When my love wakes in the morning,
She oils and combs her hair;
And dresses in her superfine
All for to meet her dear.
Her name I will not mention
Lest she should offended be;
For she is the fairest creature
In the hills of Tandragee.
The time is drawing nigh, brave lads,
When I must leave you here;
And part with all my comrades,
Likewise my sweetheart dear.
For her beauty I admire
Above all that I can see;
And her killing glances bring the blush
On the hills of Tandragee.
Farewell unto my native rocks,
Likewise you grand old shore;
Where with my daily comrades,
I’ve trod the sands all o’er.
And when I’m on the ocean wide,
Nor house nor home can see;
I’ll be thinking of you Rosy dear,
That dwells in Tandragee.
When my love wakes in the morning,
She walks down to the sea;
To watch for the ship returning
That bore her love away.
She’ll watch the foaming billows
As they roll in from the sea;
Saying “Oh, poor Johnny Hartin,
You’re far from Tandragee.”
Andrew Calhounis a gigging singer-songwriter/folk artist since 1975. He founded and managed Waterbug Records, Inc. from 1992–2019. In 2012 he received the Lantern Bearer Award from Folk Alliance Region Midwest; in 2014, a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Woodstock Folk Festival. He’s currently (2023) at work on a Robert Burns songbook called Glorious Work, which will have 410 songs based on research into Burns’s original tunes and texts. Different Now, a CD of 20 old and new original songs, will be released in 2024.
Submitted by Marc Bernier
“Christmas in the Trenches” is a song written by John McCutcheon. It tells the story of the 1914 Christmas Truce between the British and German lines on the Western Front during the First World War from the perspective of a fictional British soldier. Although Francis Tolliver is a fictional character, the events depicted in the ballad are mostly true.
McCutcheon often prefaces the song in concert by telling one of several stories about it. One is about how he first heard the story of the Christmas Truce from a janitor with whom he swapped stories before a concert. He also tells of performing the song at various festivals, where old men would come to him after and explain that they were there.
My name is Francis Tolliver. I come from Liverpool
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung
Our families back in England were toasting us that day
Their brave and glorious lads so far away
I was lyin’ with my mess-mates on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, “Now listen up, me boys.” Each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear
“He’s singin’ bloody well, you know,” my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent. The gas cloud rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war
As soon as they were finished, a reverent pause was spent
“God rest ye merry, gentlemen,” struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was “Stille Nacht.” “‘Tis ‘Silent Night,'” says I
And in two tongues, one song filled up that sky
“There’s someone comin’ towards us,” the front-line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode, unarmed, into the night
Then one by one on either side walked into no-man’s-land
With neither gun nor bayonet, we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave ’em hell
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night
“Whose family have I fixed within my sights?”
It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they’d kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for ever more
My name is Francis Tolliver. In Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War One I’ve learned it’s lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we’re the same
Marc Bernieris a chanteyman, musician, chef, and sailor with a diverse musical and professional background. He spent over 5 years as a Mystic Seaport Chanteyman. As part of the Seaport Interpretation Department, he presented music programs for both educational and social functions. He has worked as a musician and educator for the Clearwater program on the Hudson River, and has sailed as cook, deck hand, and entertainer on numerous traditional sailing vessels from the coast of Maine to Chesapeake Bay.
Submitted by Sally Rogers
Sally originally learned “The Handsome Cabin Boy” out of Jean Ritchie’s “Dulcimer People” book. She was on a search for songs with women dressing as men for all the many reasons they might do that. This is a wonderful and singable example of those songs.
Listen to Gordon Bok performing “The Handsome Cabin Boy:”
’Tis of a handsome female as you may understand,
Her mind bein’ set on ramblin’ unto some foreign land,
She dressed herself in men’s attire or so it does appear,
And hired on with our captain to serve him for a year.
The captain’s wife, she bein’ on board, she seemed in great joy
To think her husband had engaged such a handsome cabin boy.
