye  knaw  Eve.  Why, 
Eve  was  a  woman,  an'  iverybody  knaws  'at  a  woman's 
chock  full  o'  curosity.  She'd  offen  wondered  what  them 
apples  was  like ;  an'  she  cuddent  help  gettin'  a  clot  an' 
knockin'  yan  doon ;  an'  she  had  a  bite  oot  on't.  Man  1 
it  wis  the  finest  apple  ever  she  tasted     So  doon  she 


TYNESJDE  SONGS. 


555 


gans  te  the  summer-hoose  tiv  Adam.  *  Teast  that,'  she 
says,  an'  he  had  a  bite,  an'  then  they  finished  it,  an'  went 
up  tiv  the  tree,  an'  aVse  wam'd  they  had  sum  mare. 
'Asiver,  they  got  kicked  oot."  "  Kicked  oot,"  cried 
Gwordy;  "kicked  oot  for  eatin*  a  apple!  Why, man! 
aw'd  eat  a  ship-load  iv  apples  for  a  woman  like  yon  !  " 

J.  A.  Stephenson.  Authar'i  Manuscript,  1891, 


THOMAS   KERR, 

Who  was  bom  in  the  Black  Gate,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Old  Castle,  may  justly  claim  to  be  a  native  of  the  old  town. 

In  Newcastle,  some 
twenty- five  years 
ago,  Mr.  Kerr  was 
in  business.  Had 
you  called  upon  him 
then,  the  chances 
were  you  might 
have  had  a  chat 
with  Joe  Wilson, 
who  was  one  of  his 
early  friends,  and 
a  regular  caller. 
LeavingNewcastle, 
Mr.  Kerr  settled  in 
Blyth,  where,  his 
literary  inclinations 
leading  him  to  press 
work,  he  acted  occa- 
sionally as  reporter 
for  the  B/y^A 
Weekly  News.  To 
the  News  for  some 
seven  years  he 
contributed  the 
local  letters  of  "An 
Awd  Trimmer," 
and  during  that 
time,  in  the  letter, 
hundreds  of  songs 
appeared,  most  of 
them  of  a  fugitive  character,  but  some,  taking  the  popular 
taste,  became  favourites^  and  are  still  sung.    While  at  Blyth 


THE  BLACK  GATE  ABOUT  1830. 


556  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

he  appears  to  have  gone  into  Chater's  competitions,  win- 
ning several  prizes,  amongst  them  a  gold  medal  for  the  best 
local  song  for  his  Annual.  Taking  entirely  to  press  work, 
Mr.  Kerr  has  now  for  about  twelve  years  held  a  prominent 
position  on  one  of  the  Newcastle  daily  papers.  This  seems 
fully  to  occupy  his  time,  as  for  some  years  now,  no  local  songs 
by  him  have  appeared. 


WHEN   THE    GUD   TIMES   CUM   AGYEN. 

Tune—"  The  Captain  with  the  Whiskers." 

In  sweet  anticipashun  o*  the  gud  times  cummin'  back, 
Let's  join  in  ruminashun  on  the  days  se  bad  an'  black, 
That  the  myest  o'  foak  are  troubled,  aye,  byeth  wimmin', 

bairns,  an*  men, 
That  wor  joys  may  awl  be  dubbeld  when  the  gud  times 

cum  agyen ; 
Fur  wheriver  we  may  be,  on  the  land  or  on  the  sea. 
The  retrospect  'ill  point  oot  awl  things  we  shudent  de, 
An'  warn  us  te  forsyek  sum  ways  wor  footsteps  used  te 

ken, 
Pointin'  us  te  purer  pleshors  when  the  gud  times  cum 

agyen. 

If  specalayshun  wis  yor  forte,  an  awl  yor  brass  wis  lost, 
Throo  some  famed  bubble  company  that  sair  yor  temper 

crost ; 
Or  if  on  bricks  an'  mortor,  lads,  yor  'onest  hopes  war  set, 
Till  ye  fund  yor  cash  wis  ganning  an'  yor  hooses  wadent 

let; 
Oh,  it's  dinnet  pine  an'  fret,  an'  get  intiv  a  swet 
Ower  the  twenty-five  percentage  ye  wor  hopin'  for  te  net. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  557 

But  quietly  keep  plodding  on,  till  mair  cotterds  ye  get, 

then 
Look  before  ye  lowp,  lads,  when  the  gud  times  cum 

agyen. 

If  drinking  wis  yor  hobby,  when  the  wages  they  wor 

flush, 
An'  ye  spent  yor  hard  *arned  money  ower  idleness  an' 

lush, 
Till  ye  hardlys  had  a  suit  o'  claes,  a  tyebbil  or  a  press. 
An'  ye   stud   imang  the  foremist  that  wis    suf'rin  fra 

distress ; 
Though  the  triawl  wis  seveer,  it  'ill  still  yor  future  cheer, 
If  it  learns  ye  te  be  steady,  te  be  canny  wi'  the  beer, 
Ti  save  up  for  a  rainy  day,  an'  leeve  the  drink  alyen, 
Thit  troo  comforts  oft  may  cheer  ye  when  the  gud  times 

cum  agyen. 

If  gamilin  engrost  yor  mind,  an'  thowts  o'  dorty  greed 
Had  o'  yor  heart  possesshun  tuen,  'twis  pitiabil  indeed. 
Fur  dreed  remorse  mun  sair  'a  tried  yor  conshience  neet 

and  day. 
When  plunged  in  poverty  ye  mourned  the  brass  ye'd 

hoyed  away ; 
Then  be  sure  ye  dinnet  fail,  ti  forsyek  the  heed  an'  tail 
That  may  land  ye  i'  the  wark-house,  the  mad-house,  or 

the  jail. 
An'  seek  healthier  recreashun  mair  suitabil  te  men, 
Te  improve  yor  mind  an'  body,  when  the  gud  times  cum 

agyen. 

Aye,  thor's  lessons  fra  the  bad  times  that  every  yen  may 

lam, 
Wiv  a  littil  bit  o'  thinking,  an'  a  mind  that  can  discern. 
Fur  vile  extravagense  wid  ceese  if  foak  had  only  sense 
Fur  te  note  the  crime  an'  fuilishness  iv  useless  expense ; 


5S8  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  the  gud  we  mite  exert,   wiv  a  pure  an'  noble 

heart, 
In  the  workshop,  in  the  cottage,  in  the  mansion,  in  the 

mart, 
Wid  guide  wor  future  footsteps  i'  the  paths  o'  wisdom, 

then 
Wi  mite  myek  this  world  an  Eden  when  the  gud  times 

cum  agyen. 

Kerr.  Author't  Copy^  1879. 


AWS   GLAD   THE   STRIKE'S   DUIN. 

Tune—"  It's  time  to  get  np." 

