SRFN Miscellany: Henry Burstow: Reminiscences of Horsham: Songs and Singing

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	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	107

SONGS AND SONG SINGING I do not know whether bell ringing or song singing has yielded me the greater pleasure through life. Whilst the former has been my sole physical exercise, except the compulsory ones of walking and stitching, the latter has been my chief mental delight, a delight that has been my companion day after day in my journey from infancy through every stage of life to my extreme old age. Song singing, too, was a great delight of my father's. He used to sing a great many songs, nearly two hundred. Of these he taught me all those starred in the following list, and from the time when but a mere child, I learnt at his knee my first song, "Travel the Country round," I have never ceased to obtain, and I hope seldom failed to give, satisfaction in this, the best mode I know of expressing the feelings. In learning and retaining all my songs my memory has seemed to work quite spontaneously, in much the same way as the faculties of seeing and hearing: many of the songs I learnt at first time of hearing; others, longer ones, I have learnt upon hearing them twice through; none, not even "Tom Cladpole's trip to London," nor "Jan Cladpole's trip to 'Merricur," each of which has 155 verses, has ever given me any trouble to acquire. Besides those I learnt from my father, I also learnt several from my mother, and a great many more from various other people; my brother-in-law, Joe Hopkins, one of the old Horsham stone diggers; Harry Vaughan, boot-

108	Reminiscences of Horsham.

maker, who lived in the Causeway; Gaff Batchelor, tailor, Bishopric; Bob Boxall, labourer, Bishopric; Bill Strudwick, sailor, Bishopric; Jim Shoubridge, ex-soldier, Bishopric; Hoggy Mitchell, labourer, Bishopric; Richard Collins, the parish clerk, The Causeway; Michael Turner, bootmaker, Warnham; Tim Shoubridge, labourer, Bishopric; Jim Manvell, bricklayer, Queen Street. Jim could compose songs on any subject. "Now Jim, sing us a song about so and so," some one would ask, and perhaps in 20 minutes, or half-an-hour, Jim would have his new song ready, to which all were eager listeners. Besides these, many of the shoemakers, bellringers, and other workers with whom I came into contact, each and all of them knew several songs, and those to which I took a fancy I committed to memory: others again I learnt of "Country Wills" in the taprooms and parlours of public houses in the Towns and Villages round, where song singing was always regularly indulged in during the evenings all the year round, and where the words of many songs have been taught and learnt, exchanged or sold, for perhaps a pint of beer. The remainder I learnt from ballad sheets I bought as they were being hawked about at the fairs, and at other times from other printed matter. I remember, when quite a boy, buying for my mother of a pedlar, as he sang in the street, the old ballad "Just before the battle, Mother." This was her favourite song because, I think, her brother, their mother's favourite boy, after having fought in many battles, had deserted and fled and was never more heard of. I have sung this song to her many times, never without bringing tears to her eyes; her last request to me as she lay on her death bed (she died 14th March, 1857) was to sing it to her again. It was this occasion — the occasion that comes but once in a lifetime — in which my prospective loss was measured by the depth of a

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	109

mother's requited love, that I proved most fully the resources of my natural hobby as an outlet for expressions of the tenderest sentiments. I feel as sure as that I am myself awaited by death, that as she lay there, her hand in mine, with this her favourite song in her ear, nothing I could say or do, nor that anyone else could say or do could have better pleased or satisfied her last moments. On all sorts of other occasions I have sung other songs, and there is not a village Inn for miles around Horsham where I have not sung one or more at a time. Wherever I went and sang I invariably got asked to come again; my songs never got stale to me nor, I believe, to my listeners, and I never got tired of singing them. On my 63rd birthday I walked to Rusper, counting the steps all the way, 10,611 in all, helped ring a peal of 5088 changes of treble bob major, sang twelve songs at the "Star Inn," and afterwards walked home. Some few times I have sung the list of 420 songs right through, every song from beginning to end; the last time I did so I sang them to my wife, commencing on the 4th April, 1906, the 78th anniversary of her birthday. I sang about ten on 41 consecutive evenings, and as we sat, evening after evening, one on either side of the fire, as happy as a king and queen, I singing my best, she listening and occasionally herself singing one of the fifty songs I had taught her, the old songs seemed as fresh and as pretty as they did when I first sang them fifty, sixty, perhaps seventy years or more ago. The most important public occasion I ever sang at was the Recreation Silver Band Concert on Thursday, the 12th March, 1908, at the King's Head Assembly Room, and I felt and still feel proud of the most intent and appreciative reception given me by that densely crowded room of people, the largest audience I ever sang to.