And now and then she’d slip him a kiss and she would’ve liked to toy
But ’twas the captain found out the secret of our handsome cabin boy.
Her cheeks were red and rosy, her hair was all in curls
The sailors ofttimes smiled and said, “Why he looks just like a girl!”
But eatin’ of the captain’s biscuits her color did destroy
And the waist did swell of our pretty Nell the handsome cabin boy.
Around the bay of Biscay our gallant ship did plow
Among the sailors there arose such a frightful, scurryin’ row.
They tumbled from their hammocks for their sleep it did destroy.
And they cursed about the groanin’ of our handsome cabin boy.
“Oh, Doctor, dearest Doctor,” the cabin boy did cry,
“My time it is come and I am undone and I must surely die,”
The doctor come a runnin’ and a smilin’ at the fun,
To think a sailor lad should have a daughter or a son.
The sailors come a runnin’, they came to gape and stare,
The child belonged to none of them, they solemnly did swear.
The captain’s wife she smiled at him and said, ‘Dear, I wish you joy,
For was either you or I betrayed the handsome cabin boy.”
Then each man took his tot of rum and drank success to trade,
And likewise to the cabin boy who was neither man nor maid.
Here’s hoping that the wars don’t rise again, our sailors to destroy,
And here’s hopin’ for a jolly lot more like our handsome cabin boy.
Sally Rogershas been a songwriter, performer and educator for more than 40 years, and she is still steaming ahead, warming hearts and minds wherever she goes. Her songs “Lovely Agnes” and “Touch of the Master’s Hand” have frequently been mistaken for traditional, while “Love Will Guide Us” and “Circle of the Sun” are now anthems for rituals of passage and protest.
Submitted by Cindy Mangsen
I first heard the “Seal Lullaby” in a choral setting created by Eric Whitacre, sung by our local Bennington Children’s Chorus. I loved the poem and found myself humming my own tune not long after. The poem opens Rudyard Kipling’s story “The White Seal,” first published in 1893 and reprinted in The Jungle Book the following year. My version is recorded on a duet CD with Steve Gillette, Home By Dark.
Listen to Cindy and Steve performing “Seal Lullaby:”
Oh hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon o’er the combers looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow.
Oh weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow swinging sea.
Cindy Mangsenhas been a singer of all kinds of songs since her early days in the Chicago folk clubs of the 1970s. She’s known for her collaborations with husband Steve Gillette, as well as trio work with Priscilla Herdman and Anne Hills, and even a quartet with Steve, Anne, and Michael Smith. More voices, more fun! She lives in Vermont, where she shares a home with Steve and a very black cat named Persephone.
Submitted by Judy Cook
There are many versions of the nursery rhyme of “Cock Robin” in both Britain and America. Some say the song originated with the intrigues that led to the downfall of Robert Walpole in 1742. He was the longest serving British Prime Minister; the period of his dominance is sometimes called “the Robinocracy.”
I found this version of “Cock Robin” in Songs of All Time, sponsored by Council of the Southern Mountains, 1946. In that lovely little book, it is credited as a Virginia version collected by Richard Chase.
The same version appears in American Folk Tales and Songs, compiled by Richard Chase, 1956. In that book, Chase says he collected it from a singer, whose name he failed to record, near Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He also reports that a Native American told him that the tune is the same as a Shoshone night chant. I find the song delightful and mesmerizing.
Listen to Judy and Dennis Cook performing “Cock Robin:”
Who killed Cock Robin? Who killed Cock Robin?
“I,” said the sparrow, “With my little bow and arrow.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who saw him die? Who saw him die?
“I,” said the fly, “With my little teensy eye.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who caught his blood? Who caught his blood?
“I,” said the fish, “With my little silver dish.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who sewed his shroud? Who sewed his shroud?
“I,” said the beetle, “With my little sewing needle.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who dug his grave? Who dug his grave?
“I,” said the crow, “With my little spade and hoe.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who hauled him to it? Who hauled him to it?
