Conrad Bladey's Beuk O'
Newcassel Sangs
The Tradition of Northumbria

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Your Choices! The Main Menu!

Chevy Chase The Hexhamshire Lass Durham Old Women Adam Buckham, O!
Maw Canny Hinny

Captain Bover

Weary Cutters

My Dearie Sits Ower Late Up;
Or, My Bonnie Bay Mare and I
The Miller's Wife of Blaydon

The Little Priest of Felton
Till the Tide Comes In
The Durham Lock-Out Durham Gaol
BACK IN DURHAM GAOL


A Verse on Durham Gaol
Footy' Again the Wall The Horrid War i' Sangyet
XYZ At Newcastle Races The De'il Stick The Minister Felton Lonnin' The Wedding O' Blyth or Blue's Gaen Oot O' The Fashion
Shew's the Way to Wallington The Shoemakker Geordie Black The Blackleg Miners
FOUR PENCE A DAY  The Pitmen are
Not Bonny Lads
The Bonnie Gateshead Lass Wor Nannys a Mazer
Sally Gee Blow the wind Southerly Cliffs of old Tynemouth Ca' Hawkie through the water
The Press Gang Came to Willie Newcastle Lullaby The Trimdon Grange Explosion Swalwell Hopping
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music iconChevy Chase
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                                                           God prosper long our noble king,
                                                           Our lives and safeties all!
                                                           A woeful hunting once there did
                                                           In Chevy Chase befall.

                                                           To drive the deer with hound and horn
                                                           Earl Percy took his way;
                                                           The child may rue that is unborn
                                                           The hunting of that day!

                                                           The stout Earl of Northumberland
                                                           A vow to God did make,
                                                           His pleasure in the Scottish woods
                                                           Three summer's days to take.

                                                           The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase
                                                           To kill and bear away.
                                                           These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
                                                           In Scotland where he lay:

                                                           Who sent Earl Percy present word
                                                           He would prevent his sport.
                                                           The English Earl, not fearing that,
                                                           Did to the woods resort,

                                                           With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,
                                                           All chosen men of might,
                                                          Who knew full well in time of need
                                                          To aim their shafts aright.

                                                           The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran
                                                           To chase the fallow deer:
                                                           On Monday they began to hunt
                                                           Ere daylight did appear;

                                                           And long before high noon they had
                                                           An hundred fat bucks slain:
                                                           Then having dined, the drivers went
                                                           To rouse the deer again.

                                                           Lord Percy to the quarry went
                                                           To view the slaughter'd deer;
                                                           Quoth he, Earl Douglas promised
                                                           This day to meet me here;

                                                           But if I thought he would not come
                                                           No longer would I stay
                                                           With that a brave young gentleman
                                                           Thus to the Earl did say:

                                                           Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come
                                                           His men in armour bright -
                                                           Full twenty hundred Scottish spears
                                                           All marching in our sight.

                                                           Show me, said he, whose men you be
                                                           That hunt so boldly here
                                                           That, without my consent do chase
                                                           And kill my fallow deer?

                                                           The first man that did answer make
                                                           Was noble Percy, he
                                                           Who said, We list not to declare
                                                           Nor show whose men we be.

                                                           Yet we will spend our dearest blood
                                                           Thy chiefest harts to slay.
                                                           Then Douglas swore a solemn oath
                                                           And thus in rage did say:

                                                           Ere thus I will out-braved be
                                                           One of us two shall die!
                                                           I know thee well, An earl thou art
                                                           Lord Percy! so am I.

                                                           Our English archers bent their bows,
                                                           Their hearts were good and true;
                                                           At the first flight of arrows sent
                                                           Full fourscore Scots they slew.

                                                           At last these two stout Earls did meet
                                                           Like captains of great might;
                                                           Like lions wud they laid on load
                                                           And made a cruel fight.

                                                           They fought, until they both did sweat,
                                                           With swords of tempered steel,
                                                           Until the blood, like drops of rain,
                                                           They trickling down did feel.

                                                           O yield thee, Percy! Douglas said,
                                                           In faith, I will thee bring
                                                           Where thou shalt high advanced be
                                                           By James our Scottish king;

                                                           Thy ransom I will freely give,
                                                           And this report of thee,
                                                           Thou art the most courageous knight
                                                           That ever I did see.

                                                           No, Douglas; quoth Earl Percy then,
                                                           Thy proffer I do scorn;
                                                           I will not yield to any Scot
                                                           That ever yet was born!

                                                          With that there came an arrow keen
                                                           Out of an English bow,
                                                           Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,
                                                           A deep and deadly blow;

                                                           Who never spake more words than these
                                                           Fight on, my merry men all!
                                                           For why? my life is at an end,
                                                           Lord Percy sees my fall.

                                                           Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
                                                           The dead man by the hand;
                                                           And said, Earl Douglas! For thy life
                                                           Would I had lost my land!

                                                           O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
                                                           With sorrow for thy sake;
                                                           For sure a more redoubted knight
                                                           Mischance could never take.

                                                           A knight among the Scots there was
                                                           Who saw Earl Douglas die;
                                                           Who straight in wrath did vow revenge
                                                           Upon the Lord Percy:

                                                           Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called,
                                                           Who, with a spear full bright,
                                                           Well mounted on a gallant steed,
                                                           Ran fiercely through the fight;

                                                           And past the English archers all,
                                                           Without all dread or fear,
                                                           And through Earl Percy's body then
                                                           He thrust his hateful spear.

                                                           This fight did last from break of day
                                                           Till setting of the sun;
                                                           For when they rung the evening bell
                                                           The battle scarce was done.

                                                           And the Lord Maxwell in like case
                                                           Did with Earl Douglas die;
                                                           Of twenty hundred Scottish spears
                                                           Scarce fifty-five did fly;

                                                           Of fifteen hundred Englishmen
                                                           Went home but fifty-three;
                                                           The rest were slain in Chevy Chase
                                                           Under the greenwood tree.

                                                           Next day did many widows come
                                                           Their husbands to bewail;
                                                           They washed their wounds in brinish tears,
                                                           But all would not prevail.

                                                           Their bodies bathed in purple gore
                                                           They bore with tbem away;
                                                           They kissed their dead a thousand times
                                                           When they were clad in clay.

                                                           God save our king, and bless this land
                                                           With plenty, joy and peace,
                                                          And grant henceforth that foule debate
                                                           'Twixt noblemen may cease!