"  Oh,  aw's  glad  the  strike's  duin,''  shooted  lang  Geordy 

Reed, 
Ti  the  groop  thit  wis  stanning  iroond, 
•*  Fur  the  care  an'  anxiety's  ni*  turned  me  heed. 
An'  am  gettin  is  thin  is  a  hoond ; 
Fur  ye  knaw  me  an'  Jenny  had  promist  te  wed 
When  the  money  te  start  hoose  wis  won. 
But  the  unlucky  stop  cawsed  wor  sporits  te  drop. 
So  aw's  glad,  very  glad,  the  strike's  duin." 

"Oh,  aw's  glad  the  strike's  duin,"  said  a  hawf-grown 

lad, 
"Fur  wor  brass  it  wis  gettin'  se  short, 
An*  the  boolin'  an'  runnin'  wis  gan  te  the  bad, 
An'  we'd  ni'  seen  a  finish  te  sport 
Noo  te  Newcassel  Races,  se  merry  an'  blate. 
We'll  yet  start  like  shot  iv  a  gun. 
An*  it's  nyen  ower  late  te  back  one  fur  the  '  Plate,* 
So  aWs  glad,  very  glad  the  strike's  duin." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  559 

"  Oh,  aw's  glad  the  strike's  duin,  for  the  sake  o*  my  wife/' 

Said  a  brave  little  man  in  the  crood, 

"  Fur  the  pinchin'  an'  plannin'  an'  sorrow  an'  strife 

Neerly  had  her,  poor  lass,  in  her  shrood. 

Noo  wor  canny  bit  bairns  ill  luik  tidy  an'  trim, 

When  te  chapel  on  Sundays  thor  tuin  ; 

An'  hoo  thenkful,"  said  he,  "  iverybody  shud  be 

That  the  unlucky  strike  is  noo  duin." 

"Oh,aw*sgladthestrike'sduin,"  cried  oot  shopkeeper'Jack, 

An'  he's  words  they  exprest  awl  he  said. 

Fur  he's  fyece  wore  a  smile,  an'  he's  lips  gov  a  smack, 

Is  he  tawk't  o'  **  the  prospects  o'  trade." 

Hoo  the  business  wid  thrive,  is  it  yence  did  before, 

An'  the  wheels  iv  prospority  run  ; 

**  Ay,  an'  awl  get  me  whack,"  said  shopkeeper  Jack, 

"  So  aw's  glad,  very  glad,  the  strike's  duin." 

Then  the  crood  awl  agreed,  wi'  a  nod  o'  the  heed, 

They  war  pleased  the  bad  job  wis  put  strite. 

An'  a  wummin  or  two,  is  the  crood  they  passed  through, 

Gae  full  vent  te  thor  happy  delite ; 

While  the  bairns  in  the  street,  wi'  thor  voices  se  sweet, 

In  the  hite  o'  thor  glory  an'  fun, 

Shooted  "  Hip,  hip,  horray  !  it's  settiled  the  day, 

An'  wor  glad,  very  glad,  the  strike's  duin." 

Kerr.  Authov's  Copy^  1880. 


560 


TYNESJDE  SONGS, 


ALEXANDER   HAY, 

Born  in  Newcastle  on  December  nth,  1826,  has  had  a 
roving  and  many-sided  career.  Apprenticed  to  a  cabinet- 
maker, his  restless  nature  rebelled  at  the  restrictions  then 
common,  and  he  took  to  the  sea  as 
a  ship  carpenter.  Clark  Russell, 
the  popular  novelist,  in  the  preface 
to  his  work,  ScUlor^s  Language^ 
writes — "A  ship  carpenter  once 
told  me  that  he  had  been  clapped 
into  irons,  and  lay  manacled  for 
six  weeks,  in  a  voyage  to  China, 
for  writing  the  words  of  a  song 
which  the  sailors  sung  on  every 
occasion  when  the  captain  was  on 
deck.  He  gave  me  a  copy  of  the 
t|  words,  which  I  found  to  be  a  rude 
^  enumeration  of  Jack's  troubles, 
every  stanza  winding  up  with  a 
shout  of  *  Board  of  Trade,  ahoy !  * " 
From  a  Photo  by  A.  D.  Lewis.  The  ship  carpenter  who  wrote  and 
gave  Mr.  Russell  the  song  was  Alexander  Hay.  Russell 
prints  the  song  in  his  book,  but  falls  into  an  error  about  the 
carpenter  being  put  in  irons  ;  he  was  brutally  used,  but  the 
irons  were  only  threatened.  A  verse  or  two  perhaps  will 
best  show  the  nature  of  the  song. 

"  I  snubb'd  skipper  for  bad  grub,  rotten  flour  to  eat, 
Hard  tack  full  of  wevills  ;  how  demon  chandlers  cheat ! 
Salt  junk  like  mahogany,  scurvying  man  and  boy. 
Says  he,  *  Where's  your  remedy  ? '    Board  qf  Trade,  ahoy  ! 

Can  ye  wonder  mutiny,  lubber-like,  will  lurk 
In  our  mercantile  marine,  cramm'd  with  measly  pork  ? 
Is  it  wonderful  that  men  lose  their  native  joy. 
With  provisions  maggoty  ?    Board  of  Trade,  aJioy  J  " 

Some  time  after  this  incident  Mr.  Hay  had  the  honour  of  re- 
citing his"  Board  of  Trade,  ahoy  1 "  at  a  great  public  meeting  at 
Limehouse,  the  sailors'  friend,  Samuel  Plimsoll,  in  the  chair. 
About  this  time  a  kindred  piece  by  him,  "The  Shoddy 
Ship,''  appeared  in  the  Nautical  Magazine, 

As  long  ago  as  1856  Mr.  Hay  contributed  to  the  Northern 
Poetic  Keepsake.  Thomas  Doubleday,  Robert  White,  L 
Goodchild,  R.  Storey,  and  R.  Fisher  (the  publisher  of  the 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  561 

volume)  being  amongst  his  fellow-contributors.    The  follow- 
ing striking  lines  are  taken  from  his  sonnet  on  "  Time." 
TIME. 
Time  hath  no  age — ^as  vigorous  to-day 
As  when  Creation  started.  • 

His  menial  is  the  snn  ; 
The  blazing  stars  that  plough  the  azure  skies 
And  glass  their  semblance  in  the  dallying  sea  \ 
The  silver  moon  that  levers  uj)  the  tides 
And  gilds  the  surface  of  the  glimmering  leaves, 
Are  all  subservient  to  the  pulse  of  time. 

On  land  Mr.  Hay's  experiences  have  been  varied — at 
Liverpool  a  tutor  in  a  school,  and  connected  with  the  press, 
at  London  engaged  in  the  building  of  the  Great  Exhibition, 
1862,  and  also  a  journalist,  these  are  a  few  of  the  parts  he 
has  played.  For  some  years  now  he  has  been  back  to  his 
native  town.  In  connection  with  this  volume  be  has  been 
ever  ready  to  help.  He  has  joined  in  the  search  at  Ballast 
Hills,  for  the  graves  of  Selkirk  and  Gilchrist ;  at  St.  John's  he 
assisted  in  seeking  out  the  poet  Thompson's  half-forgotten 
grave.  His  latest  help  has  been  in  reference  to  Nunn,  and 
'finding  the  mutilated  copy  of  his  songs.  A  ready  writer,  his 
contributions  in  prose  and  verse  to  the  Newcastle  press  have 
been  numerous.  The  following  are  examples  of  his  dialect 
work.  