“I,” said the bear, “Just as hard as I could tear.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who lowered him down? Who lowered him down?
“I,” said the crane, “With my little golden chain.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who pat his grave? Who pat his grave?
“I,” said the duck, “With my big old splatter foot.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who preached the funeral? Who preached the funeral?
“I,” said the swallow, “Just as loud as I could holler.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Who killed Cock Robin? Who killed Cock Robin?
“I,” said the sparrow, “With my little bow and arrow.
It was I, oh it was I.
It was I, oh it was I.”
Judy Cookis an author, entertainer, and folk singer. She has been living in Oberlin, Ohio, with her husband Dennis since 2013. Since 1998, she has been touring throughout both Britain and the US. She is known for her repertoire and storytelling ability in song. Judy has one book and several CDs. Lyrics and recordings of her songs are on her website. You may reach her at judy@judycook.net.
Submitted by Margaret Nelson
I see Lazarus as a “good guy” in a small village—not the smartest fellow, but the one who helps the women draw water at the village well, keeps an eye on the younger kids when their mothers are washing clothes, patches up the stray dogs when they get hurt, looks after village seniors when their health starts to fail.
Dives and his greedy friends want to knock down the old village houses, and turn the village into a high-priced summer resort for the gentry. Dives gives a feast to attract investors.
Lazarus comes to Dives’ gate asking for donations of leftover food to give to the poor of the village, addressing him as “Brother Dives.” Dives refuses the (traditional) request, and refuses to recognize Lazarus as a brother.
Lazarus starts a hunger strike. Dives tells Lazarus he can starve. Lazarus invokes Jesus’ name. Dives gets annoyed, sends hungry dogs out to bite Lazarus. Turns out the dogs know Lazarus; they don’t bite him; insted, they lick his sores away.
Dives gets really annoyed, tells his hired men to go out and whip Lazarus. But the young hired men also know Lazarus, and throw their whips away rather than hurt him.
“That isn’t a bum, that’s Lazarus! He sat with my grandma when she was dying! To heck with Dives and his cronies!”
After some time, Lazarus dies; angels take him to heaven. Dives also dies; serpents take him to hell, where he is tormented with thirst. Dives looks up, and sees Lazarus blest. Then, and only then, does he address Lazarus as “Brother.”
Listen to Cooper & Nelson performing “Dives and Lazarus:”
As it fell out all on one day, rich Dives made a feast
And he has invited all his friends, and gentry of the best
Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ door
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, to bestow upon the poor
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my door
No meat nor drink will I give thee, nor bestow upon the poor.
Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ wall
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, or of hunger starve I shall
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my wall
No meat nor drink will I give thee, though of hunger starve you shall
Then Lazarus he laid down and down, and down by Dives’ gate
Some meat, some drink, Brother Dives, for Jesus’ Christ’s own sake
Thou art none of my brothers, Lazarus, who lie begging at my gate
No meat nor drink will I give thee, for Jesus Christ’s own sake
Then Dives sent his hungry dogs, to bite him where he lay
But they had not the power to bite one bite, but they licked his sores away
Then Dives sent his hired men, to beat him where he lay
But they had not the power to strike one stroke, but they flung their whips away
As it fell out all on one day, poor Lazarus sickened and died
There came two angels out of heaven, his soul therein to guide
Rise up now, Brother Lazarus, and come along with we
There is a place in Heaven prepared, for to sit by an angel’s knee
As it fell out all on one day, rich Dives sickened and died
There came two serpents out of Hell, his soul therein to guide
Rise up, now, Brother Dives, and come along with we
There is a place in Hell prepared, for wicked men like thee
Then Dives looked up with his eyes, and saw poor Lazarus blest
Give me one drop of water, Brother Lazarus, to quench my burning thirst!
Margaret Nelsonlearned her first traditional ballad in the early 1960s. In 1982, she joined musical forces with guitarist and singer Phil Cooper. As a duo, as a trio with singer Kate Early, and as members of two successive Christmas bands, Cooper & Nelson toured, performed, and spent a lot of time recording mostly traditional songs and tunes. They released 24 recordings in 28 years, including cassettes, an LP, and CDs. (Many of the CDs are still available for sale.)
