songs2

MORE SONGS, POEMS AND DITTIES OF HAMPSHIRE

Down Hampshire Way

I'm Hampshire bred and Hampshire born,
And proud of it am I,
No softer, purer air I know
Beneath God's boundless sky.
If sylvan glades of forest shades
Or moorland be your call,
Or country, town or sea or ships,
Old Hampshire has them all.
Go east, go west, old Hampshire's best
And all therein is fine,

If Hampshire highways and byways are my ways,
They always will be mine!

The stranger never need feel strange
When he's within our bounds,
We'll welcome him till soon he feels
On old familiar grounds.
Deny it if you can —

For Hampshire folk are kind and true,
For work or play or worth or love —
Just try a Hampshire man!
Go east, go west, etc.

Of olden cities nobly placed
Upon the scroll of fame,
Southampton, Portsmouth, Winchester
All bear a wond'rous name.
And Bournemouth as our Beauty Queen
The world doth recognise,
So young and old and rich and poor
Fair Hampshire's name will prize.
Go east, go west, etc.

The Execution of Frederick Baker

You tender mothers pray give attention
To these few lines I will now relate,
From a dreary cell to you I mention
How a wicked murderer has now met his fate.
This villain's name it is Frederick Baker,
His trial is over and his time has come,
On the gallows high he will meet his maker
To answer for that cruel deed he's done.

On that Saturday little Fanny Adams
Near the hop-garden with her sister played,
With hearts so light, they were filled with gladness,
When that monster. Baker, towards them strayed;
In that heart of stone not a spark of pity
As he those halfpence to the children gave,
But now in gaol in Winchester city
He soon will die and fill a murderer's grave.

He told those children to go and leave him
With little Fanny at the garden gate.
He said, Come with me, and she believing,
In his arms he lifted her as now I state.

0 do not take me, my mother wants me,

1 must go home again, please sir, she cried,
But on this earth she never saw them,
For in that hop-garden there, the poor girl died.

When the deed was done and that little darling
Her soul to God her maker it had flown,
She could not return to her mother's bidding,
He mutilated her, it is well known.
Her heart-broken parents in anguish weeping,
For vengeance on her murderer cried,
Her mother wrings her hands in sorrow,
0 would for you, dear Fanny, I had died.

The jury soon found this monster guilty,
The judge on him this awful sentence passed,
Saying Prepare yourself, for the cruel murder
You have committed, your die is cast.
And from your cell you will mount the scaffold,
And many thousands will you behold,
You will die the death of a cruel murderer,
And may the Lord have mercy on your guilty soul.

What visions now must haunt his'pillow
As in his cell he does lie the while?
She calls to him, 0 you wicked murderer,
'tis I your victim calls, that little child!
The hangman comes; hark, the bell is tolling,
Your time has come, you cannot be saved.
He mounts the scaffold and the drop is falling,
And Frederick Baker fills a murderer's grave.

The Owslebury Lads

The thirteenth of November, eighteen hundred and thirty,
The Owslebury lads they did prepare all for the machinery,
And when they did get there, my eye! how they let fly,
The machinery flew to pieces in the twinkling of an eye.

Chorus

The mob, such a mob, you have never seen before,
And if you live for a hundred years you never will no more.

0 then to Winchester we were sent, our trial for to take,
And if we do have nothing said, our counsel we shall keep;
But when the judges did begin, I'm sorry for to say
So many there was transported for life and some was cast to die.

Chorus

Some times our parents they comes in all for to see us all,
Some times they bring tobaccy or a loaf that is so small;
Then we goes into the kitchen and sits all around about,
There is so many of us in there that we all be soon smoked out.

Chorus

At six o'clock in the morning our turnkey he comes in
With a bunch of keys all in his hand tied up all in a string,
And we can't get any further than back across the yard,
With a pound and a half of bread a day,
now don't you think that hard?

Chorus

At six o'clock in the evening the turnkey he comes round,
The locks and bolts do rattle like the sounding of a drum,
And we are all locked up again all in our cells so high,
And there we stay till morning, whether we live or die.

Chorus

And now for to conclude and finish with my song,

1 trust you gentlemen round me will think that I'm not wrong,
And all the poor in Hampshire for rising of their wages
I hope that none of our enemies will ever want for places.

The Stones of Eling Mill

Verse 1 is also the chorus:

No sails to turn and no vanes to set,
For the waters are never still;
So bring your corn, we'll grind it to flour
'Twixt the stones of Eling Mill.

A ten-foot head in the mill dam's fine,
For the stones will run with a will,
And even when it's calm and fine
We're working at Eling Mill.

Chorus

When tower and post-mill come to a halt,
With no wind blowing over the hill,
The great b^g stones go merrily on
O'er the waters of Eling Mill.

Chorus

And as long as old Nature sends us the tides
We'll work away with a will,
And the gentry will come from far and wide
To trade at Eling Mill.

Chorus

The Woolston Ferry

(First verse sung to the well-known spiritual Swing Low, Sweet Chariot):

I looked over Woolston and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home?
That old Woolston Ferry coming towards me,
Coming for to carry me home.

(Remaining verses and choruses to the tune of
The Midnight Special ).

If you're ever up in Sholing
And you want to go to town,
Don't go by Bitterne
—That's the long way round.
Take a trip across the ferry,
Take a trip across the sea,
And if you're a pedestrian
You can go for free.

Chorus

On the Woolston Ferry
It doesn't travel very fast,
It was never built for comfort,
It was built to last.

On two steel hawsers
Across the river it will creep,
The steel glints in the sunlight
And flops back into the deep.
And from the deck of the ferry
—What a wonderful sight:
They shipwrights grafting
At Thorneycroft's on die right.

Chorus

Go and see Lowry's painting
In the Art Gallery,
Of this wonderful relic
Of a past century;
And when I speak of its construction
You'll be surprised to learn
That the bow going one way
Coming back becomes the stern.

Chorus

See the weather-beaten captain
With his weather-beaten tan,
He don't wear no gold braid
—He's a corporation man.
But the captains of the ferry
They're a dying race,
There are no ex-tram drivers
To take their place

Chorus

But the floating bridge has had it,
It will have to go,
The motorists don't like it,
Sixteen p. a throw;
So they built a bridge of concrete,
Very modern, very high,
Every time I use it
I look down and heave a sigh.

Chorus

EXBURY POEM

In Exbury once there stood the village school,
It's gateway framed by two majestic yews;
Two maiden ladies therein took us fools,
And rammed some sense into the most obtuse.

It being sponsored by the nearby church,
The rector would instil his christian views,
And at his sight some pupils' hearts would lurch,
And others would throughout his lecture snooze.

At lunchtime we would form a crocodile,
And march like Noah's charges, two by two,
To dining hall, a quarter of a mile,
And eat 'most everything 'cept irish stew.

"Now form up children, please," would come the call,
And march backwhile the girls we'd be a-teasin',
To play, with skipping rope, or bat and ball,
Or smash each other's conkers, in that season.

And once a week we went for country dancing,
The Exbury club room being our dance hall,
And round the room we'd all start madly prancing
While deer heads gazed with scorn from every wall.

We monitored the weather day by day,
To find prevailing winds we'd scan the vane,
That stood upon the clock tower, o'er the way...
But do you know? I can't remember rain!

I guess one just blots out what wasn't fun,
And rainy days were only dreary blanks;
So all recalls are ice and snow and sun.
For such selective memory let's give thanks.

Author unknown

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