-This version is supposed by Bishop Percy to have been written about the time of Queen Elizabeth. Chappell believes that it is the work
of Richard Sheale. This is but one of several versions of this important ballad and favorite tune of pipers.
-Source: The Northumberland Garland;or Newcastle Nightingale., Joseph Ritson,
Newcastle, MDCCXCIII , Harding and Wright, London,1809.
 
 

This is one of three tunes associated with the ballad. It is provided as the most popular one.



 
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music iconThe Hexhamshire Lass pace animate
First version from - Northumbrian Minstrelsy (Bruce & Stokoe, 1882) almost the same
as that from:
Rhymes of the Northern Bards., John Bell,  MDCCCXII
Second is a Fragment from Dave Harker, Songs from the Manuscript Collection of John Bell.,  Surtees Society, 1985.
For Notation Click Here
For Midi Sound Click Here

Hey for the buff and the blue,
Hey for the cap and the feather,
Hey for the bonny lass true,
That lives in Hexhamshire.

Chorus:
Through by the Saiby Syke,
And over the moss and the mire,
I'll go to see my lass,
Who lives in Hexhamshire.

Her father loved her well,
Her mother loved her better,
I love the lass mysel',
But, alas! I cannot get her.

O, This love, this love,
Of this love I'm weary,
Sleep I can get none,
For thinking on my deary.

My heart is like to break,
By bosom is on fire,
So well I love the lass,
That lives in Hexhamshire.

Her petticoat is silk,
And plated rond with siller,
Her shoes are tied with tape;
She'll wait till I go till her.

Were I where I would be,
I would be beside her;
But here a while I must be,
Whatever may betide her.

Hey for the thick and the thin,
Hey for the mud and the mire.
And hey for the bonny lass,
That lives in Hexhamshire.

______________________
THE HEXHAMSHIRE LASS
#142 From John Bell's Song Collection

 Through the sevie Sike & O'er the Mossy Mire [rushy dyke
 Oh for the bonny bonny Lass that lives in Hexhamshire
 her Father likes her Weel, her Mother likes her better
 I like the Lass mysel but flaid I Wona get her [afraid I won't

 When I came to this Town
 they ca'd me Robin Rowell
 now they've changed my Name
 and they ca me the Rakeing Jewell

 Oh that I was where a wad be [a, not I]
 then wad I be where I am not
 But where I am I mun be
 and where I wad I cannot
 


 
 


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music iconDurham Old Women
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As aw' was gannin' to Durham,
Aw' met wi' three jolly brisk women;
Aw' asked "what news at Durham?"
They said--"Joyful news is coming:

"There's three sheeps' heads i' the pot,
A peck o' peasmeal in the pudding:"
They jump'd, laugh'd, and skipp'd at that,
For the joyful days are coming.
 


 
 

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music iconAdam Buckham, O! pace animate
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It's doon the Lang Stairs,
And strite alang the Close,
All in Baker's Entry,
Adam Buckham Knows

Chorus:
for its..
O,Adam Buckham, O,
O, Adam Buckham, O;
O, Adam Buckham,O,
Wiv his bow legs.

Nanny carries water,
Tommy Cobbles shoes,
And Adam gans aboot
Gethering in the news

Adam kissed the servant lass,
That will never do;
If he dissent mind himsel,
The kitty myeks him rue,

Adam gat the lass wi' bairn;
That will never do.
If he dinna marry her
The kitty gars him rue.

(kitty=jail; to gar= to make, to cause)
 


 

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music iconCaptain Bover pace animate
Where hes' te' been, maw canny hinny?
Where hes ti' been, maw winsome man?
Aw've been ti' the norrard, Crusing back and forrard,
Aw've been ti' the norrard, Crusing sair and lang;
Aw've been ti' the norrard, Crusing back and forrard,
But daurna come ashore For Bover and his gang.
 

See Maw Canny Hinny Below

 

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music iconMaw Canny Hinny
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Chorus:
Where hes te been, ma' canny  hinny?
An'where hes te been, maw bonny bairn?
Aw was up an'doon, seekin' for maw hinny;
Aw was throo' the toon seekin' for maw bairn.

Aw went up the Butcher Bank an' doon Grundin Chare,
Ca'd at the Dun Cow, but aw cuddent find thee there.

Then aw went to the Casel Garth and ca'd on Johnny Fife;
The beer-drawer tell'd me she n'er saw thee in her life.

The aw went into the Three Bull's Heeds, an' doon the Lang Stairs,
An' a' the way alang the Close as far as Mr. Mayor's.

Frae theree aw went alang the Brig, an' up te Jackson's Chare,
Then back agyen te the Cross Keyes, but cuddent find thee there.

Then cummin'oot o' Pipergate aw met wi' Willy Rigg,
Whe tell'd me that he saw thee standin' p____n   on the Brig.

Cummin' alang the Brig agyen, aw met wi' Cristy Gee;
He tell'd me that he saw thee gannin' doon Hume's Entry.

Where hev aw been? aw can suen tell ye that;
Cummin' up the Kee aw met wi' Peter Pratt;
Meetin' Peter Pratt, we met wi' Tommy Wear,
And went te Hume's to get a gill o' beere.

That's where aw've been, maw canny hinny!
That's where aw've been maw bonny lamb!
Was tu up and doon seekin' for thee hinny?
Was tu up and' doon seekin for thee lamb?

Then aw met yor Ben an' we were like te fite,
An' when we cam' to Sandgate it was pick nite;
Crossin' the road aw met wi' Bobby Swinny--
Hing on the girdle, lets heve a singin' hinny.

A'me sorrow's ower noo av've fund me hinny,
A' me sorrow's ower noo aw've fund me bairn;
Lang may aw shoot, maw canny hinny,
Lang may aw shoot, maw canny bairn.
 
  WEARY CUTTERS

Whaur hae ye been, my canny hinny?
Whaur hae ye been, my winsome man?

I've been tae the nor'ard
Cruisin' back and for'ard
I've been tae the nor'ard
Cruisin' sair and lang
I've been tae the nor'ard
Cruisin' back and for'ard
But I daur not gang ashore
For fear of Bover and his gang

Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
They've pressed him far away foreign
Wi' Nelson ayont the salt sea
They've pressed him far away foreign
And ta'en my laddie from me

Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
They always come in the neet
They never come in the day
They always come in the neet
To steal our laddies away

Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
Oh, the weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie from me
I'll gie the cutters a guinea
I can't gie the cutters nae more
I'll gie the cutters a guinea
To steal my laddie ashore

 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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music iconMy Dearie Sits Ower Late Up; Or, My Bonnie Bay Mare and I

For Notation Click Here
For Midi Sound Click Here

My dearie sits ower late up,
My hinney sits ower late up,
My laddy sits ower late up,
Betwixt the pint pot and the cup.

