|
THE SONGS, POEMS AND DITTIES OF HAMPSHIRE |
| A collection of songs, ditties and poems about Hampshire |
| AVINGTON POND
Come,
gentlemen all and I'll sing you a song, The tenth of December this job it begun, Here's Davis and Morris and Will
Mason, too There's Archer and Churcher and
Joe, Jim and Dick So now this job is finish'd and
through |
| From The Constant Lovers; collected from Richard Hall, 1905 |
| A
shouting rhyme that every Hampshire school child used to
know.
Where be yon blackbird to? |
| Peter Cooper, Born Brown Candover, now Swanage, Dorset |
| HOME LADS,
HOME (AS SONG BY "Cockersdale" a folk group") |
| Overseas in
India, the sun was dropping low; with tramp, and creak and jingle, I heard the gun teams go. And something seemed to set me, dreaming as I lay of my old Hampshire village, at the quiet end of day. CHORUS: And its home lads home, All among the corn and clover, Home lads home, When the working day is over. For there's rest for horse and man When the longest day is done, And they'll all go home together at the setting of the sun. Brown thatch and gardens blooming, with lily and with rose, The Meon running past them, so quiet where it flows. White fields of oats and barley, and the elder flowers like foam, and the sky all gold with sunset , and the horses going home. CHORUS Oh Captain, Boxer, Traveller, I see them all so plain, with tasselled ear caps nodding, all along the leafy lane. Somewhere a bird is calling, and the swallows flying low, and the lads are sitting sideways, and singing as they go. CHORUS Well, gone is many a lad now, and many a horse gone too. Of all the lads and horses, in those old fields I knew. Oh, Dick fell at Givenchy, and Prince beside the gun, on that red road of glory, a mile or two from Mons. Dead lads and shadowy horses, I see them still the same, I see them and I know them, and I call them each by name. Riding down through Swanmore, when all the west's aglow, and the lads are sitting sideways, and singing as they go. And it home lads home, with the sunset on their faces, home lads home, to the quiet, happy places For there's rest for horse and man, When the longest day is done and they'll all go home together at the setting of the sun. And its home lads home, All among the corn and clover, Home lads home, When the working day is over. For there's rest for horse and man When the longest day is done, And they'll all go home together at the setting of the sun. |
| Kindly contributed by Moya Page |
| THE HOP
PICKERS RHYME (part of) Hampshire women
here are found, |
| Kindly
contributed by Sid Barker If anybody has the full version of this we would love to have a copy |
| ALTONA |
| Upon a
Hampshire Hill I stand Surrounded by the verdant land Beneath in yonder vale I see A little town well known to me See yonder ancient building grey There the people come to pray And there the Royalists refuge found When rebel hosts were all around And while I'm standing gazing here I think of many visions dear There on my right a wood called Great Where boys and girls hold many a fete And a green hill down below Near which a silvery stream doth flow And at the back of that Lynch hill Where children pluck wild flowers at will See by the Butts that leafy road To Selborne, Gilbert Whites abode And many a lovely walk is found Near sweet Altona town so fair. July 1892 S R Bickerton |
| ALTON PARISH CHURCH |
| From
yonder grey historic town The curfew bell I hear Whils't gently from the Western sky The sun doth disappear The Alton Parish Church doth still This ancient form retain The ringing of the curfew bell The Conqueror did proclaim Though history gives us not the date When the old Church was rais'd The pillars near the front proclaim T'was in the Norman days In the Elizabethan reign The bells pealed loud and clear Announcing, that old England fair Phillip of Spain drew near For in the English Channel there The great Armada lay Meant to wipe out the Protestants And give the Catholics sway Through providence the foe was slain By fireships and by storm Throughout the land mids't prayer and praise The Victory was borne And passing down our history's page The scene that meets our eye Is in the reign of Charles the first When men rebellious rise Throughout the land Cromwell is heard Man to his standard flies The Royal troops before him bend And good Prince Rupert dies Nor did our Church escape the storm It shines in history bright For there the Royalists under Bowles Maintained a glorious fight The fight was fierce the foe was strong The Colonel forced to fly Into the Church with four score men And there prepare to die The sill maintained a Nobel fight The iron sides pressed sore And some of the English bravest blood Was shed upon the floor The Church was forced And in the porch brave Bowles his death did meet But not before six of the foe Fell lifeless at his feet King Charles when hearing of his death Was filled with grief and pain "Bring me a mourning scarf" he cried My best commanders slain The Church though riddled through with shot Was not beyond repair Good willing hands restored again The Edifice so fair The Parish Church Altonians prize And bless the hands that gave And praise their Ancestors who bled And found therein their grave. Alton 1892 F.F. |
| Contributed
by: Jackie Wiesinger,Alton,
Hampshire
If you have any songs,
poems etc about the county then please send them to us for publication on this site. All credits
will be given
|
