| Author | Topic: Add: Spencer the Rover | |
| dmcg | Posted - 21 Feb 03 - 02:38 pm | |
Spencer the Rover These words were composed by Spencer the Rover Who travelled most parts of Great Britain and Wales; He being much reduced, which caused great confusion, And that was the reason a-rambling he went. In Yorkshire, near Rotherham, he being on his ramble, Being weary of travelling, he sat down to rest, At the foot of yon mountain there runs a clear fountain, With bread and cold water he himself did refresh. It tasted more sweet than the gold he had wasted, Sweeter than honey, and gave more content; Till the thoughts of his babies lamenting their father, Brought tears to his eyes and caused him to lament. The night being approaching, to the woods he resorted, With woodbine and ivy, his bed for to make; He dreamed about sighing, lamenting and crying, "Come home to your children and rambling forsake." On the fifth of Novemebt, I've reason to remmeber, When first I arrived home to my family and wife; She stood so surprised to see my arrival, To see such a stranger once more in her sight. My chilren flocked around me with their prit-pratling story, With their prit-pratling story to drive away care; So we'll be united, like ants like together, Like bees in one hive contented we'll be. Now, I am placed in my cottage contented, With primroses and woodbine hanging round my door; As happy as they that have plenty of riches, Contented I'll stay and go rambling no more. Source: Kidson F, 1891, Traditional Tunes, Oxford, Taphouse and Son Notes: Kidson wrote (rather disparagingly!):
Database entry is here. | ||
| Malcolm Douglas |
Posted - 21 Feb 03 - 05:54 pm | |
Roud 1115 Found in tradition throughout England, but apparently nowhere else. It was extensively published on broadsides, and traditional versions vary from them very little. Broadside editions at Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads: Spencer the Rover The tune seems to belong to the All Around My Hat/So Selfish Runs the Hare/Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron family. There are no mountains near Rotherham, unfortunately. | ||
| Mr Happy | Posted - 28 Feb 03 - 02:15 pm | |
And here's another version: Spencer the Wild Rover (Kippers) This song was compos-ed for many?s the year While travelling through England on whisky and beer It had been much reduc-ed, my gold in great store And I?ll never play Spencer the wild rover no more In Yorkshire near Rotherham, with Ivy I went Me mind was on travelling, me money was spent By the foot of yon mountain she said to me nay For bread and cold water I can get any day With night fast approaching, without sovereigns bright With Woodbines and Ivy opened wide with delight But I drank on sighing with wines of the best Go home to your family, it was only in jest Well his children gathered round him, Told him what they?d done With prittle- prattling stories about the prodigal son I?m as happy as those as oft times before Like bees in one hive, I?ll go roving no more | ||
| Abby Sale | Posted - 28 Feb 03 - 05:12 pm | |
A personal note. I have a special fondness for this song. Unless memory fails (like the rest of me) this was one of the first two or three songs I ever heard in Scotland in 1966. Phil Taylor & Sid sang it at the Edinburgh University Folk Song Soc (one of the earlier of the Scottish clubs.) Phil had snuck into Scotland with a whole bunch of fine English songs. I believe this was near the beginning of English songs systematically oozing their way into the Scottish folk clubs. Good times. | ||
| Mr Happy | Posted - 05 Mar 05 - 03:11 pm | |
Here's another version I heard sung recently, with internal rhymes. Spencer the Rover This song was composed by Spencer the Rover, Who'd travelled through England and most parts of Wales, There had been much reducing which caused great confusion, And that was the reason he went on the rails In Yorkshire near Rotherham still being on the ramble, Being weary of travelling he sat down to rest, At the foot of the mountain there sprung a clear fountain With pleasant cold water himself did refresh. More sweeter it tasted than the gold he had wasted, More sweeter than honey and gave more content, But the thoughts of his children lamenting their father Brought tears to his eyes and caused him to repent. Now the night fast approaching, to the woods he departed, With woodbine and ivy his bed for to make, He heard the birds sighing, lamenting and crying, Come home to your family and rambling forsake. Oh the fifth of November I've got reasons to remember 'Twas then I first returned to my family and wife, They looked so surpris-ed to see I'd arriv-ed, To see such a stranger once more in their life. Then his children gathered round him with their prittle, prattling stories, With their prittle, prattling stories which to drive care away, So we will be together like birds of one feather, Like bees in one hive contented we'll stay. So now I am placed in my cottage contented With woodbine and ivy climbing all round the door, I am happy as those that's got plenty of riches, Contented I'll stay and go rambling no more. | ||
| diane easby | Posted - 11 Mar 05 - 05:36 pm | |