Hey! Johnnie, come hame to your mairn,
Hey! Johnnie, come hame to your bairn,
Hey! Johnnie, come hame to your bairn,
Wiv a rye loaf under your airm

He addles three ha'pence a week
That's nobbut a farthing a day,
He sits wiv his pipe in his cheek,
And he fuddles his money away.

My laddy is never the near,
My hinney is nevere the near,
And when I cry out ":lad cum hame,"
He calls oot again for mair beer.


 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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music iconThe Miller's Wife O' Blaydon
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For Notation click here

The Miller's wife o' Blaydon,
The miller's wife o' Blaydon
Sair she bang'd her ain gudeman
For kissing o' the maiden.

Yet aye the miller sings and swears,
Though kissing he'd had plenty,
For one kiss o' that bonny mouth
He'd freely give up twenty

Still thought she bang me neet and day,
I'get another laid in,
For gin you gan through every toon
Ye'll never bang our maiden.

____________________________________
The Little Priest of Felton
The little priest of Felton,
The little priest of Felton,
He kill'd a mouse within his house,
and ne'er a one to help him;

To help him, to help him
He kill'd a mouse within his hoiuse,
And ne'er one to help him.

(for the little priest only first part )


 
 
 

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music iconTill the Tide Comes In
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For Midi Sound click here

While strolling down by Sandgate Street,
A shipmate there I chanc'd to meet;
"I'll treat you with a pint of gin,"
Says he, "until the tide comes in",

Till the tide comes in, till the tide comes in,
Right merry will we be till the tide comes in;
We'll music bring, and dance and sing
And kiss the pretty girls till the tide comes in

I took in tow young squinting Meg,
Who well in the dance could shake her leg;
My friend hawl'd Oyster Molly in,
And we jigg'd them about till the tide came in,

Till the tide came in, 'till the tide came in,
Righ merry were we till the tide came in;
We danc'd till the sweat ran o'er each chin,
And kept up the splore till the tide came in.

We staid with them till break of day,
When we ask'd the landlord what to pay?
"You've drank," says he, "nine pints of gin,"
So we paid him the shot, for the tide was in,

For the tide was in, for the tide was in,
How the girls did grieve that the tide was in,
But we promis'd them to meet again
At a future time when the tide was in.
-Source: Lyrics: Songs from the Manuscript Collection of John Bell.,
D.I Harker ed.


 
 

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music iconThe Durham Lock-out pace animate
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In our Durham County I am sorry for to say,
That hunger and starvation is increassing every day;
For the want of food and coals we know not what to do,
But with your kind assistance we will stand the struggle through.

I need not state the reason why we have been brought so low,
The masters have behaved unkind, as everyone will know;
Because we won't lie down and let them treat us as they like,
To punish us they've stopt their pits and caused the present strike.

The pully wheels have ceased to move, which went so swift around,
The horses and the ponies too are brought from underground;
Our work is taken from us now, they care not if we die,
For they can eat the best of food and drik the best when dry.

The miner and his marra too, each morning have to roam,
To seek for bread to feed the hungry little ones at home;
the flour barrel is empty now, their true and faithful friend,
Which makes the thousands whish today the strike was at an end.

We have done our very best as honest working men,
To let the pits commence again we've offered to them ten.
the offer they will not accept, they firmly do demand
Thirteen and a half per cent, or let the collieries stand.

Let them stand or let them lie, to do with them as they choose,
To give them thirteen and a half, we ever shall refuse,
They're always willing to receive, but never inclined to give.
Very soon they won't allow a working man to live.

(With tyranny and capital they never seem content,
Unless they are endeavouring to take from us per cent.
If it was due, what they request, we willingly would grant,
We know its not, therefore we cannot give them what they want)

The miners of Northumberland we shall for ever praise,
For being so kind in helping us those tyrannisisng days;
We thank the other counties too, that have been doing the same,
For every man who hears this song will know we're not to blame
.
--Tommy Armstrong, Source: Tommy Armstrong of Tyneside.,

Version 1
the tune of Come all ye tramps and hawkers.


 
 

Bill Sables Writes: "When I was a child in Dipton Co Durham I grew up listning to the Tommy Armstrong songs, My father and uncle used to know Tommy very well, in fact as Tommy did not  sing so good and my uncle was a good singer they would tour the local pubs of Dipton, Tantoby and Stanley together, my uncle singing the songs Tommy wrote for a reward of a  couple of pints Tommy did not write tunes but just wrote his songs to tunes which were popular at the time. For The Durham Strike, as Tommy called the song known as Durham
 Lockout the tune he used was "Castles in the Air ( also known as Ball of Kerrimuir). However when The High Level Ranters recorded the album "Tommy Armstrong of Tyneside"
 Tommy Gilfellon sang the song to the tune of Come all ye tramps and hawkers."

Click here for Midi Sound

 

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music iconDurham Gaol
For Back in Durham Gaol click here
A verse on Durham Gaol click here
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For notation click here

Wy'll aal hev hord o' Durham Gaol,
But it wad ye much surprise,
Te see the prisoners in the yard,
When they're on exercise,
this yard is built aroond wi' waals,
Se noble an'se strang.
Wheiver gans in haas te bide their time,
Be it short or lang

Chorus

O there's ne good luck in Durham Gaol,
There's ne good luck at aal;
what's bread and' skilly for,
Burt just te make ye smaal?

When ye gan inte Durham Gaol
The'll find ye with employ,
They'll dress ye up se dandy
In a suit o' corduroy;
They'll fletch yer a cap wivoot a peak,
An' niver ax your size,
An' like your suit it's corduroy,
An' it comes doon ower your eyes.

The forst month is the worst of aal;
Your feelins they will try
There's nowt but two great lumps o' wood,
On which ye hev to lie.
The after that ye get a bed,
But it's as hard as stanes;
At neet ye dorsen't mek a torn,
For fear ye brek some banes.

Aal kin's o' work there's gannon on,
Upon them noble flats,
Teasin okum, makin baals,
An' weavin coco mats.
When ye gan in ye may be thin,
But they can mek ye thinner,
If your oakum isn't teased,
They're sure to stop your dinner.

The shoes ye get is often tens,
The smaalest size is nine;
They're big enough to mek a skiff
For Boyd upon the Tyne.
An' if ye should be caad at neets,
Just mek yorsel at yem;
Lap your claes aroond your shoes,
An'get inside o'them.