THE   DANDYLION   CLOCK. 

Tdne— **  Days  we  went  a-gipsying." 

When  wor  and  toon  was  the  aud  toon, 

Wi'  mony  a  grassy  nyuk. 
And  posies  ivvoreewhere  adorn'd 

It  like  sum  pikter-byuk; 
We  lay  above  the  sighin'  burn, 

On  hills  ov  fern  and  rock, 
To  blaw  thaw  balloon  life  away, 

Maw  "dandylion  clock." 

Two  bonnie  lasses  and  me-sel, 
But  bairns — dash !  hoo  we  pla/d 

Wiv  buttercups  and  daisies  pure, 
And  babby-hooses  made. 

36 


S62  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Before  the  manly  cares  cam  oot 

To  gie  won*s  heart  a  shock, 
We  lay  and  blaw'd  to  tell  the  time — 

The  "  dandylion  clock." 

Luk !  the  dear  sunshine's  teeming  doon 

Neagarrays  of  joy, 
On  Lizzie's  bonnie  curly  heed. 

Like  dolls  her  lovin'  toy. 
It  sparkles  like  the  goold  itsel — 

Aw  might  hev  had  a  lock 
Is  easy  as  aw  blew  for  her 

The  "dandylion  clock." 

And  there  wis  little  Katie,  tee, 

Whe's  figur  aw  wad  paint ; 
But  God  saves  me  the  trubbil  noo, 

He's  tyun  hur  to  the  saint 
Aiid  Lizzie  tee's  an  angel  gud, 

Iv  her  brite  lalock  frock ; 
Aw  think  aw  see  her  blawin*  yit 

The  "  dandylion  clock." 

Hay.  A\AhM'%  Copy,  1879. 


THE   ILLEKTRIC    LEET. 

Written  on  Mr.  J.  Swan,  the  inventor  of  the  incandescent  lamp,  lighting 
with  electricity  his  (Mawson  and  Swan's)  chemist  shop,  Mosley  Street. 
The  first  shop  in  Newcastle  lighted  by  electricity  (1880). 

TuNE-^**  Billy  O'Booke's  the  Boy." 

Aave  seen  sum  queer  things  in  maw  time. 

When  gas  did  oil  eclipse,  sor, 
For,  aa  retaembor  Neshim's  men,* 

Whe  myed  wor  mowls  an'  dips,  sor, 

*  About  fifty  years  ago  Mr.  Nesham  had  a  famous  tallow-chandler's 
works  on  the  site  of  Handyside's  shops  in  New  Bridge  Street. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  563 

The  tindor  box  an'  rag  isteem'd 

Begat  the  loosifors,  sor ; 
Yit  still  wor  greet  inventive  brain 

Is  floororie  as  the  Gorze,  sor. 

Chorus, 
The  illektric  leet !  the  illektric  leet  f 

The  pet  ov  aal  the  seasin  ; 
We'll  he'd  hung  up  th'  morrow  nect 

Or  else  we'll  knaa  the  reasin. 

We've  had  sum  clivor  cheps  it  hyem, 

Ye'U  knaa  what  they  wor  worth,  sor ; 
The  lion  gob  ov  steem  snores  oot 

The  glory  ov  the  North,  sor. 
Its  ingins  push  the  ships  aboot 

Faster  nor  the  breeze,  sor ; 
It  helps  to  win  wor  wives  and  bairns 

Thor  bits  ov  breed  and  cheese,  sor. 

The  illektric  leet  I  the  illektric  leet  I  etc. 

Noo  Stevinson  an'  Watt,  ye  knaa, 

Sent  Geordies  ower  the  seas,  sor, 
To  teach  mankind  to  de  the  trick, 

Myek  steam  de  as  they  please,  sor. 
Ye'U  find  wors  in  Astrillia, 

In  aal  the  isles  aboot,  sor ; 
Fur  aa'U  be  bund  ne  class  ov  men 

Mair  blabbed  the  secrit  oot,  sor ! 

The  illektric  leet  I  the  illektric  leet !  etc. 

So  here's  te  Swan,  wor  canny  man ; 

His  'Uektric  leet  is  fine,  sor, 
That  bums  away  an'  rivals  day 

In  honour  ov  wor  Tyne,  sor. 


564 


TYNESIDE  SONGS. 


Hay. 


The  aud  wax  candels  hUd  thor  time, 

The  gas  wor  sarvant,  tee,  sor ; 
But  seun  Swan's  l^t  '11  blink  like  stars 

Frov  Sanget  te  The  Kee,  sor. 

The  illektric  leet  1  the  illektric  leet !  etc. 
"  WeOiHy  Chronicle,**  1880. 


JOHN   CRAGGS 

Was  bom  at  North  Sunderland  in  1849,  and  was  for  years 
engaged  as  a  clerk  on  the 
Tyne.  He  was  one  of  the  Bo- 
hemian coterie  of  local  authors 
which  included  Joe  Wilson,  Row- 
land Harrison,  John  Taylor,  and 
Ralph  Blackett.  While  in  New- 
castle Craggs  contributed  largely 
to  the  local  press  under  the  nom- 
de-plume  of  "Mrkg.  Fudjjv"  (a 
cryptogram  of  his  name;.  In 
1874  he  was  awarded  Chater's 
gold  medal  for  his  sentimental 
song,  "The  Old  Cot  on  the 
Tyne."  He  is  also  the  author  of 
"The  M.P.  for  Jarra,"  "The 
Letter  from  Hannah,"  etc  In 
1877  he  migrated  to  the  metro- 
Photo  by  Taylor,  NewcasUe.      polis,  where  he  has  long  been 

a  prominent  member  of  the  detective  police. 


TH' 


LASS   THAT   SELL'D   GROZERS   UPON 
THE   AAD   BRIDGE. 


Since  aa  wis  a  lad  aa  hev  had  an  ambishin 
Te  distingwish  me-sel'  wi'  th'  rod  an'  the  line ; 

An'  that's  how  it  cums  aa's  se  offins  fund  fishin' 
Aboot  oot-th'-way  places  on  wor  canny  Tyne. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  565 

Thor  wis  yen  Friday  neet  aa  had  tripe  te  ma  supper, 
Then  aa  turned  inte  bed  an'  went  reet  off  te  sleep, 

When  aa  dreemed  that  aa  won  a  cuddy's  new  crupper, 
For  ma  skill  i'  landin'  th'  fry  fra  th'  deep. 