110	Reminiscences of Horsham.

In 1892-3 I lent my list of songs to Miss Lucy E. Broadwood (later Hon. Secretary and Editor to the Folk Song Society), and sang to her a large number of them, which she noted. Miss Broadwood left her old home, "Lyne," near Horsham, in 1893, and some eleven years later suggested to Dr. Vaughan Williams, a country neighbour, that he should come to see me. I sang to him such songs as he asked for, all of which he took down; some of them he recorded by his phonograph. This was the first time I had seen or heard one of these marvellous machines, and I was amazed beyond expression to hear my own songs thus repeated in my own voice. Many of these songs have been printed in the journal of the Folk Song Society, Part 4 of Vol. I., containing the largest number under one cover. I am glad to know that in these ways have been preserved the words and tunes of nearly all those songs of mine that come within the objects of the Society, viz.: those that are "traditional survivals of songs expressive of the thoughts and emotions of untaught people passing between mind and mind from more or less remote periods to the present time." * Some of them have been published, with the tunes harmonised, by Miss Broadwood, and can now be bought in cheap book form, viz.: "English County Songs" (published by the Leadenhall Press Ltd.), and "English Traditional Songs and Carols" (published by Boosey & Co.). A shilling edition of the latter brings many of my songs within reach of all, and contains a large proportion of Sussex and Surrey songs noted elsewhere by Miss Broadwood. Since the publication of my songs in the above-mentioned books, other collectors have called and * This definition of Folk Song (source unknown) meets with the approval of the Hon. Secretary of the Folk Song Society.

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noted songs from me with a view to the publication of them.

I give a list of my songs at end. I can sing any and all of them now, and still entertain myself nearly every day, and friends occasionally, by singing some of them. The other day I sang over forty; another time I amused myself with "Tom Cladpole's Trip to London" and "Jan Cladpole's Trip to 'Merricur," and so I continue daily to exact a pleasant tribute from my life-long hobby. This day, Thursday, the 12th October, 1911, I recited "A Parting Address to Horsham" to a young friend of mine, who is leaving the town for London. And as I now feel I, too, before many years, must be leaving the town and take that longer journey that lies before all of us, I cannot do better than give my readers, as a sincere farewell, that very pretty piece of poetry, written about 1835 by a young girl, words that express much better than any of my own, my affection for my dear old native town of Horsham.

A PARTING ADDRESS TO HORSHAM
By Miss M. E. DUDLEY.

Horsham, dear Town, in thee no more I dwell,
To thee, alas, I now must bid farewell.
A native spot hast thou appeared to me,
But now, for ever, I must part from thee;
And when far distant from thee, much-loved place,
Fond memory's tear shall oft bedew my face,
With fancied pleasure shall I call to mind
The long lost scenes that I have left behind.
The ancient Church, with monumental art,
Sculptured o'er those once dearest to the heart;
Whose spire, erecting high its taper form,
Has braved and still encounters many a storm;
Whose bells at evening, with sudden swell,
Oft pealed with merry change, or rung the knell
Of some departed spirit, flown away
To realms of endless night or everlasting day.
The pleasant walk along the churchyard paths,
Where oft we've pondered on the epitaphs
Of those whose bones have crumbled into dust,
Removed from pain and every sinful lust.

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Reminiscences of Horsham.