Ye'll get yor meat an' claes for nowt,
Yor hoose an firin free;
Aal you meat's browt te the door-
Hoo happy ye should be!
Thor's soap an' towel an 'wooden speun,
An' a little bairnie's pot;
They fetch ye papers every week
For ye te clean your bot.

-Tommy Armstrong, Source: Tommy Armstrong of Tyneside.,

Bill Sables writes: "my father allways used to sing this song to the tune of "The Washing Day"

BACK IN DURHAM GAOL
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 Iím a poor man, as honest as they come,
 I never was a thief until they caught me.
 And the judge, he said, he swore me hands were red,
 No matter how I plead, they find me guilty.
 There was no bail, off to Durham gaol,
 I went, no nothing now could save me,
 Calamities, they always come in threes,
 And thatís how many months it was they gave me.

      Chorus
      And no never in the live long day,
      Youíll not find me back in Durham gaol.
      And no never in the live long day,
      Youíll not find me back in Durham gaol.

 ĎTwas a great day when first I went astray,
 The devil was the man that came to tempt me.
 "Cause in no time, me life was one of crime,
 And now you see the trouble that itís got me.
 Well thereís four bare walls at which to stare,
 Me board and me lodgings are all paid for,
 You canít see the turniní of the key,
 To hear the turniní back is all you wait for.

 Oh but sad to say, here I am to stay,
 With only iron bars around to lean on.
 I get a cold bath to dampen down me wrath-
 Though itís barely just a month ago I had one.
 God knows, I need a suit oí clothes,
 Youíd think they couldíve found a one to fit me.
 Me boots would be fine if they were both a nine,
 Iím walkiní like a fall oí stones has hit me.

 And Iím sure that me motherís heart would break,
 To see me in a state of such repentance.
 Iím glad sheís not around to see -
 And Iíll be out before she finishes her sentence.
 The sun will shine, Iíll leave it all behind,
 Knowiní Iíve done me time and done me duty.
 When out of the gate on the narrow and the straight,
 To the place where Iíve buried all the booty.

 This appears in one of Jez Lowe's Song Books.

A Verse on Durham Gaol
Three men went a hunting to see what they could find
 Then they came to Durham Gaol and that they left behind
 The Englishman said "It's Durham Gaol"
 The Scotsman he said "Nay"
 and Geordy said "'Tis Parliament with the Geordies gone away"
 Look at that now, Look at that now,
 Titti fa la fa la fa lay, Titti fa la fa lay.
 
 

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music iconFooty' Again the Wall
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Fra Benton Bank, to Benton town,
There's not a Pitman's raw;
So when ye get to the Moor Yate,
Play footy again the wa'.

Chorus
Then hie footy, and how footy,
And footy again the wa';
And when ye get to the moor Yate,
Play footy again the wa'.

The wife went doon the Moor Lonnin,
And let her basket fa';
For when she got to the Moor Yate,
Play'd footy again the wa'

The stoby road's a stoby place,
And some o' the stobs are la'
But still there's some that's high enough
For footy again the wa'

The Holy Stone's a holy place,
The trees are thick and la';
But they are nought to the Moor Yate,
For footy again the wa'

Wapping Square is a bonny place,
The houses are but sma;
But in them yet there's room enough,
For footy again the wa'

The lady did not like the house,
For the air it was raw;
It was sweeter far at the Moor Yate,
For footy again the wa'

Young Cuddy is a bonny lad,
An Robin's tall and sma;
But if you come to wour twon end,
They'll footy again the wa'

-Source- Rhymes of the Northern Bards., John Bell, 1812.
 

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music iconThe Horrid War i' Sangyet
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For Notation click here

Tho's nowt se bad, aw've heer'd foax say,
Is let feul preachors hae thor way;
An' that was proov'd the tuthor day,
Be the horrid war i' Sangyet.
As Rantor Dick preech'd fev a chair,
While singin' oot wi' cuddy blair,
An' gie'in the Pope a canny share
O' hell-fire comfort aw declare,
Bowld Paddy Finn set up a howl
An' squintin' Dan an' Ted Mac Cowl
Myet priest an'byeuk an' styeul to rowl
I' th' muck an' clarts o' Sangyet.

Nan Dodds an' me an' Mettor Jack
Wis stannin' be the preechor's back;
Says aw, "Ye thunderin' Irish pack,
Dor ye start yor gam' i' Sangyet?"
Then, we' me neeve, aw shuts a blaw,
An' levels Dan an' Cowley law;
Wor Jack pickt up the rantor craw,
An' tell'd not gyen Popes to jaw,
An' now the bonny gam begun;
The Pats frev oot thor hooses run,
They poor'd be hundreds fre the "Sun,"
Te start a war i' Sangyet.

They cam fre loosy dens wi' howls,
Like harrin'-man! they they cam' i' showls,
Wi' buzzum shanks an awd bed powls
Styens flew like shot thru Sangyet.
The polls cam wi' thor black sticks,
But sam gatfell'd wi' greet hawf bricks,
Then rowlin' pins an' shafts o' picks
Wis browt to the naytive's tricks.
The Paddies screem'd till a' wis bloo
"Let's slay the Saxon haythens, noo!
Down wid the English thaives! Hooroo!
An' we'll be kings i' Sangyet!"

They cam fre Quinn's an' Simson's tee
Fra Ford's an' hooses'lang the Kee,
Fre Piporgyet an' Mill Entree
To the horrid war i' Sangyet;
The Irish force was fairly quasht,
When on the Kee-side porters dasht;
Then tongs went up bed powls gat smasht
An' heeds was crackt, an' windors crasht
The brave keel-laddies tyeuk their turn
Wiv smiths an' potters fre the Burn;
They cut the whiteboys doon like corn,
An' lyed them law i' Sangyet.

The sweeps now teem'd wi sic a rush,
The Paddies fled before the brush;
Ned Fish's heroes myed a push,
An' blackt the boys i' Sangyet,
Bill Jonsin's a croo an' Clark's wis there,
An' Knight's an Lumley's pack fowt sair;
Jem Frame's boold fre the Cassel Square,
Wi' Blowor's Blacks an' mony mair,
The landlord's joined the jolly row,
Bob Carr gat help fre the "Barley Mow;"
Moor put his Steam Boat cheps i'tow,
An' a' wes war in Sangyet.