But  what  'stonished  me  myest  wis  th*  place  where  th' 
match  wis. 

It  was  on  the  aad  bridge  that  aa  stud  wi'  ma  line. 
Thor  wis  croods  lookin'  on,  an'  cheps  singin'  snatches 

Ov  the  "  Amyture  Fishor,"  th'  pride  o'  the  Tyne. 
Thor's  anuther  queer  thing  aa  mite  as  weel  menshin, 

Aa  thowt  that  aa  baited  ma  hyuk  wiv  a  midge, 
An'  there  wis  aa  'tractin'  aal  fokes's  attenshin, 

Fishin'  for  trooties  upon  th'  aad  bridge. 

Next  mornin*  you're  sure  aa  wis  properly  bent  on 

Testin'  th'  trooth  ov  ma  wunderful  dreem ; 
Se  aa  gat  up  ma  tackil  an'  cam'  in  fra  Kenton, 

An'  wis  varry  s'yun  soondin'  th'  aad-fashint  streem  ; 
But  aa  didn't  catch  owt,  an*  it  wassint  sorprisin', 

For  aa  saw  summick  else  put  me  aal  in  a  fidge — 
'Twis  the  bonniest  lass  that  aa  ivvor  clapt  eyes  on, 

Sellin'  apples  an'  grozers  upon  th'  aad  bridge. 

Wi'  ma  rod  i'  ma  hand  an'  ma  line  iv  the  river, 

Te  where  she  wis  stannin'  aa  elbid  alang. 
An'  when  aa  had  gettin  up  close  enyuf  tiv  her, 

Te  tyek  hor  attenshin  aa  whussted  a  sang. 
Ses  aa,  "  Canny  hinney,  how  is  grozers  sellin'  ?  " 

Ses  she,  "  Thor  a  little  bit  cheapor  nor  troot." 
Ses  aa,  "  Aa's  not  weel,  an'  aa  dinnit  mind  tellin' 

The  seet  ov  ye  torned  ma  heart  reet  roond  aboot." 


S66  TYNESWE  SONGS, 

*'  If  ye  hev  owt  te  say,"  ses  she,  **  give  ower  fishin' ; 

Speak  yor  mind  like  a  man  an'  say  what  ye  mean  ; 
But  please  yor  aansel'  noo  ye  knaa  the  condishin, 

For  aal  aa  sell  grozers,  aa's  prood  as  th'  queen." 
Aa  teird  hor  reet  oot  ma  h'yemly  posishin, 

Th'  brass  that  aa  myed  an'  th'  tin  that  aa  had. 
"  Eigh,"  ses  she,  "th'  faa't  that  ye  hev  is  yor  fishin'. 

But  for  aal  that  ye  lyuk  like  a  decint  young  lad." 

She  sed  that  ma  luv  she  cuddint  weel  doot  it, 

Oney  she  diddint  fancy  te  change  her  aan  nyem, 
But  she  promist  at  last  te  consider  aboot  it. 

An'  tell  es  next  week,  if  that  wad  de  aal  th'  syem. 
Noo  yung  cheps  cannit  fancy  how  happy  ma  life  is, 

Free  fra  a  landled/s  fashin'  an'  fidge. 
An'  ye'll  not  be  surprised  when  aa  tell  ye  ma  wife  is 

Th'  lass  that  sell'd  grozers  upon  the  aad  bridge. 

Craggs.  ''NewcoHle  Weekly  Chroniele,**  1881. 


MATTH£12ir    TATE 

At  an  early  age  showed  his  fancy  for  poetry.  In  1854,  when 
only  seventeen,  he  begun  his  writing.  About  twenty  years 
later,  in  1874,  he  published  his  volume.  Stray  Blossoms^  and 
since  has  contributed  largely  to  the  local  press.  He  comes 
off  an  old  mining  family,  and  was  bom  at  Benton  Square  on 
September  5th,  1837.  Northumberland  all  his  life  has  been 
bis  county.  At  present,  and  for  long,  his  residence  has  been 
Waterloo,  Blyth. 


THE   FORE    SHIFT. 

Oh,  the  fore  shift  dark  and  dreary, 
Oh,  this  lonely  two  o'clock ; 

Limbs  may  ache,  and  hearts  be  weary. 
Still  there  comes  the  caller's  knock ; 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  567 

And  each  blow  upon  the  panels 
Bids  us  up  and  don  our  flannels, 
By  the  light  of  lamp  or  can'les 
Batter  at  the  grimy  rock. 

Just  to  get  a  bare  subsistence, 

Little  earned  and  nothing  saved, 
With  the  Workhouse  in  the  distance 

After  we  for  years  have  slaved. 
Some  look  on  with  holy  horror, 
At  each  pitman's  little  error, 
But  'twould  much  abate  their  terror 

Could  they  see  the  dangers  braved. 


To  the  coal's  grim  face  we  travel, 

And  again  our  flannels  doff; 
Can  they  wonder  if  we  cavil 

At  the  ones  much  better  off? 
Like  a  snake  our  bodies  coiling. 
Weary  hours  incessant  toiling. 
Through  each  pore  the  sweat  comes  boiling : 

Think  on  this,  ye  ones  that  scoff! 

Up  while  stars  are  dimly  peeping 
Through  the  midnight's  sable  gloom ; 

Up  while  pampered  ones  are  sleeping 
In  their  snug  and  cosy  room. 

Fore  shift  visions  need  not  haunt  them, 

Nor  the  pit's  grim  danger  daunt  them; 

Oh,  'twas  kind  of  fate  to  plant  them 
Where  they  could  so  safely  bloom  I 

Tate.  *<  Neweattle  Weekly  Chronide,"  1886. 


568  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

RALPH   DOWEY, 

Another  miner-poet,  was  bom  at  West  Holywell  Colliery, 
October  nth,  1844.  Local  song-writing  has  long  been  his 
hobby,  and  what  he  is  at  his  hobby  may  be  judged  from  the 
number  of  prizes  that  have  fallen  to  his  pen,  some  eight 
having  at  various  times  been  awarded  to  him.  His  pieces 
principally  have  appeared  in  Frazer's  and  Tweed/s 
Almanacks,  and  The  Blyth  Weekly  News^  where  the  piece 
selected  here  appeared. 


THE   PICNIC  DAY. 

Cum  hinny,  Jane,  maw  bonnie  lass, 

Get  thoo  the  bairns  ready, 
An'  hand  me  here  what  pocket  brass 

Thoo  ettles  for  thee  Teddy. 
Because  the  time  is  creepin  on, 
Thoo  knaas  the  speaking  starts  at  one, 
Thor's  not  much  time  te  play  upon 

An'  dress  them  aal  for  Morpeth. 

An'  dress  thee  awnsel  up  te  dick, 

JPut  on  thy  last  new  bonnet ; 
We'll  myek  them  stare  at  wor  picnic, 

Thoo  may  depend  upon  it. 
Awl  Hnk  wi'  thoo,  me  bonnie  lass. 
An'  through  the  croods  we'll  dash  an'  pass. 
An'  mewies  dance  upon  the  grass 

When  we  get  there  te  Morpeth. 