And oft I'll think upon the small cascade,
Where foaming waters musically played;
And where the stately swan, with head elate,
Led out upon the river his fair mate.
Sometimes we walked beside the Water Mill,
Still oftener saunter'd up the sunny hill,
Plucking wild flowers, which around us grew —
Forget-me-not and modest violet blue.
On the hill-top a grassy mound we view,
And at its base a pond of greenish hue:
All spread beneath, displayed before the eyes,
The neat and pleasant town of Horsham lies.
There have I watched the gentle leveret leap
Amidst the glen so dark, so lone, so steep,
Springing above the purple heath and fern
With fearful timorous glance at every turn.
Sometimes we pushed the clustering leaves aside
To gather of the green bank's rosy pride
The ruddy strawberry, wild, yet good to eat,
Rural repast, and therefore doubly sweet.
Oft have I listened to the sounds which there
Rose up the hill and mingled with the air:
The cattle lowing in the grassy mead,
Where, mid the golden buttercups, they feed;
The bleating sheep in distant flowery dells,
And soothing murmur of the rural bells,
The simple sighing of the summer breeze,
Which gently murmured through the lofty trees
That rear their mossy stems and branches high
And spread their greenest foliage to the sky;
Such sounds infused a quiet in the mind,
And left tumultuous, jarring thoughts behind.
Horsham! the attachment that I have for thee,
Shall never from my heart effaced be.
So, when two friends are forced by death to part,
To rend affections-tie from each fond heart;
He who is left behind reflects with pain
He ne'er on earth shall see his friend again,
Remembers all is ordered for the best,
And patiently resigns to God the rest.
How many who, when here we came to dwell,
Were strong and lively, vigorous and well,
Are now all mingled with that silent earth,
To whose parental soil they owed their birth.
Horsham! how often have I wished my bones
May crumble near thy Church, beneath its stones;
But now remote from thee I go to dwell,
To thee, alas, I now repeat, farewell.

Recollections of Henry Burstow.

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Farewell! what says that sad word to the heart;
It, household, kindred, friends hath torn apart.
The mariner in sailing from the strand,
Breathes a sad farewell to his native land.
The dying man, to those who round him kneel,
Sighs with his parting breath farewell! farewell!!
The exile, sailing from his native shore,
Drop's memory's tear to those he sees no more,
And sighs farewell! the while he calls to mind
The numerous relatives he left behind.
So will I drop a tear to thee, loved town,
Where many years of happiness I've known;
But ever if within my power it lies,
A second sight of thee shall glad mine eyes.
I'll view once more a place to me so dear:
Retrace each favourite haunt, forgotten ne'er
The visit which in summer we had paid,
But which again by us shall ne'er be made—
To Stroud, where hospitality was found,
Where kindness, uniform, we met around.
In journeying, want of chariot was supplied
By cover'd cart, where splendour was denied;
Instead of steed, caparisoned and gay,
A steady cart horse drew us on our way.
And as the vehicle moved slowly on
We cheered ourselves with merry laugh or song;
And when at length we reached the rural place,
Unfeigned pleasure beamed in every face,
With joy they welcomed us to their retreat,
Where all was homely, but 'twas clean and neat.
I fancy now the dame, whose cottage old,
Her poverty but neatness plainly told;
Within her kitchen, with its red-bricked floor,
Our board was spread — that festive scene is o'er.
Near her abode an aged couple dwelt,
Who long the infirmities of age had felt;
Their daughter with them lived, on them bestowed
The attentive duty which to them she owed.
Along her garden sweet I loved to stray,
To inhale the fragrance of the summer's day.
Her father, now all nature's debt had paid,
His bones beneath the grassy sod are laid;
Few of his merits e'er to us were known,
But hospitality was alway shewn.
The steady horse, whose back and shoulders broad,
Were often destined for a heavier load
(Without a saddle on his back we rode),
Traversed the shady lane and sunny field,
And gather'd wild flowers, half by grass concealed.

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Reminiscences of Horsham.

Nor can I here forget the noble park,
With its tall grove of trees, so thick and dark.
We also were permitted to explore
The garden, and partake its liberal store
Of fruit, and view the fine extensive grounds,
Indulged with sight of poultry and the hounds.
We visited the fishing house, which stands
Raised o'er the pond, whose bosom wide expands,
Rippling and circling in the golden ray
As if exulting in the glow of day.
That day by us with joy was ever spent,
To Stroud with cheerful glee we always went.
At length returning from this lovely place,
Our steps to th' humble cottage we retrace,
And shared the social meal of home-made bread,
With pleasant fresh-churned butter on it spread;
Refreshing tea with cream scarce one day old,
Meanwhile the dame some ancient legend told.
Quickly the time drew near when we must part,
And leave this rural dwelling for our cart.
And bidding farewell to the ancient dame,
Wishing her health, and she to us the same,
We left the cot, not thinking that we ne'er
Again should enter it, or that from dear
Regretted Horsham, we so soon must roam,
When we must leave for ever this our home.
But though remote from thee I go to dwell,
Though now to thee I'm forced to bid farewell,
Thy memory from my heart, by Lethe's stream,
Shall ne'er be chased, or vanish like a dream.
To view thy landscape, press thy flowery dell, —
These scenes are past, dear Horsham! fare thee well.