Nell Prood chuckt up her three-legged
An' lyed it into Dermitt's skull; styeul
An' Dorty Peg worl'd roond her shyeul,
An' splet sum heeds i' Sangyet.
Young Oyster Bet an' Tatey Sall
Got three greet navvies gyen the wal;
Bet prickt them wiv a cobbler's awl;
Peg pows'd thor jaws an' myed them squall
an' when the Pats wis fairly dyeun,
Wor Sally for the pollis run,
An'te the stayshun they were tyeun
For raisin' war i' Sangyet.

The pollis wad gyen doon, aw feer,
Ef cheps like us had not been neer;
Man, Keeyside blud's se full o' beer,
We'd fight the world for sangyet.
Wor Jack an' me to Manors tyeuk,
Just sixteen Pats be Scott's awn byeuk;
We seized them like a grapplin hyeuk,
An' cyeg'd them for sum mair te lyeuk.
On Mundor morn aw fand a' sair,
When aw wis cawld afore the Mare,
An' swor 'twas a' the Rantor's prayer
That caus'd the war i' Sangyet.

To gaol the dorty trash was sent,
Wi' brockin' skulls an' fairly spent;
They lyeukt like owt but foax content
Wi' raisin' war i' Sangyet.
Noo when we're free aw'll say agyen,
Just let us Inglish foax alyen,
Newcassel lads can rool a "main,"
In owther "seas" or "cocks" that's plain,
Then let's away to sum yell-hoose
An' hev a sang, an' gan on croose;
Let's proove us Keeside cheps is doose
The conkerin' bleyds o' Sangyet.

-Source:Traditional/ Come you Not From Newcastle.,
Gwen Polwarth, Frank Graham,1972.

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music iconXYZ At Newcastle Races
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Smash! Jemmy, let us buss,
We'll off an' see Newcassel races,
Set Dick the trapper for some syep,
We'll suin wesh a wor faces,
There'll ne'er a lad in Percy Main
Be bet this day for five or ten;
Wor pockets lined 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.

Chorus:
Fal the dal the dal the day,
Fal the dal the dido
Fal the dal the dal the da,
Fal the dal the di do

We reached the moor, wi' sairish tues,
When they were gan 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--Hurra! Hurra!
"Gadsmash!" says aw, "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, to get
Some stuffing for wor bags, man;
Wi' flesh we fairly pang'd wor hides
Smoked nowse but patent shag, man.
Wi rum and brandy soak'd each chop,
We'd Jackey an' fine ginger pop
We gat what made us winkin' blin'
When drunky aw began to sing
"Od smash! X Y, that bonnie steed,
Thou bangs them a' for pith an' speed,
We never see'd his like, man."

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 filled the stage,
An' some, by gox! were grim wi' age;
When next aud Grin a powney browt,
Could tell at yence what people thowt!
"Od smash!" says aw, "if he's the breed
Of  X Y Z, that bonny steed,
Thou niver see'd his like, man."

But haud! when we cam to the toon,
What thinks thou we saw there, man?;
We saw a Blackie, puffin', swettin',
Suckin' in fresh air, man;
They said that he could fell an ox
His name was fightin' Molinox;
But ere he fit another roond,
His marrow fell'd him to the groound.
"Od smash!" saysaw, "if thou's sic
As X Y Z  that bonny steed, breed
Thou niver see'd his like, man."

Next, board a steamer-boat we gat,
A laddie rang a bell, man;
We hadn't sittin' varry lang
Till byeth asleep we fell, man,
But the noise seun myed poor Jimmy start
He thowt ' twas time to gan to wark,
For pick an' hoggers roar'd oot he,
An' myed sic noise it waken'd me.
"Od smash." says aw, "X Y 's the steed,
He bangs them a' for pith an' speed,
Aw niver see'd his like, man."

When landed, straight off hyem aw gans
An' thunners at the door man;
The bairns lap ower the bed wi' fright,
Fell smack upon the floor, man;
But to gaur the wifey haud her tongue,
Showed her the kelter aw had won;
She wiv 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 noo maw sang is duin, man.

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music iconThe De'il Stick The Minister
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Our wife she keeps baith beef and yell
And tea to treat the Minister;
There's nowt for me but sup the kale,
The beef's for the Minister.
Besides, a bottle keeps in by
To warm his breast when he's no dry;
While I tthe water stand maun try.
May the De'll stick the Minister!

Our Minister he's now fawn sick;
Waes me, the Minister!
Wha'll save us now fra Auld Nick,
Gin the Lord tak' the Minister?
Left to oursels, we ken fu'weel
The brent upstairs we canna spiel;
We'll just turn back and meet the De'il,
Gen the Lord tak' the Minister.

Our Minister he has nae pride,
Ne'er a bit, the Minister;
He just sits by our fireside,
Kin' he war no' the Minister.
He taks the gudewife by the hand,
Says, "John, man, sit: what maks ye stand?"
Has a' the barins at his command
He's a holy man, the Minister.

The covennant he can explain
He's a wise man, the Minsiter;
Thinks na religion like his ain
We maun think like the Minister.
The Papists are a wicked sect,
They no belang the Lord's elect;
Gin Parliament their claims accept,
May the De'il stick the Minister!

Our Minister, he's aft in want;
He's a puir man, the Minister;
Whate'er he wants we a' mun grant,
We maun supply the Minister,
And aft to him a horse we lend;
His wife and bairns on us depend,
Tho' our ainsels can hardly fend,
May the De'll stick the Minister!

Yet still he's useful in his place;
He's a braw man, the Minister;
At ika feast he says the grace,
Nane fitter than the Minister;
And when the glasses come in view,
He says "We'll drink, but no get fou',
Sic deeds the Lord does not allow."
Yet fou' gets the Minister.

He preaches loud, he saft does pray:
This says the Minister
"Ye need no fear your dying day,
Gin ye be like your Minister.
Ye'll get abune, ye needna fear;
Be sure that after me ye speer,"
But faith we doubt, when we get there,
We'll no see the Minister.
 


 

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music iconFelton Lonnin'
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The Swine came jumping down Pelton Lonnin',
The swine came jumping down Pelton Loonin',
The swine came jumping down Pelton Lonnin',
There's five black swine and never and odd one.

Three i' the dyke and two i' the lonnin',
Three i' the dyke and two i' the lonnin',
Three i' the dyke and two i' the lonnin,'
That's five black swine and never an odd one.

-Cuthbert Sharp's Bishoprick Garland
_______________________________

The kye's come hame, but I see not my hinny,
They kye's come hame, but I see not my bairn;
I'd rather loss a' the kye than loss my hinny,
I'd rather loss a' the kye than loss my bairn.