Cum  let  us  catch  the  special  train, 

Neer  freet  iboot  the  weather ; 
For  if  the  cloods  splash  doon  thor  rain 

We'll  booze  inside  tegether. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  $69 

We'll  meet  wi*  cronies  mony  a  one, 
,  An'  crack  o'  times  an'  days  that's  gone, 
Iboot  percentage  off  an'  on, 
An'  feast  wor-sels  at  Morpeth. 

Just  lissen  there,  dis  thoo  hear  that  ? 

Wey  that's  wor  drum  what's  beatin  ; 
It's  just  iboot  the  time  they  sat 

An'  pointed  for  their  meetin. 
Ay,  thon's  the  bandmen  torning  oot. 
An'  croods  are  flocking  aal  iboot 
Just  waiting  for  the  marshall's  shoot, 

An'  then  they're  off  te  Morpeth. 

Aw  knaa  thoo's  not  been  weel  for  lang, 

An'  Doctor  James  is  cummin ; 
But  he'll  not  clash  nor  myek  a  sang 

Iboot  thoo  an  me,  maw  woman. 
So  let's  away  te  see  the  sport 
An'  hear  wor  Fenwick  an'  wor  Bort ; 
Aw'm  sure  thoo  cannot  tyek  much  hort 

Imang  the  trees  at  Morpeth. 


What's  that  thoo  says,  maw  canny  Jane  ? 

Awm  pleased  te  hear  thoo's  gannin ; 
Awm  sure  thoo'U  not  feel  ache  or  pain 

Thi  time  that  thoo  is  stannin 
Imang  ken'd  foaks  fra  far  an  near 
That's  laid  aside  pit  duds  an'  gear, 
Te  meet  each  other  once  a  year 

On  picnic  day  at  Morpeth. 

DOWET.  "  Blyth  Weekly  Newi"  1891. 


570  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

It  was  intended  to  have  had  at  the  end  of  this  volume  a 
fairly  representative  selection  from  the  living  dialect  writers 
of  the  day.  As  the  volume  progressed,  however,  that  was 
found  impossible ;  the  writers  of  the  past  took  up  more  of 
the  volume  than  was  expected,  and  so  those  of  the  present 
were  crushed  out  The  late  Mr.  Chater,  with  his  almanacks 
and  annuals,  his  gold  medals  and  prizes,  brought  out  many 
good  dialect  songs ;  and  the  Weekly  Chronicle^  with  its  local 
song  competitions,  brought  out  more.  At  the  Stephenson 
Centenary,  1881,  a  good  song  appeared  in  the  Weekly 
Chronicle^  signed  A.  F.,  Lead  gate.     It  opens — 

WYLAM  GBORDY. 

Come,  Billy,  lad,  let's  tiv  the  toon. 
This  glorious  sunny  Ninth  o'  June ; 
Te-day  aa'll  lay  ma  tools  aal  doon 
In  memory  o*  Geordy. 

For  just  a  hunnor  summers  syne 
This  varry  day  began  te  shine 
In  yon  wee  cottage  by  the  Tyne 
The  Railway  Star  in  Geordy. 

•*  Indeed,"  said  Bill,  "  aa's  on  the  way ; 
Man,  whe  wad  bide  at  hyem  te-day  ? 
The  varry  trains  are  full  o'  play, 

Sae  prood  ower  Wylam  Geordy." 

They  reach   Newcastle,  all  decorated   in   honour    of    the 
occasion, 

An'  see  the  ancient  fortress  toon 
Hes  dressed  horsel'  in  sic  a  goon 
Of  gowld  an'  glittor  up  an*  doon, 
An'  aal  for  Wylam  Geordy. 

Here's  miles  o'  roUeys  on  the  move, 
An'  miles  of  men,  whese  presence  prove 
A  brotherly  discaming  love 

For  men  o'  brains  like  Geordy. 

About  a  year  after  "The  New  Keviling*  Monday" 
appeared.  This  came  also  from  Leadgate,  and  was  signed 
A.  Frazer,  little  doubt  the  A.  F.  of  "  Wylam  Geordy." 

"  The  Kevils's  draan  at  Parrington  Pit, 
An'  Mat  an'  his  marra  hev  myed  a  bad  hit ; 
Doon  the  Sooth  Crosscut  we're  shiftin'  wor  kit — 

Oh,  bother  the  Kevilin'  Monday ! " 

*  "  Kevils,"  or  **  cavells,"  are  the  lots  cast  by  miners  in  the  distribution 
of  "places"  to  the  workers  in  a  given  pit.  The  coal  in  some  parts  of  the 
mine  is  worked  more  easily  than  in  others ;  in  order,  therefore,  that  the 
"marras"  may  have  a  fair  chance  of  getting  a  good  place,  "kevils*  are 
cast  at  stated  times. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  571 

On  the  Stephenson  Centenary  another  local  writer, 
Matthew  C.  James,  of  Walker  (who  ha$  written  largely), 
also  has  a  good  song — 

THE  STIVVISON  CENTENNERY. 
Noo,  how  thor,  marra !  had  thy  jaa, 
Aa*8  just  cum  frev  th*  toon  ye  knaa, 
Aa'U  tell  ye  aboot  th'  seats  aa  saa 
Et  Stivvison's  Centennery  I 

Newcastle  toon  luiked  fine  th'  day, 
Wi'  bonny  flags  th'  streets  se  gay 
Quite  'mazed  th'  folk,  as  weel  they  may, 
Et  ytivvison's  Centennery ! 

Wor  pit  lads  marched  amang  the  rest, 
Th'  Buffloes  i'  thor  sleeve-hats  dressed, 
S^vation  Army  !  aa'll  be  blest ! 
Et  Stivvison's  Centennery ! 

Th*  banners  waved,  th'  bands  did  play. 
But  whaat'n  tnen  aa  couldn't  say ; 
Aa  nivvor  shall  forget  the  day 
0*  Stivvison's  Centennery  1 


Another  miner,  Robert  Elliott,  of  Choppington,  has 
written  "A  Pitman  gawn  te  Parliament,"  and  of  this  pit- 
man— Thomas  Burt — he  thus  writes  : — 

"  Becaas  he's  not  furward,  in  fact  he  is  blate, 
Considerin'  the  knowledge  he  hes  iv  his  pate. 
He's  a  man  we  respec  for  his  sense  an'  his  worth ; 
He's  the  king  o*  the  howkies,  an'  pride  o'  the  North ; 
An'  the  papers  confess  thit  thor  cuddent  weel  be, 
For  a  lot  o  bold  howkies,  a  better  M.P." 