M. E. D.

LIST OF SONGS.
1 2 3 4 5 *6 7 8 9 10 11	Boney's Farewell to Paris. Boney in St. Helena. Boney's Lamentation. Deeds of Napoleon. Dream of Napoleon. The Grand Conversation of Napoleon. The Soldier's Dream. The Soldier's Tear. The tired Soldier. The poor worn out Soldier. The Old Soldier's Daughter.	12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23	The Old Deserter. The New Deserter. Stinson, the Deserter. The Sailor's Dream. Mary's Dream. The Wife's Dream. The Husband's Dream. I had a Dream. The Battle of Waterloo. The Battle of Barrosa. The Battle of America. The Standard Bearer.

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	115

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Up with the standard of
England.
Mother, is the battle o'er?
The answer to it.
The Wounded Hussar.
Allen's Return from the
Wars.
The Rose of Allendale.
The Rose of Britain's Isle.
She wore a Wreath of Roses.
Ben Bolt.
Ben Bolt's Reply.
Tom Bowling.
Tom Hillyard.
Tom Tough.
Will Watch.
Harry Hawser.
Paul Jones.
John William Marchant.
Gibson, Wilson, and Johnson.
Gilderoy.
Auld Robin Gray.
Answer to ditto.
Barney A vouring.
Joe the Marine.
John Lawrence.
Ditto second part.
Larry O' Gaff.
Beautiful Kitty.
Kathleen Mavourneen.
Sarah had a little Lamb.
Helen Lorraine.
My Helen is the Fairest
Flower.
Dear Charlotte when the
Sun is Set.
Alice Gray.
Fanny Gray.
Nelly Gray.
Mrs. Myrtle.
Grace Darling.
Birth of Crazy Jane.
Crazy Jane.
Death of Crazy Jane.
Jeannette and Jeannot.
The Answer.
Pretty Phœbe.
Pretty Susan, the Pride of
Kildare.

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Annie Laurie.
Bristol Town.
Gentle Annie.
I am leaving Thee in sorrow,
Annie.
Lost Rosabel.
Minnie.
Little Nell.
Mary of Argyle.
Mary Blane.
Mary was a Beauty.
Sally, Sally one Day.
Poor Uncle Tom.
Uncle Ned.
Green Mossy Banks of the
Lee.
Ye Banks and Braes of
Bonny Doon.
Ye Banks of Bonny Wind-
ing Tyne.
Banks of the Dee.
Woodman Spare that Tree.
Butcher Spare that Lamb.
My good old Father's Mill.
My good Old Father's Farm.
The Old House at Home.
Home, Sweet Home.
The Rover.
Banks of Sweet Dundee.
The Star of Glengarry.
The Maid of Llangollen.
We have Lived and Loved
Together.
My Skiff is by the Shore.
Adieu, my Native Land,
Adieu.
Old England, what are you
Coming to?
Britain's Revenge on the
Death of Nelson.
Madam, do you know my
Trade is War?
How Sweet in the Wood-
land.
Oh no, I never mention
Her.
The answer to it.
In Essex there lived a rich
Farmer.