Fair faced is my hinny, his blue eyes are bonny,
His hair in curl'd ringlets hung sweet to the sight;
O mount the old pony, seek after my hinny,
And bring to his mammy her only delight.
 
 

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music iconThe Wedding O' Blyth
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Bluye's gaen oot o' the fashion,
Red's come in with the new;
But I'll have a sailor laddie,
And dye my apron blue.
_____________
O the lousy cutter,
They've ta'en my laddie fra me,
They pressed him far away foreign,
Wi' Nelson ayout the salt sea.

They always come in the night,
They never come in the day,
They always come in the night,
And steal the laddie away.
 

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music iconShew's The Way to Wallington
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O canny man, O shew me the way to Wallington,
I've got a mare to ride, and she's a trick o' galloping,
I have a lassie, beside, that winna give o'er her walloping,
O canny man, O shew me the way to Wallington.

Weel or sorrow betide, I'll hae the way to Wallington
I've a grey mare' o' my ain that ne'er gives o'er her galloping,
I've a lass, forbye, that I canna keep frae walloping,
O canny man, O tell me the way to Wallington

Sandy, keep on the road, that's the way to Wallington,
O'er by Bingfield Kame and the banks o' Hallington,
Thro' by Bavington Hh', and in ye go to Wallington,
Whether ye gallop or trot ye're on the road to Wallington.

Off, like the wind, he went, clattering to Wallington,
Soon he reached Binfield Kame, and passed the banks o' Hallington,
O'er by Bavington Syke, the mare could'nt trot for galloping,
Now my dear lassie i'll see, for I'm on my way to Wallington.


 

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music iconThe Shoemakker
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My mother sent me to the school,
To learn to be a stocking-knitter,
But I went wrang and play'd the fule,
And married with a shoemakker.
Shoemakker, leather cracker,
With all his stinking, dirty water,
I wish a thousand deaths I'd died
Ere I had wed a shoemakker.

His hands are like a cuddy's*  houghs,
His face is like the high-lowed leather,
His ears are like I don't know what,
His hair is like a bunch of heather.
Shoemaker, Leather cracker,
Stinking kit and rotten leather,
I wish a thousand deaths I had died
Ere I had wed a shoemakker.

He sent me for a pint of  wine.
And I brought him a pint o' water,
But he played be as good a trick
He made my shoe's o' rotten leather,
Shoemakker leather strapper,
Three rows o' rotten leather,
Balls o'wax and stinking water,
Who would have a shoemakker?

*cuddy= Cuddy: A small horse or St. Cuthbert
Haugh: Pronounced Hoff or Harf - a meadow land eg Derwenthaugh
 
 


 
 

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Geordie Black pace animate
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Ma name is Geordie Black, aa'm gettin' very aad
Aa've hewed tons of coal in me time.
An' when as wes just a lad,
As could either put or hew,
Oot the others aa could aalways take the shine.

Aa'm gannin' doon the hill,
I cannet use the pick.
The maister hes ne pitty on aad bones.
So noo aa'm on the bank,
An'aa while me time away
Amang the bits o' lads wi' pickin' oot the stones.

Oh. me
name is Geordie Black
In me times aa've been a crack,
An' aa've warked baith in the Gyuss an the Betty


 
 

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The Blackleg Miners
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Oh, early in the evenin', just after dark,
The blackleg miners creep te wark,
Wi' their moleskin trousers an' dorty short,
There go the backleg miners !

They take their picks an' doon they go
Te dig the coal that lies belaw,
An' there's not a woman in this toon-aw*
Will look at a blackleg miner.

Oh, Delaval is a terrible place.
They rub wet clay in a blackleg's face,
An' roond the pit-heaps they run a foot
Wi' the dorty blackleg miners.

Now, don't go near the Seghill mine.
Across the way they stretch a line,
Te catch the throat an' break the spine
O' the dorty backleg miners.

They'll take your tools an' duds as well,
An' hoy them doon the pit o' hell.
It's doon ye go, an' fare ye well,
Ye dorty blackleg miners !

Se join the union while ye may.
Don't wait till your dyin' day,
For that may not be far away,
Ye dorty blackleg miners !

*toon-raw = town-row


 

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FOUR PENCE A DAY
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The ore is waiting in the tubs the snow's upon the fell
Canny folk are sleeping yet but lead is reet to sell
Come me little washer lad come let's awa
We're bound down to slavery for four pence a day

It's early in the morning we rise at five o'clock
And the little slaves come to the door to knock, knock, knock
Come me little washer lad, come let's awa
It's very hard to work for four pence a day

My father was a miner and lived down in the town
Twas hard work and poverty that always kept him down
He aimed for me to go to school, but brass he could not pay
So i had to go to the washing rake for four pence a day

My mother rises out of bed with tears on her cheeks
Puts my wallet on my shoulders, which has to serve a week
It often fills her great big heart when she unto me does say
I never thought you would have worked for four pence a day

Fourpence a day, me lads, and very hard to work
And never a pleasant look from a gruffy looking Turk
His conscience it may fall and his heart it may give way
Then he'll raise our wages to nine pence a day

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The Pitmen are not Bonny Lads
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The pitmen are not bonny lads.
The pitmen are not bonny O,
If they're ever sae clean, yet they're black about the een,
And I like the the worst o' ony, O.



 

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The Bonny Gateshead Lass
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I'll warrant you, you've never seen me lass, her name I cannot mention,
for fear you'll gan and tell her how I like her so I dee!
Well it's just for lads and lasses for to whisper their affection.
The bonniest lass in Gateshead's bonny face has bothered me.

Well the first time I saw her, well I thought I didn't know her,
but I'm sure I'd seen her face before, I couldn't think of where,
her blue eyes met mine in passing, up the High Street in the morning,
and her look was so entrancing, that me heart was mine nee mair.

Well I didn't see her for a week then one night at the Bridge End,
I stamped upon her gown, and the gathers they come away,
she told us I was clumsy and I said that I was sorry, and I humbly begged her pardon,
I was licked for what to say.

So I walked on by her side just as if I had a right to de,
the conversation first was shy but then it turned first class.
We talked about the weather and she mentioned that her father
was a puddler down at Hawks', oh me bonny Gateshead lass.

She mentioned confidentially that her uncle was a grocer,
and her mother's, father's, cousin was a fiddler on the shore.
She talked so nice and pleasant and she looked both sweet and pleasant,
I thowt I'd never a seen a lass so charming like before.