In  another  piece,  "  A  Pitman  in  Parliament,**  he  begins — 
"  Wor  Tommy,  wor  member,  wor  canny  M.P., 
Hes  been  myekin'  a  speech,  an'  a  clevvor  yen  tee  ; 
He  struck  oot  see  hard,  thit  he  myed  Mr.  Hoker 
Believe  he  had  clutched  the  rang  end  iv  a  poker." 

The  piece  is  a  reply  to  the  stories  of  champagne  and  costly 
pianos  so  current  some  years  ago. 

'*  The  champane,  Mr.  Hoker,  will  be  rather  weak, 
Iv  the  man  that  just  myeks  twenty  bob  i'  the  week. 

The  peanny  ye  speak  of  for  dowters  an'  wife, 
Tyelrt  oot  an'  put  in  a  tin  whussle  or  fife." 

Mr.  Elliott  published  an  interesting  volume  of  his  poems 
and  recitations  in  1877. 


572  TYNESIDE  SONGS, 

Mr.  R.  Usher,  of  the  Felling,  reflecting  the  subjects  of  the 
day,  sings  of  the  Salvation  Army,  or,  as  he  calls  them,  *^  The 
Halla^uyes."  His  "Hallayuye  Convert"  tells  how,  listening 
at  their  open-air  meeting,  he  follows  them  to  their  '*  Mishin 
Hall,"  is  impressed  with  the  service,  and  finally  follows  one 
of  the  Hallayuye  Lasses,  who  comes  to  him  saying — 
*'  Cum  this  way,  maw  canny  man, 
And  join  the  Halla}'uyes. 

Aw  begun  te  think  the  lass  wis  reet, 

Fra  maw  evil  ways  aw  shud  turn,  man ; 
Aw  myed  up  maw  mind  that  varry  neet, 
Te  gan  up  te  the  penitent  form,  man. 
At  forst  aw  thowt  aw*d  lost  me  tung. 
For  aw  reely  felt  as  if  aw  wis  dumb — 
But  when  aw  went  doon  upon  maw  knees. 
It  wis  just  as  if  fra  chains  released. 
Aw  got  up  and  wad  maw  experience  speak, 
And  then  aw  thowt  aw  cud  talk't  a  week, 
For  aw  fund  faith  in  Hallayuye  1 

CAortM." 

Mr.  Usher  has  written  a  good  many  songs,  which  have 
been  printed  in  slip  form. 


R.  J.  Wilkinson,  a  bookseller  in  the  Market,  a  place 
famous  for  its  gatherings  of  second-hand  books  of  all  kinds, 
has  published  a  small  collection  of  dialect  and  other  songs 
(1886).  In  "Tommy  on  the  Bridge"  he  sings  of  a  well- 
known  character. 

"  Wor  Charlie,  just  the  tuther  day 

Wis  wawkin  on  the  kee, 

When  he  thowt  he'd  gan  alang  th'  bridge 

An'  poor  blind  Tommy  see ; 

He  haddint  seen  him  for  a  time, 

An'  thowt  he'd  like  te  heer 

What  he'd  gat  to  say  aboot 

The  toppicks  ov  the  eer. 

Charlie  fund  Tommy  it  his  reglor  post,  and  is  usual  workin  hissel  is  If  he 
wis  gannin  bi  machinery.  *■  Noo,  Tommy,'  ses  he,  *  hoo  are  ye  gettin  on 
noo?^  'Whei,'  ses  Tommy,  'very  baclly;  heer  hev  aw  stud  awl  this 
blessid  day,  and  ony  myed  tappince-hapney  cot  ov  awl  the  handrids  ot 
folks  thit's  gyen  ower  -the  briflge.  Aw'm  gannin  te  pitishun  the  corpora- 
shun  te  get  the  bridge  altor'd ;  it  dissint  suit  me,  for  whenivor  there's  a 
ship  cummin  eethor  up  or  doon,  aw  hev  te  move  off  the  swing ;  aw  waddint 
mind  if  they  paid  is  for'd,  but  aw  get  »>«  compensayshun,  an'  aw  think  it's  a 
blow'd  shyem  ot  onnyboddy  tryin^te  prevent  a  man  myekin'  a  livin'.' 

CAortMT. 
So,  if  ye  want  te  hev  a  treet 
Awltho'  he*8  not  a  judge. 
Ye'll  heer  words  ov  wisdmi 
Frae  Tommy  on  th'  bridge." 


TYNESIDE  SONGS,  573 

From  the   Shieldfield,  "Havadab"  sent  to  the    Weekly 
Chronicle  "Ma  Singin*  Freend." 

MA  SINGIN*  FREEND. 

Gannin  on  for  six,  when  aa  maan  start 

Ma  day's  wark,  aa  dee  often  meet 

A  chep  cum  singin'  doon  the  street, 
Cum  singin'  wi'  a  leetsum  heart ; 
In  sleet  or  snaw,  in  leet  or  dark, 

Nee  mettor  if  it's  wet  or  dry. 
He  gans  on  singin'  tiv  his  wark, 

Wi'  cheery  voice  he  passes  by. 

Aa  often  weary  went  te  wark, 

Kind  0'  heart  sick ;  but,  niwor  mind. 

It  niwor  left  a  trace  behind 
When  he  passed  singin'  like  a  lark. 
Aa  wunder  if  he  ivvor  thinks 

Thet,  while  he's  cheer'd  thor's  others  te  ; 
Aa  knaa  one  heart  thet  sometimes  sinks, 

Thet's  lifted  by  his  melody. 

Sing  on  !  sing  on  !  ma  hearty  freend, 

Aa  hope  ye^ll  niwor  knaa  the  day 

When  misery  will  drive  away 
Yor  sang,  or  put  it  tiv  an  end. 
0,  still  gan  singin'  te  yor  wark, 

Wi*  leetsum  heart  an*  cheery  voice, 
An'  knaa  that  when  it's  sometimes  dark 

Ye  myek  anuther  heart  rejoice. 

That  the  dialect  is  not  this  writer's  only  gift,  the  following, 
also  from  the  Weekly  Chronicle^  shows — 

GONE! 

Her  harp  is  mute :  were  it  to  wake, 
The  sadness  of  its  strains  would  break 
My  heart,  because  it  mourneth  for 
The  hand  that  never  more  shall  stir 
Its  silent  strings  for  love's  dear  sake. 

The  song  that  charmed  away  my  cares, 
Her  laugh,  her  footfall  on  the  stairs, 

And  every  sound  that  banished  gloom 

Is  hushed,  and  in  the  silent  room 
My  heart  is  full  of  voiceless  prayers. 

Yet  oft  at  night  she  comes  again 
In  dreams,  and  sings  an  old  refrain 

To  soothe  my  soul  in  deeper  rest ; 

I  turn  to  clasp  her  in  my  breast — 
And  wake,  and  look  for  her  in  vain. 


574  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

And  in  the  fulness  of  the  days, 
I'll  see  her  where  no  love  decays, 

And,  as  of  old,  walk  hand  in  hand  ; 

And  she,  who  first  was  in  that  land. 
Shall  guide  me  through  its  shining  ways. 