In November and December, Margaret still tours with Kate Early, Phil Cooper, and Susan Urban as the Bittersweet Christmas Band. Among other things, she performs at Memorial Day and Veterans Day gatherings sponsored by Veterans for Peace, and has been asked to lead songs at larger Chicago-area rallies for peace, social justice, and environmental sanity.
Margaret describes her current condition as “Still vertical, still musical, and increasingly political.”Visit her website for videos of Margaret in performance.
Margaret served as Board President of the Folk Alliance-Region Midwest (FARM) from 1999-2002. She was booker, host and sound babe for the Sunday Evening Folk concert series, Evanston, Illinois, 2003-2005. She is the recipient of the Folk Alliance Region Midwest Lifetime Service Award, 2006.
Submitted by Mark Gilston
Back in the early 1970s, I took a trip to San Francisco, where a good friend of mine had given me an introduction to Gil and Gerda Daly, a lovely couple who lived in a huge Victorian mansion. Every room had some kind of immense collection, from playing cards to pinball machines. Truly, it was a museum of a house.
One of the rooms contained wall to wall 78s of every imaginable genre, and the Dalys were kind enough to let me spend about 4 days recording ethnic and American old time 78s from their spectacular collection.
Among the gems, I found one by Bud Billings entitled “Barnacle Bill the Sailor.” I knew a very racy and suggestive version of the song, and was intrigued to hear what would have passed the censors in 1929, but it was the flip side entitled “How to Make Love” that really caught my fancy. I fell in love with the song and set out to learn it.
Many years later, my research uncovered that the song was written by Frank Luther using the pseudonym “Bud Billings,” and recorded with Carson J. Robison. Trying to learn the song from listening to the old recording, I did get a few of the words wrong, and I have notated those differences where there is a significant change.
Do you want your girl to love you? Do you want to be her beau?
Well, I’ll tell you how to do it, boys, I’ll tell you all I know.
Put on your bib and tucker, and scrub your face real hard.
Part your hair right down the middle, boys, and slick it down with lard.
Put your derby hat on sideways. Pull your peg top up pants up short.
Get a big bow tie on a rubber band, and show her you’re a sport.*
Get yourself some drugstore perfume, and sprinkle it on your clothes;
Just a dime’s worth will be plenty, boys, to tickle her little nose.
Grease your buggy and your harness, and curry your trottin’ mare,
Then buy yourself a lasso, boys, and get you a lady fair.**
Tie a ribbon on your buggy whip. Buy a pair of yellow gloves;
Then take her to the county fair, and buy her what she loves.
Tell her she is prettier than a movie act-er-ess.
Talk about her pretty curls, and admire her handsome dress.
Get yourself a gold front tooth. Buy a Sears and a Roebuck ring.
Get a double note harmonica, and learn to play and sing.
Brag about her family: her granddad and her pap;
And before you know it she’ll be a-settin’ on your lap.
Tell her she’s so pretty, she takes away your breath;
And before you know it, she’s a huggin’ you to death.
But if she will not love you, just make her jealous then.
Tell her you love somebody else; that she is just a friend.
Take her out to the dances, and flirt with the other girls:
Hug ’em close, and whisper soft, and give ’em all a whirl.
Laugh out loud with the others, but with your girl don’t you speak;
And when she comes around you boys, just turn from her your cheek.
Just follow these directions, and she will be your wife:
Or else she’ll marry somebody else, and hate you all her life!
* “Red bow tie” in the original
** The original line, which I misheard, is “Buy a purty lap-robe, boys, and get you a lady fair”)
Mark Gilstonwas born and raised in New York City. Both of his parents were steeped in the folk music revival scene of the 1950s. He grew up listening to 78s and LPs of American, Russian, Spanish, Caribbean and Israeli folk music. Learning guitar and taking piano lessons starting at age 5, he was constantly immersed in music. In his youth, Mark gained a love of traditional American ballads and Old-Time songs and instrumentals from recordings and from his father, who often sang the old ballads which he had learned in his youth in Appalachia.