No mountains near Rotherham eh? Well, I suppose Spencer must have been sitting at the foot of a pitheap That makes the song *really* old... Chris Wood & Andy Cutting do a really lovely version of it which they precede with Andy's tune Miss Lindsay Barker. | ||
| Jon Freeman | Posted - 11 Mar 05 - 06:07 pm | |
I'm not sure about Rotherham - only went that way once but the nearby Sheffield is a way out to Peak District. It was one of the thing my brother Tim loved when he lived in Hunters Bar - 10 minutes drive and he was beautiful countryside. Even I have walked back from Strines (in a dip) to his house carrying a tent and banjo (from an event that had got cancelled). Sheffield itself is said to be built on seven hills. | ||
| Malcolm Douglas |
Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 01:35 am | |
It feels like a lot more than seven, mind, particularly on the North side of town where I live. Rotherham is pretty flat compared to Sheffield, but the reference is "near Rotherham" and could be anywhere with a bit of a hill; though no particular place needs to have been intended. Mr Happy's "version" reads like somebody recently tried to "restore" what they felt were missing internal rhymes, but lacked the understanding of the idiom, and the talent, to do it competently. "Went on the rails"? Oh dear. | ||
| Jon Freeman | Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 02:18 am | |
Well I guess if you want to go by rail and have mountains you could get on a train from Sheffield to Manchester and stop at Edale... | ||
| Malcolm Douglas |
Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 03:40 am | |
Done it. Sometimes for work, but also for music; though not recently. See, for example http://www.folktrain.org.uk/010522.htm Not really mountains, though that sort of thing is relative (like a hill in Norfolk!) - I once walked all the way up Kinder Scout under the impression that it was just "a bit of a steep". When we got to the top and were suddenly surrounded by mist and people in serious hiking gear I realised my mistake. | ||
| Jon Freeman | Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 03:08 pm | |
Total drift... but never done it. Pip in her medical training days (physio QE Brum late 50s) has done KS several times and used to hitch to Edale for a YH. Don't know about a mist but Pip says a landmark up there then used to be a chimney blowing smoke in Castleton. | ||
| diane easby | Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 03:52 pm | |
Sounds like a cue for John Tams' rewrite of MacColl's Manchester Rambler: I've camped out on Crowden, rambled on Snowdon Slept by the Wainestones as well. I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder And many's the tale I can tell. Me rucksack has oft been my pillow Heather has oft been my bed. But, sooner than part from these mountains I love, Well I think I would rather be dead. There's pleasure in dragging the peat bogs and bragging, Of all the fine walks that you know. There's even a measure of some kind of pleasure, In wading through ten feet of snow. Well I've seen the white hare on the heather, The curlew that fly high overhead. But, sooner than part from these mountains I love, Well, I think I would rather be dead. CHORUS Nothing changes, It all stays the same, They're selling the moorland for profit and gain. They've sold all the rivers, bought all the rain, And you can't go up there there, you're disturbing the game.... Cods roe, caviar, milk stout and champagne, Gold cards and dole cards, but, never the twain, That?s the game, That?s their game.............. Nothing changes, It all stays the same. So, I'll go where I will over mountain and hill, And I'll lie where the bracken is deep. I belong to these mountains, these clear crystal fountains, Where the rocks they stand rugged and steep. Well, I've stood on the edge of the downfall, Seen all the valleys outspread. No man has the right to own these mountains I love, Anymore than the wide ocean bed. Repeat CHORUS | ||
| Jon Freeman | Posted - 12 Mar 05 - 04:31 pm | |
Lovely Daine. But I can assure there is property in the mountains Pip would dearly love to own as her sole residence. I think if she could pick a spot to live (and not to prevent walkers enjoying the area - she'd probably give them a free cup of tea!) is Cedryn Cottage in Cwm Eigiau. Eigiau itself is unfortunately best known for a dam burst but it really is nice up there. | ||
| Malcolm Douglas |
Posted - 07 Apr 05 - 01:29 am | |
I should apologise for sniffing at "went on the rails" earlier on. I had quite forgotten that the Such broadsides (latter 19th century) have "... that was the reason he set off on the rails." Of course, if he did the bulk of his rambling on the train, that would explain how he managed to travel most "parts of Britain and Wales" (in spite of a limited grasp of geography) and still get home before everybody had quite forgotten who he was. | ||
| Jon Freeman | Posted - 07 Apr 05 - 01:48 pm | |
I've just had a search. Mr Happy's version is very close to Firth C21(8) at the Bodleian Library. | ||
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