Joseph  Crawhall,  who  nearly  thirty  years  ago  edited  The 
Fishet^s  Garland^  and  has  since  contributed  many  quaitlt 
volumes  to  local  literature,  his  "  Beuk  o'  Newcassel  Sangs  " 
amongst  them,  has  also  done  a  little  in  the  dialect  In  the 
Courant  about  two  years  ago  appeared  *'  The  Hot-trod." 

THE  HOT-TROD.* 

Wae's  me — God  wot — 

But  the  beggarlie  Scot 
Through  the  'bateable  land  has  prickit  his  waie 

An'  ravaged  wi*  fire 

Peel,  hau'din*,  an'  byre — 
Oor  nowte,  sheep,  an'  galloways  a'  ta'en  awae : 
But— by  hagbut  an'  sword — ere  he's  back  owre  the  Border, 
We'll  be  het  on  his  trod  an'  aye  set  him  in  order. 

Fae  to  fae — steel  to  steel — 

Noo  the  donnert  loons  reel 
An',  caitiflf— cry  "  hoo  " — but  it's  a'  in  vain : 

Sec  a  clatter  o'  thwacks 

Fa's  on  sallets  an'  jacks, 
Till  we've  lifted  the  lifters  as  weel's  our  ain  : 
Then,  wi'  fyce  to  the  crupper  they'll  ride  a  gale  mile. 
To  their  dance  frae  the  woodie  at  "  Merrie  Carlisle." 

In  the  Courant  another  piece  of  his  appeared,  "  The  Wife's 
Remonstrance  "  — 

THE  WIFE'S  REMONSTRANCE. 
Ye  brought  me  to  Coquet  to  gi'e  me  a  treat, 
An'  I  canna  but  say,  we've  had  plenty  to  eat : 
But,  as  for  the  whusky — ye  ken  whae's  had  that 
An'  yer  fishin's  a'  meunshine,  I'll  just  tell  ye  flat. 

CAoftM. 
Potterin'  on,  potterin'  on, 
Te've  no  catcn't  a  troot  a'  day,  potterin'  on. 
Ye've  oft  tell't  me  Coquet-side's  bonnie  an'  bright. 
An'  ye'd  fish  yer  frien  s  roond,  owther  number  or  weight, 
What  ye'd  catch  if  the  wind  but  kept  oot  o'  the  east. 
Hoots  1  let's  us  hyem,  for  "  enough  s  just  as  good  as  a  feast." 

CAorttf. 
Potterin'  on,  potterin'  on, 
Sang  1  it  vnll  be  a  feast  wi'  yer  potterin'  on. 

*  For  the  jrarsnit  of  the  Moss-troopen  the  Wardens  raised  '*  Hot-trod."  a 
burning  turf  on  the  point  of  a  spear,  which  all  men  were  obliged  to  follow 
on  pain  of  death. 


TYNESIDE  SONGS.  575 

Also  in  the  Courant^  about  a  year  ago,  there  appeared 
THE  AHD  PITMAN'S  PO'TRY  TIV  EES  MARRAH. 

Ah's  eighty,  Tom  I  an'  frae  me  poo 
The  hair  'at  yance  o'  th'  top  on't  groo 
Hez  te  the  fower  win's  ahl  gyane. 
An'  noo  there's  nowse  bud  skiu  an'  byane. 

Me  limbs  wis  Strang,  me  back  wis  lythe — 
Cud  run  an*  lowp,  an'  be  as  blythe 
As  ony  youngster  o'  my  age, 
An*  play  at  owt  'at  was  the  rage. 

Ah  cannit  mn,  bud  toddles  yet, 
An'  hez  te  mind  the  styens, 
Me  apple  cairt  itz  syun  upset, 
I*  spite  ov  ahl  me  byens. 

Although  anonymous,  Dr.  Embleton,  so  long  a  prominent 
citizen,  is  credited  with  the  authorship. 


Shipley,  a  South  Shields  painter,  seeing  the  popularity  of 

the  new  sensation — ^the  parachute  descent  from  a  balloon — 

successfully  accomplished  it  at  South  Shields,  on  April  5th 

and  7th,  1890.    A  song  by  "  Geordie"  in  the  Shields  Gazette 

I  celebrated  their  townsman's  success. 

I  SHIPLEY'S  DROP  FRAE  THE  CLOODS. 

f  Noo  had  on,  mee  hinnies,  and  whisht  till  aw  tell  ye 

I  Hoo  Shipley  hes  proved  his-sel  fairly  a  man  ; 

^  He  up  wiv  his  brushes  and  hivenward  rushes, 

And  leaves  us  awl  gyepen  as  hard  as  we  can. 
I  Sum  called  him  a  hero,  an  sum  a  greet  ass, 

Sum  said  wi'  poor  Shipley  its  awl  up  a  tree. 

Says  he,  "  Noo  awl  show  them  it  isn't  awl  gas. 

Awl  syeun  let  them  see  what  a  painter  can  dee." 

Hurrah  te  wor  rockets,  hurrah  te  wor  lifeboats, 
Hurrah  te  wor  gnd-tempered  star-gazin'  croods ; 
Hurrah  te  wor  Shipley,  wor  awn  painter  Shipley, 
Hurrah  te  wor  Shipley  that  dropt  frae  the  cloods. 

Miss  Bomont  wis  clivor,  but  dropt  in  the  rivor, 

And  doon  a  high  chimler  she  vary  nigh  fell ; 

So  wor  Shipley  wis  on,  and  syeun  bet  ten  te  one 

If  he  had  a  balloon  cud  dee  bettor  his-sel. 

He  wid  stonish  the  toon  wiv  a  rush  te  the  moon. 

An'  wid  fetch  doon  the  man  that  had  been  there  see  lang ; 

He  wid  paint  up  the  stars,  and  wid  rub  u^  awd  Mars, 

An*  the  Clerk  o  the  Weather  kick  doon  wiv  a  bang. 


576  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Mr.  Henry  Jackson  commemorates  the  Free  Edacation 
Act  in  a  song  beginning — 

"  0  Sal,  aa've  heord  sum  wondrous  news, 
Wor  Parlymint's  left  thor  *  Irish  stews,* 
Thor  baldordash  'boot  tax  an'  dues, 

An'  aal  sic  bothorashun. 
Ay,  lass,  they've  wakened  up  at  last. 
An'  aal  sic  things  aside  are  cast. 
An'  noo  a  bran'  new  Act  they've  passed 
Te  gie  Free  Eddikashun ! " 


Mr.  J.  Harbottle's  "A  Newcastle  Sang"  appeared  in 
the  Weekly  Chronicle  a  few  months  ago.  It  is  what  the 
Chronicle  truly  calls  a  racy  production. 

A  NEWCASTLE  SANG. 