She says her mother keeps a shop and sells hot pies and candy,
and her brother he's a cobbler in the high part of the town.
Now she was a dressmaker and we got on so well together,
that I blessed I'd been so awkward as to stand upon her gown.

I make her laugh and slap me lug with talking lots of nonsense.
But bless you when you're courting why there's nowt so good'll pass.
I asked her would she be me lass and I'd take her own on Sunday,
to my delight she says "I might" me bonny Gateshead lass.

 

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Wor Nannys a Mazer
 

Wor Nanny an' me myed up wor minds te gan an' catch the train,
'Te gan te the toon te buy some claes for wor little Billy and Jane:
But when we got to Rowland's Gill the mornin' train wes gyen,
An thor wasn't another one gan' that way till siventeen minutes te one
So aa ses te wor Nan its a lang way te gan an
Aa saa biv hor feyce she wes vext;
But aa ses nivvor mind we heh plenty o'time, we'll
stop an' we'll gan on wi' the next.
She gove a bit smile an wen Aa spok up an ses, ther's a
pubbilick hoose along heor,
We'll gan along there and git worsels warm an' a glass
o' the best bittor beer.
But Nan wes se stoot Aa knew she'd not waak an she
didn't seem willin' te try.
Wen a tink o'the trubble Aa'd wiv hor that day,
Aa's like te borst oot an' cry.

Chorus - And ay wor Nanny's a mazer an' a mazer she remains
                An' as lang as Aa leeve Aa winnet forget the day we lost the trains.
 

So doon we went te the pubbilick hoose, an when we got te the door
She sez "We'll gan inti the parlor end for Aa've niver
been heor afore".
So in we went an tuek wor seats, an' afore Aa rang the bell
Aa axed hor what she was gannin' te hev, and she sez
" The Syem as yorsel".
So Aa caalled for two gills of the best bittor beer, she
paid for them when they com in.
An afore she'd swallied a haaf o' hors she said, "Aa
wad rethur hev gin".
So Aa caalled for a glass o' the best Hollands Gin, she
swallied it doon the forst try:
Aa sez to wor Nan thoo's as gud as a man, she sez
"Bob man Aa feel varry dry".

Chorus
 

She sat an' drank till she got tight, she sez "Bob, man
Aa feel varry queer".
Aa sez, "Thoo's had nine glasses o' gin te me two gill's o' beer".
She lowsed hor hat an' then hor shaal an' hoyed them on the floor:
Aa thowt wor Nan was gan' Wrang iv hor mind so
Aa set mesel near the door.
She sez, "Give us order, Aa'll sing a bit sang"-
Aa sat an Aa glowered at hor;
Aa thowt she wes jokin' for Aa nivvor hard wor Nanny sing ony before.
She tried te stand up te sing the "Cat Pie" but she fell
doon an' myed sic a clatter,
She smashed fower chairs, an' the Landlord com in an'
he sez "What the deuce is the matter".
 

He sez te me "Is this yor wife, an where de ye belang?"
Aa sez "It is, an' she's teun a fit wi tryin' te sing a bit sang"
He flung his arms aroond hor waist, and trailed hor ower the floor,
An poor aad Nan (like a dorty hoose cat) was hoyed
oot side o' the door.
An' there she wes lyin', byeth groanin' an cryin', te
claim hor Aa reely thowt shyem;
Aa tried ta lift hor, but Aa cudden't shift hor an' Aa
wished Aa had Nanny at hyem.
The papor man said he wad give hor a lift, se we
hoisted hor inti the trap:
But Nan was that tight that she cuddent sit up, so we
fasten'd hor down wiv a strap
She cuddent sit up and she waddent lie doon, an' she
kicked till she broke the convaince:
She lost a new basket, hor hat an hoe shaal, that
wummin, wi lossin' the trains.

-Tommy Armstrong
 

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Sally Gee

I'll tell you of a nice young lass and her name is Sally Gee,
I met her in the pub one night, it was down on the quay.
I says to her well I know your face but a divvent knaa from where.
So I asked where abouts she lived and she said down Carliol Square.

Chorus:
But never mind, the lass she's kind, I knaa she is good hearted,
and the cast in her eye makes her look shy and I wish we never had parted.
She's got a hump and she walks with stick and she's always good to me.
I'm fond of the lass that none can pass, the lass down on the quay.

Every neet I used to meet me Sally on the quay.
I asked her if she'd marry me if she'd be good to me.
How long it is since she washed herself well I'm sure I divvent knaa.
'Cos she's got a face like an old spice cake, as black as any craa.

Chorus:

Well it was all through her I went on the drink, I went headlong to the bad.
I pawned me watch and I pawned me chain, that was everything I had.
And then next morn the landlord appeared and he hoyed us through the door.
And I spent six months in Durham Gaol with me clothes put into store.
 

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Ca' Hawkie through the water
 

Chorus
Ca' Hawkie, ca' Hawkie,
Ca' Hawkie through the water;
Hawkie is a sweir beast,
And Hawkie winna wade the water.
 

Hawkie is a bonny coe,
Though she's loth to wade the water;
While she waits the wark'll stand,
So ca' Hawkie through the water.
 

Hawkie is a pretty cow;
All the children do adore her,
For she gives them all the milk
There is none they prize before her.
 

Girls, be not too nice and coy,
If your swethearts want to marry,
Ne'er say nay, but quickly comply,
As 'tis hazardous to tarry.
 

Now, young maids my counsel take,
Since that it can be no better;
Cast off baith your hose and shoon,
And drive her through the water.

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Cliffs of Old Tynemouth
 

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 ruined abbey it ne'er shall depart:
'Tis the joy of my fancy and 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.
 

Other lands may be fairer but naught 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.
 

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Blow the Wind Southerly

Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,
Blow the wind south o'er the bonny blue sea;
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,
Blow bonny breeze my lover to me.

They told me last night there were ships in the offing,
And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea;
But my eye could not see it,
Wherever might be it,
The bark that is bearing my lover to me.

Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,
Blow the wind south that my lover may come;
Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,
Blow bonny breeze and bring him safe home.

I stood by the lighthouse the last time we parted,
Till darkness came down o'er the deep rolling sea,
And no longer I saw the bright bark of my lover.
Blow, bonny breeze and bring him to me.

Is it not sweet to hear breezes blowing,
As lightly they come o'er the deep rolling sea?
But sweeter and dearer by far when tis bearing
The bark of my true love in safety to me.
 