116	Reminiscences of Horsham.

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Oh cease, awhile, ye Winds
to blow.
The Answer to it.
When I was Young and in
my Prime.
Yarmouth is a Pretty
Town.
It's of a Sailor now I
write.
The Lass of Brighton
Town.
Polly's Love, or the Cruel
Ship's Carpenter.
Rosetta and the Plough
Boy.
The Old Man and his three
Daughters.
Flora, the Unkind Shep-
herdess.
Our Captain calls all Hands.
Isle of Beauty, fare Thee
well.
Wealthy Farmer's Son.
The Constant Farmer's Son.
I will be a Gipsy.
The Gipsy's Tent.
Fitzgerald's Tent.
Jervis' Tent.
The Irish Emigrant.
The Answer to it.
Lango Lee.
Exile of Erin.
Leather Breeches.
Miser Grimes.
One Night I went to meet
Her.
Old Gray Mare.
Mark and John Peteroe.
Old Dog Tray.
Poor Black Bess.
Bonny Black Bess.
Bonny Moon.
The Storm.
The Minute Gun at Sea.
The Female Smuggler.
Highland Mary.
My Highland Home.
'Ere around the Huge Oak.
The Oak Table.

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A Song to the Oak.
The Effects of Love.
The Green Hills of Tyrol.
Cabbage Green.
Belfast Mountains.
A Week's Matrimony.
Umbrella Courtship.
The Croppy Boy.
The Sailor's Return.
The Lovers' Parting.
New York Street.
Plato's Advice.
Dulce Domum.
Through Moorfields.
On Gosport Beach.
The Gallant Poachers.
The Gallant Sailor.
Creeping Jane.
Death and the Lady.
The Scarlet Flower.
The Post Captain.
The Cabin Boy.
Gooseberry Wine.
Travel the Country Round.
The Age of Man.
The Sailor Boy's Good-bye.
Angel's Whisper.
Spare a Halfpenny.
Some love to Roam.
The Blackbird.
The Woodpecker.
Our Bessie was a Sailor's
Bride.
As I was Walking one
Morning by Chance.
The Salt Sea.
The Pitcher.
The Haymakers.
The Marble Halls.
The Sheffield Apprentice.
The London Apprentice.
The Fairy Tempter.
After Roving Many Years.
All's Well.
Annie Lisle.
The Plough Boy.
Night and Morn.
O Lovely Night.
The Little Town Boy.

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	117

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Robin Hood and the Pedlar.
Past Ten o'clock.
The Cobbler.
The Kiss dear Maid.
The Irish Girl's Lament.
The Boyhood Days.
The Galley Slave.
Rosemary Lane.
In a Cottage near a Wood.
You Combers All.
The Young Jockey.
Little Cupid.
The last Rose of Summer.
Four and Nine.
The Tarry Sailor.
The Bridal Ring.
Banstead Down.
The Pilot.
The Mariner's Grave.
I have journeyed over
many Lands.
Our Trade and Commerce.
The Miller's three Sons.
The Cavalier.
Salisbury Plain.
To all you Ladies now on
Land.
Nature's gay Days.
The Demon of the Seas.
He is gone to the Roaring
Waves.
The Wild Rover.
Vilikins and his Dinah.
The Troubadour.
Shells of the Ocean.
Oh, come to the Ingleside.
Give me but a Cot in the
Valley I love.
Cherry Cheek Polly for
Me.
When the Morn stands on
Tiptoe.
The Cot where I was born.
The Orphan Beggar Boy.
Red, White, and Blue.
The Cottager's Daughter.
Old Folks at Home.
The Convict's Lamentation.
Butter, Cheese, and all.

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With all Thy Faults I love
Thee still.
Wait for the Waggon.
Oh Willie, we have missed
you.
Rouse! Brother, Rouse!
Partant Pour la Syrie.
I'll hang my Harp on a
Willow Tree.
The Heart and Head.
The Basket of Eggs.
Will you love Me then as
now?
Dearest, then, I'll love Thee
now.
Old Towler.
When other Lips.
Pretty Wench.
No Mistake in that.
The Beggar Girl.
My gentle Mother dear.
Isle of France.
The Little Bird.
The American Stranger.
Quite Politely.
Tally Ho.
The Light of other Days.
The Bay of Biscay.
The Lass O'Gowry.
Good News from Home.
Beautiful Star.
The Queen's Letter.
Nothing More.
Tempest of the Heart.
The Rent Days.
Abroad as I was Walking.
Down in those Meadows.
A Voice from the West.
To the West.
Ploughman turned Sailor.
Old Carrion Crow.
The Sailor's Tear.
Why did She leave Him.
Prairie Child.
Goodbye, Sweetheart.
Peggy Ban.
Duke of Marlborough.
The Young Recruit.
The Mistletoe Bough.