Oh  I  cum'  ma  canny  lads,  let's  sing  annthor  T3meside  sang, 

The  langwidge  ov  each  Tyneside  heart,  wor  aad  Newcassel  Twang. 

Ne  doot  it's  strange  te  stuck-up  folk,  and  soonds  byeth  rough  and 

queer, 
But  niwor  mind,  it's  music  sweet  untiv  a  Tyneside  ear. 

Wey,  bliss  yor  heart,  thor's  iworything  a  Tyneside  chep  can  boast ; 
Wor  Tyneside  tongue  is  spoke  and  sunff  on  iwory  foreign  coast. 
On  sea  or  Ian',  where'er  ye  gan,  when  Armstrong's  cannon  roar, 
It  is  the  voice  o'  Tyne  that's  hard  resoondin*  frev  her  shore ! 

The  ancient  lan^dge  o'  the  Tyne  hes  sayins  awfu'  queer ! 
They  say  aad  Nick  torns  pale  as  deeth  when  real  Tynesiders  sweer  ! 
An'  Adam  spoke  in  Tyneside  tee,  when  he  cried  te  Mistress  Eve, 
**  A  bonny  mess  ye've  myed  on't  noo ;  begoz,  we'll  hev  te  leave  1 " 

An'  when  a  muthor  scolds  hor  bairn,  she'll  sheyk  her  fist  and  froon, 
"  Noo,  haad  yor  jaw,"  "  aall  skelp  yor  lug,"  or  sum  plyece  lower  doon ; 
But  if  she's  in  the  humour  fine,  it  s  '*  Cum,  noo,  hinny,  cum  I" 
An'  if  ye  want  te  hear  the  burr,  wey,  mine's  a  haaf  o'  rum  1 

An'  when  a  chef's  sweethartin'  like,  it's  "  Cum,  lass,  gie's  a  cuddle  I " 
Or  when  a  man  is  drinkin'  sair,  it's  '^Tommy's  on  the  fuddle ! " 
The  bairn  that  cries  is  "raimin  on,"  things  paaned  they  say's  "inpop," 
An'  then  a  fey  thor  says  wi'  pride,  **  The  bairn's  peart  as  a  lop ! " 

An  ear's  "a  lug,"  a  mooth's  " a  gob,"  and  then  a  hand's  "a  paa" ; 
Te  hev  a  smoke  it's  "here's  a  low,  sit  doon  and  hev  a  blaa." 
If  s  "howay  here"  or  "  had  on  thor,"  "what  cheer,  my  lad?"  they'll  say, 
"  It's  kittle  wark,"  "  what  fettle  noo  ? "  "  it's  dowly  like  the  day ! " 

Noo  aa  might  crood  a  thoosand  things  inte  this  Tyneside  sang ; 
But  sum  will  say,  "  Hi !  had  yor  hwi*,  yor  myekm't  ower  lang." 
Aa've  said  enough ;  aa'il  leet  raa  pipe,  ma  rhymin' pen  lay  doon, 
An'  pray  wor  speech  may  ne'er  depart  fra  wor  aad  CAXNTT  TOON ! 


TYNESWE  SONGS.  577 

,  Besides  this  racy  song,  Mr.  Harbottle  is  the  writer  of  the 
"Pitman's  Song,"  which  in  the  "Royal"  pantomime,  1890, 
was  such  a  hit.  Before  this  he  had  been  successful  in  a 
different  line;  in  1889  the  Jf^^^^/y  Z^«^«?r  offered  a  prize  for 
the  best  poem  on  the  "  Tyne,"  and  Mr.  Harbottle  carried  it 
off.  The  poem  describes  the  Tyne  from  its  source  to  the 
sea,  and  is  full  of  fine  passages  ;  one,  the  opening,  may  be 
given  here  as  an  example  of  the  writer's  graver  vein : — 

.  "  Dear  is  the  heart  .  ,  , 

And  sad  my  owiiji^  if  e'er  the  image  fade 
Of  those  fair  scenes  wherein  my  childhood  played, 
Where  all  the  joys  of  life  have  found  their  birth, 
And  spread  their  wings  around  a  Tyneside  hearth> 
,  ,  Home  of  all  Northern  hearts,  my  Muse's  shrine ; 

Once  loved,  still  loved,  the  dear  old  banks  of  Tyne." 


APPENDIX. 

Page  58.  John-  Shield.— Amongst  the  stock  of  the  late  W.^ 
Dodd,  bookseller,  sold  September  1891,  was  a  manuscript  signed 
John  Shield.  It  begins  "Dear  Kit,"  this  Kit  probably  Christophei! 
Myers,  chemist,  is  told  that  his  lozenges  have  saved  the  writer's  life, 
but  they  are  done,  and  unless  renewed,  his  cough  may  return,  and 

/5W*^     ij^^u^/i  ^^h<J^  ^€tu.Q/t^  <^»^^d  Cr?%  CL  hiccups 


578  TYNESIDE  SONGS. 

Then  he  goes  on  humorously  depicting  his  friends  lamenting  him, 
and  Black  Bob,  the  undertaker,  "listening  keen  my  knell  to  hear"; 
but  all  to  be  changed  when  Kit  sends  naore  lozenges.  From  this 
manuscript  the  autograph  and  handwriting  here  given  are  repro- 
duced. The  piece  has  all  the  wit  and  brightness  of  Shield,  and 
there  is  little  doubt  is  his. 

Page  99.  James  Stawpert. — In  a  volume  of  odd  broadsheets 
in  the  Reference  Library,  Newcastle,  we  find  one  in  memory  of 
James  Stawpert,  of  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  brewer,  who  died  March 
I2th,  1814,  aged  39  years.  On  the  broadsheet  are  three  verses 
lamenting  him.     One  runs — 

*'  Now  that  his  generous  soul  to  heaven  has  fled, 
Here  weeping  friends,  recalling  former  years, 
Will  oft,  revisiting  his  turfy  bed, 
Let  fall  a  flood  of  sympathetic  tears." 

Unfortunately,  the  broadsheet  doeg  not  give  the  place  of  his  burial 

Page  126.— "  Newcastle  on  Saturday  Night."  By  W. 
Stephenson,  Sen. 

Page  153.— "The  Half-Drowned  Skipper"  first  appeared 
(signed  D.)  in  the  Tyneside  Minstrel^  1824. 

Page  221.  —  "Billy  Oliver's  Ramble."  A  small  early 
edition  of  Marshall,  1823  (bought  at  Dodd's  sale)  gives  Thomas 
Moore  as  the  author.  la  the  larger  edition,  1827,  Moore's  name 
is  dropped,  and  the  song  appears  anonymously. 


P  FOR  Fancy 
I  FOR  Nancy 

N  FOR  NiCHOL  BOE 

I  FOR  John  the  Waterman,  and 
S  FOR  Saville  Row. 

A  rhyme  common  amongst  children  fifty  years  ago. 
FINIS. 


tHE  Walter  scott  press,  newcastle-on-tyne. 


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