 

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The Press Gang Came Willie
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The press gang came to Willie,
While he was all alone;
He bravely fought for liberty,
But there was three to one.
The blood it flowed in torrents,
He said  "O pray kill me,
I'd rather die for Mary's sake
Than I'd put out to sea."


 
 
 

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Newcastle Lullaby
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Sleep bonnie bairnie behind the castle
By! By! By! By!
Thou shalt have a golden apple,
By! By! By! By!


 

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The Trimdon Grange Explosion
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Oh, let's not think of tomorrow,lest we disappointed be.
Our joys may turn to sorrow as we all may daily see.
Today we may be strong and healthy, but soon there comes a change,
As we may learn from the explosion that has been at Trimdon Grange.

Men and boys left home that morning for to earn their daily bread,
Nor thought before that evening they's be numbered with the deas.
Let's think of Mrs Burnett, once had snos but now has none-
By the Trimdon Grange explosion, Joseph, George and James are gone.

February left behind it what will never be forgot;
Weeping widows, helpless children may be found in many a cot.
Now they ask if father's left them, and the mother hangs her head,
With a weeping widow's feelings, tells the child his father's dead.

God protect the lonely widow, help to raise each drooping head.
Be a father to the orphans, never let them cry for bread.
Death will pay us all a visit, they have only gone before.
We'll meet the Trimdon victims where explosions are no more.

-By Tommy Armstrong. The song was created to raise money for widows and orphans
of the disaster which occurred February 16 1882 .

Version 2:

TRIMDON GRANGE EXPLOSION

Let us not think of to-morrow,
Lest we disappointed be;
All our joys may turn to sorrow,
As we all may daily see.
To-day we may be strong and healthy,
But how soon there comes a change,
As we may learn from the explosion,
That has been at Trimdon Grange.


Men and boys left home that morning,
For to earn their daily bread,
Little thought before that evening
That they'd be numbered with the dead;
Let us think of Mrs. Burnett,
Once had sons but now has none,
By the Trimdon Grange explosion,
Joseph, George and James are gone.



February left behind it
What will never be forgot;
Weeping widows, helpless children,
May be found in many a cot,
Homes that once were blest with comfort,
Guided by a father's care,
Now are solemn, sad and gloomy,
Since the father is not there.



Little children, kind and loving,
From their homes each day
would run
For to meet their father's coming,
As each hard day's work was done.
Now they ask if father's left them,
Then the mother hangs her head;
With a weeping widow's feelings,
Tells the child that 'father's dead'.



God protect the lonely widow,
Help to raise each drooping head;
Be a Father to the orphans,
Never let them cry for bread.
Death will pay us all a visit,
They have only gone before;
We may meet the Trimdon victims
Where explosions are no more.

Notes: As sung (one verse only) by R. Sewell, of Newcastle (June 1951). The rest of the text from J. Jefferson, Trimdon Grange, Co. Durham. From a ballad by Thomas Armstrong who set it to the tune- 'Go and leave me if you wish it'. The explosion occurred on 16 February 1882. Seventy-four miners died (six of them died in East Hetton colliery which was connected to the mine at Trimdon).

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Swalwell Hopping
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LADS! myek a ring
An' hear huz sing
The sport we had at  Swalwell, O;
Wor merry play
O' th' Hopping Day,
Ho'way, marrows, an' aw'll tell ye, O.
The sun shines warm on Whickham Bank,
Let's a lie doon at Dolly's O,
And hear 'boot mony a funnny prank
Played by the lads at Crowley's O.

Chorus:

O' Fal lal the dal la, Fal lal the da la, Fal lal the lal, lal the lal, lal lal
O; Fal lal the dal la, Fal lal the dal la Fal la the lal, lal, the di dee O.

There was Sam, O zoons,
Wiv his pantaloons,
An' gravat up ower his gobby, O;
An' Willie, thou
Wi' the jacket blue,
Thou was the very bobby, O.
There was knock-kneed Mat, wiv's purple suit,
An' hopper-hipp'd Dick a' yellow, O;
Greet Tom was there, wi' Hepple's and coat,
An' buck-sheen'd Bob frae Stella, O.

When were were drest,
It was confest,
We shem'd the cheps frae Newcassel O;
So away we set
To wor toon gyet,
To jeer them a' as they pass'd us O.
We shouted some we some dung doon
Lobstrop'us fellows we kicked them O;
Some culls went hyem, some crush'd to toon,
Some gat aboot by Whickham, O.

The spree came on--
The hat was won
By carrot-pow'd Jenny's Jacky, O.
What a fyece, begock!
Had buckle-mouthed Jock,
When he twin'd his jaws for the baccy, O.
The kilted lases fell tid pel-mell,
Wi'--Talli-i-o the Grinder, O;--
The smock was gi'en to slaverin Nell--
Ye'd dropp'd had ye been behind her, O.

Wor dance began
Aw'd buck-tyuthed Nan,
An' Geordy thou'd Jen Collin, O;
While the merry black,
Wi mony a crack,
Set the tambourine a-rolling, O.
Like wor forge-hammer, we bet sae true,
An' shuck 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-eyed Molly, O;
But up cam Nick,
An' gav' him a kick.
An' a canny bit kind o' fally, O.
That day a' Hawks's blacks may rue--
They got monny a varry sair clanker, O;
Can they de owse wi' Crowley's crew,
Frev a needle tiv an anchor, O.

What's that to say
To the bonny fray,
We had wi'skipper Robbin, O;
The keel bullies a',
Byeth greet an' sma',
Myed a beggarly tide o' the hoppen, O.
Gleed Will cried "Ma-a, up lap aud Frank,
An' Robin that marry'd his dowter, O;
We hammered their ribs like an anchor shank,
They fand it six weeks after, O.

Bald-pyet Joan Carr
Wad hav a bit spar,
To help his marrows away wid, O,
But poor and fellow,
He'd getten over mellow,
So we doon'd byeth him an' Davy, O.
Then Petticoat Robin jumpped up agyen,
Wiv's gully to marcykree huz, O;
But Winalaton Dan laid him flat wiv a styen,
Hurrah! for Crowley's crew, boys, O.

Their hash was sattled,
So off they rattled,
An' we jigged it up se hearty, O;
Wi' mony a shiver,
An' lowp se cliver,
Can Newcassel turn oot sic a party, O?
When quite dyun ower the fiddlers went,
We staggered ahint se merry, O,
An' throo wor toon,till fairly spent,
Roar'd Crowley's crew an' glory, O'
 
 

Tune= Paddy's Wedding

 

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