118	Reminiscences of Horsham.

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The Song of the Brave.
All among the Barley.
The sons of Fingal.
The Blue Bells of Scotland.
The Happy Land.
The poor Fisherman's Boy.
So early in the Morning.
Hard Times come again
no more.
Farewell to the Mountains.
Thou art gone from my
Gaze.
The Banks of the Blue
Moselle.
The Months of the Year.
The Blighted Flower.
The Officer's Funeral.
The Sailor's Grave.
Cheer, Boys, Cheer.
Ever of Thee.
Kitty Terrall.
Popping the Question.
Aunt Sally.
Jemima Brown.
Maid of Judah.
The Gipsy Girl.
Not a Drum was heard.
My old friend John.
Benbow.
Down in the Cornfields.
Meet Me by Moonlight
alone.
The Cottage by the Sea.
You[r] lot is far above Me.
A Rose Tree in full Bearing.
The Merry Mountain Horn.
Fair Lily of the Vale.
Kathleen O'Moore.
Where there's a Will
there's a Way.
Oh Bitter and Cold was
Night.
Sweet Spirit, Hear my
my Prayer.
Oh would I were a Bird.
The Hazel Dell.
Happy as a King.
Father, dear Father, come
Home with Me now.

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Beautiful Isle of the Sea.
Maid of Erin's Isle.
The Gleaner.
The Bride's Farewell.
Harry Bluff.
The Sicilian Maid.
The Village-born Beauty.
Jenny Jones.
Fifty years ago.
Nothing shall she Draw,
but Water from the
Well.
The Glasses sparkled on
the Board.
Norah, sweet Norah.
My Friend and Pitcher.
The Minstrel Boy.
The Thorn.
You Lads and Lasses gay.
The Ivy Cottage.
Water Cresses.
Jimmy and Jenny.
Banks of Sweet Primroses.
Canadian Boat Song.
False One, I love Thee
still.
William and Phyllis.
The Grecian Bend.
Billy and Sally.
After tasting many Beers.
I'll meet Thee at the Lane.
Wait for the Turn of the
Tide.
The Heart that can feel for
Another.
The Captain and His
Whiskers.
Just before the Battle,
Mother.
Just after the Battle,
Mother.
I am come across the Seas.
The Female Sailor.
Goddess Diana.
Green Bushes.
Bold Collins.
O leave not your Kathleen.
Sir Roger Tichbourne.
Come back to Erin.

	Recollections of Henry Burstow.	119

358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391	The Gipsy's Warning. The Answer to Ditto. The Maiden's Reply. The Merry Bells of Eng- land. Far, Far Away. Broker, spare that Bed. Kitty Wells. Sunshine follows Rain. Write Me a Letter from Home. Dublin Bay. Belle Mahone. Molly Darling. Annie dear, I am called away. In the Downhill of Life. When first in this Country a Stranger I came. As I was going to Bir- mingham Fair. Nancy Lee. Silver Threads Among the Gold. The Rat-catcher's Daughter. Ring the Bell, Watchman. Barrel of Beer. Go and leave Me if you wish. Put me in my Little Bed. Auld Lang Syne. As I wandered by the Brookside. Make Little Mary his Bride. It was just against the Gate. Away with Melancholy. Black Eyed Susan. Good Old Jeff. The Negro Boy. With my Pot in one Hand. Nature's Holiday. Won't you buy my pretty Flowers.	392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420	That dear old Stile. The Crocodile. The American has Stole my true Love away. Begone Dull Care. The Harp that once through Tara's Hall. An Old Man came Courting Me. The Holy Friar. Bread and Cheese and Kisses. There came to Enslave us a Landlord of Erin. The Garden Gate. Joan and the Miller. The Primrose Lass. Roger and Flora. The Devil He came to an Old Man at the Plough. The Brighton Chain Pier. The Second part ditto. Bonny Bunch of Roses. The North Fleet Weighed Anchor. The 18th June. Duke William. We wassailing Lads are Come. As I was walking one morning in May. Jerry Brown and the Black Jug. The Tavern. The Donkey. John Cladpole's Trip to London. Tom Cladpole's Trip to America. St. Nicholas' Church. Turnips are Round.
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