After earning a bachelor’s degree in folklore, Mark went to graduate school at SUNY Binghamton, studying ethnomusicology, and ended up settling there until 1994.
Mark has been giving concerts and leading workshops since 1971. He interned at the Library of Congress Archive of Folk Song, and has worked as a researcher for Alan Lomax. He has published numerous articles and books on music and folklore. Mark is also a multi-instrumentalist with an international reputation in English concertina and mountain dulcimer. He won the prestigious National Mountain Dulcimer Championship in 2016. Mark has 14 CDs on the Ramble Creek and Creative Engineering labels as well as over a thousand videos of music performance and martial arts instruction on YouTube. “How to Make Love” is on Mark’s second CD, Lend Me an Ear.
(Young Man Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn)
Submitted by Lea Coryell
This traditional American folksong, perhaps originating in the Midwest, can be traced back to at least 1905. It’s been documented throughout the country, and many different versions exist. I love it because it works well for solo voice and drop-thumb banjo.
Did the young man fail because of laziness or bad weather? Traditional verses offer conflicting reasons, so perhaps we were meant to wonder. In my shortened version, the farmer has nothing and no one to blame but himself. You may choose to characterize it differently, so I include a longer version with fine traditional verses I chose to omit.
Listen to Lea performing “The Lazy Farmer.” Recording copyright Lea Coryell; used by permission.
I’ll sing you a song it’s not very long
About a lazy farmer wouldn’t hoe his corn
The reason he wouldn’t I cannot tell
That young man was always well
That young man was always well
He went to the field and he looked therein
The jimson weeds were up to his chin
The bushes and the grasses had grown so high
Enough to make that young man cry
Enough to make that young man cry
He went down to his neighbor’s door
Where he had often been before
Sayin’ “Pretty little miss will you marry me?
Pretty little miss now what you say?
Pretty little miss now what you say?”
“Oh why do you come to me to wed
When you can’t even raise your own cornbread?
Single I am and so I’ll remain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
“Now why don’t you go and court the widow
And I hope to the dickens that you don’t get her”
She give him the mitten just as sure as you’re born
And all because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
Lyrics (as sung by Tom Paley)
I’ll sing you a song it’s not very long
About a lazy farmer wouldn’t hoe his corn
The reason why I cannot tell
For that young man was always well
That young man was always well
He planted his corn on June the last
In July it was up to his eye
But in September there came a great frost
And all that young man’s corn was lost
All that young man’s corn was lost
He went to the field and he looked therein
The bushes and the grass had grown so high
The bushes and the grass had grown so high
For to make that young man sigh
For to make that young man sigh
His courtship had just begun
She said “Young man, have you hoed your corn?”
“I’ve tried, I’ve tried, I’ve tried in vain
But I don’t believe I’ll raise one grain
I don’t believe I’ll raise one grain”
“Why do you come to me to wed
When you can’t even raise your own cornbread?
Single I am and I will remain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
A lazy man I won’t maintain
“Now why don’t you try and court the widow
I hope to the devil that you don’t get her”
She give him the mitten as sure as you’re born
And all because he wouldn’t hoe his corn
All because he wouldn’t hoe corn
Now his courtship was at an end
On his way he then began
Saying “Young miss, I’ll have another girl
If I have to ramble this whole wide world
If I have to ramble this whole wide world”
He hung his head and he turned away
“Sometime, Miss, you’ll rue the day
You’ll rue the day that you were born
For givin’ me the devil cause I wouldn’t hoe corn
Givin’ me the devil cause I wouldn’t hoe corn”
Lea Coryell,an Ohio native now living in Lovettsville, Virginia, began folk singing during the late 1970s. He is a retired librarian, a genealogist, and a founding member of the Reston-Herndon Folk Club in Virginia.
