August 2025: Poor Old Horse

Submitted by Ruairidh Greig

This song is linked in the UK with a traditional seasonal house-visiting custom. Most records are from the North of England and in particular from Yorkshire.

The performers, usually during the Christmas period, went round from house to house, including both private dwellings and local inns and alehouses, with a horse’s skull on a pole, with a black cloak behind. The man under the cloak would move the jaws to the rhythm of the tune, as his companions sang the song. He would also provide entertainment and amusement by approaching people in the company.

Soon after moving to Sheffield in 1969 to start my teacher training, I discovered that there was still a small team performing the custom at New Year in the village of Dore. This was not a modern revival, but a survival, a continuing tradition dating back into the early years of last century. Following the death of one of the team, the final performance was in 1971.

Listen to Chris Ralphs and Billy Palmer’s version, recorded in 1970: 

Lyrics

Poor Old Horse Dronfield Text
Received in Dore January 1, 1971

1. We have a poor old horse,
And he’s standing at your door
And if you wish to let him in,
He’ll please you all I’m sure.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

2. He once was a young horse
And in his youthful prime,
His master used to ride on him,
And he thought him very fine.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

3. But now he’s getting old,
And his nature does decay.
He’s forced to nab yon short grass,
That grows beneath yon way.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

4. He’s eaten all my hay
And he spoiled all my straw.
He’s neither fit to ride upon
Or e’en attempt to draw.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

5. We’ll whip him, cut him, slash him,
And a-hunting let him go;
Over hedges, over ditches,
Over fancy gates and stiles.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

6. I’ll ride him to the huntsman,
So freely I will give
My body to the hounds then,
I’d rather die than live.
Poor old horse, poor old horse.

7. Thy poor old bones,
They shall lie beneath yon ground
And never more be thought of
By all the hunting round.
Poor old horse, thou must die.

(Spoken) Get up Bob.

Ruairidh Greig is a retired school principal, living near Grimsby in Lincolnshire, UK. He has had a lifelong interest in folk culture, both from his own Scottish family roots and from the areas in which he has lived and worked in eastern England. He sings and writes songs and plays the fiddle and the anglo concertina.