Submitted by Derek Piotr
This song played an extremely significant role in my early musical life. Around age 7 or 8, I was avidly using our home PC and spent many hours browsing Encarta Encyclopedia, a kind of proto-Wikipedia. Encarta was full of media clips, and Bob Mills’ performance was among them. This became one of the first songs I remember learning, and when I visited Will and Pippa Noble on their farm in Shepley, it was the first song I requested.
This song seems to have completely fallen out of favor in the twenty-first century; I can’t find anyone else around who still knows it. Hopefully my entry here will correct that.
‘Twas early one morning at the break of day,
The cocks were a-crowing, the farmer did say,
”Come rise you good fellows, arise with good will,
For your horses want something their bellies to fill.”
When four o’clock comes, then up we all rise,
And into our stables so merrily fly,
With rubbing and scrubbing our horses we vow,
We’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
Then six o’clock comes, at breakfast we meet,
Peat bread and pork pies we heartily eat,
With a piece in our pocket, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,
We’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
Then we harness our horses, our way then we go
And trip o’er the plain boys so merrily-O,
And when we come there, so jolly and bold,
To see which of us the straight furrow can hold.
Our master came to us and thus he did say,
“What have you been doing boys, all this long day?
Well you’ve not ploughed an acre, I’ll swear and I’ll vow.
And you’re all idle fellows that follow the plough.”
I stepped up to him and made this reply,
“We have all ploughed an acre, so you tell a lie.
We have all ploughed an acre, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,
And we’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.”
He turned himself round and he laughed in a joke,
“It’s past two o’clock, boys; it’s time to unyoke.
Unharness your horses and rub them down well,
And I’ll give you a jug of the very best ale.”
So come all you brave fellows, where e’er you be,
Take this advice and be ruled by me,
And never fear your masters, I’ll swear and I’ll vow,
For you’re all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
Derek Piotr is a folklorist, researcher and performer whose work focuses primarily on the human voice. His work covers practices including fieldwork, vocal performance, preservation and autoethnography; and is primarily concerned with tenderness, fragility, beauty and brutality. His work has been supported by The Traditional Song Forum and The Danbury Cultural Commission, and has featured on Death is Not the End and BBC. He recently launched the Fieldwork Archive.
Submitted by Denise and Stuart Savage
“Reynardine” was taken from the EFDSS publication “The Seeds of Love.” The words are from Such & Pitts broadside and the tune collected by W P Merrick from Henry Hills. This version makes the warning to young girls of “man as beast” quite obvious.
One night upon my rambles two miles below Fermoy
I met a farmer’s daughter all on the mountains high
I said, “My pretty fair maid, your beauty shines so clear
All on these lonesome mountains, I’m glad to meet you here.”
She said, “Kind sir be civil, my company forsake
For in my own opinion, I fear you are some rake
And if my parents they should know, my life they would destroy
For keeping of your company all on the mountains high.”
He said, “My dear, I am no rake brought up in Venus’ train
But I’m seeking for concealment all on the lonesome plain
Your beauty so enticed me I could not pass it by
So it’s with my gun I’ll guard you all on the mountains high.”
Her cherry cheek and ruby lips, they lost their former dye
She fainted in his arms there all on the mountain high
They hadn’t kissed but once or twice till she came to again
With that she kindly asked him, “Pray tell to me your name.”
“If by chance you look for me, perhaps you’ll not me find
For I’ll be in my castle – enquire for Reynardine.”
Sun and dark she followed him, his teeth did brightly shine
And he led her over the mountains, that sly bold Reynardine.
Denise and Stuart Savagebecame involved in the folk music revival in the 60s while living in West Sussex, England, and have performed in various group combinations, now as a duo. They visited the USA in 2002 and again in 2004, when they were lucky enough to perform in a number of house concerts from Washington, DC, to Vermont.
Thanks to the Massachusetts Cultural Council for their generous support.